Eric and Aly Ch. 01

My boyfriend Eric and I had just come back from the movie theater, making idle conversation in his car to dispel tension. It was technically our fourth date, but we'd been together nearly a month. Before that, I'd waited nearly a full semester before he got up the courage to ask me out. I'd known of course-call it a woman's intuition-that he'd wanted to go out. His eyes had lingered on me in conversations where I was mostly quiet. His chair at our lunch table had through no small effort on his part changed so he sat next to me. He'd invited me over to study a few times a week, claiming he needed help with one thing or another.

It was laughable. He was certainly the smartest person in our school and should've by all means been in college when he was thirteen or something. The idea of him needing help from me, in any subject, was hilarious were it not so sweet at the same time. Here was a boy who regularly attended lectures north of the city about... whatever it was he studied for fun. He could rattle off five differences between Prokaryotic and Eukaryotic cells like he was teaching the damned course.

I wasn't a slouch, sure. My lowest grade had been a B minus in middle school, the same month I discovered that boys (get this) wanted to date me. I know. I was shocked too. So I went through prepubescent mania and then my grades went back to steady A's and B's. Sort of like my breasts at the time, actually...

What was I saying? Right. Fourth date. My breath smelled like nachos. Something was stuck in my teeth, right in the smile zone where he'd be able to see it. (And feel it, if we made it to first base before I could locate a toothpick.) His blonde hair, cut short and styled up a la Charlize Theron. Okay weird comparison but seriously, look it up. She totally slays.

His blue eyes were fixed on his phone as I slipped off my heels and pulled on some fuzzy socks with my dress. He was wearing a black suit, leaning against the wall of my bedroom casually, and I knew the only reason he was on his phone during our date was so I wouldn't get freaked out by him watching me take off my shoes. As if I cared one way or another. It was sweet, though, and demonstrated a bit of his neurotic mind.

I excused myself quickly to the bathroom, closing the door behind me and opening the medicine cabinet eagerly. Listerine. Pour. Swish swish. Spit. That fixed my breath. When I checked myself in the mirror, I brushed my silver hair out of my face, tried giving it the mussed look an Instagram model might've had. But I wasn't convinced it work. My boring brown eyes and lips that weren't quite full enough and left something to be desired. The rest of my body had developed a slew of more womanly attributes, my face was an exception. I smoothed the wrinkle from my galaxy blue dress and breathed, leaving the bathroom.

I clicked the light switch off and moved across the hallway again towards my bedroom, the heart in my chest flurrying like snowfall. Butterflies in my stomach and a swollen tongue in my mouth, I reentered my domain and found Eric examining a bookshelf my mom made me keep my YA novels on, so they didn't clutter up the "family" room (Read as: Wannabe Better Homes & Gardens showroom of doom). Most of them I hadn't read since an angsty period last year, when I first died my hair a fluorescent green. It was changed within a week to a simpler shade of black, then blue, then the silver it was now.

Something about his interest in what I liked to read made me smile. No other boy in this room had looked at my books. Well, accept my cousin Antonio. But he was gay, so it didn't count. I pointed to a few and rattled off how I got them.

"Goodwill, Goodwill, Barnes, Christmas gift, My Nana died, Yard Sale..." I surmised, getting through the entire top shelf quickly. I saw his sharp eyes (like sapphire knives) processing and cataloguing what I said.

"I congratulate your collection of obscure teen fiction, and applaud a noticeable lack of quadruped/girl/vampire books." He acknowledged in a deep chuckle that turned me into putty in his hands. I giggled in a way that felt almost disgustingly girly. His eyes roved boldly over my face, taking in a genuine smile and... no popcorn kernels!

"Is there anything you'd like to show me?" He asked, a smirk implied but not summoned with the question. His eyes were full of fun, mischief. I gulped.

"Is there anything you'd like to see?" I asked him, barely managing to get the words out straight and without stuttering or spitting or saying them too fast or slow. Eric grinned suddenly.

"Something did catch my eye. What's in there?" He asked, one hand pointing squarely at my bottom dresser drawer. It was painted matte black with silver knobs like the rest of my dresser, maybe a little dustier since it was closer to the ground. My heart skipped a bit.

"In- In my dresser? Just some clothes." I lied, trying to keep my cool, failing. I felt an unladylike sweat forming on my brow. Girls don't sweat, right?

"No. The front wooden panel of the dresser is dusty but the handles are almost polished from regular use. Proximity to the floor makes it inconvenient for keeping clothes you wear often: So it must be special clothes. Swimsuits, dress pants, running pants, but those are all hung in your closet. So there's something else in that drawer." He explained, basically sherlocking out in that slow, deep voice of his. Any attraction I'd had to Benedict Cumberbatch seemed trivial. As far as I was concerned, Eric did it better.

I tried to change the subject, but it was clunky. "So did you see my chess set in the corner?" I pointed weakly, but I couldn't look away from his eyes, drilling into mine. His intensity was startling. He gave my words a moment to hang in the air before he pulled them down with godlike ease and force. Like Zeus hurling a thunderbolt.

He said my name in a whisper. "Alison. Go open the drawer." Instructions. I sat there and didn't move for a second, then I got up and walked to the piece of furniture. I tried to understand why I was obeying him. It just seemed like the natural thing to do. I was very embarrassed as I knelt to open my drawer. None of my friends or boyfriends had ever seen its contents before, and I was worried he'd think I was a freak.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped, I'd thought he was still sitting on the bed. But here he was across the room behind me. His fingers curled around my shoulder, pulling up. I stood, confused. Both of his hands rested on my hips. This was the closest he'd ever stood to me. The closest we'd ever been.

"Open the drawer, Alison." He said again.

I'd never been so confused. Mostly though, I was confused why I was doing as he said. And why I was so wet. I bent at the knee to open the drawer. But his hands held my hips firmly up. I couldn't reach the drawer.

"Open the drawer, Alison." He said, one last time.

Lightbulb.

Moving very slowly, I bent at the hips, my torso and arm extending towards my toes, fingers wrapping around one silver knob. I felt his strong hands hold my waste at the height of his-

Good holy fuck. If that thing was soft I was terrified how big it would get when it was hard. Ignoring that thought, I pulled gently on the handle and my drawer opened out. I waited. It was very clear he was waiting too. I stood up, my back against his broad chest. He let go of me and sat back on my bed, leaving me alone by my dresser and my shame. He looked from me to my collection.

"Tell me about them." He said, not a plea but very gently. He must've known I was shy. I took a deep breath and spoke quietly.

"My mother believes in sexual liberation for women in a sort of embarrassing way. She's almost forty and dressed like a nineteen year old on the weekends. She wears a lot of leggings, tank tops, heels, and skirts. Don't get me wrong, she's entitled to dress however she wanted, but her attitude is a little embarrassing. MILF-y in a way most girls probably didn't think their mom is. When I turned eighteen, she bought me, like, three hundred dollars worth of vibrators and dildos.

You can understand how mortified I was when I opened s big box at my birthday party and found anal beads.

But as embarrassed as I was, the thought of them infiltrated my sleep that weekend. I'd woken up in the middle of the night, my parents and siblings asleep, and crawled over to my drawer so I wouldn't trip over anything in the dark and wake the whole damn house up. I usually only wore my underwear to bed now, but back then I'd been wearing a silk nighty, which I felt rubbing against my carpet. I pulled open the drawer at the bottom of my dresser and carefully sat for what felt like ten minutes, examining the toys I'd left out, displayed for no one but myself.

My shaking hand reached in and finally decided on a small dildo only three or so inches long. I thought it would be -" I stopped. I was very embarrassed by how intensely he looked at me.

"I-I thought it would be easy for me to take. Since I'm a... a virgin." I blushed, wishing he would look away. He did, eventually, from my face. His eyes traced my legs, my ridiculous polka dotted socks that looked like they belonged to a seven year old. He waited.

"Anyway I laid back on the floor and spread my legs. My neck hurt because I didn't have a pillow but my bed squeaks and I was afraid to make noise. Then I stuck it in me... it hurt at first, I'd never even used my fingers until then. But after a little while it stopped hurting so much, so I tried pushing it in and out, still really slowly. And eventually I came for the first time. And since then I've been using these to try and make myself cum more than once. I've heard some girls can learn to do that."

He tilted his head, a smirk finding his face. "Maybe I could help you learn. I mean, to repay the tutoring you gave me for Spanish." He added after a second, as if he was just repaying my tutelage and not offering to help me orgasm more than once a day. I bit my lip. What the hell was I supposed to say? I didn't want to seem like I was begging for it and say yes, but I'd been expecting, well... it is our fourth date.

So far, we hadn't done more than kiss, he hadn't even copped a feel, which would've been cool of him. But now he was offering to skip, what, two bases? At least two. Point is, I felt trapped. Truth was, I was pretty nervous and had been expecting lights off, slow, sensual sex where he came a little too quick. I'd heard from some girlfriends that was common.

Yeah, I felt awkward, but not like I was being forced. I had been expecting this, I wanted this, and my only hesitation was really that I didn't want to seem slutty. I realized I'd been staring at Eric with a look of uncertainty on my face. The smirk left his face. Did he think he'd screwed himself over? Did he think he'd made me uncomfortable? He stood up before I could make a decision and I was so focused on him I stopped thinking, stopped breathing. He came up in front of me and pulled my chin up with his fingers, looking into my eyes. My knees got weak.

"Just tell me when to stop." He said, his lips colliding with mine. All thought left my mind. All sensation left me. I felt like I was asleep. When he pulled his lips away, His hands were on my shoulders. Mine were on his face.

"Your hands are on my face." He said. I nodded.

"Somehow." I said.

"Do you want me to stop?" He said.

"Why start listening to me now?" I questioned. He kissed me again. My hands went to his chest, tracing his jacket lines and grabbing his tie. His fell from my shoulders and dropped to my breasts. Maybe my best asset. But he was really gentle, simply weighing it in his hand and cupping one, squeezing gently. I moaned quietly.

He pulled away again. "Why don't we... move over there?" He asked me, indicating the bed with a tip of his head. I smiled and nodded, less shy now. I held onto his tie as he lead me to the sheets, one arm around my waist. I sat down on the bed, and he pulled off his jacket, treating me to a veiled view of his muscles, still underneath his shirt. When he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, he looked relaxed in a Ryan Gosling sort of way.

Then he sat between my legs, leaning foreword again and kissing me again, one hand reaching for the zipper on my dresses back. My tongue reciprocated against his and I tried to do my best. I was really nervous about how experienced he'd be compared to me. And to think, going into this date I'd thought I had an edge just because I'd had a few dildos in my snatch.

Once he'd unzipped my dress he only pulled it down around my rib cage, getting a better hold on my breasts. He didn't seem so surprised to see my black lacy bra, the only one in my closet remotely resembling sexy. I so wanted to impress him, since he did nothing but impress me without even trying. He left my bra on, but squeezed with more determination now, not fighting two layers of heavy fabric but one. The pressure was like an ocean against a beach, coming in and out with such natural motion.

I started working my bra strap since I wasn't an asshole and didn't want to make him struggle awkwardly with a clasp. But his hand stopped mine and then went lower to my skirt, not pulling my dress down and off but up so it was bunches around my torso. I'd made an effort to match my underwear today and boy was I glad. He started rubbing me through my panties, lips never stopping and one hand holding his weight from falling on me. I was breathing hard. My eyes suddenly realized they were closed and I opened them.

He was smiling through the kiss. "How about you tell me what you want me to use." He told me, though it was phrased like a question. I bit my lip.

"There's a purple dildo in my drawer that I like to use." I said quietly, kissing his cheek while mine burned red. Then he escaped my grasp and went to my drawer, finding the toy I'd told him about. Six inches long, it was the biggest dildo I owned. I knew my mom had some twice the size. He came back, holding it in his hand, examining it.

"Poly-resin, .8 kilos, 15 or 16 centimeters. My my." He said to himself. "You are adorable." He whispered to it, not intending me to hear. Then knelt on the bed again, gently nudging my legs together and reaching for the sides of my panties. He kissed my tummy and shimmied the lace off of my hips, his tongue drawing circles on my abdomen in an incredible way. I barely noticed my underwear wasn't covering the funny bits until he pulled it past my feet. Then I felt his tongue move lower.

Holy fuck. He'd skipped four bases. And boy, what a sixth.

His tongue ran over my clit and I twitched, my legs unconsciously wrapping around his back. But maybe he thought I'd be uncomfortable with someone down there. I felt the dildo rubbing against my labia, but I'd been soaking wet for five minutes or more. He pushed forward and I nearly came from the first thrust of a purple toy, not even his real cock.

The next thrust made me swear. The next made me shake. God, if he was this good with a toy... I might die. What a way to go out though, eh? Anyway, I was basically cumming my brains out now and I squeezed the dildo with the force of a black hole. I couldn't make any noise, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. All I did was cum, my body spasmimg.

When I gasped, my body now back in my control but still in aftershocks that would make Pompeii seems tame. I'd never known someone else taking the reigns, using the same gear, could make the horse go faster. But boy was Gunsmoke running. When I looked down at Eric, he was watching me with a kind of fascination: "D'aww, look how hard this chick came! Just from a little dildo! Bet she likes it up the ass, that whore."

But he said instead "Wow. Ready to try again?" He asked, glancing at my slippery twat, then back at me. I breathed deep.

"Why don't... we take a... little break?" I huffed, feeling my body recover slowly from my craziest orgasm in months." He nodded. Sitting up and watching me. He looked hungry, his eyes brazenly tracing my breasts, waist, down to my vulva and my thighs. Even after the intense intimacy of the past few minutes, I blushed at his gaze. I did that a lot, if you hadn't noticed.

I closed my eyes to focus on cooling off. It's not like I had a refractory period but I also had never done this before, I wasn't sure how much time I'd need. Do girls need to... get it up again? Man, fuck Sex Ed, never teaching me anything useful. Eric kissed me on the lips softly, not forcing his tongue in or anything like that, just smooching. That was the word I thought of as I fell asleep.

Smooching.