Ghosted

Warning: This story contains a group sex scene, and some light bondage.

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It was a few years after I graduated college. All of my friends had hooked up; some were married, some were living together, and some were just serious about each other. Sarah and I were the only ones who did not have a steady man. It helped that we were both bisexual, so we did not die of sexual loneliness. Sarah could give a mean strap-on. Still, I wanted a man of my own.

Dylan had seemed like a good choice. He was the best friend of Daphne's boyfriend, he was good looking, personable, gregarious, and he hung out with the gang. He made a habit of dating some of the women in our gang of friends. Rumor has it he had gone through several of the women of our group in the past.

I was not sure why it never seemed to last with Dylan and my girlfriends, but now, apparently, it was my turn with Dylan. I joined the gang when we all went out drinking to celebrate Mary turning 25, and everyone got plastered, including yours truly. We must have visited 8 different bars that night.

Dylan walked me home 'to make sure I got home safely.' I was not worried; the East Village in New York was not dangerous. Dylan came up the five flights of stairs to my walk-up apartment, presumably to get a goodnight kiss. He got one all right, and one thing led to another, and the next morning I woke up naked, with a splitting hangover headache, a dry mouth, and a muscular, hairy arm resting on my bare boobs.

When a girl wakes up naked with no memory, a hangover, and a man in her bed, her first thought is typically, 'Did we?' I reached down, hesitantly stuck a finger inside, and quickly realized, oh yeah, we sure did. Boy, we quite certainly did. Probably we went at it more than once, unless Dylan produces more cum that any other man I've ever known.

It's really frustrating when one has no memory of the sex, you know? Some people think the anticipation is the best part, others think the memory is the best part, and of course some think being in the moment is the best. Right then I was zero for three. Damn.

I lay there, listening to Dylan snore, and I got up, almost fainting from the pain in my head, went to the bathroom, and I quickly downed two Tylenol. It was not really Tylenol, it was arthritis strength CVS fake Tylenol. I drank a full 12-ounce glass of water, and then I did my morning ablutions. Nothing helped.

I slipped on a large T shirt left behind by an old boyfriend, and padded to the kitchen to make coffee. I got carried away and made bacon and eggs for Dylan and me. I brought them to my little dining table, set up two place settings, and went to look in on Dylan. He was still snoring loudly, still naked, and still with his arm reaching out for my boobs, even if my boobs were no longer there. They were sitting proudly under my T shirt, far out of his reach.

I ate breakfast, read yesterday's paper (the parts I had not read yesterday), and then sat in my lone armchair with a book. Not wanting to soil the chair with any residual leaking cum, I first returned to my bedroom and grabbed a pair of panties. Two hours later, more or less, the background drone of snoring stopped, and my big hunk of a man stumbled to my bathroom. I heard him mutter to himself, "Where am I?"

Did Dylan even know he had fucked me last night? For the naked male visitor to one's apartment to have such a confusion is not especially good for a girl's ego. He stumbled out to the living room and he saw me sitting there. I was amused, watching his body lumber. He was tall, muscular, hairy, and quite naked. I'm not sure if it was he himself who looked good, or if any naked, decent looking man staring at me with lust in his eyes would have looked good to me just then.

"Sally!" Dylan exclaimed. I could see his mind working. He was asking himself, 'Did I fuck Sally last night? Is that why I'm here?' He was smart enough not to say that aloud, however, thank goodness. "My, you look good this lovely morning."

"Dylan, it is snowing, mixed with ice and freezing rain outside. It's not a lovely morning, I'm afraid."

"You sitting there dressed in a T shirt and pretty lace panties, as you are, and with me here in your apartment, makes this morning lovely," Dylan said, and then he looked thoughtful. "I was really drunk last night." I realized he could see my lace panties from the way I was sitting. Well, we had fucked last night after all, so it seemed appropriate not to be overly modest.

"I was drunk, too," I confessed. "Want two Tylenol? I made breakfast a while back. Want some cold bacon and eggs, with some warm coffee?"

"God yes, to all of it," Dylan replied.

I got up, and Dylan stared at me, as if I were on display, wearing only a T shirt and panties. I have nice legs, I'm told, and Dylan was clearly enjoying them. My T shirt was thin, and my nipples were hard and poked at my T shirt, mostly because my apartment was cold, since I had inadequate heat. Dylan could no doubt see the shadow of my areolas through the T shirt, and of course he could see my nipples, as they gave their best imitation of lead round nose bullets. Given the way I was dressed, Dylan was getting a rather excellent understanding of the feminine virtues of my body.

"You're pretty, Sally," Dylan remarked.

"Thanks, Dylan. I like you, too," I said as I grabbed two imitation Tylenol. I knew Dylan calling me pretty was his way of saying he liked the look of my suggestively clothed body. Dylan looked embarrassed, and I can see why, given what he said next. "Sally," he began, "Do you remember much of last night?"

"Some of it," I said. "Do you?"

"I'm afraid not," he said. "If I may ask, just because you look so pretty, and I'm here and naked and all..."

I smiled at Dylan, and said, "Yes, Dylan, we did it. We made love. You don't remember?"

Dylan did not answer, but looked at his feet. His flaccid cock began to grow. "Any chance we can do it again now?"

I saw no reason not to do it again. I could not remember a thing, and it would be nice to know if he was a good fuck or not, I rationalized to myself. If he was in fact a good fuck, I could enjoy a good morning fuck. In my experience, that's a great way to start a day.

I did not want to seem too easy, however. I said, "We're no longer both drunk. Neither of us really knew what we were doing last night. And I have a splitting headache." Cleverly, I must say, that was not a definitive no. Nor was it any kind of a yes, either.

"Sally, I have been lusting after you for weeks. I want to enjoy your body. I want to give you extraordinary pleasure. Please?" and Dylan walked over to me and he kissed me tenderly. I kissed him back. I suddenly remembered kissing him last night, too. He pulled me to a standing position as we continued our kiss. What can I say? The man kissed well. He kissed very well. I have a true weakness for a man who kisses me well.

His hands went to my ass and slipped underneath my panties. I also just as suddenly remembered him doing exactly that last night, as well. I guess he has his moves, and they don't vary much. I broke the kiss and pushed him away.

"Eat your breakfast, Dylan. I made it for you," I said, putting a little distance between us.

"It looks yummy," Dylan remarked. "Will you join me, you sexy woman?"

I smiled. "I already ate. I'll sit with you and drink some more coffee."

We sat together talking while Dylan ate and I sipped my coffee. I love watching a man eat. They are not so dainty as we women are. They eat with gusto, enjoying their food. Vive la différence.

When Dylan finished noisily inhaling his food and coffee, he leaned over and gently kissed me again. He again pulled me up to a standing position, and he lifted my T shirt over my head. He led me back to the bed, and I saw a puddle of dried up cum where I had slept during the night. I hate lying on 'the wet spot,' and I made sure I avoided it as he lay me down on my back.

Dylan kissed me and he fondled my boobs, tweaking my nipples and eventually moving his mouth down to suck on them a bit. He pushed my panties down and off, and then he fingered me wonderfully. When he knew I was ready he climbed on top of me.

"How can I not remember such a sexy woman as you are, Sally?" Dylan said.

"Dylan, I'm sexy because I'm naked beneath you with my legs spread wide. You'd find any woman in that position sexy, wouldn't you?"

Dylan smiled. "Belittle it all you want, Sally, but I think you're sexy as hell. Now let's see how you fuck," he said as he thrust his cock all the way inside me in one sudden and forceful thrust. He realized his mistake, and he added the word, "Again."

"Mmmm," I said, and I meant it, too. We made blissful love twice that morning. Truth be told, I loved his two fucks. I could do this all day, I thought, if only I did not have such a horrible headache! He wanted a blowjob and an anal fuck, too, but there is only so much I can handle when I'm hung over and feeling the effects in spades.

He got dressed, kissed me goodbye while I stood at my door naked, and walked out of my apartment, and out of my life. He did not visit, he did not write, he did not call, he did not text, he did not Facebook.

He ghosted me.

We have lots of the same friends, of course, so it was inevitable our paths would cross. When they did, he was with my good friend Sarah. He was with my fuck buddy! I found all this hard to take. Leaving me high and dry is one thing, but then stealing away my lesbian partner is altogether another.

I don't fuck a man casually, and I had wanted to see where things would have gone with Dylan. Apparently, he did not want the same things, and he was too much of a jerk to tell me in person. I hate that.

There really isn't much one can do to take revenge on a man who's ghosting you. My mother would have said that the best revenge is to get on with your life and forget the jerk. Of course, I would never discuss these things with my mother, but if I had, that's what she would have said.

My Dad would say I have a lot to offer, and any man with a brain would be thrilled to have me. This just means that there are a lot of men out there without brains, I guess, since it seems most men are just not that interested in me.

I needed to get out more. I needed to go beyond my comfortable world of about ten girlfriends, to go beyond the universe of Dylans, the men who make conquests and then ghost the girl. I could go the digital route and try to meet a man that way, but I felt that should be a last resort.

I had tried religion, but jeez, the men who met women through church were just not the kind of men I wanted to meet. Being a bit alienated, I needed a man with an edge, not a man who read scripture for fun. I had nothing against such people, don't get me wrong, it just wasn't my cup of tea when it came to sex with a man.

I once knew a man who would quote the bible to me, as a seduction technique. Boy, was I the wrong person for that tactic! His favorite seduction verse was Proverbs 7:13: "She took hold of him and kissed him and with a brazen face she said: Today I fulfilled my vows, and I have food from my fellowship offering at home. So I came out to meet you; I looked for you and have found you! I have covered my bed with colored linens from Egypt. I have perfumed my bed with myrrh, aloes and cinnamon. Come, let's drink deeply of love till morning; let's enjoy ourselves with love!"

He did not get beyond 'second base' with me. He might have had more of a chance if he had in fact covered his bed with colored linens from Egypt, and perfumed his bed with myrrh, aloes and cinnamon. If he could not find myrrh in New York, he could have skipped that part. I would have spread my legs just for the rest, I'm sure. In his case, though, his sheets were not from Egypt but from Bed, Bath, and Beyond. His sheets were not only not perfumed, they were not even clean.

I tried my college alumni mixers, but most of the single guys were ten years older than I was, and kind of sad, to boot. They had money, though, and functioning equipment. I tried one or two of them, but these guys just wanted to get laid by a pretty young thing, and while I had a most satisfying romp in a couple of their beds, afterwards we went our separate ways.

There were men I worked with too, of course. But once I had slept with one of them, all of them seemed instantly to know, and when I dumped him, all the other men thought less of me. My former lover from work then told all the other men what I was like in bed, too, and I ended up having to change jobs. It's hard to work in an environment where all your male coworkers know you can deep throat a guy, for example, and what sounds you make when you moan during sex.

Life was hard. It seemed easy for me to get laid, but hard to find a man I wanted to have a continuing sexual relationship with. It was Sarah who gave me the idea. She said, "Why don't you meet a man the old-fashioned way?"

I looked at her, not understanding.

"In a bar, Sally. In a bar. Why don't you meet a man in a bar?" Sarah said.

Mary is a lush. She likes to drink, perhaps she likes it a bit too much. Even though she has a partner, she decided to be my wing woman and we went to a boy-meets-girl bar on the lower east side. Sarah had been right. Eligible men were a dime a dozen at those bars. Half were younger than I was, but the other half of them were my age or older.

I found one who did not smell bad, and could carry on a conversation. It was loud in the bar; it's loud everywhere in New York. So when Mike (his name) proposed we go to the nearby park and sit on a bench so that we could talk and get to know each other, I jumped at the invitation.

Mike and I began to date. After the third or fourth date I had the courage to bring him to the gang as my boyfriend. He was not my boyfriend in the biblical sense, however, as we had not yet done the deed. I was tired of fucking a guy and being ghosted afterwards.

When I saw the reaction of Sarah, Mary, Daphne, and my other friends, though, all of whom, without exception, seemed to think Mike was a great catch, I decided to take him home and make a boyfriend out of him. I knew Mike was more than ready to taste the pleasures of my flesh.

One thing I've learned from the dating scene for the 20 somethings in New York is that there are a lot of unusual men out there. Okay, let's admit it. Some of these guys are just downright strange. Try to find a man who only wants to fuck a girl in the missionary position and tell her he loves her, and you'll be frustrated. No, it seems to be stylish to be sexually weird these days.

Mike was no exception, but I was not prepared for just how weird he was. He was into the woman being a submissive. I had never met a man like that before, but I'm game for most anything. It's a good thing I'm game for most anything, too, since lord knows I've experienced a lot of anything, already. So, I played along.

He called me 'slave,' and I had to call him 'master.' He wanted me naked, with a collar and a leash, and he wanted me to crawl around, and submit to spanking. I'm a flexible girl, and I knew some men have their own particular kinks, but this was a little bit beyond the pale. I was horrified by the idea he was going to spank me, but when he did, with me stark naked across his thighs and his massive and fierce erection touching my body, I must confess I found it to be erotic.

Then he tied me up. Nobody had ever tied me up before. You have to trust the man to enjoy being tied up, or else you can just be a self-destructive idiot. The latter was a good description of me, I guess. I did not know Mike well enough to trust him, but I let him tie me up anyway.

The strangest part of the whole thing is that he never tried to fuck me. He could have, too. I would have welcomed a break of some normalcy, especially the kind that traditional sex brings to a relationship. He did have me blow him, however, and he seemed particularly pleased that I could deep throat him. When I had been in high school, deep throating boys had been my own personal recipe for birth control, so if one considers too all of the fellatio of my college years, one could say I was experienced. I gave a great blowjob.

Blowjobs were fun for me, too, but I was not going to get serious sexual relief from them. I needed something below the waist for me, too, you know? How was I to know it would be the spanking? This was so weird!

Mike spent the night, and yet still we did not fuck. The next morning, we had a long talk. I told him what I wanted, almost needed. We compromised. If I let him tie me up spread eagle on top the bed, and I let him invite a friend over to watch. Then he would 'fuck the living daylights out of me.' Well, I was getting sick and tired of all the living daylight inside me, so I readily agreed.

I was not sure how I felt about having a voyeur come over to my bedroom to watch us fuck, but as I said, I'm a flexible girl, and I'm sure that I will never be admitted to the moral majority. No, I am more likely to be admitted as a charter member of the immoral minority. That much is clear.

Mike's friend Ezekiel came over. Mike dug out his professional grade bondage materials, and I was quickly stripped naked and bound spread eagle on the bed. Mike then applied a blindfold, and a ball gag. I became alarmed. Mike teased me with his fingers, and then he said words that made my blood chill. "You have one guess as to who is fucking you, Sally. Is it me, or is it Ezekiel?"

This was too weird even for me, but I was not exactly in a position to protest, now was I? I could not move, and I could not speak. Even though Mike was pushing me beyond my limits, my body did not seem to think that, as my pussy was soaking wet and ready to receive a nice, warm, hard cock. It was not just ready, it was crying out 'Feed me! Feed me!'

Somebody climbed up on me, and I felt a nice thick cock enter me. I sighed the sigh of relief. I was finally fucking Mike, and it felt wonderful. I was moaning in pleasure.

Well, it was indeed wonderful, unless, of course, I was fucking Ezekiel? Oh, my goodness, this was too horrible to contemplate. The major problem, though, was that I was loving it. Not knowing which man was actually fucking me, Mike or Ezekiel, turned me on beyond all reason. I think that was Mike's plan, too.

It turned out it did not matter who was fucking me, because after he pulled out at the last minute and came all over my stomach and boobs, the other man entered me right away. As soon as man number two began pumping away inside me, I exploded in a lovely climax. I had a second orgasm when man number two exploded inside me, filling me with his cum.

I was released, and my blindfold was removed. I gave each of them a blowjob, complete with some nice deep throating. The three of us spent the night, kissing and with me cooing, and I leisurely fucked each of them the next morning. I made the two men breakfast, and while we ate, I tried to make it clear that I was Mike's girl, and this time with Ezekiel, while super sexy and pleasurable, was a one off.

Ezekiel did not like that idea. I think he was hooked on me. Mike, on the other hand, was a bit too weird for me. What can I say? After an awkward two weeks, I began seeing Ezekiel, and we really hit it off.

I did not ghost Mike; besides, he was friends with Ezekiel. Mike seemed to know, anyway, that while it was true that I was at the kinky end of the sexual spectrum, I was most certainly not in his league. Ezekiel, on the other hand, was a perfect match for me.

The gang accepted Ezekiel. Everyone called him Zeke, except for me. I knew he preferred Ezekiel, but the American male imperative of monosyllabic names could not be bent. Ezekiel knew this, and he was cool. I was happy. I had my man.