R: The First Installment

I looked out of my window over the low-slung buildings, broken by the black canals that paved the city and melted into the grey sky. My hair, straight ironed out of its kinky spirals into soft, sleek brown sheets, blew backwards into the narrow room, floating on the gusts of wind that threw themselves forcefully in and then dissipated to a gentle rustle that only barely pushed the Do Not Disturb sign on the inside of the door.

Walking to the bathroom, I dropped my robe at my feet, trying not to catch my reflection in the mirror as I lifted one leg onto the upholstered stool and roughly sawed a cold washcloth over my vagina, pushing it back to my anus and prying, cleaning myself again as I had before. Bending down, I lifted the robe to the bench and turned to the closet. Pulling on a pair of the white Jockey briefs that my mother had bought for me since I was seven, I reached for the discreet knee-length black skirt that hung from a heavy wooden hanger, suspended by bright metal clips that glinted in the blackness of my wardrobe. I shuffled into a firm, slightly yellowed bra that held my breasts close to my body and flat against my ribcage, and covered myself with a ribbed black tank top. Slipping into the pointy black stilettos that I had bought for the occasion, I started to anticipate the moment: R—I didn’t even know his name—the man, the only man, the one who had comforted me through the blue and white screen of our computers as he sat six hours ahead in the early morning of Europe as I cried alone in my room through the night in New York, the man who had made me moan for touch even though I didn’t know what that was and the man who had made me hurt with wanting was finally going to step out of the abstract.

I was in Amsterdam, supposedly satisfying my wanderlust by traveling around the world for a year before beginning my time at university and entering into the predetermined life of a girl reared in the right Manhattan zip code. Meeting R wasn’t my way of rebelling against my parents; I didn’t need to fuck a relative stranger who I met through the internet, lose my virginity in a hotel room to someone fourteen years my senior—that’s what smoking up with my gay best friend in my parents’ apartment while they were away for the weekend was for. I needed to do this for me, because for the last ten years I had been obsessing over school and my future and perfection, and I was tired and dead. I had immortalized sex, seen it as a cathartic experience that would make up for the abuse and anguish that I had been put through and put myself through. The only problem was, I was terrified.

And that’s how he found me: rigid against the wall clutching a perfume bottle and shaking in my stilettos, shocked into petrification by his curt knocks and the swiftness with which he opened and closed the unlocked door, invading the space that I had been alone in for the past day in a way that seemed, at the time, more personal than anything he could do to my body.

“Darling.” His voice was husky and tinged with the hollow Northern European accent that had crackled through my cell phone in the middle of the night while I touched myself for him. He took one long stride and came close to me, his black pants and button down shirt touching my body, the dark colors of our clothes brushing together in a gothic copulation of fiber. I had time to look up and see his blond hair brush over his light blue eyes as they closed and lowered towards my eyes, his lips searching for my mouth. We kissed. “Was that the first?”

I grunted into his neck and nodded my head up and down. My lips burned and my tongue sat heavily in my mouth, still tingling from the coolness of his tongue brushing against it. My chest and stomach ached with the familiar throbbing dullness that came whenever I thought of R, and I leaned heavily against his broad chest as my legs dripped with the entirely new feeling between them.

“You have a lot to learn. But that’s okay. No one’s spoiled you.”

“I’ll do anything…” I wanted to belong to him, to feel safe because I wasn’t responsible. I slid down to my knees in front of him.

“Oh Sweety. You don’t have to. Not now.”

“I want to.” I undid his belt and pulled the zipper of his trousers, drawing them down to his knees with his deep green boxer shorts. I stared at his cock, touching it gently, velvet on the outside and flared, hardening and lengthening in front of me. I rubbed my face against it and looked up at him. “It’s…you’re so beautiful.” Clutching the base with my hand, wrapping my fingers around him but not able to completely, I took his head into my mouth and suckled gently, Drawing more and more into my mouth and swallowing him until my throat was opening and closing on his cock and my nose was nestled in his light pubic hair. One hand pushed him away from me, controlling the spastic jerking of his pelvis, the other reached between his legs, squeezing his balls as he told me to do in his emails. His breathing quickened. He groaned and my mouth was filled with warm saltiness that trickled down my throat and fell down my chin in a long string as I released his cock. Wiping him off, I pulled his shorts and pants up, redoing the belt and then standing in front of him, waiting.

He selected a CD, sliding it competently into the modern, sleek sound system that accented the otherwise classic room, and then placed both hands heavily on my shoulder. Turning me towards the full length mirror, he pulled me against him, and started to run his hands over me. His fingertips brushed over the bones in my neck, down over my shoulders, stroking the sides of my breasts that protruded slightly through the armholes of my shirt, drawing breathy sighs from my nose as my eyes slid closed; I was reveling in the unfamiliarity of human contact.

“No. Keep them open. Watch. Look at yourself.” He delivered the commands as he drew the top up off my body and over my head, my arms lifting to accommodate him while at the same time longing to cover myself from his intense presence. Moving to the puffy white skin straining above the bra, he stroked into my cleavage before slipping his hands around to touch my shoulder blades and reassuringly rub up and down my spine. As he undid my bra and pushed it off my arms, my stomach muscles tightened and my arms clenched against my sides. Trying to relax me, he returned to my breasts, teasing them and brushing the pads of his thumbs over my nipples. His hands slid down my stomach, into the waist-band of my skirt, pushing it off the back of my hips to the floor. Dropping to his knees, he wrapped his hands around the top of my left thigh, just brushing the flat space covered by my panties, causing my whole body to jerk and flinch before he continued down the length of my leg to my foot, where he pulled off my left shoe. He did the same with my right foot, and then stood in front of me and allowed his fingers to brush against my pussy once more, this time causing the room to be filled with the musky scent of my arousal. He swung around my once more, his hands appearing from behind me in our reflection and then delving into my panties, fingering the thick tufts of hair and then stroking the slit of my pussy. My body and my head fought, one responding to the comforting pleasure while the other fired with ingrained responses of prudence and resistance. I leaned against him and trembled, feeling the sweat start to form on my body and squeeking out high pitched, tortured moans that mixed sensation and fear. Pushing the panties down my thighs, he motioned for me to step out of them. Leaning over me, dropping dry kisses on my shoulders and the back of my neck, nesting into my hair, he gently pulled the hairs that descended in an unruly triangle beneath my stomach.

“We’ll start here.” Taking my hand, he led me to the bed and pushed me down on the edge. He disappeared into the recess that made up the bathroom area and office of the room. I heard the opening and closing of drawers, the running of water as the cool air wrapped around my body, bringing my nipples to further tense points. Returning, his shoes padding silently through the deep carpet, he stroked my arm once and then laid out unseen objects on the floor. Drawing a pillow down to the base of the bed, he spread a large white bath sheet over it and then laid me down on top of the terry cloth, my hips elevated and my body completely exposed. Coming to the side of the bed, he kissed me and rubbed my writs, relaxing and massaging my hands before laying them above my head. “You’ll enjoy this. I promise.” He returned to the base of the bed and I heard a sloshing sound and then the dripping of water. My body rippled involuntarily as he laid the hot cloth over the top of my pussy and then liquefied as he returned to the top of the bed and started to massage my head. Whispered groans poured out of my slightly open lips as my eyes slid slowly shut, lulled by the circular motions of his fingers on my temples and the feeling of being cared for utterly.

As the steam stopped coming from the hot towel he returned to remove it, guiding my legs up and then spreading them flat and wide. My entire cunt was spread out to him, but I reveled in the vulnerability. I felt only gentle pulling as he snipped the hair covering me down to the skin, then the cool layer of shaving cream he applied. I stayed still and enjoyed the firm maneuvering of my legs as he removed the hair from my bikini line and the long strokes of the razor caressing the top of my pussy. His fingers touched me and spread me, the hand guiding the razor becoming more tentative and cautious as he removed the sparse hair clinging to my entrance. The air was cut by the stringent scent of the sample-sized aftershave that had been sitting next to the small soap on the tray above my sink. Soon I felt the bracing coolness on the skin around my pussy followed by the warmth of him breathing over me.

He rose from between my legs and came up over me, the hardness of his crotch settling in against my freshly shaved pussy, my insides clenching and unclenching in response to the smooth fabric pressing against me. The buckle of his belt jutted into my stomach and the solidness of his body pressed me into the bed. Kissing me, nibbling my lower lip and then lifting himself to kiss and chew my breasts, he lifted himself above me and moved downwards, back between my legs to part the folds of my pussy with his tongue. The aching that had been intensifying in the pit of my stomach resolved into a pulse of wetness that landed on his tongue. Taken by the intensity, I begged him in half-coherency to stop; I told him that he “couldn’t put his mouth there.”

“Don’t be a silly girl. I can put my mouth where I fucking want it.” He was powerful and I gave in to all the things that my mother wouldn’t approve of, the things that I was taught to be ashamed of, the things that bad girls did. He laid kisses up and down my crack and explored me. He got up, went to the closet, grabbed the empty hanger that used to hold my shirt and slid one of the clips off the wire. Pulling my right leg away from my body, he grabbed my pussy lip and clamped it within the harsh metal clip. I squealed and scream and shook, tears almost starting. Seeing my reaction he reached for it hastily, prepared to remove the source of pain that he had caused. “No…no.” I could barely form the words but still knew that I need the pain, that I wanted it. He smiled, proud of me, and reached up for my left nipple, pinching it tightly with his right hand and causing sparks of pain to fly through my torso and stars to erupt behind my closed eyes.

Lowering his mouth, he attacked me with ravenous twistings of his tongue, capturing me and sucking, stabbing, ranging from the startling, clenching intensity of his mouth on my clit that snapped my body off the sheets and turned the sparks of pain to currents of electricity to the dull pleasure of his tongue lapping the space behind my vagina. His tongue swirled around my anus despite my desire to pull away I was fused to him and to the feelings he was causing. Going back to my clit, he fastened on to its small hardness and my limbs went rigid.

The most extreme pain tightened and coiled behind my stomach muscles and blew through my head. “Stop. Stop. Oh please for fuck’s sake stop. God. Stop, R. Please fucking stop. God it hurts. It hurts. Please.” And then my voice caught in the back of my throat and my lungs collapsed and the air in me was forced out to the roof of my mouth and my body twisted and the force of his arm across my abdomen was the only thing holding me to the earth as years of expectation and desire and unfulfilled need bottled and condensed and then vanished through every pore of my body with the sweat pouring over me and the throbbing in my breast and pussy and heart and wrists and gushed away with the clip he ripped off leaving me limp and lost and pooled in the sheets with R lying along side of me stroking my tear-soaked cheek.

“What happened?” My voice came out in a ragged whisper.

He laughed. “That’s what life is about…just trying to feel that. To feel this.”

“What’s your name?”

“Richard.”