With Jane at the Semi-Formal

I placed my hands firmly on the carpet on either side of her hips and set about delivering a second load into her. By now her eyes opened again and she resumed spectating my laboring with a neutral gaze. The contrast between her apparent emotional passivity and the grasping of her eager, greedy cunt could not have been greater as I plowed into her, raising my whole body up onto my fingers and toes before crashing into her with terrible desire.

The springs of the rear suspension began to sing as I hurled toward another finish. I broke into a sweat as I my stiffness drilled into her again and again until I crested the wave. Five, six, seven thrusts of complete euphoria took me, roaring his passion before my angry member started uncontrollably firing seed into her welcoming womb. I continued thrusting as it churned and spewed its last.

When I could do no more, I rolled to her side gasping, and she looked at me for a moment or two before sitting up, retrieving her purse. I laid there spent watching her pull a packet of tissues and as she began to swab up moisture from her pussy. She wasn't quite fast enough. I saw a stream of milky liquid suddenly spill from her tiny, dark hole and snake down the crack of her ass to the carpet the moment she sat up.

Finally she spoke. "I couldn't get it all, there's still a damp spot here," she explained.

Though it was a factual statement rather than an apology, I replied, "the upholstery is black, no one will see it." As I sat up, still in awe of her, looking between her legs as she struggled to squeeze herself back into her panty-less hosiery.

When she finished I leaned into her for a kiss, and she responded with the same tentative demure demi-kiss that had started the whole affair. A few moments later, she unceremoniously crawled forward, and reached for the latch of the door. It may have been below freezing outside but in the car it was definitely hot and sticky.

Following her lead, I hitched up my pants, clamoring out of the car first to help her out. Once she stood up, she smoothed down her dress, fixed her hair by her reflection on the car window. She smiled gently as I looked at her face in the glass, but it was gone by the time she turned around gave me a tiny hug and a chaste peck on the cheek, before opening the passenger door herself and depositing herself into the seat.

The lingering mixture of euphoria and disbelief erased any memory of the ride to her house other than it was silent. I arrived at her driveway, and before I could say anything, she politely said "thank you" as she let herself out and quickly disappeared into her mansion without a second glance.

"What just happened?" I repeatedly asked myself in the days that followed. For all the girls I had dated up to that point, sex was a prize given to the winner of their game, one where weeks of flirtation, gifts, promises, and relative social status had to be digested before any heavy petting could commence. Jane was the opposite in every respect.

My selfish, teen ego hoped in vain for more dates with her, but alas, I never saw her again. "One-and-done" was apparently Jane's way, Cyndi told me later. Apparently Jane had a bad breakup at some point a year or two before our tryst and from then on made a habit of nearly anonymous, but vetted coupling was her way of satisfying her physical needs without jeopardizing her emotions again.

As long ago as it was, part of me still craves uncomplicated sex. It's not that sex it's isn't better with love, emotional connection, dominance, submission, or any passionate feeling of attachment. Instead, Jane taught me that that sex at its most basic is a very ordinary and natural act, as simple as eating or breathing. I sometimes wish it was that way still.