A One Night Stand

Sorry for the delay in posting; my modem died. Here’s the story….

Rick was from Statford, and I don’t remember how or why, but I ended up going to his place in Stratford.  I think there was a bunch of us (not Kate) and that we got really stoned so no one could drive.  I’m not sure why I ended up at his place alone, but there I was saying good night and preparing to sleep on his couch.

 I passed out for a while, then I woke with someone shaking me.  Of course, it was Rick.  Now you’ve got to understand, Rick was not my type, in fact, he was that lanky, druggy type with light brown hair that always looked greasy and wrinkled clothes that I was sure never washed.  Normally, I would never be with someone like him as I’d be afraid of catching something. 

Also, this is when I had trouble with sex and had only had successful sex very recently with another Rick.

 So this Rick stood over me naked and telling me that he had always wanted me and could he “make love” – hah! (that’s what I remember thinking then) to me.  He had quite a hard on, and without his clothes on, he looked even more washed out than normal.  In the dim light, I looked at him and said something like, “We really shouldn’t; what about Kate.”  And my evil little mind started to think, yes, what about Kate.  Wouldn’t it serve her right if I slept with her boyfriend.  After all, she had either slept with or dated almost everyone (or so I was thinking then) that any of us had ever been interested in (including we were sure all of the local band, or so she’s said) AND then there was the stuff with my father.

 So, in quite a calculated manner, I said sure.  He asked me to take my pants off, so I did.  As I recall, I left my tee shirt on.  In those days, no one was ever interested in my breasts anyway (in fact, Tom was the first to ever pay any attention to my breasts).  I lay back down on the couch somewhat like a limp doll feeling awkward but triumphant.  As I recall, it was one of those couches without a back; I forget what they’re called, so I could drape my legs over both sides.

 Rick climbed on and pumped away at me.  I was surprised that he could penetrate given my history and lack of arousal, and it was very painful.  I remember looking up at the ceiling and hoping I wouldn’t catch crabs as I remembered that Kate had recently said that she had crabs (and thankfully, I didn’t).  And no, I can’t make up a scene for you with him because I really didn’t like him :).

 When it was over, he climbed off and thanked me.

 I don’t remember how I got home the next day, but I do remember seeing Kate, who was coming down from a chemical high and was crashing.  I cheerfully told her that I’d just been with Rick and repeated back to her what she’d said to me – “I just thought you should know.” or something to that effect.  I remember being quite proud that I’d repeated exactly what she’d said to me.

 So, that was my bitchy time.  It’s the only time that I ever played the “female witch” game with another female.  I could have cared less if I hurt Kate at the time, and very soon thereafter she moved, and I didn’t see much of her if at all.


Tom – The Shower Scene

A ripple of pleasure ran down my back bringing me out of the depths of dreamless sleep.  I woke to find him leaning on one arm looking at me and playing with my back.  I could not believe that running his finger down my spine could ignite the waves of desire I was feeling.  I was uncomfortable lying so exposed in the sunlight streaming though the lacy shears.  I jumped up and grabbed my robe.

“Where are you going,” he said as he reached for my arm.  I was too quick for him.

“I’m going to have a shower.  Do you need the bathroom?”  I asked as I moved toward the door.  I needed some space; time to think.  He was still there.  He’d stayed another night.  The only time he’d left my side was when I was in the bathroom.  I felt sticky with our sex and wondered if he felt the same way.

I wasn’t used to having a guy want to play with my body.  I wasn’t used to having one around me all the time.  I wasn’t used to any of it and had no idea how I felt about it.

I locked the door, peed, and stepped into the shower feeling the powerful stream of hot water wash away the juices of our sex that covered me.  As I ran my hands over my body, waves rippled through me as images of our sex flashed through my mind—his finger in my cunt, his finger on my clit, his hands gliding over my stomach.

He keeps looking at my body.  What’s that about?

For a moment I plunged back into my awkwardness.  But, part of me felt excited.  A guy finally wanted to look at me and feel me.  Why?

I jumped as the shower curtain moved.  He stepped into the shower.

“What the hell. . . . “

“Shhhhhh.”  He put his finger against my lips.

My heart hammered as anger, excitement and curiosity coursed through me.  He’d jimmied the lock on the door.  Now he wanted to take a shower with me.  I just couldn’t wash in front of him though, that was too intimate.  I started to panic.  He turned me around, put my hands up on the wall, and ran his hands down the creamy softness of my stomach and thighs.  It was like he couldn’t get enough of me—seeing me, touching me, hearing me, me.


Tom – Part 3

After he left, I crawled back into bed and cried myself to sleep.  I’d just drifted off when the phone rang.  I picked up the receiver; eyes still closed, and muttered a cotton-wool hello.  I heard a chuckle, and an adorable male voice said, “Get up, unlock the door and go back to bed.  If you have any clothes on, take them off.”  I was instantly excited.

My eyes flew open.  “Tom, is that you?  What are you doing?  Are you at work?  Why should I unlock the door?”

“Are you wearing any clothes?” Tom asked laughing.

“Aren’t you going to get into trouble?  Shouldn’t you be at work?”  As usual when excited, I babbled.

“I’ll be there shortly.”  And he hung up.

I was wide awake by this time and breathless with anticipation.  I unlocked the door, crawled back in bed and waited.  Time walked through quick sand and Tom didn’t come.  I grew certain it had all been a joke.  Depressed and eventually drowsy, I drifted toward sleep.

I awoke lying curled up with my back to Tom’s stomach as he gently ran his fingers over the length of my body.  Slowly, ever so slowly, he stroked me, covering almost every inch of my body from neck to knees. I reached for his touch like embers for bellows.  He whispered, revelling in the beauty of my physique as he explored, his breath a faint breeze stirring my ear.  Desire like I’d never felt ignited the unlit fire of my sexuality as I lay feeling him touch me as no man had touched me before and listening as his voice joined the caress.  For the first time, my juices started to flow over the crack of my ass and down my thighs.  My body took on a life of its own.  My breasts grew hard, pushing out my nipples as they burst under his gentle manipulations.  Frenzied with new-found excitement, I writhed and reached for him in a state of clumsy arousal.  Here was the birth of my impatience, or maybe it was just gluttony.  Whichever, I’d started to feel pleasure, and I couldn’t wait for more.  And I was sober.

Without words, but with firm pressure, he stilled me, making me wait.  I remember starting to whimper then feeling his full lips brush mine with quiet insistence, stilling me.  His murmurs assured me that we were in no hurry; he needed time to sip the nectar of my body.  And all the while, his touch, his desire, his attention made me feel I was the most desirable woman in existence.  His desire for me was opening up a depth of desire I never knew I had.  I turned toward him submerged in the responses awakening in my body. Feeling the nerves come alive, I yearned for him to touch me, although I dared not consciously think where.

Like a marionette, his fingers seemed to coach my thighs open as if he gently pulled the strings of my conscious will.  The tips of his fingers wandered up and down the insides of my legs, sometimes brushing over my sex.  Barely.  I tried to relax and enjoy the sensation but could not control the thrusting of my hips.  The entrance to my vagina tightened and throbbed with engorgement.  My mound strained toward his fingers begging for release from this building pain.  With each thrust, he stopped stroking until I won control over these involuntary contractions.  After what seemed an eternity, he began to rub his fingers up and down my clit, first dipping into the origin of my dripping juices then slowly spreading them around the entire vaginal area.

This went on for what seemed an eternity.  None of the usual sad excuses for what men called foreplay I had previously experienced.  He seemed like he had all the time in the world and wanted to take all that time with me.  When I was screaming with frustration, he slowly entered me, and began the dance all over again with slow rhythmic thrusts.  He asked nothing of me, but his body demanded everything of me.  I gave what I had.  It wasn’t much.  As our sweat-soaked bodies subsided into quiescence, he ran his fingers over my back.  He hadn’t leapt up; he was still there whispering about my beauty.  I lay worried that I wasn’t good enough for him.  I had no idea how to be a good lover.  As if he read my mind, he said, “We’re just getting started, my precious.  There’s more, much more, you’ll see.”


Tom – Part 2

Gem and I whispered and giggled the night away.  There was no sleeping with such a cute guy in the room.  Every so often, we sat up and looked to see if he was asleep, then threw ourselves back on our pillows in a renewed fit of giggles.  He was always in the same position—propped up on one elbow looking up at us and smiling.  He never said a word unless we addressed him directly.

Sometime near dawn, we fell asleep.  When we awoke, rather grumpy with our hangovers, we went our separate ways agreeing to meet again that night at Tom’s place.  Gem and I spent the day together, groaning over our hangovers and arguing about whether Tom was attracted to me.  Gem felt he was; I was sure he wasn’t.  After supper, still suffering with our deadly tequila hangovers, we knocked on their apartment door.  Again, Dalton answered the door and invited us in.  Tom was sitting in the recliner, this time dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.  After Dalton took our coats, we sat in exactly the same places we had the night before.  Tom got up, came over and squatted beside me.  My heart literally stopped.  While looking up at me, he asked how we were feeling after our bout with tequila.  His answer to our groans was to produce some vile looking concoction guaranteed to cure any hangover.  With some persuasion, he got us to drink it.  It did the trick and before long, we were ready to party the night away.

The night proceeded in a similar fashion to the previous night with one small exception.  Only Tom came home with me. And again I showed him to the mattress on the floor.  Sometime during the night, he ended up in my bed.  The sex wasn’t anything spectacular, but I was jubilant.  A few kisses, some tentative exploring with his hands until he discovered how wet I was, then in up to the hilt.  A few thrusts later and he came.  I expected nothing else having experienced nothing else.

One of the cutest guys I’d ever met had wanted me, me.  And he’d chosen me over Gem.  Poor Gem, bless her soul.  As it ended up, she got stuck with Dalton, who’s closest living relative was a orangatang, but she made the supreme sacrifice for my sake.  After all, what are friends for, she later told me.

Sunday was pretty much a blur for me.  We woke late and had something to eat.  I was expecting company that afternoon.  A woman I’d met during a history class I audited named Sib and her roommate, Red.  I kid you not.  Her real name was Dorcas but she was known to one and all as Red.  I expected Tom to leave but not only did he stay, he sat and cuddled me while they visited, acting as if we’d been an item for some time.  Although this came as a surprise to me and I was unsure how to behave, it was also one of the crowning moments of my life.  Both Sib and Red were absolutely green with envy.  Red, especially, could not stop asking about us—how we’d met, how long we’d known each other, etc.  Tom played right along with this, fabricating a story with great ease.  I simply sat beside him in shock, and stared.  I couldn’t believe my good fortune.  Having a man stick around was a new experience for me.  Usually one-night stands made tracks as soon as humanly possible after the sex, if you could call the type of wham-bam I had grown used to sex, that is.  And he was a dream to look at and listen to.  So I just sat back in tired silence and basked in the soft wisps of his light brown hair, the sparkle of humour in his baby-blue eyes, the bedroom tenor of his voice, and all his other outstanding attributes.  Although my silence did raise some suspicion, Tom easily explained it away by chatting about our very “busy” night.  It was not our most exciting visit, and they left around 5:00 p.m.

Tom and I spent that evening listening to music and cuddling.  I was very tired and rapidly getting depressed.  My ruminations were of the negative variety as they usually were where men were concerned.  My wonder weekend was almost at a close, and I was sure that Tom would vanish from my life.  After all, this had simply been a one-night stand, I told myself.  No strings attached.  There was no reason for him to ever see me again.  He’d gotten what he wanted, and it wasn’t like we knew each other or anything.  Besides, we probably had nothing in common anyway.  After all, he was a mechanic of the very blue-collar variety, and I was an intellectual of the upper middle-class variety.  On and on the thoughts drifted through the sludge of my alcohol-bruised brain.

Since Tom had to rise early for work and I was completely worn out, we went to bed at a decent hour and simply slept.  Monday morning, he woke at 5:00 a.m., quickly dressed and took his leave telling me he’d call me soon.  In a way typical of my low self-esteem, I assured him that he didn’t have to try to make me feel better.  After all, I told him, he had no obligation where I was concerned.  I was a grown girl and knew what I’d gotten myself into….


Part 1 – Tom

It was a Friday night, and I was on my way to what had become frequent visits to see Gem.  The occasion was my youthful conviction that she held some secret key to sexual attraction.  It wasn’t that she was good looking, truth be told, she was almost ugly although she had one great feature, her long straight, thick red hair.  This conviction came from observing her with many guys, some of them not half bad looking.  Although jocks were too much for my tastes, it seemed the last few times I’d popped in on her, she’d just had sex with yet another.  She said she was working her way through the local university football team.  And she was halfway there.  Couple this with that night long past when I found her lying sprawled naked over some guy, and there you have it.

I decided she must know something I didn’t.  I mean, it’s not like she was really pleasant to look at—blotchy skin, washed out, no hips, no ass and no breasts.  I could go on but one doesn’t want to be unkind.  Yet still she got the guys.  She must have known something I didn’t.  Then there was the letterman’s jacket some jock gave her.  She wore it all the time.  Not that I had even the remotest interest in the football type, but the jacket was cool.  So there you have my motivation as I went to hear another episode in the continuing Sexual Adventures of Gem.

We sat in her tiny kitchen in the typical one-bedroom three-storey walk-up; the typical student rental.  You know the kind—built like a small box with the bathroom and bedroom taking up the back half.  Living room square in the middle complete with that seedy carpeting of the faded mustard variety.  The galley kitchen and entrance completed this picture of trashy opulence with chipped parquet flooring.

Gem was all a twitter as she poured our wine.  She’d discovered new neighbours across the hall.  She thought one of them was a guy we’d both just die for; even I would jump his bones in a minute given the chance.  Tim Helmeke.  Our diminutive Adonis with the beautiful long black hair and the large blue eyes fringed with thick long lashes.  We sat and swooned over him while debating whether it could really be him.  Without concrete proof, and with wine-induced mutual daring, we decided to make our discovery.  Consumed with fits of giggles, we finally manage to knock on their door.  Our knock was answered by the ugliest guy, bar none, I’ve ever seen.  Our laughter escalated to wheezing and we choked out our query as to the identity of the occupants of the apartment.  This bear of a guy, Dalton, told us that he and his roommate, Tom, lived there.  Yes, they were from Listowel, and no, his name was not Tim, it was definitely Tom.  We grilled him about Tom’s appearance, certain there was some mistake.  After all, we wanted it to be Tim.  Dalton invited us in to see for ourselves.

Gem and I sat on the couch adjacent to the bathroom door with Dalton in a stuffed chair nearby.  A reclining chair occupied the other corner of the small room.  While we chatted about their life in Listowel and whether we’d ever met, the bathroom door opened and, in a cloud of steam, out stepped a small man with an absolutely perfect body wrapped only in a small white towel.  The body and eyes could have been Tim’s, but the hair was thick, shoulder length and brown.  Tom had arrived in my life.  I’d only seen one other body as beautiful as Tom’s, and Neil, that was his name, was much better looking.  But, for all his looks, Neil’s arrogant reserve disturbed me, and I wasn’t one to dwell on the unattainable.  Tim also hadn’t known I as alive.  I’d never actually believed that one of these masters of physical perfection would ever notice me, never mind want to have sex with me.

Tom walked past me to the recliner and lay back in it.  The chair was at such an angle that I had the perfect view of his superbly formed muscular leg.  Dalton quickly introduced us and explained why we were there.  Tom just laughed then listened to our nervous chatter.  Some time later, still clothed in his towel and reclining in his chair, he offered us something to drink.  It ended up being tequila.

After several drinks and what quickly became boisterous conversation, Gem and I decided it was time we left while we could still walk, although barely.  The guys found out that we were spending the night at my place, and Tom invited himself along.  In my usual tactful way, I said yes but only if he slept on the floor.  The other bedroom belonged to my roommate and was off limits.

It was late and we were fairly drunk so we went to bed shortly after we arrived at my towne house.  I occupied the large master bedroom, which had plenty of room for a mattress on the floor beside the double bed.  Gem and I shared the bed.

… to be continuted….