Coupling Two. More Filthy Erotica for Couples

Connecting

The dark-haired man sat at a table across the way from Jennifer’s. He was on his cell phone, coffee cup in hand, like most of the other customers in the cafe. He appeared serious-his face a mask of concentration-although he was toying with his mug, stroking his thumb along the rim in a way that was decidedly sensual. Jennifer stared at him surreptitiously. She wondered what type of underwear he had on-boxers or briefs-whether or not his cock was hard. Her laptop was open and a colorful pie chart filled the screen. She was supposed to be paying attention to the graphics and how they moved when she substituted different numbers for the various segments-always thinking in her mind that slicing the pie into more pieces didn’t make more pie, just smaller pieces. That’s how she felt about her busy days.

But thinking of pie made her want to put something sweet in her mouth. And thinking of something sweet, made her think about sucking cock. She looked back at the man. He was dialing again.

She could imagine riding him reverse cowgirl. Or maybe doggy-style. She could picture what it would feel like to have him holding tightly onto her long red hair, slamming into her from behind….

Her phone rang.

The waitress refilled her cup as Jennifer answered her phone, then mouthed whether she could get Jennifer anything else. “Pie,” Jennifer whispered back, indicating the cherry pie under the counter, and then she spoke into the phone.

The waitress headed to the counter and pulled out the partially cut pie. She looked around the restaurant. So many of the customers were on their cell phones. Didn’t people ever have actual face-to-face conversations anymore? She personally didn’t even own a cell phone. The telephone at her one-room apartment was an old-fashioned rotary. It hadn’t been that long ago when customers came in to the cafe without any devices that rang, buzzed, or vibrated. She was often surprised by the odd choices her customers had decided on for their cell phone ring. Why would someone choose a duck’s quack? She cut the pie and brought a piece to the pretty redhead with the sleek-looking computer. She wanted to tell the girl to get off the phone, to try to connect with a real, live human.

Cherry. Jennifer wanted to start eating it right then. Pie wasn’t what she usually bought. She was a black coffee/dry toast type of girl. But she wasn’t in a normal type of mood today. Yes, she had her computer out, and she was scheduled to be in a conference call in less than thirty minutes. But her brain wasn’t engaging properly this morning. She glanced at the businessman across the restaurant again. He wasn’t looking her way. She watched as the waitress strode over to him in her sensible white orthopedic shoes.

“Do you need anything else, Sir?” the waitress asked him.

Charles shook his head. He had his cell phone in his hand, and he was intent on his conversation. As the waitress squeaked away on her rubber-soled shoes, he turned slightly in the chair, so he was facing the faux-wood-paneled wall rather than the room. This was the closest to privacy he was going to get in the busy cafe. He could feel Jennifer watching him. He didn’t have to see her to know she was staring.

“What panties are you wearing?” he asked.

“The blue ones.”

He sighed. “With the black lace on the edges?”

“Yes. The ones we bought in Paris.”

He fidgeted with his fork. He didn’t usually fidget. But then, he didn’t usually make sex calls like this in the middle of a busy restaurant.

“Are you still wet?”

“Very.”

“Slut.”

She giggled. She couldn’t help herself. She was the least slut-like person she knew. If a stranger were to walk into the restaurant and pick out the “slut” in the room, Jennifer wouldn’t even be considered. But then she didn’t giggle that often either.

“Why are you wet?” Charles asked.

Jennifer swallowed over her hesitation. She’d never been adept at talking dirty before. But if he could play this game, she could, too. Her competitive streak kicked in. “Because I keep thinking about your cock, and how good it felt in my mouth this morning.”

Charles turned now to look at Jennifer. She was staring right at him. He stared back. She felt a shiver run through her that was as intense as when they’d first met at a dinner party, six years earlier.

“You suck cock well,” he said, and Jennifer smiled at him.

“You wanna feel my mouth again?” she teased. “It’s warm from the coffee.”

“You’re such a filthy girl, aren’t you? And nobody would ever guess.”

Jennifer turned to her computer. She entered a few quick keystrokes with one hand. In seconds, Charles had mail. He maneuvered so he was able to open up the message while still talking on the phone. He couldn’t believe what he was looking at.

“I went to the ladies room before,” Jennifer said, “and took a picture for you.”

It was her pussy, shaved and bare. He wanted to lick it on his screen, taste her cream. She’d never done anything like this before.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Maybe it was the way you woke me up this morning.”

He’d had a wet dream-well, practically a wet dream. He’d had a wet dream without the climax-an erotic sleeping fantasy. And he’d woken up with a hard-on so intense, he’d simply started to fuck her without saying anything, getting her wet with his mouth and then slipping inside of her. Since 5 a.m. they’d both been in a state of heat. He was grateful for it. After half a dozen years together, their relationship had spikes and valleys, like everyone’s. But right now, they were definitely in a spike. Oh, fucking hell they were. He thought of how warm her pussy had felt around his cock when he’d plunged, and how right before he’d come, she’d whipped around to suck him off, finishing the job with her mouth, draining him dry. That move had surprised him and his orgasm had intensified, seeming to go on for minutes rather than seconds. He’d never expected Jennifer to act like that, like she was so hungry for his cock she couldn’t control herself.

“What I really want,” Jennifer said softly, “is for you to fuck the daylights out of me in the bathroom.”

Immediately, he started to gather up his things, moving the papers to the laptop case, motioning to the waitress that he was ready for the check with that universal hand signal everyone knows-writing something in the air-something that looked like he was signing his name, when really he was writing fuck in invisible letters. He saw Jennifer packing her things up as well.

He met her at the lavatory down the hall, blocked her body with his so that nobody would see them entering together.

“Oh, God,” she whispered as he locked the door behind them. “I couldn’t take any more of that.”

“Don’t stop talking,” he said, and she looked at him surprised. He pushed her pencil skirt to her hips and started to touch her pussy through her stockings and panties. “Tell me what you like.”

“You know…”

“Just say it.”

For some reason, talking had been easier for her with the cell in her hand. There’d been a safety in whispering her desires over the phone. But Charles was looking at her expectantly, and she didn’t want to let him down. “I like when you touch me like that. With two fingers. When you rub up and down between my pussy lips.”

He was kissing her neck as he fingered her. She seemed to be having a difficult time staying upright. He loved how mussed she looked already, even in her neat navy blue suit.

“When my juices start making my stockings wet, I love when you slip your hand beneath the waistband and rub my clit directly.”

“Like this?” He did precisely what she’d described.

“Just like that.”

“Or this?” he asked, and now he pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger, sending a shockwave of pleasure throughout her whole body. Jennifer sighed and pushed her hips forward. What was he doing to her? She felt completely disoriented, robbed of her mental facilities. Only moments before, she’d been an upstanding citizen in a suit, eating a piece of pie in a busy restaurant. Now, she was having her pussy rubbed in the ladies room. And all she wanted was more.

“Fuck me,” she begged. “Please, Chas, just fuck me.”

He couldn’t have waited much longer. He spun her around, and she put her palms flat on the tiled wall. Then he pulled her stockings to her knees and slid her panties aside. Jennifer’s breath was coming in short, staccato bursts. She turned her head, realizing she could watch the action in the mirror over the sink. That added an extra thrill to her world, staring as Charles undid his slacks and took his cock in hand.

“You’re so wet,” he said, placing only the head of his cock to her opening. “Your juices have coated your thighs, your stockings.”

“My pussy.” Jennifer finished the sentence for him. As he thrust in for the first time, she moved one hand from the wall and touched herself. There was no way she couldn’t. The whole situation was so erotic, she felt as if she were starring in a porno flick.

“What did you dream last night?” she asked. She’d wanted to know all morning, but after their early a.m. romp, they’d both been in a haze of erotic bliss. Showers, dressing, driving here-the entire routine had all felt like a blur.

“It was dirty,” Charles said, rotating his hips so that his cock seemed to hit places he’d never reached before. Jennifer groaned under her breath. She was having a difficult time not making noise-but she didn’t want to be too loud, didn’t want to be caught and forced to stop what they were doing. At least, not before she got off.

“Tell me?”

“I don’t think you’d want to do it.”

He was taunting her. She looked at their reflection again. The look on his face was new to her. They’d always been equals in bed. He looked totally dom now. She’d never seen him sexier.

“Tell me,” she begged.

“I was fucking your pussy,” he said, “just like this.” He continued to work her as he talked. Jennifer’s pussy was wetter than she could ever remember. Her juices had made the tops of her thighs damp. Charles’ cock slid in and out with ease.

“Then…” she prompted.

“And then you said that you wanted something we’d never done before.”

“What did I want?” she was begging.

“I don’t think I should tell you.”

She started to pull off him, her anger rising, and he grabbed her around the waist and thrust into her fiercely. He was showing her exactly who was in charge of this scenario, and her legs felt weak at the power in him.

“Please?” she asked, trying a different tactic. “Please tell me.” She stared ahead at the painting on the wall. A little sailboat in a sea of blue. It was an ugly, dime-store painting, but she focused on the tiny whitecap waves in the picture, and tried to regain her sense of calm. What did you call that type of blue? Cerulean?

“You told me that you wanted me to fuck your tight little virgin asshole.”

“I said that?” she was panting, shutting out the picture by closing her eyes. Seeing a completely different image behind closed lids.

“Yes,” he said, “you filthy little slut. You said, ‘Please, Chas. I’ll hold myself open for you. Put the head in and fuck my ass.’”

They’d never done that before. She’d never spoken like she had in his dream. He’d never indicated that he even wanted to try anal.

“Did I like it?”

“I didn’t fuck your ass right away. I made you wait for the big event.”

“Why?”

“So you’d be really desperate.”

“What did you do first?”

“I took you in the bathroom and bent you over the edge of the tub. I spread shaving cream between your asscheeks and shaved you so you were completely clean back there. Then I showered you off and licked your back door until you were moaning the way you do when I eat your pussy.”

“God,” Jennifer sighed. “Oh, fuck.”

“You couldn’t get enough. You actually were parting your own cheeks for me so I could get in deeper.” Jennifer couldn’t believe he was talking to her like this. This went beyond anything they’d discussed or tried in bed. The kinkiest time they’d experienced so far had been a slightly tipsy evening in which Charles had blindfolded her with a scarf and eaten her out. But this…this was different.

“What happened next?”

“I got you on your back with your knees to your chest and I licked your asshole until you told me you were going to come. You were so wild, thrashing around on the mattress, unable to keep still. I actually thought I might have to tie you down to make you behave.”

He was traveling in uncharted territory with every statement. They’d never considered bondage, never broached the topic. Jennifer felt as if she might melt into a puddle of lust. She was teetering on the brink of climax, so close, almost there.

“What’d you do?” The words were a whisper.

“I told you I was going to fuck your asshole.”

“Uh huh.”

“And that by the time I was done, I’d be fucking it as hard and fast as I do your pussy.”

“Oh, God,” she sighed. “What did I do?”

“You let me.”

Her hand between her legs was working faster now, rubbing her clit as quickly as she could. Charles’ words were beyond foreplay. He was fucking her with his story.

“I rolled you over on the mattress so you were ass-up. I had lube, and I oiled you so that you were nice and slick and wet. Then I gave you just the first inch of my cock, spreading open your hole so you could really feel the stretch.”

“Did I like it?”

“Oh, baby. You loved it. You told me to go slow at first, but pretty soon, you were backing down on my cock. You were fucking me.”

She shivered. The scenario thrilled her. Who knew that she’d want something like that? Suddenly, she felt his hand between her cheeks. He was touching her hole, just touching it. She felt her pussy tighten.

“I’m going to let you come now,” he said. “Just like this. And then we’re both going to call in sick and go back home. And I’m going to get out the lube and do to you exactly what I just described.”

Jennifer came on his cock and on his words. She shivered as the pleasure worked through her, and she could feel Charles climaxing a second later. He pounded into her at a rapid pace, holding onto her hips as he filled her. She’d never felt as close to him as she did right then. They took a moment to separate, then each used the sink and mirror in an attempt to look presentable. Jennifer could not wait to get home. She was dying to do exactly what Charles had promised her.

She exited the restroom first, heading out the door of the cafe to their car. Charles followed a moment later.

As the couple left, the waitress watched after them. Wouldn’t it be nice if more people set down their devices and spoke face to face? Like those two professional people. They would make such a pretty couple if they ever put their computers and cell phones down long enough to connect.

Performance Anxiety

By Alison Tyler

Josh said he wanted to watch me masturbate. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a man use that word before. The boys I’ve been with have always tended to say things like “jerk off” or “oil your oyster.” But not Josh. He possesses a serious, more clinical side, which I tend to like. He states his preferences in a no-nonsense way I can understand. And I’ll admit-I understood this. But that didn’t mean I could do what he was asking.

“What’s the big deal?” he asked. “You’re on stage practically every night, Rae.”

“I’m not jerking off on stage,” I said, mortified by the thought. The image came quickly to my mind: me in front of a crowd of fifty, parting my shaved pussy lips and stroking my clit while all those strangers watched.

“I might like that,” Josh said, as if he could see deep into my fantasy. As if he were one of those in the crowd, watching every dancing move of my darting fingertips. I narrowed my eyes at him. Exactly where was he going with this? He’d asked to watch me masturbate. He had said nothing of crowd-sourcing his pleasure.

“We’ll start small, babe, don’t worry,” he said to my look of trepidation.

“We haven’t even established we’re starting at all,” I replied. He’d only asked. I hadn’t said I would. He was taking my hesitation for acquiescence. He ought to have known better. After four years of living together, Josh knows me inside and out. Well, almost. I guess what he was asking now was to see me at my most undressed.

“You’re making a bigger deal of this than you should,” he said, “I’ve taken care of myself in front of you before.”

“It’s not the same.” But as I said the words, I realized I didn’t know why. I’m not sexist by nature. Why wouldn’t it be the same for me to watch him as for him to watch me? I thought of the different times I’d witnessed him pleasuring himself in the past. The first time he ever jerked off in front of me was by accident. I had walked into the bathroom, knowing the water was on and assuming he was taking a shower. He was taking a shower. But he was also taking himself in hand under the hot spray. For a moment, he didn’t seem aware I was there, watching. Then he turned and wiped the steam from the shower door, so I could see more clearly. Ultimately, he’d shot against the glass door, and I’d almost lost my balance, so invested in the impromptu performance that I’d momentarily forgotten how to remain upright. I’d found watching him a complete turn-on, and by the time I’d stripped and joined him in the shower, he was hard once more and ready to take me against the cobalt-blue tiled wall.

So why did I have a problem offering him the same type of show? Josh seemed to want to know. He looked at me curiously. “Is it because I’m a guy? And guys do dirty, naughty stuff like that but girls don’t.”

I blushed when he said dirty and naughty. I think he knew I would. Not that I blush easily, but when he said the words, I thought of the times I’d caught him.

“No,” I said, but I didn’t sound convincing. Not even to myself.

“You’re all rose petals and candy fluff. Is that it? You never would dirty your fingers with your own sultry juices.”

“I don’t think like that Josh. You know I don’t.” He’s seen me up on stage for so many years, has heard the type of hard-rocking songs I sing. If I were to describe myself, candy fluff would not fit into the write-up. We met after one of my shows. No groupie, Josh had been at the concert with two of his pals. He’d had the balls to hang out after to meet me. I’d been impressed with his confidence from the start. He’d discovered that the act I portray onstage-tough girl rock chick-is just that. An act. Off stage, I have a much shyer side that I show to few people. Josh found me out.

“I know you masturbate, Rae.”

Part of me wanted to ask him how he knew. And part of me wanted to tell him to stop using that stupid word. We could come up with a new term, a fresh term, something that didn’t sound so serious.

“How do you know?” I finally asked.

“Because I can tell. I know what you look like after you have an orgasm.”

“Come,” I corrected him. “After I come.”

“Yeah, right. Your cheeks take on this pretty flushed color, and your eyes are brighter, bigger somehow. Sometimes when I come-“ he hit the word hard and looked deviously at me-“home, I can tell that you’ve just been mastur…”

“Playing with myself.”

“Yeah, right,” he said. His foot touched mine in the bed. I liked that our toes were teasing each other.

“I never knew you knew,” I said softly. I’d always thought that was something one took care of in private. That hungry, desperate need to get off. I’d never been in a relationship where this type of situation was discussed. You fuck your partner. You play with yourself. You don’t really talk about either in any great depth.

“So how do you do it?” Josh asked, clearly not understanding my above rules, or choosing to ignore them.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have a vibrator? Do you use your fingers? Do you do it in the shower?”

I took a deep breath and rolled over on the mattress. He rolled me back over to face him. “You’re not going to hide from me. I want to know.”

“I’ve got stage fright,” I told him.

“You never have stage fright. You love being in front of an audience, singing all of those emo songs, dripping with personal facts.”

“Not about my pussy.”

He laughed. “Good. I don’t want you singing about your pussy on stage. I want you to tell me how you take care of yourself when nobody’s looking. And then I want to be the one looking. Can you do that for me?”

I didn’t have an answer. Could I?

The second time I’d found Josh stroking himself was in the bedroom. He didn’t stop when I opened the door. He stood there in front of me, hand moving piston fast on his rock-hard cock. Just like the time in the shower, I’d thought the scene was sexy. In fact, I’d been desperate for him to fuck me before he could make himself come, begging for him to stop wasting it on his palm and give his cock to me.

“You liked watching, didn’t you?” he asked, trying a different tactic.

“You know I did.”

“You’ll like being the one watched. I promise. If you’re uncomfortable at any time, we can stop.”

I nodded. “Okay. Let’s stop.”

“We haven’t even started yet.”

“And I’m uncomfortable.”

“You’re not uncomfortable. You have performance anxiety.” He said the words as if he was reading them off a file.

“How is that different from stage fright?”

“You’re not exactly afraid. You’re more frozen. You need a little melting. I can help you. Start by telling me how you do it. Then show me.”

“Okay.” But I didn’t. I lay there at his side and I didn’t say a word. Josh got up off the bed and went rummaging through the bottom drawer of my dresser. In moments, he had my vibrator. He’d known all along that I had one. I pushed up on my elbows to tell him to put my toy away, but he already was playing with the controls, holding the shaft in the palm of one hand and fiddling with the knob at the base.

“Wow, that’s a powerful cock,” he said.

I didn’t respond.

“Maybe I should just guess how you do it, and you can tell me if I’m right or not.”

I grabbed the vibrator from his hand and turned off the power. “I don’t have a way,” I said. “Not one way. I do different things.”

“Like…”

I went mute once more as if Josh had pressed a button on my internal remote control. Josh went to my closet and while I watched, he plucked my favorite stage dress from the assortment within. “Put this on.”

“Josh…”

“Put it on.”

I stood and stripped, feeling him watching my every move. Then I slid into the champagne lace number and tossed my hair back. I was not about to admit this to Josh, but I found myself getting excited. I added thigh-high ripped stockings and my battered patent leather boots. My onstage look is fallen angel-pretty dress, destroyed accessories.

“Now your makeup.”

He knows my routine well from having watched me get ready for countless stage shows. I sat at my vanity and did my rock girl look-dark eggplant eye shadow, deep ruby lipstick, plenty of mascara.

“Your lucky jewelry,” he prompted. I put the chain with the silver heart locket around my neck. “What else do you need?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not true. You need to have a mind-blowing orgasm… I mean, you need to come while I watch.” He handed me the vibrator once more.

“I need a drink,” I said.

He left the room and I could hear him walking down the hall to the kitchen. In seconds, I heard the sound of a champagne cork popping. While he was out of eyesight, I stared at myself in the mirror. Could I do this? He wasn’t asking for much, wasn’t asking for anything he hadn’t done for me. Why was touching myself in front of my man so difficult? Because he’d see me-really see me-in my most base position. But he’d seen me climax before. This shouldn’t have been such a big deal. I had that entire conversation with myself in the mirror before Josh walked back into the room with a glass of champagne.

“Cheers,” I said.

“Bottoms up,” he responded.

I could feel the heat between us. Maybe he would be happy if we just fucked. He always likes to do me in my stage clothes-especially right before I go out in front of a crowd. The thought that his wetness is still inside me, or slicking up the tops of my thighs, always makes him feel special. I took a sip and then kissed him. He let me, giving himself over to the kiss for a few moments before pushing away.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“You’re not going to get off that easy,” he said. “Show me.”

I sat on the edge of the bed. I looked at the toy. I looked at Josh. I pushed back until I was in my favorite position, head on the pillows, legs spread. Then I started to touch myself through my dress and my panties using the vibrator.

“You start slowly, huh?” Josh asked.

“This isn’t an audience participation show,” I snapped at him. He grinned back. I closed my eyes, blocking out his handsome face as I began to raise the dress to my hips so I could press the tip of the toy right against my clit through my panties.

Josh’s eyes were on me. I could feel him. Suddenly, him watching didn’t seem like a bad thing. I arched my hips as I teased myself with the head of the vibrator. Then I turned the controls higher so the vibrations came at a stronger, more powerful pace. I was getting wetter by the second, but I didn’t take my panties down until the desire built inside of me. When I started to pull down my bikinis, Josh intervened.

“Let me,” he said.

I could have barked at him once more, but when I opened my eyes, he looked so aroused, I didn’t want to deny him. I allowed him to work my panties down my legs and over my boots. He spread my thighs open for me and got between my legs to watch close up as I brought the toy back in play. First, I danced the tip around my clit, and then I slowly inserted the rounded head into my pussy. Josh sighed as I began to fuck myself with the vibrator. I worked the base in my fist, gradually gaining speed as the climax grew closer. Right as I reached the cusp, Josh took the toy away from my hand, surprising me. Before I could muster a moan of protest, he began to fuck me with the vibrator, and as he did, he brought his mouth to the split of my body and licked my clit. I couldn’t believe how good that felt. He was fucking me hard and fast, and licking my clit at the same rapid pace.

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned. “Oh, God, Josh, I’m going to come. I’m going to…”

“Do it, baby. Come for me,” he demanded.

“If you keep sucking me like that and fucking me like that…” He did as I asked, working the rod of the vibrator in and out of my pussy while locking his lips in a tight circle around my clit. I was out of my head with pleasure, but somehow I still managed to think-he’s watching me. I did it! I touched myself in front of Josh. I jerked off in front of my man. I succeeded in overcoming my performance anxiety!

The climax was overpowering. I shook the bed with the movements of my body. I could not remember ever being quite so turned on as I was by Josh working me with the toy and his mouth. When I finally floated back to earth, Josh was looking at me with a smile of total satisfaction on his face.

“I loved that,” he said. “I loved watching you give yourself pleasure. You’re such a hungry beast. I want to see you do that again and again. I want to watch all of your tricks, learn exactly how you like it best.”

As he said the words, I could see the action-I could imagine showing him how I use the shower nozzle to reach climax. How I like to sometimes go without panties for a day, so that I’m in total anticipation mode when I get home, all juicy and ready to come. There were so many new ways for the two of us to play. The door had only been opened a crack… all of the orgasmic bliss was ready to spill out.

I took a big shivering breath, and then licked my lips. “There will be an encore show in an hour,” I said. “But payment’s in advance.” Then I stroked his hard-on through his black jeans and prepared to receive the adulation of my number one fan.

Reunion

By Alison Tyler

“So, do you remember Terry?” Jill asked me. She was taking me on a trip down memory lane over the phone. Although I’ve always felt I had a decent memory, there were people from our college dorm I couldn’t recall. Not their names. Not their faces. They might never have existed-or Jill might have been making them up to tease me and make me feel old.

“You have to remember Terry,” she continued.

I had only just heard from Jill for the first time after hooking up online nearly two decades after we’d last seen each other. That’s something social media is good for: Making connections with people you were never really that close with in the first place.

“Terry,” I said, trying to place the name with a face, even if it was a face from twenty years before.

“You know. Terry. Terry who would sneak into the girls’ showers and act as if he’d accidentally walked into the wrong bathroom.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Terry.” The shower story had jogged my memory, but I recalled the situation differently. I didn’t remember him sneaking. I remembered inviting him to come into the shower with me on a day that we decided to skip classes. We’d spent a lazy morning soaping each other all over in one blue-tiled stall, and I’d gotten one of my first real tastes of enjoying the male form. Prior to that, most of my erotic encounters had been fumbles in the dark. Terry and I, beneath the fluorescent lights and hot shower spray, had explored each other’s bodies endlessly.

The freedom of being away at school had not only gone to my head-it had gone to my libido. Terry had been one of the first college boys I dated. And by dated, I meant fucked.

I was on the University’s reunion page with Jill now, and over the phone we tried to refresh each other’s memories with snippets of our misspent youth. One of the problems was that we remembered these people from two decades prior, when they’d walked around in ripped jeans and t-shirts with obscene slogans, not business suits and designer brands. Back then they’d had all their hair and none of the middle-aged spread. Sure, some looked the same-and some clearly had been toying with Botox and other avant-garde fillers. But who among us looks like they did back in college?

“What about Danny?” Jill asked. “Did you ever do Danny?”

Somehow, our trip down Memory Lane had taken an X-rated side street into the red light district of our youth, and we were now not only talking about our former friends and acquaintances, but also our former lovers-and the different kinks they’d enjoyed.

“Danny…” I repeated. “Was he the one who only liked to fuck girls during…”

“Their periods!” she squealed.

“I don’t know how he was able to always nail my time of the month. He had an uncanny sixth sense. He always knocked on my door as soon as I went on the rag.”

“Crazy,” Jill said. “I went on a date with him and I tried to tell him we couldn’t, because, I was, you know…”

“And he liked it!”

“’Like’ isn’t even the right word. The aftermath was historic. My sheets looked like something Jackson Pollack would have created.”

Didn’t seem so off the wall now, but for an eighteen-year-old, fresh from the farmland, I had been baffled by the concept. I didn’t think you could do it when you were having your monthly visitor. Danny had changed all that.

“I got into it, too,” Jill confessed. “I felt totally like a woman, or something. I wanted to stand up on the mattress and call out ‘This is who I am, take me or leave me.’”

“And he took you.”

“Every month.”

“Like clockwork.”

“There were a lot of pretty kinky co-eds on our floor, weren’t there?” Jill continued. I realized we’d left the detour that was Danny and returned to the main drag. And speaking of drag, Jill was already talking about the shy boy who liked to cross-dress when he thought nobody was looking.

“You do remember him, don’t you?” Jill asked.

“I think so,” I said, stalling for time. “Why. Did you find his picture? Is he dressed like a girl?”

“No, he’s sort of… androgynous in the photo online.”

I caught up with her. Marcus. Sweet Marcus. When he’d come into my room during a progressive party, he’d drunkenly slipped on my cobalt satin bathrobe and asked if I’d do his makeup. We’d all thought that was a gas until I’d noticed he was hard. After the rest of the students had left, Marcus and I had made love. I’d gotten off looking at his dark eyes ringed with shimmery liner, his lips all red and glossy like cherries. I found his photo now, and I saw what Jill meant. He was good looking as ever, but there was a definite feminine sex appeal to the way he smiled for the camera. I got a little shiver remembering how it had felt to apply the lipstick to his full lips while sitting on his lap.

“Who else?” I asked, and my voice was shaking a little bit. I hoped Jill wouldn’t notice.

“Matt,” she said.

“Which one?” There had been two Matthews on our dorm floor.

“Take your pick,” Jill said. “They each were freaks in bed.”

“I only did the one who thought he was going to be the next David Bowie,” I told her. “He sang for me after we fucked.”

“Oh, Cool Matt. You didn’t do Matt the Stud?”

“No, what was he like?”

“He had to do it in front of a mirror.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“He actually positioned a mirror on the ceiling over his dorm bed. He had the top bunk.”

“I don’t remember any of this at all.”

“And he liked the girls to be on top, so he could see them and sort of see himself if the angle was right. He didn’t like dirty talk, but he requested that girls talk to him about how hot he was.”

“Damn. That’s all sorts of insecurities wrapped up in one hot package.”

“At least he was good,” Jill said with a sigh.

We both silently clicked for a minute, paging through the photos. One stood out for me, and I could tell when Jill had reached the page at the same time I did.

“Oh, there’s Rhonda.”

“Rhonda,” I breathed.

She’d been my first girl on girl experience. From the way Jill said her name, it sounded as if she’d been Jill’s, too.

“How did she get you?” Jill asked.

“You make it sound as if she was a predator.”

“Wasn’t she?”

I was quiet for a moment, remembering. How had I hooked up with Rhonda? There had been a party on the floor-there were parties every night in somebody’s room, students celebrating As or drowning their Fs, pretending to study or having a fuck studying event. Now that I thought back, I’d skipped that particular get-together, reading in my room in spite of the noise from down the hall. Rhonda had come looking for me, a bottle of wine in her hand, which had struck me as classy. Usually, we drank beer or hard liquor. She and I had spent the evening in my bed, taking sips out of the bottle, then taking sips from each other.

She’d undressed me with a finesse that belied her years. She had made me feel special, pretty, the way she’d been so delicate as she opened up my pussy lips with her thumbs, going right for my clit in a way the boys never did-the way the boys didn’t seem to know how yet. They were so focused on finding the right hole.

Rhonda. I remembered how she’d gotten between my thighs and licked my pussy in rapidly reducing circles, tighter and tighter around my clit until I came, until I thought I might actually pass out from the pleasure. She’d made a ring with her lips and sucked hard, then tapped the tip of her tongue right against my clit until she’d spiraled me into an unexpected second climax, something that had never happened to me at that point.

I realized I’d lapsed into silence. Jill had, too. What sort of experience had she shared with Rhonda? When I asked, she said, “You know, I was so fucking naive. I thought that the encounter meant I was a lesbian, meant that she and I were destined to be together.”

I laughed.

“I’m serious. I wondered how I was going to break the news to my parents. Would I have to dress differently? Become a vegan? And then I saw her the next night with her arm around a different girl, and understood that although I’d had a fabulous night, I hadn’t had a transformation and neither had she. Rhonda simply had a fetish for deflowering.”

We moved onto another page of alumni I could not for the life of me remember.

“So who was your favorite that year?” Jill asked. “Did one lover stand out for you?”

I hesitated, and she said, “I know who was my favorite.”

“Tell,” I demanded, knowing it would give me time.

“Do you remember Jason?”

“The R.A.? You fucked the R.A.?”

“Of course. Didn’t you?”

“Well, no. I didn’t realize he would have. I mean, he acted like a boy scout.”

“Yeah, that’s what he was so good with the knots.”

“Excuse me?”

“He was a bondage geek. He loved tying girls up. God, I miss college. Everyone seemed to wear their fetish on their sleeve. Do you know what I mean? You could tell when people were discovering something that worked for them.”

“I don’t know…” I drawled. “There was also a lot of shaving cream fights, and bringing beer into the dorm in big suitcases, and that incident with the Jell-o in the washing machine.”

“Sometimes people need a little beer to discover what works for them,” Jill said matter-of-factly. “Like after one of those shaving cream fights, Jason tied me down and shaved my pussy.”

“Are you serious?”

“He didn’t even tell me what he was going to do. He simply asked if I was okay being bound, and I told him I’d never been before. He took four ties-university ties, I swear-and he bound me down on his bed. Because he was an R.A., he didn’t have a roommate. We could hear the rest of the heathens running around like maniacs in the hall. But Jason very studiously used shaving cream, a bowl of water, and his own razor and shaved off all my pubic hair and then dried me tenderly with a towel.”

“And then?”

“Oh, God,” Jill sighed. “And then he went down on me for what felt like hours. I’d never shaved off everything before. I’d toyed around with a little patch, but I hadn’t ever gone totally bare. The first feeling of his tongue on my naked skin was electrifying.”

I sighed.

“Of course, the stubble grew in right during finals, and I had to try not to squirm in all of my classes.”

We laughed together at that, and then Jill said, “College is a time for firsts, isn’t it?”

“And lasts,” I said.

“Lasts?”

“Do you remember Bill Waters?” I asked her, finally ready to come clean.

“Bill?” I heard her clicking on the computer. She was obviously trying to find him on the alumni pages, hoping to jog her memory. “What did he look like?”

I smiled to myself. “Well, he’s six foot four, dark hair, blue eyes. Very well muscled. Handsome as a movie star.”

She was still clicking. “What was his deal?” I liked the way Jill thought. We all have our buttons, don’t we?

“He was the one who liked to know what everyone else was doing.”

“Oh, studious, right? Always watching.”

“And listening.”

I thought of Bill, one shower over, listening while Terry and I fucked. The image sent a shiver through me as it had two decades earlier. Bill had said to me, “Ask him, love, and I’ll sneak in before. And while he’s fucking you, I’ll be jerking off in the next stall. Think of that, Betty. Think of my hand working my cock while he fucks your sweet, slippery pussy. Think of me splattering the tile wall with my come while I picture the two of you fucking.”

“Listening?” Jill asked.

“Yeah.” I thought of the times Bill had been in the closet, door cracked open, while I’d had a lover in my bed. Sometimes, that had taken a little bit of effort. The night with Rhonda, I’d had to make an excuse to get her out of the room and him into the room before she and I had gone all topsy-turvy on the bed. But it had been worth it. He told me later that watching Rhonda eat me out had taught him more about going down on a woman than any dirty video he’d ever seen. He had forced himself not to come, so that when Rhonda ultimately left for her own room, he’d climbed into the bed with me and done me right, fucking my pussy that was still all slippery from her tongue.

“Oh, I found him,” she said. “William Waters.”

“Yup.”

With Marcus, Bill had tried something new. He’d asked me to set up a tiny video camera surreptitiously on my desk. Bill was always good with gadgets. He hadn’t known Marcus would be my next lover, but the boy had worked perfectly. The fact that Marcus had his own kink-the full face of makeup-had made our amateur X-rated video that much sexier. Although the camera was fixed, we were still able to get a fairly decent movie of Marcus and I together, even if we were out of the frame from time to time.

“Wait,” she was confused, I could tell. “You’re Betty Waters now?”

“Uh huh.”

“You married him?”

I giggled. “Yeah.”

I looked at Bill, who was on the bed next to me, his big thick cock in his fist, stroking fast and furious. Our talk of prior lovers had definitely amped him up. He’s always been like that. Ever since college. What turns him on more than anything is seeing me with other lovers. Hearing me talk about fucking other people is a close second. The whole conversation with Jill had been foreplay to Bill.

Now he pushed my skirt to my waist and pulled my panties off. For a moment, I thought he’d start fucking me while I was still on the phone, but instead, he began to lick my pussy.

“So I’ll see the two of you at the reunion?” Jill asked.

“I don’t think so,” I told her, happy to keep the past in the past. I worked to keep my voice steady as Bill lapped at my clit. “But thank you for the trip down memory lane.”

Then I hung up the phone and fell back onto the mattress as Bill took me on a reunion of our own.