Friday, September 25, 2009
Her name was Marissa, and she had an ass like a firm, ripe peach.
As far as I was concerned, this Long Island lovely was pretty much the pinnacle of my dating career. She was the classical ‘actress-slash-model’; five feet and nine inches of toned, tanned loveliness that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the cover of any mainstream men’s magazine.
Every inch of Marissa was manicured to perfection; French-tipped nails, honey-blond highlights and a twice-monthly trip to Mystic Tan that left every millimeter of her athletic body dyed a delicious mocha brown.
But within hours of bedding her, I realized that appearances weren’t all they were cracked up to be.
Marissa, it turned out, was limited.
She wasn’t dumb, by any means. She had an eidetic memory for names and faces (as long as your name or face regularly appeared in film, print or television.) She maintained her body with the pragmatic philosophy of a master mechanic – and could tell you to the exact kilocalorie how much food she’d consumed that day – and how much she’d purged in Gold’s Gym.
But when it came to those things that didn’t directly affect her, she had absolutely no interest whatsoever.
She could tell you the names and home cities of any American Idol contestant, but couldn’t name a single Supreme Court justice. The only book she owned was The South Beach Diet. Her favorite movie was ‘the one with all the dogs in.’
But where her focused attention was most frustrating was in the bedroom.
Marissa had a body that was just built for sex. When she peeled off those almost-nothings she wore to bed, it was hard not to howl like the horny wolf from a Tex Avery cartoon. Her breasts were like firm cantaloupes, her hips curved like rolling hills and her backside was firm enough to bounce quarters off.
But she knew nothing about sex.
Like her blowjobs, for example. The thought of those plump, perfect lips wrapped around my cock was so exciting I almost blew a blood-vessel. After the mandatory ‘three dates,’ when I finally lounged back in bed, watching this tight, toned tigress position herself between my thighs, I thought I was about to experience heaven…
But instead, she blew.
She literally blew me; like she was trying to inflate an airbed. Then, rather mechanically, she stretched those plump, pink lips and began to bob her head like a chicken pecking for corn.
In and out of her mouth my erection plunged – barely touching her lips and tongue.
The sex itself was nearly as bad. When I peeled her away from me, she obediently flopped back onto the bed and braced herself for what was coming.
It was like fucking a corpse. However gorgeous Marissa was, in bed she was like a limp rag doll, lying there lifelessly while I thrust in and out.
I tried it all; hooking my elbows under her knees, to practically bend her in half. I threw her ankles behind her ears to fuck her fast and deep. In the end, just to elicit a response, I gave her a sharp nip on the nipple.
“Ow! What the hell?”
Eventually, I rolled this limp, but lovely fuckdoll onto her tummy and took her roughly from behind. She still didn’t move, but the sight of her firm, fine ass and toned, tan back excited me enough to detonate inside her. Panting, I flopped back onto the bed and turned my face to hers.
She looked at me rather blankly; offering a polite ‘that was nice.’ Then she got up and headed to the shower.
To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. Here was a girl with a body as finely sculpted as a Ferrari – but underneath the hood, she packed about as much performance as my grandpa’s Buick.
And then there was Ashley.
Ashley was exactly the sort of girl you’d think I wouldn’t be interested in. She was pale, with a bottom-heavy body shaped like a ripe conference pear. But she was pretty and smart and when I met her, in the line at Barnes and Noble, there was something about the bookish brunette that fascinated me.
So I bucked the trend and dated the ‘smart girl’ for a change.
Boy, was it an education.
For a start, I learned that you shouldn’t judge a librarian by her cover. After taking her out for Indian food, she breathed hot, curry-scented breath into my ear and confessed; “I fuck on the first date.”
With Marissa, it had been the industry standard three.
Ashley took me back to her studio apartment, to a twin-sized bed overshadowed by towering bookshelves. There, she gave me an education into just what an educated girl is capable of.
For a start, Ashley looked a lot better out of her clothes. As she peeled off her pantyhose and unbuckled her bra, I discovered a generously proportioned body that was as pale and perfect as porcelain. Sure, she didn’t have a beach body like Marissa did, but there was still something scintillating about the softness of her skin and her firm, fleshy femininity.
And it got better…
Her blowjob technique blew more than my world – it took all my self-restraint not to blow my load as well.
She literally feasted on my cock; lips, tongue, fingers and fists kneading, nibbling, licking and lathering my shaft with saliva.
“Oh, God,” I gasped, as she juggled my balls between her lips. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“My mom kept a copy of ‘The Joy of Sex’ hidden under the bed when I was growing up,” she confessed, her lips and chin glistening with saliva. “I’d memorized it by the time I was fifteen.”
My education didn’t end there… A heartbeat before I detonated into her softly sucking mouth, she pried her lips apart with a sticky ‘smack’ and threw me back onto the bed.
“This is from the ‘Kama Sutra’,” she told me, responding to the mystified look on my face as she entangled me in an elaborate position. “This is called ‘the Scorpion.’”
She was straddling me now, facing away as she eased my hardness inside her. “It hits my g-spot so well from this angle.” She came twice in the next ten minutes, with me barely having to do anything. She was clearly a girl who knew what felt good.
Ashley didn’t introduce me to just ‘the Scorpion’ that night. I met the whole menagerie: ‘The Elephant,’ ‘the Eagle,’ ‘the Crab’ and, to finish it all off, the very appropriately named ‘Goddess.’
I was sitting up in the position, my back against the wall. Nestled snugly in my lap, Ashley rocked her hips back and forth, grinding herself against me.
“Oh, God,” I gasped, feeling an imminent explosion building in my balls. “What else did you learn from the Kama Sutra?”
“This…” Her flexible fingers stretched between our sweaty bodies – and a moment before I exploded in sweet release, I felt her probe my perineum with her fingers. Like she’d defused a bomb, I felt my cock stiffen and swell – suddenly ready to continue this round of raw, sweaty sex.
That night, I learned things I’d never even dreamed of. New positions, new techniques… Things I’d never have considered before. I must have come six times – the last time most intensely, as she introduced me to something called a ‘prostate massage.’
“You can’t stick your finger there!” I balked.
“Oh, trust me, baby,” she bit her bottom lip. “You’ll be pleased I did.”
Twelve sleepless hours in Ashley’s bed taught me a world of pleasures – but the most important lesson was this:
If you want to be well bed, find a girl who’s well read.