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I haven’t had sex worth mentioning in eight months.

But I’ll mention the two times I did.

First I fucked Cole in a bathroom at Zuma Beach in Malibu. He was going to fuck my roommate, in rehab for her paranoid schizophrenic conviction that she had been possessed (by a demon) after procuring a Ouija Board. We walked away from the group accompanied by a delusional recovering Crystal Meth addict and hid from the suspicious eyes of our guardians a mile down the shore behind a public restroom. It was early spring, so the beach was empty. He kissed me and I pressed myself against him, grabbing the back of his head to eliminate the potential for allusions to some kind of genuine romance… invalidating the possibility for confusion regarding the nature of our “first kiss.”

The tweaker, insisting upon the fateful nature of Cole and I’s “romance,” opted to piss beside a pile of rocks, to grant us privacy.

“What’s the point?” Cole asked, breaking the kiss. “This is too frustrating.”

So I let go of him and walked backwards, grinning, into the empty men’s bathroom. He followed, cautiously peaking behind himself every step of the way. I chose one of the empty stalls and giggled, pulling my panties down from beneath my skirt. The giggle coupled with the nonchalance of discarding undergarments is a guarantee, a sealed deal; I was to be fucked after a whopping two weeks or so of rehab. Fucked by a stranger, fucking him just for the sake of being fucked myself.

He followed, we shut the Zonguldak Escort door, I rubbed his bulge through his jeans, breathing heavily against his neck, and then unzipped his pants and guided his cock out and against my wet pussy. I was wet enough for it to slide over my clit and right into my pussy, but as much as I wanted him to shove it in all the way, I leaned back against the wall separating our stall from the next and pushed him back just a bit.

He seemed to have no idea what to do.

Fucking strangers. My goodness. I like to think fucking on the beach, hiding away from the confines of rehab, was the most exciting sexual scenario Cole would ever experience. I could easily be right. Do girls often strip their panties off for strangers? Not just to tease, but as a genuine, whole-hearted manipulation tactic… the solidifying of gratification? I don’t know. No one’s ever done it for me, but oh how often I’ve found myself bent over a sink or a balcony, waiting for the other party to take the figurative plunge and give in.. waking up in an unfamiliar part of town, in a foreign country, running from some desperate drunk slut at four in the morning, cops yelling in a foreign language to get up and stop sucking a club bouncer’s cock..

Shit like that probably doesn’t happen to girls that want to get married. Possibly on the beach. The beach where I fucked Cole while recovering from a little chunk of time I fondly remember as the Crack Months.

But lots of people Zonguldak Escort Bayan are stupid and boring.

I giggled again, kind of my thing, and turned around, pressing my face against the side of the stall so he could see me and recognize what I felt while I remained silent. Not having had sex for what seemed, at the time, like a disturbingly long period, I knew I would be tight and didn’t want anything penetrating me the very thing for which God intended the female anatomy (particularly my own). I wanted my pussy to stretch a little painfully around Cole’s curved, thick cock. I didn’t want any foreplay, I wanted him to glide it into me, not ramming my pussy but letting it dip in firmly. And when his cock was all the way in, I knew that he would have the sense to press it deeply until I could feel him hard inside me. I needed fuel for fantasy, reminiscences, two more weeks of masturbation (were I to find time between group therapy coupled with necessary avoidance of the aforementioned demon-possessed roommate).

Only after a drawn out thrust did I expect him to pound deeply into me. I wanted desperately to hear his cock slam into me. I was so wet and thought at the time that it was absolutely insane that I hadn’t been fucked in so long. I wanted to hear his cock slam into my cunt.

Phew. Vulgar.

So I leaned forward and he grabbed at my tits and yanked my nipples, finally cupping my breasts so the nipples poked out from between his fingers, rubbing Escort Zonguldak against the cold wall.

And then he did it. After two weeks of resigning to celibacy for what was then estimated to be a thirty day stint in rehab, and much to my surprise, I felt the ever-surprising sensation of a burning hot cock glide into me, filling me. I was thoroughly convinced I couldn’t have recuperated any more from the strange period of near-constant fucking before rehab. I was so tight and felt so oddly unfamiliar with the sensation of having my pussy filled that I reveled in my conviction that this would end up somewhat damaging. I thought I would split. I felt ever inch of him, every ridge, and the curvature hit me right where I needed it, pressing my clit out hard. I barely tickled it and felt the familiar deep waves of pressure build inside me.

I was so happy to get fucked, so happy to get fucked in public, in secrecy, and so fucking eager to come all over his dick and drip my juices all over the sandy bathroom floor.

So I did.


We were silent the whole time and when I came I squeezed my eyes shut, panting inaudibly and holding in a lung-filling breathe during the build up. As I came my body convulsed, my pussy throbbing, tightening in waves.

I exhaled.

Shortly after I came, he came inside me and kept pumping away at me while I still convulsed in erratic waves. His cum combined with my own came dripping out with every pump, trickling down my legs. When he stopped I flipped around and ran a finger up the length of my thigh, catching some of the hot cum from drizzling any further. I smiled mouth slightly agape, and stuck out my tongue to lick it all off my finger tips.

Heh. And that was the end of me and Cole. He left our posh rehab and I never called him.

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