[tomjones88]

I went through the next week wondering how long I should keep seeing them both and how to schedule it. I'd already told Katie--back when it was true--that I wasn't seeing any other woman, only her, even though she said she got the sense that I was "quite experienced" and told me outright that she felt I was hooking up with other women. I had to go back to her apartment for a practical reason anyway; I'd left my watch there. I would keep her around for a couple more weeks and then move on.

Amy, on the other hand, I wanted to keep things going with. I didn't want to date her and I didn't want to become too attached. But she and I at least had some things in common. We were both avid readers; she had a room full of books and she ran a book club. We were both in graduate school. She for clinical psychology, myself for film. I wondered if, when she saw me get out of her bed in my faintly shit-stained underwear, if she tried to psychoanalyze me.
Amy had been through a divorce. Katie was just this lonely woman.

I was just this sex-obsessed guy who only told himself he wanted a relationship.

The next weekend, I went to see Amy on Saturday. We went to a movie. She drove and I bought the tickets. We went back to her house and sat in her living room, playing never have I ever and listening to the Beatles on vinyl. One of her never have I ever questions was if I had ever had sex in a very public place. I thought a while about it. I thought about my ex girlfriend and I fucking on a mountain that was commonly climbed. But no, I had not.
We made out on her couch. I slid my hands under her shirt from the back and inched my fingers over her bra strap. I took a few seconds--it was one of the double-strapped kinds--bit I undid it. She shook the rest of it off. It got her in the mood.

She sat on my face and I smelled her body odor and licked horizontally at a good clip. I darted the tip of my tongue deeper in to her and out again. With my index finger I rubbed the edge of her vulva below my chin. Her hand gripped my hand and manhandled it up and down between her thighs. My chin got damp and her wetness soaked down my fingers and on to my hand and her thighs contracted in these muscle spasms that sent them caving over my head and retracting and her body lurched upward. Her vagina pulled back from my mouth and I got a view of the shiny red messiness of my work.

We had sex and she was sprawled over the edge, her head tilted back, facing the wall while my rhythm moved her forward and we actually fell off the bed and laughed about it.

Then sleep.

In the morning, we talked about this and that, our studies, the difference between male and female brains, movies and I randomly announced to her;
"Also, I want to have sex with you."
She giggled again. I stroked her breasts with one hand. I moved down her belly.
Under her white sheets, the sunlight streaming in, her vagina got the wettest it ever got in my mouth and I even heard myself slurping against her juices. Her hand gripping around my head again. Her fingers tightening as she moaned. Her moans like jagged cliffs; up suddenly, peak, valley. Up again.

Her legs caved over my head, grazing my ears. I let her recuperate for a moment then came up from the sheets with her cum stamped all over my lower face and one of her pubes jutting off my lip and I kissed her and she kissed me back. In my experience, women do not care if they taste their own fluids. They just do not. It's a hang up men have.

I said to her,
"I really want to do you without a condom."
She looked insecure. She didn't know how to respond.
I said, "It's okay, I'll get a condom."
She laughed and said, "Yeah..."

The sex we had was good. I lay on top of her and told her to look me straight in my eyes. And she looked into my eyes with her blue eyes and said,
"Fuck me."
I kept fucking her.
"Harder. Harder."
I turned it up a notch.
My comment had no impact on the intercourse. But as I lay on her bed, waiting for her to return from the bathroom (I imagined her vagina needed some cleaning up) and let my dick go limp in the jizz-filled condom, I wondered if I shouldn't have said what I said.
She re-entered. Saw me all awkward and naked and laughed.

During breakfast, I put a tab of butter in her microwave to complement the rolls we were making. We didn't think about the fact that these tabs of butter are wrapped in tinfoil. Her microwave made sparks and she yelled,
"Stop it! Open the microwave!"
I was flustered and took too long to open it. But I did. We laughed about it. I kissed her goodbye when I left. I didn't know it yet, but that was the end of my fling with Amy.

Five hours later, I showed up at Katie's. I had a large box of condoms in my backpack. I figured I should just go all out if this was going to be my life for the foreseeable future.
I knew the moment I saw her that this would be our last time. She was sort of in a surly mood. We actually left the apartment, finally, and had a picnic. We chatted about random stuff.

She announced at one point that she'd decided that we wouldn't have sex this time. For a couple minutes I resigned myself. Then I stopped. Of course we would have sex.
I had gotten not much sleep at Amy's and I'd already gotten laid twice in less than eighteen hours. Why not round it out?

So when we sat on her couch and I sat close to her and stroked her shoulder at one point, after a joke and let my hand slide down to her leg, she said,
"Okay, you can touch my vagina if you want."

And that's what led to the image I have of my mouth approaching her vagina as she lay diagonally on her bed, my fingers already having worked her, and seeing a thin bit of white goo streaking her lips. Some guys would run for the hills; I was undeterred. I licked her up and down and side to side for the next few minutes. Then I put on a condom and entered her.

"On a scale of one to five, how good does this feel?" I asked her as I lightly pumped back and forth, my body separated from her's by several inches.
Surly mood still active, she said,
"Three."
I pushed deeper in to her and lay down on her chest and moved faster. She said,
"Five..."
I had the most amazing orgasm I'd had in a while that time. I don't know why it was with Katie and not with Amy, but it lasted forever and I made noise. I cupped my hand around her cheek and bore my face down in to my pillow. I kept sliding in and out of her as I blew my load, making my orgasm even crazier and she whimpered and I felt a contraction of female thighs for the third time that day. I felt exhausted from the taste of cunt and the feeling of orgasms.
After I left, she was apparently in a much better mood, because she texted me,
4:34 PM Sunday" "Thx for coming over! Safe travels!"
And I had already decided not to call her again. It took me some time to realize that "safe travels" was maybe her announcing the same thing.
The next day, I woke up stiff. My neck was cramped from eating so much pussy. The day after that I had a sore throat. Amy said she also had a sore throat. I didn't see how I could have given it to her. I read something about how women with yeast infections can pass it on to their partner and it can turn in to a new infection for them and I remembered the white goo on Katie's vag lips and thought, "Oh..."

A week later, Amy texted me and said she was feeling better. She also said:
3:54 PM Wednesday: I've thought a lot this past week and realized that I'm not ready to start dating anybody. A relationship ended in January. It was a rough winter. It was fun hanging out for a bit and getting to know you. Good luck with everything!

I don't need to go into anything after that. I don't need to go in to my half-sincere pleas for us to meet up again or my snarky dismissal of her when she refused. I don't need to go into the fact that I felt that box of condoms was a waste. I don't need to go in to how I pounded gin that next day and did not remember falling asleep and woke up with a headache that was the opposite of an orgasm.

All I need to do is move on. If this is a phase I'm in, then I'm just going to get through it.