Submitted to a Workshop

I put this into a workshop a month or so ago. I haven't edited it and doubt I will. The discussion in class was so much fun that I am putting this here just for the fun of it. Enjoy. Or don't.


Make Love The Random Way
By Anthony R.

Masturbation. What it really means is auto-gratification. This doesn’t have to be sexual. If you’ve ever said to yourself something as benign as “Wow, I did a great job on this assignment!”, you have masturbated. Daydreaming is really just mental masturbation. Rationalizations, congratulations, or anything else directed at yourself that makes you feel better: they are all some form or other of masturbation. I masturbate a lot.
But that’s not what this is about.
*
“Tell me what you like. I want to make you cum.”
I was already inside her when I said that. She was on her back, legs open casually, as most girls are taught to by years of lackluster sex. I wanted to be the best she ever had, and while I like to think that this was no big feat, I definitely would be.
It’s amazing because this girl is out of my league. She’s one of those pretty blondes that will go crazy when her looks start to fade because that’s how she defines herself. I’m not really into her either. She smokes and isn’t bright enough to hold her own in a conversation with me, at least not about anything that matters. This only started because she wanted to make her future ex-boyfriend jealous. Neither of us even meant to be having sex at all. It was supposed to be some fake date like you see in movies sometimes.
But, somehow, it came to this.
When I moved in to kiss her, it was a joke. I was expecting her to say “Ew, what are you doing?” in an annoyed tone. Instead, our lips met. She was so soft, softer than I would imagine after smelling those cigarettes. Our tongues glided into each other’s mouths. This is when it clicked. This is seriously going to happening.
I grabbed her body just above her hips and pulled her closer. She responded by kissing me harder and gently putting her hands under my shirt before caressing my hardened torso. I couldn’t taste the cigarettes anymore. They didn’t matter.
If I’d taken this date seriously, I would have shaved my chest.
Because I live with my mother, we decided it would be best to go back to her place. She shares an apartment with her sister. I don’t know if she was literally her sister, but either way, she was to be out for the night.
I helped her undress between kisses. First her shirt, then her jeans (which was not easy given how tight they were). Her high heels had come off already, so all that remained was her Victoria’s Secret lingerie. She sat in the middle of her bed and waited for me to finish the job. I inched my way forward to her. When I got there, I kissed her deeply while I unlatched the blood red lace from her swollen breasts. I walked my hands forward as I imagined a randy tiger might, leading her onto her back. After finally breaking the kiss, my lips and tongue moved to her neck. Traveling down slowly and continuously, after teasing her perfect, small nipples and enjoying the smoothness of her belly, I arrived at her pelvis. There was one more thing I had to do before I slid off her wet panties. They looked delicious on her and matched the already discarded bra. Through the fabric, I rubbed her clit with my thumb and massaged her labia with my tongue. It was more suggestive than anything. Her breathing grew heavy and her hips began to move rhythmically with my tongue. She had just started to touch her breasts when I stopped. I looked into her eyes for a moment as I slid her panties off very slowly and moved them down her legs. I wanted her to ache.
Once those soaking wet panties were off, I rested my body on her as we manipulated our tongues in each other’s mouths once again. I was firmly, playfully, grinding my not yet exposed member into her precious honey pot.
Quickly then, as I could scarcely restrain myself much longer, I moved my head back down to her lower regions, removing my shirt as I did so. I ate her so very hungrily. She tasted like the most delicious peach I had ever eaten. After I undid my pants and acrobatically removed them without interrupting my feast, my hands moved to her breasts. They were big and soft, but not porn star big. They were real. They moved easily in my hands and felt like a dream. While I played with them, the flat of my tongue covered her clit and moved in big circles, maximizing her pleasure. Her breathing had become more shallow then, almost to a pant. She was ready.
I stopped eating her and removed my hands from her body. But it was only for a second.
I think she was surprised by how casually and smoothly my fingers entered her. She had a look on her face that I watched very carefully until she closed her eyes that seemed like a mixture of resignation and ecstasy. Once inside, my fingers moved exploratively for the benefit of us both. Mainly though, I wanted her to have some preparation for what was going to happen next. I reintroduced my tongue to her clit and she doubtless couldn’t have been much happier.
I sat up a little bit and positioned the underside of my index and middle fingers on the front wall of her precious womanhood. My left hand moved to a spot just above her pubis and pressed down on it firmly. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed and pressure, becoming something akin to a frenzy after little time, I worked her G spot with everything I had.
Her face registered the surprise of the sensation. When she gave into it almost immediately, her face contorted into an expression signaling almost unimaginable pleasure. Seconds later, my rapidly moving fingers were being flushed by a deluge of female ejaculate. The smell was intoxicating, invigorating. Her screams filled the air before she could muffle them with a nearby pillow. The bed had become soaked, but it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t be cleaning it up.
I couldn’t wait anymore, so, I asked her:
“Do you want me?”
She nodded, breathless, anticipating that moment when our flesh would meet.
The condom came out of its package and rolled on without issue, thankfully, and I hovered over her to kiss her, my left arm holding me up and her arms wrapped around my body. I used my other arm to guide my ambiguously sized penis into her waiting vagina.
The rush of that first ‘feel good’ moment, it was rapture.
“Tell me what you like. I want to make you cum.” I was already inside her when I said that.

Cognizant

In the television show Fortysomething, Hugh Laurie’s character, Dr. Paul Slippery, says something in the last episode that I have found poignant since the first time I heard it. He said:

“When you’re young, you just don’t know what it is that you’ve got. And there’s no reason why you should know. Part of the point of being young, really, is not knowing. Life gets around to you soon enough.”

Sometimes, I think about what that means. It can mean a few things, generally, but applicably, there are many interpretations. One thing I understand it to apply to is freedom. That’s the biggie. People are born free. It really is true that any path is available to anyone. All the way into your late teens or early twenties, you still have that freedom. You may not think so because of things other people tell you or what you tell yourself, but you are still free. The freedom doesn’t start to fade until you’ve made enough choices for yourself, when you’ve dug a deep enough hole for yourself. You make decisions on what to study, where to work, where to live, what to buy, how to buy, who to trust, and what to do with the rest of your life. That last one is the trick. The freedom killer. We all make that choice and some of us make it every day. That decision affects everything else we do and think, guides us on one path, and chains us to one life. Sometimes our choices work out well and sometimes they turn out to be the last thing you should have done.
Through experience, we begin to close ourselves off to whatever we perceive to dislike and anything that harms us. That limits our options. It limits our freedom, freedom that we never knew we had until it had suddenly gone. “You don’t know what it is that you’ve got.” We don’t know because we take the life we’ve had from birth for granted. But this isn’t a bad thing. If we didn’t walk around for the first twenty years thinking that we were supermen or superwomen, or both in some cases, the human race wouldn’t be what it is today. Let me qualify that. The world as we know it would not exist.

“There’s no reason why you should know. Part of the point of being young, really, is not knowing.”

It’s not just freedom, but energy that you lose. There is a point in everyone’s life, unless you’ve died young (which may not be the most tragic thing in the world), when you are done growing. That boundless energy is still a part of you though, and this stage is called your ‘prime’. Not long after that, actually even during that, your cells start to break down like never before. That’s when you start dying. We’re all dying, but how can someone in their youth truly grasp that? They can’t. Until you have felt it, until you have begun your slow march to death, you can’t possibly understand the depth of the meaning of Slippery’s words.

So, it comes to this question: Is not knowing better than knowing?

Yes or no, either answer could be right. Maybe it depends on your beliefs, or stoicism. Even with certain beliefs, there are plenty of other reasons someone would choose one or the other. Believing in God(s), or not. Being happy with your life, or not. The choices, rationalizations, digressions; anything, or not. Given the freedom to choose, what would your answer be?

“Life gets around to you soon enough.”