So it’s like freshman year, and I’m homesick and lonely, and this guy sitting at my table in English asks after class if I want to get a coffee or something, so I go with him, and we have coffee, and we talk about our families, and he tells a funny but sad story about his pet goldfish when he was like five, and we end up in his room. Somehow he got a single, and I’m impressed by how clean it is, like spare, you know, nothing like my room at home with clothes mounded up on the chair. He’s neat. And cute. And serious. Or so it seems to me. So serious when he undresses me. And I’m so nervous.

So we end up sitting on his bed, not saying anything, just looking at each other, and his penis is erect. And it’s so big. I think there’s no way it will fit, you know? Especially since I’m, like, you know, a virgin.

So he takes my hand and moves it gently between my legs, and then his hand moves to his penis, and he holds himself, his penis, his cock, and he starts stroking himself. Gently. Slowly. Mostly near the top. And I sort of mimic what he’s doing, touching myself, slowly, mostly back and forth motions, not exactly like I do at home, and we’re looking at each other while we’re doing it, looking into each other’s eyes. And his eyes are so intense, but also kind.

It’s like we’re in a spell. Or making a spell. Or something like that. Spelling. His hand going a little faster, and I can’t help looking at his—his hand. His cock. And that’s when it happens. His hand moves from his cock to my mouth. His finger goes in. Just a little ways. Just the tip. And I kind of suck and lick it.

And after just a few licks my whole body shudders and jerks, and inside I’m just an explosion of—I guess you’d call it pleasure, but it’s more than that. It’s astounding. I’ve never felt anything so intense. And I know I’m having an orgasm. My first orgasm.

But a moment later he takes his finger from my mouth and touches it to my nipple. Gently. He moves his finger up. Down. Around. And I have my second orgasm. Then my other nipple. My third orgasm. It’s just too much. I fall back on the bed. He gathers me up. My bottom. His face presses against my—my—my cunt. His lips. His tongue. I come. I come and come and come.

After, his face is wet with my juice. We’re kissing. We’re fucking. He fits after all. He fits perfectly. He comes in me. I love the feel of him coming in me. And then his arms around me. Holding me.

I’m obliterated. I’m lying in his bed. He lifts my leg. “Look,” he says, “your heel is wet from your cunt juice.” He licks my heel. It tickles. I laugh. I can’t stop laughing.

I go home, back to my dorm, completely happy. But it occurs to me. I don’t love him.

The next day I buy a goldfish. It’s in a little plastic pouch. I bring it over to him. He puts it in a drinking glass. We watch it swim around.

“I think he might be lonely,” I tell him.

“Or her,” he says.

“Or maybe it’s gender neutral,” I say.

“So we should call it they?” he says.

“We should,” I say. “We should flush them down the toilet.”

We flush them down the toilet.

We look at each other. We are so naughty. We are so turned on.

We watch each other pee.

Then we fuck.

Then I suck him.

Then we fuck again. While I’m riding him, I tell him, “I’m going to flush you down the toilet so you can rescue the fish.”

“Yes, flush me,” he groans.

We come together. I can’t believe how intense it is.

I still don’t love him.

Six years later for our first anniversary I buy him an aquarium. Empty. No fish.