© 1996

"Do you want to fuck?" she repeated, enunciating clearly as though she thought his drunkenness made him deaf. He looked at her carefully, because he'd never had a stranger ask him that before, drunk or sober.

She had long straight blonde hair, slightly crossed blue eyes, a white turtleneck stretched across large loose breasts, and short sturdy legs beneath a black miniskirt. The angle of the light showed him the fine hairs on her upper lip and the mole on her left cheek. She looked nothing like the girl who had just dumped him, and that was absolutely fine with him.

"Yes," he said. He had come into the pub with something to prove; had approached a dozen women, none of them with brown curls and sapling slim and supple. All had turned him down, and he had begun drinking.

"You men are such shits," she said to no one in particular.

"You want to fuck or not?" he asked her as he grabbed his coat.

She looked back across the pub at someone -- a couple sitting hip to hip in a booth -- and then back at him. "Yes," she said, biting her lower lip.

They left the smoky pub and walked across the damp spring ground to the student residences. Minimal essential conversation:

"Where?" she asked.

"I have a single room," he told her. He'd bargained hard for that room, because he had wanted a place for Julie and he to --

"Your place," she said.

"Birth control?" he asked. "I'll need to buy condoms." Julie had been on the pill; no condoms in his single room. And he hadn't thought of it before stumbling out to prove whatever it was he was trying to prove.

She gave him a long look of appraisal. "You get points. Most men don't even offer to buy them." She shrugged. "I carry condoms."

"Oh," he said. "My name is --"

"I don't care," she said. He slowed down then and she stopped and turned to him. "Look, if you don't tell me, you can't be lying, okay? I don't want lying, I don't want bullshit. I heard enough lies from *him.* And from *her.* You have a dick. I want it in me. Okay?"

He nodded. After that, they didn't talk.

They laid their wet coats across the radiator in his dorm room, carefully avoiding each other's touch. For a moment they stood there looking at each other, not quite sure why they were together at one in the morning. Then she bit her lip again and said, "So. Let's fuck." Somehow she had already gotten the condom package into her hand.

He reached forward to kiss her but she was already skinning up her turtleneck, exposing her white belly and ribs and the snowy lace expanse of brassiere. He helped her untangle her blouse from her earrings (silver loops with little barrels on them). As he put her earrings carefully on his dresser, she grabbed the crotch of his trousers, searching for his fly. He was mostly hard. She clutched at his cock through the fabric and grunted once softly. He couldn't tell if it was in surprise or satisfaction.

He removed his trousers before he turned to face her again.

She snaked her hand into his undershorts -- he kicked his trousers away -- and she began to stroke his cock. He took a moment to peel off his flannel shirt and his tee-shirt (Julie had told him that guys look ridiculous in shirt-tails and undershorts), then wrapped his arms around her. He held her tight for a moment, feeling her soft satin bra cups squashed against his chest, her belly against his. He kissed her throat and shoulder and again her throat.

She turned her head so he couldn't kiss her mouth. "I don't want that romance bullshit," she told him as she worked her hand eagerly along the length of his cock. "I want to be fucked."

He reached up under her skirt and pulled down her pantyhose and panties. She let go of him long enough to step out of them. Then she knelt to pull off his undershorts. He guided her mouth to his cockhead. She popped the head into her mouth, ran her tongue around it and let it free again. "That's not what I want," she told him as she rolled the condom onto his stiff cock.

"I know," he said. "You want to be fucked."

He fumbled with her bra clasp and let her large warm breasts fall free into his hands. He cupped and kissed her breasts, sucking on each small soft pink nipple in turn. She made that soft grunt again, and backed up to the bed, pulling him along. She fell onto the bed with a thump and lay still: heavy breasts hanging to the sides, shining damply from his kisses; black skirt bunched about her waist; a dark arrowhead of pubic hair.

He kissed the humid undersides of her breasts, tasting her sweat and feeling the indentations of the underwire bra. Her belly was cool and damp, and she shivered as he licked her navel. As he kissed the edge of her pubic hair, she laid her hands on his head and pushed gently.

She smelled sweet and fresh and he opened his mouth to take in as much of her as possible. She gasped as he teased her clitoris with his tongue, tightening her fingers in his short hair.