A true story from many years ago
When I was in college I had a theatre class. One of the course requirements was to see a certain number of live performances. I happened to be gifted a couple of tickets to a performance at a large repertory theater in Denver, just about an hour away from my university.
I asked in class if anyone wanted to join me and a classmate, Susan, jumped at the chance even offering to drive.
Susan and I were friends but not particularly close. We had seen each other in class and parties, but I knew little about her other than that she was engaged to a guy going to another school. We did like one another though and had playfully flirted upon occasion.
She picked me up that night and during the drive to Denver we chatted about class and classmates. We talked about her not seeing her fiancé, Phillip, often enough and about who I was dating. At the time I was dating 3 women casually, and she laughed about how exhausting that must be.
We also ended up on the subject of erotic arousal, trading stories about things that we found exciting. In a moment of openness she told me about being out with her fiancé at a bar one night. She said she had been in a strange mood that evening - sexual and feeling like anything would set her off. She and Phillip had been sitting at the bar. He had slipped off to the restroom and when he returned he had come up behind her, standing there behind her barstool and started rubbing her shoulders. She said his touch had been electric and as he rubbed she had found herself really aroused. She said she felt embarrassed but simultaneously didn’t care. When he stopped rubbing her shoulders momentarily, she said, she had told him, “Don’t stop!”
He went back to rubbing her shoulders and she said within a minute she felt herself tense and then had an orgasm.
I told her, “Wow! Just from rubbing your shoulders?”
She said that since that night she had discovered that there are certain things that can lead to orgasms for her that aren’t necessarily sexual. It wasn’t often but it just was what it was. I asked her what Phillip had thought about that night. She said she hadn’t told him, that he might have known she had cum on the barstool but they hadn’t discussed it and she hadn’t told him what she had told me. She couldn’t explain why she hadn’t shared it with him entirely, but she wasn’t sure she was comfortable telling him - that it might be giving him power. And, she added, it was a little embarrassing.
“Why did you tell me,” I asked.
She kind of laughed and said, “I don’t know.”
We sat through the play and chatted more during the intermission. After the play I asked if she wanted to grab something to eat. She said she wasn’t hungry but suggested we go out for a drink somewhere. I pointed us to a bar I knew of, a 70s fern bar that was still hanging on called Rick’s. It was a Tuesday night and it was rather dead in the place. We got a table by a window, sat across from one another, ordered a couple of drinks and talked about the play. Before too long we were on our second drinks and the conversation had veered towards who we each found attractive in our class. We laughed about our various choices and then she chimed in that she found me attractive. I was flattered and told her that I thought when I first met her that I would have asked her out in a second, but had found out she was engaged. However I added, smiling jokingly, if she ever broke off the engagement... When I said that I reached across the table and took her hand playfully. She smiled, but left her hand in mine. I slowly stroked her palm with my fingertips and she began to say something... but stopped. She was looking at me as my fingers lightly slid over her palm.
Suddenly, she yanked her hand away from mine saying, “Stop.” I apologized, but concerned, I asked if she was ok. She said she was, but that I please don’t do that - almost pleading.
I was confused. “Ok, but why - is everything ok,” I asked.
She hesitated, and then said, “Remember what I told you about? About Phillip? In the bar?”
“What? Me rubbing your hand? Really?” I asked, rather stunned.
“Yes.”
“You’re really serious?”
“Yeah,” she said quietly.
I said, “Ok,” adding again that I was sorry.
She didn’t say anything but looked at me. I smiled at her, looking into her eyes, feeling confused and guilty, but also empathy for what seemed to be both embarrassing and confusing for her. Neither one of us said anything as we continued to just look at one another for a long time. After nearly a minute of eye contact her lips parted and she suddenly took a deep ragged breath.
“Stop that!” She breathed.
“What,” I said, now totally confused, “Stop what?”
“Looking at me,” she barely breathed out.
“Wait, what? Just looking at you? Are you really serious? You’re not joking?”
“Do I look like like I’m joking?”
She was breathing fast and put her hands on the table. I thought she was going to pass out.
I looked away from her, “Hey, I’m really sorry. I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m so sorry.”
I looked at the bartender wiping the counter. We were quiet for a while.
And then I felt her hand slip into mine. I looked back at her. Her lips were parted slightly, her eyes, looking deeply into mine, were watery. I could hear her breath. My finger slid slowly across her palm. She inhaled, slightly tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and a small whimper slipped from her lips. Her shoulders quivered.
I waited. Her eyes opened, she looked at me again, and then said, “Let’s leave, right now.”
I got up, held her coat and as she slipped it on she leaned back against me, waiting there as I wrapped my arms around her. She pulled out her keys and waited by the door as I paid the check. We stepped through the cold air to the car without a word.
As she started the car she reached over and laid her hand in my crotch looking at me. I leaned over and lightly kissed her lips. She shuddered.
I pulled back, smiling and asked quietly, “Even that kiss?”
“Uh huh. I’m just... if... if we do this it could be intense, ok?”
I looked at her a long time and then nodded.
She laughed quietly, “Thank god.”
We pulled out of the parking lot and then slipped on to the freeway entrance. We were both quiet. I turned down the radio and listened to the wind outside the car, to our breathing.
I laid my hand on her thigh and and she inhaled deeply. I began slowly, gently, kneading it and small noises slipped from her lips.
My hand lifted to her blouse, brushing over the nipple. It was erect, a stiff raisin under my finger. She leaned forward into my fingers. I undid a button and slipped my hand into her blouse stroking her breast. She dropped a hand to my crotch and grabbed at my cock, squeezing and releasing it. As I tweaked at her nipple through her bra she moaned, her body quivering. The car swerved out of the lane before she righted it. She squeezed my cock harder and breathed out, “God.”
My hand dropped to her thigh, my finger tip spiraling in circles towards her crotch. She parted her legs and lifted her ass from the seat, momentarily causing the car to swerve again. My finger swirled into her crotch and slid down, top to bottom. She cried out and gripped my cock tighter.
Now, at this point, I could continue the story. I could tell of the rest of that dangerous, too-fast, drive home. The tearing off of our clothes once we arrived. The incredible passion as we unleashed ourselves on each other. The constant orgasms she had, over and over, for hours. The morning wreckage of two spent classmates. I could tell you that, but that would be a lie.
Instead I will share the sad truth.
As my finger was gliding over her pants, her pussy’s moistness seeping through the fabric, we both noticed the red flashing light appearing behind the car. Immediately snapped out of our delirious passion, she eased the car to the shoulder. As the highway patrolman exited his car and slowly walked toward the driver’s door, she fumbled with her blouse buttons and did her best to collect herself. She lowered her window and he peered in with his flashlight. He asked for her drivers license and registration, mentioning her speeding and erratic driving. She tried to settle her voice, apologizing, and handed him the documents. He took them, but gave another look through the car, pausing with the flashlight beam on the mis-aligned buttons on her blouse. He slipped away back to his car, and as she and I waited we said nothing to one another.
When he returned he handed her back her documents with a ticket. He told us to please drive safely, and then added, “and wait til you get home, ok?”
As she eased the car back onto the road I could tell she was deeply upset. I told her I was sorry. She said, “Don’t be. It was my fault. It was stupid on my part. Damn it!”
We were quiet for the rest of the drive. When she dropped me off at my house I again told her I was sorry. She told me not to worry through tears, and then drove away.
Although we saw each other everyday in class and we were always friendly, Susan and I never physically touched one another again.
She married Phillip the following summer.
