PANT: A STORY

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Reading Time: 4 minutes

It’s a hot word. Pant(ing). Pant(s). Pant(ies). Pant(omime).

When conjuring up a title for this I thought I would call it Pants (and the story of how I got in them), then I thought it might incidentally sound like a title of a story about a triumphant weight-loss battle. And face it, weight-loss battles aren’t hot.

Not everyone likes to know about the process of hot-ification, but everyone likes to admire the end result. I’ve heard it’s easy for a girl to get laid, hot-ified or not. I’ll be the first to tell you that it’s not so simple. Especially not for a girl like me, who can be summed up by the letter A (my average letter grade, my blood type, my cup size). Perky frontal lobes just weren’t the thing in high school; I graduated with all virginities intact.

Mind you, that’s not a complaint. Now, I know sex and its predecessors should be hot, spur-of-the-moment, ground-shaking events, but sometimes it’s nice to seal the deal beforehand. My friend and I discussed the matters of our virginities extensively before deciding that yes, we were hot enough to be each other’s firsts. For everything. We locked lips for the first time at one of our first parties where alcohol was an honourable guest. After a round of Jell-O shots, he planted a sloppy one on me in our hostess’ bedroom. The feeling of his tongue in my mouth was like … a tongue in my mouth. “Hmm,” he said. “Not quite what I expected.”

We ended up making out anyway, awkwardly, our youthful gangly limbs entangled together among our hostess’ beloved stuffed animals. We ended up making out often, progressing further and further each time (lip action, boob action, unzip action, tongue action…) until we were fairly regular bedfellows in between poring over textbooks and conversing over lunch together. A truly satisfying, healthy casual relationship requires a meeting of minds as well as of genitalia.

Last time we made love, no, screwed, no, had sex, no, fucked, no, had sex, yes, it was definitely having sex that time (not raw enough to draw blood, but not gentle enough to keep the bedsprings from squawking out more than a few telltale groans, echoing those that escaped involuntarily from my throat, which were loud enough for me to cautiously make a quick exit after the salacious romp lest I bump into one of his smirking, all-knowing flatmates)…. So, sex it is. So, sex!

Tell me how you were that day. I was good. Can you elaborate a little more? I was very good. How about a little more description? I was unattractive facial contortion/ back-clawing/ frantic gasping/ toe-curling good. I had you licking his ears, biting his jaw, seething yes, yes do that again between clenched teeth when he ground his gyrating hips into yours, massaging that lovely little sweet spot hidden deep up inside you with the head of his cock swirling in tiny tiny circles.

My panties are getting damp, sex. In the dimmed lighting, we stood in front of each other for a moment, silently staring straight ahead. I unzipped my cardigan and tossed it to the ground. He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly, and whipped out his hardening penis. More correctly, he pulled away his underwear and voil?, out whipped his hardening penis. My hands were still too cold from the outdoors for a handjob, so I placidly knelt in front of him, shielded my teeth with my lips and wrapped them around the head of his cock, letting my tongue explore the underside while I moved my head back and forth.

He stroked my hair, then brought his hands down to my breasts, which he groped through my shirt. I felt myself begin to weaken as he slid his hands under my clothing to pinch and stroke my nipples, and my mouth fell away from his cock to gasp at the little tingles tickling my titties, making my lower lips cry out for attention. Heeding their needy call, he brought me to my feet and slid his hands up my thighs and pulled my panties down my hips so his fingers could do the talking.

His index finger greeted my clit with a few hearty strokes and then he slipped a finger between my pussy lips, sliding it up slowly until he reached where I wanted him to. He pressed against it, massaging it, and when he was satisfied with the level of urgency in my groans, he ushered me to the bed and lay on top of me.

The low lights and the soft nu-age jazz music wafting from his speakers set the mood. He posed his head on my chest, feeling the gentle curve of my waist with one hand, stroking my palm with the other as I ran my fingers through his hair and around his ear. The tip of his penis tapped along with the jazzy rhythm against my open thighs for a few minutes before burrowing into my pussy.

I groaned and raked my fingers along his back as he slid the whole length his shaft back and forth, slowly, slowly, making sure that with every few strokes he nudged my precious spot with the head of his cock. As the background music quickened the tempo, he dug his cock into me, pumping harder and faster, squeezing my breasts, drawing circles on my inner walls with his mighty penis (mightier than the sword).

I ground my hips against his, arching and twisting to make certain that he explored every part of my pussy with his one-eyed buccaneer. I bit down on his ears to stifle my loud moans as he thrust in and out and in and out again, rubbing my hardened nipples with the tips of his fingers, breathing heavily against my neck, which he swirled his tongue over occasionally. The lecherous waves of passion churning inside of me tightened and finally exploded into a cascade of undulating cries.

Grinning at his triumph, he blurted his load inside of me soon afterwards and released a sigh of contentment, draping himself over my sweat-slickened body. He withdrew from my still-throbbing pussy, and cleaned himself of my juices with a towel before tossing it over to me. He pulled up his underwear and zipped up his pants as I knelt on the bed, allowing the viscous whitish fluid to dribble out of me, clenching my muscles together to squeeze out the last bit of his cum. He went to pee.

I put my clothes back on. He came back and turned on the light and fiddled with his computer. I cracked open a book and studied.

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