(This story is a continuation of a story with the same title previously posted.)
“I need you to keep that dick hard for me,” is what she whispered to me the very first time we met.
How did she even know? How did she know that my cock thickened and lifted its head to look at those luscious tits beneath her pink sweater when we had just met, had only exchanged a few words before our night class started? Did she know that I got even harder when I made an excuse to trace my index finger on her hand as I asked her about the heirloom ring she was wearing?
That first meeting, what Liv said, how she was dressed, is etched in my memory because she was so totally different from any woman I had met up to that point. With her demure demeanor and those signals she gave off of hot, smoldering sensuality under the prim exterior, she had me hooked right away. I was wild to get to know her better. And it seemed she was exactly of the same mind.
For several weeks as our night courses got underway, we continued talking, flirting, sitting next to each other. It was during those weeks that I learned more about her growing up in a military family that moved about, how her experiences living in different places including abroad had given her an outlook really different from the conservative, small-town Midwestern culture I grew up in. She had grown way beyond the Norwegian Lutheran roots that shaped her parents’ lives, especially her mother’s as the daughter of a Norwegian Lutheran minister.
Especially when it came to sex, something she talked about frankly, with no shame or pretending—how much she enjoyed it and felt no guilt about enjoying it, how she went for what she wanted when she was horny and didn’t intend to apologize. As I just said, I had never met a woman like her before, and this is what made me wild to get to know her better.
I grew up in a world where men made the decisions. Men made the moves. That’s how it was meant to be. Especially when it came to sex. Women were trained to let men pursue, never taking the role of aggressor, never showing keen interest in sex. Because any violation of those rules would mark them as sluts, and in small, conservative towns, being tagged as a slut put you way beyond the pale for anything except use as a male sex object. Not wife material, not respectable family material. Just a slut, a sex toy.
That’s how people thought in the world I came of age in. I’m not going to lie: my own outlook owes a lot more than I’d care to admit to that formation. Until I met Liv, I thought I was the man, God’s gift to women, the one who took the initiative to hunt down what was available—hell, yeah, especially slutty women who put out freely—and I did women the favor of fucking them. I thought I knew pretty much everything there was to know about sex, that I was the one teaching the women I fucked how to enjoy it, that I was damn good at it and the women I slept with were lucky to have me screwing them. I was a stud, and my years in the Army, with the access my uniform gave me to a lot of willing women, only made me more convinced of that.
Then I met Liv. And I discovered that I didn’t know jack shit about sex or women and what women like. Liv turned my world upside down.
A kindergarten teacher dressed in a conservative white blouse with a high collar, a cashmere sweater, and a plaid skirt became my sex teacher. And my world hasn’t been the same since then.
Here’s how that started: a few weeks down the road from when we first met, Liv suggested we go out for a drink after our night classes. She knew a good little tapas bar not far from the night school where we could have a few glasses of wine or some beers and eat a few bites while we talked and got to know each other better, she said. And it was near her apartment where we could go for a nightcap if we wanted.
I was game. I liked where the plan seemed to be going, from bar to apartment to “nightcap.” I was pretty sure I knew what the latter really meant, and I was up for it. I was as up for it as up could be.
As we walked to the bar, Liv casually took my hand—new for me; I had always been the one, the man, who made that move with women—and walked so close to me that I could smell the scent of her thick red-blonde hair and feel the curve of her hip against my leg. When we got to the bar, she continued behaving like she was the man. She made the moves and decisions, and I followed. New territory for me.
She chose a table for us after consulting with the waiter, and she placed an order for several tapas without even asking me, some shrimp in garlic, tortilla española, fried calamari, and olives. And a carafe of red wine. So much for the beers I had planned to order….
The table Liv chose was a corner table with chairs side by side, a sitting arrangement that had our legs in close contact. Turned out it was also ideal for when she wanted to get me to try a bite of something and speared it with a toothpick and put it into my mouth. She had this all planned out, and it turned out to be sexy as shit, even though it blew all my expectations about how the man acts, how the woman follows, and what sex really is about right out of the water.
So we ate, a long, slow grazing meal of nibbles totally new to me, a downright sensual meal, since Liv insisted that as we ate slowly, we savor what we were eating, and that we savor the taste of the robust tempranillo she had ordered to go with the tapas. We ate and we talked. And as we talked, Liv’s hand played along my thigh and right up to my cock, as if that hand was doing the most natural thing in the world, in the corner of a restaurant while a man and woman talked about how good the tart olives tasted along with a bite of the eggs and potatoes in the tortilla.
My hand reciprocated—it had a mind of its own—by fondling her leg over her skirt and then, when I thought I could get away with it and no one would see, under her skirt. As I played along her bare thigh, she moved closer so I could have better access. And that’s when I found she had no panties on. And that she was shaved. And wet as fuck.
That’s when she said, too, “You know we’re going to fuck tonight, right? All night long. And I’m going to show you how to fuck better than you’ve ever fucked before. I’m going to wear your cock out and want it to wear my pussy out before the night’s over. Do you think you can be up for that?”
I took a gulp of wine. I nodded. Then we paid our bill and walked out of the bar, hand in hand, for her apartment. And that nightcap.
“I need you to keep that dick hard for me,” is what she whispered to me the very first time we met.
How did she even know? How did she know that my cock thickened and lifted its head to look at those luscious tits beneath her pink sweater when we had just met, had only exchanged a few words before our night class started? Did she know that I got even harder when I made an excuse to trace my index finger on her hand as I asked her about the heirloom ring she was wearing?
That first meeting, what Liv said, how she was dressed, is etched in my memory because she was so totally different from any woman I had met up to that point. With her demure demeanor and those signals she gave off of hot, smoldering sensuality under the prim exterior, she had me hooked right away. I was wild to get to know her better. And it seemed she was exactly of the same mind.
For several weeks as our night courses got underway, we continued talking, flirting, sitting next to each other. It was during those weeks that I learned more about her growing up in a military family that moved about, how her experiences living in different places including abroad had given her an outlook really different from the conservative, small-town Midwestern culture I grew up in. She had grown way beyond the Norwegian Lutheran roots that shaped her parents’ lives, especially her mother’s as the daughter of a Norwegian Lutheran minister.
Especially when it came to sex, something she talked about frankly, with no shame or pretending—how much she enjoyed it and felt no guilt about enjoying it, how she went for what she wanted when she was horny and didn’t intend to apologize. As I just said, I had never met a woman like her before, and this is what made me wild to get to know her better.
I grew up in a world where men made the decisions. Men made the moves. That’s how it was meant to be. Especially when it came to sex. Women were trained to let men pursue, never taking the role of aggressor, never showing keen interest in sex. Because any violation of those rules would mark them as sluts, and in small, conservative towns, being tagged as a slut put you way beyond the pale for anything except use as a male sex object. Not wife material, not respectable family material. Just a slut, a sex toy.
That’s how people thought in the world I came of age in. I’m not going to lie: my own outlook owes a lot more than I’d care to admit to that formation. Until I met Liv, I thought I was the man, God’s gift to women, the one who took the initiative to hunt down what was available—hell, yeah, especially slutty women who put out freely—and I did women the favor of fucking them. I thought I knew pretty much everything there was to know about sex, that I was the one teaching the women I fucked how to enjoy it, that I was damn good at it and the women I slept with were lucky to have me screwing them. I was a stud, and my years in the Army, with the access my uniform gave me to a lot of willing women, only made me more convinced of that.
Then I met Liv. And I discovered that I didn’t know jack shit about sex or women and what women like. Liv turned my world upside down.
A kindergarten teacher dressed in a conservative white blouse with a high collar, a cashmere sweater, and a plaid skirt became my sex teacher. And my world hasn’t been the same since then.
Here’s how that started: a few weeks down the road from when we first met, Liv suggested we go out for a drink after our night classes. She knew a good little tapas bar not far from the night school where we could have a few glasses of wine or some beers and eat a few bites while we talked and got to know each other better, she said. And it was near her apartment where we could go for a nightcap if we wanted.
I was game. I liked where the plan seemed to be going, from bar to apartment to “nightcap.” I was pretty sure I knew what the latter really meant, and I was up for it. I was as up for it as up could be.
As we walked to the bar, Liv casually took my hand—new for me; I had always been the one, the man, who made that move with women—and walked so close to me that I could smell the scent of her thick red-blonde hair and feel the curve of her hip against my leg. When we got to the bar, she continued behaving like she was the man. She made the moves and decisions, and I followed. New territory for me.
She chose a table for us after consulting with the waiter, and she placed an order for several tapas without even asking me, some shrimp in garlic, tortilla española, fried calamari, and olives. And a carafe of red wine. So much for the beers I had planned to order….
The table Liv chose was a corner table with chairs side by side, a sitting arrangement that had our legs in close contact. Turned out it was also ideal for when she wanted to get me to try a bite of something and speared it with a toothpick and put it into my mouth. She had this all planned out, and it turned out to be sexy as shit, even though it blew all my expectations about how the man acts, how the woman follows, and what sex really is about right out of the water.
So we ate, a long, slow grazing meal of nibbles totally new to me, a downright sensual meal, since Liv insisted that as we ate slowly, we savor what we were eating, and that we savor the taste of the robust tempranillo she had ordered to go with the tapas. We ate and we talked. And as we talked, Liv’s hand played along my thigh and right up to my cock, as if that hand was doing the most natural thing in the world, in the corner of a restaurant while a man and woman talked about how good the tart olives tasted along with a bite of the eggs and potatoes in the tortilla.
My hand reciprocated—it had a mind of its own—by fondling her leg over her skirt and then, when I thought I could get away with it and no one would see, under her skirt. As I played along her bare thigh, she moved closer so I could have better access. And that’s when I found she had no panties on. And that she was shaved. And wet as fuck.
That’s when she said, too, “You know we’re going to fuck tonight, right? All night long. And I’m going to show you how to fuck better than you’ve ever fucked before. I’m going to wear your cock out and want it to wear my pussy out before the night’s over. Do you think you can be up for that?”
I took a gulp of wine. I nodded. Then we paid our bill and walked out of the bar, hand in hand, for her apartment. And that nightcap.
