“I need you to keep that dick hard for me,” she whispered.
Then the class began and we had to pay attention to it.
The thing is, I had only just met Liv when she whispered that to me.
This is a story I haven’t told anyone else. You’re the first to hear it. I’m building up to telling it to Kym one day soon. Kymber’s my girlfriend. I’m practicing by telling this story to you now. Kym and I love to talk dirty when we have sex. We tell each other dirty stories from our past to spice the fucking up. This story definitely has a lot of hot spice, and I want to find a way to tell it that doesn’t make Kym feel threatened by my relationship with Liv.
What happened with Liv was mind-blowing. Before I met her that evening right before class, I had thought of myself as a decent lover, even something of a stud. Liv taught me otherwise. If you’ll pardon my French, she taught me that though I had thought I was hot shit on a silver platter in the sack, I was really a cold turd on a paper plate.
Here’s what happened:
I met Liv in a night-school program, one of those fly-by-night business colleges that promise the moon but deliver jack squat. We were both in our mid-20s, in dead-end jobs and bored out of our skulls. Thought we could do better with a business degree under our belts. So we enrolled in night school on top of our daytime jobs—installing and troubleshooting cable lines (me) and teaching kindergarten (Liv).
The first night of our first semester, I met Liv before my first class. Turned out it was her first, too. We had the same schedule for the whole semester, same classes. We hit it off right away. I won’t pretend that the electric charge of sex that seemed to run between us from the outset didn’t have a lot to do with how we hit it off. Liv was hot. Simple as that. Luscious curves, thick red-blonde hair pinned up off her neck, milky skin with rosy tones in her cheeks, sea-blue eyes that looked frankly into the eyes of whoever she talked to like she could see to the innards of the other person.
I was snagged. I needed to get to know this woman more. I intended to get to know Liv more. A lot more. Her exterior—her packaging and presentation—could not have been more prim and proper. I can still see how she looked that evening when I first met her. A white blouse with a high frilly collar buttoned to the top button, with a form-fitting pink cashmere sweater and a plaid wool skirt cut just a bit higher from the knee than you’d expect for a kindergarten teacher. And leather boots.
Hell, yeah, I’m a guy and don’t know shit about clothes. But Liv made an impression, and I can recite this list because the picture is burned into my memory, and because we laughed about the impression it made on me later, when we started fucking and talking about how she reeled me in from the moment we met.
In addition to that outfit, Liv was wearing a ring on the ring finger of her right hand that caught my eye and made me wonder if she was married. So I asked about it, taking the opportunity to hold her hand, trace my finger up to the ring and around it, asking her what significance it had. It was a kind of ring I had never seen before.
Liv told me that her grandfather had been a Norwegian Lutheran minister up on the Canadian plains, and he and her grandmother had given her the ring. It was a traditional Norwegian wedding ring. Her grandparents gave it to her so that she’d remember her Norwegian heritage and, they hoped, find a good Scandinavian Lutheran man to marry one of these days. As she told me that last part of the story, she laughed and said that meant they hoped she’d save her virginity for that good Lutheran man—and good luck with that!
Turned out we had shared military connections. Her father, who had married an American woman and become an American citizen, had been professional military. Liv had lived in lots of places, growing up in the military, including in Europe. She had an aura of sophisticated cosmopolitanism that made her all the hotter, and that couldn’t have been more distant from my own background.
I’m retired military. I spent time in the military before getting discharged and taking my cable job. I joined the Army to get out of the little podunk Midwestern town I grew up in. My family was white-bread American, conservative, restrictive. A no sex before marriage kind of family. And then when you marry, sex is for popping out as many babies as you can.
That wasn’t how Liv was raised or how she thought about sex, I was soon to learn.
Then, as I say, after we’d spent some time chatting and getting to know each other, and after I’d traced the back of her hand with my index finger to reach that ring I wanted to ask about, and after—I’ll say it frankly—my cock had thickened and lifted up to try to get a better look at those hot tits displayed in that tight pink sweater, the instructor walked into the classroom and started her spiel and the conversation ended.
With Liv whispering in my year, “I need you to keep that dick hard for me.”
How did she know?!
Then the class began and we had to pay attention to it.
The thing is, I had only just met Liv when she whispered that to me.
This is a story I haven’t told anyone else. You’re the first to hear it. I’m building up to telling it to Kym one day soon. Kymber’s my girlfriend. I’m practicing by telling this story to you now. Kym and I love to talk dirty when we have sex. We tell each other dirty stories from our past to spice the fucking up. This story definitely has a lot of hot spice, and I want to find a way to tell it that doesn’t make Kym feel threatened by my relationship with Liv.
What happened with Liv was mind-blowing. Before I met her that evening right before class, I had thought of myself as a decent lover, even something of a stud. Liv taught me otherwise. If you’ll pardon my French, she taught me that though I had thought I was hot shit on a silver platter in the sack, I was really a cold turd on a paper plate.
Here’s what happened:
I met Liv in a night-school program, one of those fly-by-night business colleges that promise the moon but deliver jack squat. We were both in our mid-20s, in dead-end jobs and bored out of our skulls. Thought we could do better with a business degree under our belts. So we enrolled in night school on top of our daytime jobs—installing and troubleshooting cable lines (me) and teaching kindergarten (Liv).
The first night of our first semester, I met Liv before my first class. Turned out it was her first, too. We had the same schedule for the whole semester, same classes. We hit it off right away. I won’t pretend that the electric charge of sex that seemed to run between us from the outset didn’t have a lot to do with how we hit it off. Liv was hot. Simple as that. Luscious curves, thick red-blonde hair pinned up off her neck, milky skin with rosy tones in her cheeks, sea-blue eyes that looked frankly into the eyes of whoever she talked to like she could see to the innards of the other person.
I was snagged. I needed to get to know this woman more. I intended to get to know Liv more. A lot more. Her exterior—her packaging and presentation—could not have been more prim and proper. I can still see how she looked that evening when I first met her. A white blouse with a high frilly collar buttoned to the top button, with a form-fitting pink cashmere sweater and a plaid wool skirt cut just a bit higher from the knee than you’d expect for a kindergarten teacher. And leather boots.
Hell, yeah, I’m a guy and don’t know shit about clothes. But Liv made an impression, and I can recite this list because the picture is burned into my memory, and because we laughed about the impression it made on me later, when we started fucking and talking about how she reeled me in from the moment we met.
In addition to that outfit, Liv was wearing a ring on the ring finger of her right hand that caught my eye and made me wonder if she was married. So I asked about it, taking the opportunity to hold her hand, trace my finger up to the ring and around it, asking her what significance it had. It was a kind of ring I had never seen before.
Liv told me that her grandfather had been a Norwegian Lutheran minister up on the Canadian plains, and he and her grandmother had given her the ring. It was a traditional Norwegian wedding ring. Her grandparents gave it to her so that she’d remember her Norwegian heritage and, they hoped, find a good Scandinavian Lutheran man to marry one of these days. As she told me that last part of the story, she laughed and said that meant they hoped she’d save her virginity for that good Lutheran man—and good luck with that!
Turned out we had shared military connections. Her father, who had married an American woman and become an American citizen, had been professional military. Liv had lived in lots of places, growing up in the military, including in Europe. She had an aura of sophisticated cosmopolitanism that made her all the hotter, and that couldn’t have been more distant from my own background.
I’m retired military. I spent time in the military before getting discharged and taking my cable job. I joined the Army to get out of the little podunk Midwestern town I grew up in. My family was white-bread American, conservative, restrictive. A no sex before marriage kind of family. And then when you marry, sex is for popping out as many babies as you can.
That wasn’t how Liv was raised or how she thought about sex, I was soon to learn.
Then, as I say, after we’d spent some time chatting and getting to know each other, and after I’d traced the back of her hand with my index finger to reach that ring I wanted to ask about, and after—I’ll say it frankly—my cock had thickened and lifted up to try to get a better look at those hot tits displayed in that tight pink sweater, the instructor walked into the classroom and started her spiel and the conversation ended.
With Liv whispering in my year, “I need you to keep that dick hard for me.”
How did she know?!
