She giggles, a nervous laugh made prominent by the mood.

“And I don’t need ya to shave it.” I slide my palm over the soft patch of fuzz between her legs. “It’s sexy.”

It’s the first pussy I’ve had my hand on, and I’m insatiably curious, index finger running up and down the hot, slick slit heating up her thighs. My thumb begins a steady rotation at that spot right at the top—exactly the same spot I see actors in porn rub. My hands are so huge, that thumb covers a lot of ground, digging a bit deeper as it parts her the smallest bit.

The friction has Charlie moaning.

Her thighs squirm.

Spreading her legs, I wedge myself between her thighs, elbows nudging her wider. Resting on my arms, I take two thumbs and gently spread her pussy. Stare, fascinated, at the parts of Charlie that make her a woman: clit, vulva. The spot above her asshole that I’m tempted to touch.

Using my right thumb, I run it over her labia.

“Jesus, Jackson, would you stop staring at it!”

“I can’t help it—I’ve never seen one up close.”

She throws an arm over her eyes and groans miserably. “It’s so embarrassing.”

“Why? Your clit is fuckin’ sexy.”

“Oh my god, shut up. Clits are not sexy.”

“Fuckin’ yes they are.”

If I looked up, I know I’d catch her rolling those pretty blue eyes. “You’re only saying that because you’ve never had sex with one,” she grumbles.

“Why do you have to rub it in?”

“Because, if you don’t stop staring at it, I’m going to make you rub one out instead.”

Rub one out. Jerk off. Masturbate.

My girl is clever.

Say your prayers, Charlie Edmonds. I might be a virgin, but I’m about to make up for lost time, starting with worshiping at the altar of your delicious pussy.

“You better give your heart to Jesus, ’cause your ass is about to be mine.”

She raises her head and looks down at me. “Huh?”

I lower my mouth and make contact, flattening my tongue and dragging it straight down the center. Give my head a shake, like I’ve seen them do in pornos. I dig in deeper. Everything I learned I learned from porn…

“Oh. My. God.”

Just like everything I do, I put every last bit of effort into going down on Charlie, relying on her sounds for feedback, knowing I’m doing a damn good job when she loudly gasps and pulls at my shoulders.

Spreads her legs wider, bending at the knees.

I grab an ankle and prop it on my shoulder.

“Oh J-Jesus.”

That’s right, darlin’. Pray to Jesus.

Charlie’s hips rise off the mattress and I seize the opportunity, sliding my hands under her ass. Bury my face and go to town. My mission: make her moan and beg for it.

It doesn’t even take two minutes; the sounds coming from Charlie’s throat—from her mouth—are loud, almost tortured. I shush her, not wanting to lift my head and ruin the moment, but fuck, she’s noisy.

I don’t have time to worry about it or be embarrassed, because when I start sucking on her clit, Charlie makes the tell-tale sound of a girl who’s about to orgasm. Thrashes her head on the pillow and grasps for my head, giving my hair a tug. Pushes at me, trying to inch away.

I know better—I’ve seen the movie.

I know how this ends, have envisioned it so many times in my mind the past few weeks since I met her—how’d she’d look when I made her come. Yeah, I’ve thought about it. I’m a virgin, not dead below the waist.

“Jackson, oh my god Jackson.”

My tongue swirls. Dips. Licks.

“Oh shit.” She groans, guttural—a sound I wouldn’t imagine a girl making. “Fuck.”

I love the dirty talk—it’s erotic and unexpected. I’ve never heard Charlie curse, let alone talk dirty, and the fact that she’s doing it during sex—or, oral—is hot as hell.

It has me hard as a fucking rock, grinding my dick against the mattress at the same time I’m eating her out. Dry humping the bedding like a teenage horn dog, about to come myself and inevitably squirt jizz on my own damn comforter.

Fuck.

There’s no stopping the train once it’s in motion, and we both moan—me into her pussy, Charlie into the dim bedroom. Me, grinding my hips.

I might be inexperienced, but I know she’s about to come by the swivel of her pelvis on the bed—she’s damn near grinding her crotch into my face, fucking it. First, little pulses. Then, louder moaning. Then, she’s shoving at my shoulders, pushing me away but not really wanting me to pull away; she simply doesn’t know what to fucking do with herself as her body begins shaking with shocks of pleasure.

Now I can feel it on my tongue, the jolts. Her body humming. Convulsing, for lack of a better term.

I can feel the whole thing happening on the surface of my tongue. My lips. I grin into her pussy, knowing I’m going to smell like sex for days—the smell from her imprinted on my skin. Under my nose. My fingers.

Mmm.

I like the idea that I’m going to smell her after tonight, when I’m sitting in class or pulling on my helmet on the football field.

Charlotte Edmonds’ cum.

Fucking. Delicious.

Who knew?

I could get used to this, dining on her pussy. The insatiable part of me that has to do better and be better fuels me on; I want to be the best fucking oral she’s ever had, or will have.

Remember this moment—it might never happen again…

I shrug off the thought. Nope. It won’t be the last time, Jackson—you’re hooked on her and you damn well know it. Stop denying it.

She says my name over and over like a mantra, a psalm spoken to God, repeated and memorized; words to live by.

“Jackson, oh Jackson…yes…God Jackson, oh Jesus…”

It’s a rush.

The best rush.

Nothing will ever replace the sound of it, not the noise in the stadium during a game or fans shouting my name in unison when I make a play. Not the sound of the press calling to me for an interview. Not students saying my name as I walk past them on campus, heading to class. Not the little kids who want my autograph if they see me at the grocery store.

This.

This beats all of it.

My name. Her lips.

Wednesday 3.0

Charlie

So tired…

I crack an eyelid, blinking against the pitch-black bedroom, hearing only the sound of our breathing and the fan gently whirring above us.

I can’t see anything, not even the ceiling.

We’ve been lying here for hours—after Jackson went down on me, he rolled off the bed and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Brushed his teeth, washed up, came back, and climbed across the mattress. Awkward, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with me afterward. Reached for me then pulled back, unsure.

I made it easy on him. Wanting to cuddle, I rolled into his giant, warm body and little-spooned him—little-spooned the shit out of him, actually, until he relaxed and his arms went around me. One hand resting on my hip, the other under his head, he rested his chin on the crook of my shoulder and inhaled my shampoo, smelling me.