The Night I Loved You — An Erotic Awakening Read online

  Your mouth played me like an instrument, working its way around my clitoris, then down my labia, sucking gently to lift me to a state of pleasure I’d never felt before. Not even J. on his best night, not even my wettest masturbation fantasies could match what your tongue was doing to me. I half-remembered having been worried about the state of my bush, but that only made the sensation that much more exquisite, your chin and cheeks gently stroking my pubes as you ate me.

  I cried out as I felt your fingers enter me again, pushing in between my swollen lips as you worked my hardness with your tongue. Riding a wave of absolute pleasure, I felt a shock and a new sensation twisting up my spine as you slipped one wet finger into my ass as well. That was a place neither J. nor I had ever gone, and as my tightness clued you in to how new this was for me, you glanced up to make sure it was all right. I thrust down on you in response, feeling a delicious shiver of pleasure and pain as I took your fingers deeper inside me.

  I lost track of the number of times I orgasmed to the magical touch of your tongue and your lips that night. I was conscious only of how you stopped at some point, and how sopping wet I was. My clitoris was buzzing as ferociously as the aftermath of the vibrator sessions that had been the introduction to my own sexuality, before J. took me the rest of the way.

  You rubbed your way up my body, sucking at my navel, my nipples, my neck. Your erection was like steel where it pressed against my belly, and as your mouth found mine, I feasted on a musky sweetness that I realized with a thrill was the taste of my own wetness on your tongue.

  “Tell me what you want,” you said. Echoing my own words as your tongue traced its way along my ear. I shuddered as the pleasure of your touch twisted through me, gasping as I spoke.

  “I want you inside me.”

  You smiled as you kissed me again. “Is that the best you can do?”

  I felt more alive than I ever had. I felt my pussy aching for you, and I called it that in my mind like I normally never did. The taste of my pussy in my mouth mixed with the memory of tasting you. “I want you in me,” I said again. “I want it so bad.”

  “Tell me what you want me to do to you.” You were back to working my tits with hands and mouth, my nipples thrusting upright like tiny tongues, my areolas swollen and red.

  “I want you to do me. Make love to me, now.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  But I understood you. As strange as it might seem given all that we had already done, I felt a final inhibition fall away from me. Neither J. nor I were particularly potent in the dirty talk department, but that night, in that moment, I tapped into a desire I had never known before.

  “Fuck me,” I whispered.

  “I can’t hear you…”

  You were at my pussy again, diving in to suck my labia and my raw clit full into your mouth. I fought back the urge to scream.

  “Fuck me,” I said, louder now. “Fuck me now, fuck me hard. Fuck me with that big cock. Stick it in me, stick it in all the way…”

  You were up like a shot, your erection in your hand and my legs spread as you licked my juices from your lips.

  “Tell me what you want,” you whispered, and the look of anticipation, of raw desire on your face was something I’ve never forgotten.

  “I want you to fuck me.” I felt a sweet pressure at my swollen labia as you rubbed yourself against my slit. A shiver twisted through me that I couldn’t stop, my eyes wide open. “I want you to fuck me,” I said, my voice heavy with desire. “Fuck me like you’ve always wanted to, like I know you’ve wanted to, so fucking hard for me for so long. Fuck me. Please, just fuck me…”

  I have a confession. Even today, I have no real sense of how big you are. You’re bigger than J., and though I didn’t say so at the time, I’m pretty sure you figured that out. I honestly don’t know whether that means anything to you or not. It’s a guy thing, I know.

  Before I met you, I had no real sense of how big J. was, at least in terms relative to the rest of the male population. I knew he seemed like the perfect size for my pussy, and too big sometimes for my mouth, by which I had always assumed I’d gotten one of the pleasantly higher percentiles on the How does your man measure up? charts.

  My first time with J. hurt, because it was my first time.

  My first and only time with you hurt, and I know you could tell. But I need you to know that I wouldn’t trade that pain now for any other feeling in the world.

  Your thick head opened me up, even as the tremor I couldn’t control twisted through my body and threatened to shake you loose. As your thickening shaft opened me even wider, your hands gripped my waist to hold me tight, your arms under my legs to lift them at the same time. I was open as wide as I could possibly go, spread-eagled for you, helpless beneath you. Whispering your name, whispering “Fuck me,” over and over again as you groaned and slowly pushed yourself inside me.

  As you hit bottom, I came all over you. That quick, that perfectly. My orgasm threaded through the exquisite agony of your massive dick stretching me wide. I needed to cover my rock-hard clit because I was afraid that if you accidentally brushed it, I’d scream. And as I did, I was astounded to feel half my hand’s width of your organ still outside me. As deep as anyone had ever gone in me, you still had more to give, and you were giving it to me now, pressing against me, your head striking bottom inside me, grinding slowly so that I came again.

  All that long night was a glorious blur of motion and wetness, and the hardness of you, and the taste of you, and the look on your face as I begged you to fuck me again. I must have said that word more times that night than I ever had in my entire life. I certainly came to orgasm more times that night than I ever had before.

  You fucked me slowly to start, taking me on the couch with my legs spread wide and a perfect view of your huge cock as it plied me. Then we switched positions and I sat in your lap, feeling you settle into the couch cushions as my wet thighs wrapped around you. My breasts were high and hard as I pushed them at you, watching as you sucked them both in turn. I rode you hard that way, tighter with my legs together, each thrust against you feeling like your incredible erection might split me open from the inside.

  You took me once from behind, and I twisted my head underneath me to watch you slide in that way. Despite all the action my clit had already endured, I found my hand working its way down between my legs, even as the shivering sensation of your finger in my ass swelled through me once more. I came twice that way, then came again with your finger still in my tight hole as I straddled you on the floor, ramming myself hard and fast onto your incredible cock.

  I lost track of the time so quickly. Your staying power, your ability to bring me to the edge of orgasm and hold me there were an absolute marvel to me. So it was that when you finally came, I had no warning except your sudden cry, almost like you were in pain. You had me on the floor and were riding me from on top, the muscles standing out on your arms and shoulders. Then you were thrusting into me harder than you had all night, your body arched back as a scream of absolute pleasure escaped you.

  You tried to pull out at some point like you wanted to shoot over me, but I wouldn’t let you. I held onto you tight, my legs wrapped around you and locked at the ankles, my hands grabbing your ass. Only when you finally slowed did I let you carefully pull away from me, the look on your face speaking to how sore your cock was as you disengaged.

  I was sore as well, and soaking wet where your incredible load of cum began to seep out of me. With shaking hands, I found the towel that had started everything, still on the couch. I held it to myself as I let your semen spill from me, locked in your arms on the floor and feeling the beating of your heart where I lay against your chest.

  Neither of us spoke for a long while. Then you kissed me, and you whispered “I love you, too,” and it was done.

  It all ended in the same kind of suddenness with which it began. We dressed, and we kissed some more, and we held hands for the sake of that most basic contact, not ready to
break away yet.

  It was long after eight, thankfully. The dinner reservations were history, but I doubt very much whether I would have been able to go through the motions of normalcy that dinner would have required.

  “I should go,” you said finally, and we both knew you were right. Then you kissed me one last time, and you left, and we never spoke of it again.

  Through the long bath that washed the taste and the scent of you away that night, I understood without really needing to think about it that my life with J. would be different from that day on. I had revealed a side of myself that night that I had never known existed before. Like some kind of ghost lingering in the deep shadows of my life. A person I might have been but wasn’t, walking alongside me but never speaking up to tell me who she was, what she needed.

  Over all the years since, I’ve been listening. I’m more in tune now with what I need and with who I am than I’ve ever been before, even as J. has embraced my new passion and met it with passion of his own. A passion he never would have known if not for that night. A passion that he’ll never know who to thank for.

  It’s been two years since we’ve seen you, and we both miss you terribly. Your blog and your emails from London keep us both smiling, but it’s not the same. I hope you know that. I know you know that.

  For a time, I was afraid that what had happened between us would ruin things, reflecting my initial fear in the moment. But you were right. Everything always does change, and the resilience with which we face change is our species’ greatest gift. We were still friends. We still laughed together, we walked, we talked, we argued. We were never again alone together, though. Both of us knowing that it had to be that way.

  I was worried at first that I might keep thinking of you. That I might spend the rest of my life with my eyes closed and J. inside me as I dreamed that it was you instead of him. That dream never came to pass, though. It’s barely a memory now, four years later. So that after waking this morning and feeling J. hard against me in bed, and feeling him take me in the way I love to be taken, which is a thing I learned from you, I decide to write it all down. Because even after only four years, I find that I’m starting to forget who I was that night. Who you were. Everything always does change, but we don’t see the changes overtake us until it’s too late.

  I need to remember your cock in my mouth, in my hands, in my pussy that had never known how hungry it was until you filled me. I want to remember your tongue on my tongue, on my tits, inside me, drinking deep to show me how dry I’d been before. I want to remember you opening up my soul like you opened up my body, spreading me like the petals of a flower before you. Filling me with the seed from which so much of who I am now has grown.

  I want to remember the night I loved you, when you loved me back. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. I don’t know that I’ll actually be brave enough to send it to you when it’s done. I only know that it needed to be said, because if I lose this memory, I lose the night that the rest of my life began.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Caelyn Alba is a pseudonym responsible for the writing of erotic fiction and memoirs, much of it in conjunction with husband Sean Gerard Leah. In real life (when she can figure out what that is), she teaches humanities in the Pacific Northwest.