Vanessa got right down to work. She had to sit on the bed, as the desk wasn’t really suitable for the task. As she handed sheet after sheet to Sullivan, he took them with a blank, almost stunned expression and tried to make some tentative organizational scheme. It was obvious that no one had ever taken an interest in his poetry before–maybe he’d never shown it to anyone before.
At one point she held up a page, read it, frowned in disapproval, and put it in the “rejected” pile.
He pounced. “Hey, what’s wrong with one?”
“Look, Sullivan, a lot of your poems are pretty tough and grim and even pessimistic. But this one”–she picked up the paper and waved it in front of his face–“this one’s just cruel and mean-spirited. It’s not a good poem.”
The poem was about a man who fell in love with a woman who turned out to be some sort of demon or succubus who ended up sucking the guy’s blood and killing him.
As he lapsed into a sulk, she said, “Is this based on anyone real?”
Grudgingly he said, “Kind of. Sophomore year I asked this girl out, and she said no.”
Vanessa waited for him to say more. “That’s it? That’s what led you to write this nasty poem?”
“Well, she hurt my feelings!” he cried.
“Sullivan, everyone gets turned down in situations like that. That’s just part of life. You don’t have to take out your vengeance on her by writing something like this.”
And yet, Vanessa found the poem reassuring in at least one sense. If he’d asked a girl out, he couldn’t be gay, could he? No problem if he was–but she was already getting hopeful that he wasn’t.
They worked for about two hours, then Vanessa shook her head and stopped. “I can’t read anymore–this stuff is too intense. Anyway, we’ve gotten through about half the material. We can do the other half some other time.”
Sullivan seemed relieved that this nosy girl wasn’t going to read any more of his precious poetry. He gathered up the poems from both the “accepted” and “rejected” pile, along with the file folder of unread poems, and dumped them on his desk.
“I can put on some soothing music,” he offered.
“That would be wonderful,” she said.
To her surprise, he put on a CD of some classical music–Schubert’s Nocturne in B flat for piano, violin, and cello. It was an extraordinarily simple but beautiful piece, and its soft, dreamy tones were just the thing to settle them down after the intense literary session they’d just had.
As both of them lay back against the headboard of the bed, taking in the music, Vanessa sensed something peculiar. About ten minutes after the piece began, she heard some snuffling from Sullivan. She looked over to him.
He was crying.
The piece really was lovely–but what man cries over music? The tears were actually flowing down his cheeks, as Sullivan kept his eyes closed. Inches away from her as he was, he seemed–mentally and emotionally–a million miles away.
Well, that’s not going to last very long! she said resolutely to herself. And so she rolled over and ended up on squatting on Sullivan’s lap. Then she took his head and pressed it close to her bosom.
Somehow he didn’t seem surprised at her act. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist and started crying more unrestrainedly. It had been a warm day, and Vanessa was wearing a clingy nylon blouse without a bra and a low-cut neck. Again, almost without realizing it, Sullivan brought a hand up and pulled the blouse down so that her breasts were exposed. She now felt the tears bedewing her chest, and every so often he sucked gently on a nipple, as if seeking nourishment from his mother.
When the music came to an end, he seemed to snap out of his reverie. Startled by the small but exquisitely shaped breasts exposed to his gaze and touch, he looked up at her and said, “I–I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said–and peeled off her top over her head.
He now brought both hands to take hold of her breasts, kissing them reverently. Almost to himself he whispered, “They’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you, dear,” she said.
She slid down to the floor between his parted legs, struggling to undo the zipper of his jeans. It took some effort to do that and also to fish out his organ from its confinement in his underwear.
Then she gasped. “Oh, my goodness!” she said.
His cock was close to ten inches long.
She just held it in one hand, pulling it this way and that as if she couldn’t quite believe in its reality.
“Is it too big?” he said worriedly.
“Um, I guess I can manage.”
It seemed ridiculous to keep their clothes on now, so they both whipped off their remaining attire and were naked in seconds. Now Vanessa made a determined effort to take stock of this enormous member–only the second one she’d ever seen. She first gave the tip a little kiss, then placed the first few inches of it into her mouth. It tasted good, and she placed both hands on the shaft, pumping it gently while she continued to suck. Sullivan just watched in astonishment as her head bobbed over his enormous phallus.
Vanessa couldn’t wait much longer to feel that cock in her vagina, so she flopped onto her back and looked up at Sullivan, saying, “Please go in me now.”
Sullivan awkwardly positioned his body between Vanessa’s legs, gazing down on her with a mixture of excitement and alarm. As he was guiding his cock toward its goal, he said hoarsely, “I–I haven’t done this before.”
“I figured you hadn’t,” she said. “Just take it easy, okay? Don’t go in all at once.”
He had a little difficulty finding her entrance, moving his cock up and down between her labia and seeming to get a little frustrated by his clumsiness. She was about to help him when he suddenly slipped in: nearly half his length disappeared into her.
She gasped at the sensation of this big, thick cock forging into her crevice; but Sullivan’s response was even more pronounced. He let out a pathetic little whimper and almost seemed on the verge of tears. She was captivated by his reaction: while there was no way she could know what a man feels when he first inserts his member into a female, she sensed that it must be overwhelming. And Sullivan, being a poet, was so sensitive!
He quickly got into a good rhythm, thrusting in and out and gradually getting nearly his entire length into her, in spite of her warnings. But she didn’t mind: Jack’s repeated forays into her vagina had stretched her well enough, although she hoped she wasn’t quite as loose as some old whore! Sullivan certainly didn’t seem to think so, for his face registered such a feeling of ecstasy that she was almost afraid he would have some kind of fit. He was also seizing her small breasts with his hands, sometimes reaching down and grabbing her bottom while continuing to pound her relentlessly.
But, to his own misfortune, he worked too hard. He came in under three minutes.
His orgasm sent an enormous stream of come into her, as he flattened himself onto her body and kept pumping. But she could tell that he was hugely disappointed with himself: he’d wanted to hold out a lot longer to prolong the sensation. But she thought she had a solution to his difficulty.
“Don’t come out, dear,” she said encouragingly. “Stay in me.”
That conventional little endearment seemed to bolster his self-esteem far more than the transcendent sensations he was experiencing. Clinging to her tightly, he lay still for some moments; then, very gradually, he began thrusting again. Sure enough, he had remained hard–and was ready for more!
This time he worked more slowly and gently, although as he became aware that he was on track to perform once more in what he sensed was a fairly unprecedented manner, his motions became more and more vigorous, until after several minutes he was pummeling her hard again. She didn’t mind: wrapping her legs around his thighs, she made herself available in every way, receiving both his cock and his caresses as a receptive woman should.
This time he lasted a respectable ten minutes before showering her pussy with his second emission. There was just a bit of pain in the process, as his face revealed; but as he remained firmly embedded in her, his substantial weight pressing down on her, his mind was trying to take in the glorious fact that he had possessed a woman for the very first time. And the depth of his penetration of her elicited a rare coital climax in her.
At last he rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. His cock was slick with both his and her juices, and her pussy almost immediately expelled a large wad of his come onto the bedsheet.
“Wow!” she said. “Coming twice without pulling out–that’s impressive!”
“It was you,” he said simply. “You inspired me.”
“How sweet of you, dear.”
He turned his head to look at her. His expression was sober, even solemn. “That was the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.”
“Oh, what a darling you are!” she cried, flinging herself onto him. She wanted to emphasize to him that women liked some serious cuddling after intercourse, and he was glad to oblige, stroking her back, shoulders, and bottom while kissing her all over her face.
The inevitable happened: he got hard again.
She wasn’t entirely surprised–but was still struck by his potency. “You really want it again?” she breathed.
“Only if you do,” he said, ever the gentleman.
“Well, maybe I do,” she said slowly. “But… we could try something else.”
“What’s that?”
Looking at him slyly, she said, “You could go into my bottom.”
He gasped at the prospect. “You like that?”
“Yes, I do.”
He was so speechless that he didn’t say or do anything.
“We need some lube,” she said, looking around the small room to see if there was anything that could serve the purpose. The bathroom was out in the hallway, and she didn’t care to throw on a robe and tramp over there to find something. Luckily, Sullivan had some hand lotion on the desk, and she figured that would work.
She got out of bed to get it, then came back and handed it to him.
“You want to do it?” she said half-teasingly.
His expression told her all she needed to know: You want me to put my fingers back there? The look she gave back to him was: If you’re going to put your cock in there, you’re gonna have to lube me up.
He shyly squeezed some of the stuff onto his fingers and, as Vanessa flopped onto her stomach and waited, he carefully coated the outside of her anus.
“Sullivan,” she said a tad impatiently, “you’re going to have to go inside also. All around the rim, please. And maybe some on yourself.”
He did as ordered, then got into position. Somehow he thought that the girl should be on hands and knees; but when Vanessa made it clear that she wanted to remain flat in a prone position, he assumed that would work just as well. After all, she’d clearly done it before!
He entered her cautiously, and this time he did take care not to go in too far or too fast. He sensed that, for all her experience, this was a delicate procedure, and the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt her. He went in only about half his length, and then began thrusting, draping his entire body over hers. He noticed that he could also take hold of her breasts with both hands, and as he did so he felt totally in charge. But at the same time he realized that she was really in command of the situation, receiving his cock into that tight spot with a grace and patience that was anything but passive. It was almost as if she were a fairy princess condescendingly indulging the whims of a serf.
But as his pounding became more forceful, she grabbed one of his hands and slid it down her body to her sex. He didn’t need any further encouragement: he knew exactly what she wanted. Stroking her dripping labia and clitoris, he wondered if he could achieve that rarest of sexual events–a simultaneous climax between man and woman.
And he did. As his cock spurted out its third emission, she started moaning and mewing, and her body began quivering so hard that it almost ejected him from her anus. But he held on tight, continuing to fondle her pussy while he poured the final drops of his discharge into her. The sensation–so similar to, but really quite different from, his entry into her vagina–was so transporting that he remained in her long after his orgasm was over.
But it was more than just a physical sensation that he was feeling. There was an emotional tumult going on in him, and there was no way he could hold it in anymore. As a few tears leaked out of his eyes, he whispered into her ear: “I love you, Vanessa.”
She awkwardly extended a hand behind herself to stroke his cheek. “That’s really nice, dear–but maybe you could come out of me now?”
Sullivan wanted to kick himself. He, who was supposedly so sensitive to other people’s feelings, hadn’t taken any notice of what she was feeling. Even though she had done this before, the length of his member–and its slow but inexorable probing of her nether orifice to almost its full length–was clearly causing her some discomfort. He slowly pulled out, saying, “I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right, dear heart,” she said. She wasn’t fully prepared to return his profession of love, but she was clearly moved by his devotion and wanted to get to know him a lot better.
But the time for that would come later. After some more snuggling, she got up and said, “I’d better go home.”
His face registered almost cataclysmic disappointment. “I–I thought you’d stay the night.”
She bent down and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. “Sweetheart, I have an early class tomorrow–and I don’t have a change of clothes with me. So I’d better go home.”
He watched her glumly as she put on a robe he had in his closet and went out into the hallway to give herself a quick douche in the bathroom. She came back, got dressed, and once again knelt down by the bed to give Sullivan–who hadn’t moved or made any attempt to hide his own nudity–another kiss, this one a firm, wet, intense kiss during which she slipped her tongue a little ways into his mouth.
“See you in class tomorrow, dear,” she said, and left.