Why is an enigma so alluring?
I have asked this question ever since I was in my mid-teens; a naive, somewhat reckless and hedonistic girl with crushes and fears and fantasies like any other. But I would never have ascribed myself as a ‘people-person’.
I had kissed guys and had the odd sexual encounter; I’d lost my virginity at sixteen to a slightly older guy who lacked the required maturity to follow through into a relationship. A few guys had shown interest, but I didn’t really give the impression that I was interested and nothing ever went further.
That was until one afternoon at my sixth-form college.
Rob Gillespie had a reputation for being straight-talking. He was known throughout the school: intrigued by learning enough to tell kids who were disrupting lessons where to go, or to fight him after class if they had a problem. He asked questions when he cared to know something, and did his own thing in lessons when he wasn’t interested. He was generally respected, but quiet and had no real friends, and wasn’t without a few instances of controversy.
One day, at lunch, a smaller kid was getting picked on by three older kids; Rob intervened and got the crap kicked out of him, but landed a few shots himself. In a detention, Rob once told a teacher to go and fuck himself – slowly, without pausing, without a shaking in his voice – because the teacher was insulting him. He always seemed to get a lighter punishment after a long conversation with someone high up.
As an eighteen year old girl, an inevitable argument with a friend sometimes ensues. I was upset and alone at a table in a communal study area, when suddenly a consoling voice interrupted my thoughts.
“She’s a bitch anyway” stated Rob blankly whilst making a coffee.
“She’s my friend” I replied feebly.
“I went to primary school with her” he retorted. “She hasn’t made a real friend since then. She just keeps people handy. Fuck her. ” He walked back to his table, set down his cup and resumed reading.
I was pissed off – not through loyalty to my so-called friend, but for the arrogance of some guy who didn’t know me to interfere, as good as his intentions may be. I walked over and sat down across from him.
“And is your wisdom the reason you’re so happy and surrounded by friends?” – I instantly regretted the tone, but I was upset.
“You regret saying that, but it’s okay”. He looked back at his book. “If you want to walk away now I won’t think less of you. But you should talk it out with someone instead of wallowing alone, all brooding and hateful.”
We spoke for about an hour and it became clear that Rob wasn’t like anyone I’d met before: he was inquisitive and very intelligent, a great listener and, perhaps consequently, an incredibly perceptive reader of people.
Three weeks later, I was at his place; in the mean-time, we had flirted when alone and messaged back and forth. He had a way of looking at me silently, letting me try to work him out and speaking with his eyes, deep-brown and consuming. His smile came from his eyes before his mouth twitched into a smile, and his movements were slow and purposeful.
“Do you like psychology?” he asked as we sat and drank vodka and coke.
“Sure, I guess”…
He went on to tell me what he’s worked out about me – it annoyed me a little, because it reminded me of the presumptuousness he displayed in our first conversation, but I had grown to the stage of fascination where I got excited when he looked at me deeply.
“You have quite a…” he paused and looked down – not for his own timidity, but only to focus all the more deeply on my reaction, “quite a submissive personality, don’t you?” I could feel that I had blushed. “Ah, blushing! Some say blushing is a sign of exposure… Have I exposed you, Anna?”
For some reason, Rob using my name filled me with an unassailable urge; I kissed him on the lips, my clitoris and labia softly tingling after his words had ignited something I didn’t know that existed deep inside me.
“Stand up” – I obeyed. “Stand against the wall” – I did as I was told. He placed my hands above my head, slid my underwear down to my ankles from beneath my skirt, and flashed a smile so mischievous it gave me goosebumps. “Lick my fingers” – again, I obeyed as he fed them onto my tongue, delicately brushing my lips with them as he retracted them.
His kiss slowly introduced his tongue into my mouth, first satiating my lips by covering them in his essence, extracting a soft moan from my throat. He hitched up my skirt and caressed my labia with his middle and forefingers, drawing breath from deep within me. It could only have been thirty seconds, but the tease of not having his fingers inside me forced the word “please” to escape my lips, first silently, then with desperation and pleading than can only come from thirst or starvation. “Please… Please…” my eyebrows lifted at an angle and my mouth closed tightly on itself: “Please…”
He stripped my dress off, keeping himself fully clothed, then unzipped an exposed his erection. He leaned in, kissed my neck softly, and whispered “suck”, then lowered me onto my knees. Being relatively inexperienced, I had always been nervous giving oral sex, but I needed him inside me, and his was my way of earning what he was about to give me. I took him almost fully into my mouth, but he was too big, so I teased the tip with my tongue, cupping and massaging his balls. It made him overflow with passion, because within a minute he had lifted me, first to standing, then to wrapping my legs around him whilst he slid his cock inside my tight pussy.
The thrill after such anticipation was sublime; I gasped, but I didn’t have time to regain a steady breath, for his thrusting was so deep and intense that I welled-up from inside, ready to explode, whimpering ‘yes’ as unconsciously as I had whispered ‘please’ before.
He stopped and pulled my hair, wrenching my head back, then kissed me so fully and passionately that I thought I might suffocate with the force. He wheeled around, threw me on the bed, stripped himself naked and climbed on top. His body was lean, but taut and sculpted, with a power that you could feel from its solidity. His thrusts went deeper, leaving me each time to wonder whether I could take this force, but each time my pussy begged for more, and to stop would leave me shattered and unfulfilled – a crime of asceticism to experience for only a second that dearth of feeling once this kind of pleasure had been felt.
My orgasm roared inside of me as he licked him fingers and rubbed my clit; it evolved from rumblings to anarchic and violent gusts; rolled over itself as the thrust continued, leaving me tearful, satisfied, and unable to want anything but more. I came again, this time a silent shuddering with a single tear rolling from my left eye; still he kept going. He removed his throbbing cock, to which I tried to plead for him to continue his god-like dominance over me, but he replaced it with skilful and well-versed hands; one fingered my g-spot, the other softly teased my clitoris, controlling the ebb of my orgasm, denying me the final push.
“Do you want to come again?..” he teased mercilessly.
“Your cock…” was all that I could muster. He thrust back into me, and the third or fouth thrust tipped me over the edge, into the ocean, beyond drunkenness, staggering in delight through my own mind – the peak of satisfaction, never to be matched.
“I’m gonna…” His eyes widened, and I was uncharacteristically bold as I pushed him back, climbed on top and frantically sucked until his cum filled my mouth. I swallowed, maintaining his eye-contact the whole time, and fell in a heap at the end of the bed.