He said it just before he snapped his wrist, “Last one. For luck!”
I’d gotten better at catching the ensuing foil-wrapped projectile in my short time living with Stephen.
“Thanks?” I said, as I always did when closing my palms around the condom he had so-casually flicked at me. I leaned across my bed and added it to the pile in my nightstand drawer, once again wondering the purpose of this ritual. I couldn’t help but think it came as some kind of judgment of my chastity.
Everyone was chaste compared to Stephen, of course. The bathroom that sat between our rooms had a way of acting like an echo chamber for every noise the thin walls let through, so I was as familiar as anyone with his–errr–vibrant lifestyle.
Every week, I found myself bumping into some new girl he’d brought home, with plenty of repeat guests in between. I never particularly minded, and I had gotten pretty used to it by now. The same can be said for happening upon those same girls around town. Most of them are friendly and I’ve rarely heard a complaint about Stephen, so whatever he’s doing must be alright.
Next in the chastity rankings were our other roommates, Donna and Andy. Admittedly, their placement in the middle was an educated guess on my part. Both had stable relationships and spent a lot of their nights at their respective partners’ places. Whatever they did at our house was discrete enough that I rarely noticed it, though I assumed it happened with some regularity.
And then there was little old me, all the way at the far end of the chastity spectrum (and somewhere near the middle of a different spectrum, though I’m unsure how relevant that is–it would explain a few things, but the reasoning is as thin as it is unsatisfying).
I had never had sex.
That’s not to say I didn’t have a thriving sex life with myself, or wasn’t curious about extending it to others. I simply never had the option. I wasn’t sure how I even could create the option.
Wait.
Was that what Stephen was doing when he tossed condoms at me?
I scrambled across my bed and reached into my nightstand, pulling handful after handful of condoms out, spreading them over my comforter. I don’t know what I was looking for–some kind of clue or maybe an outright message that I’d missed–but I got distracted by the variety.
Ribbed. Lubricated. Studded. Ultra-thin. Sensitive. Performance. Real skin.
And the colors! The sizes!
I must have had several boxes worth of each of the common ones, which felt like a whole lot for someone who had no means of using them, but I was no less fascinated at the collection of latex I’d amassed.
Just as I started sorting them into neat lines for easier counting, Stephen paused outside my door. He stared at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Big night planned?”
“No?”
“I’m just teasing. The way you have them all… laid out.”
“Oh!” I laughed, embarrassed at the sight of it as much as my own silliness. “I was curious. I didn’t realize I had so many. Maybe you should have them back. There are so many and they’d get more use in your hands than sitting here in my nightstand.”
“They’re single-use. And never for my hand.”
“Right. Yeah. Of course. I’m just wondering why I have them.”
“What do you mean?” Stephen leaned against the doorframe, holding a bowl of something he’d grabbed from the kitchen.
“When you give them to me, are you– is that– are you… asking…? If so, I have to apologize because I was not understanding that, and I’ve just been rude about never giving you an answer.”
“No, they were just the last one in each box. The lucky one.”
“What makes it lucky?”
Stephen set his bowl on the edge of my tiny desk and stepped closer. “You have to make the last one count. Once you use it, all you have is luck–maybe they have another one, or maybe you don’t use one and you both cross your fingers, hoping the luck from the last one saves you.”
“You don’t buy more before you run out?”
“Usually, yes.”
“So it’s not really your last one. And you don’t even use it anyway because you give them all to me?”
“Not all, but yeah, most of them. I wanted you to have a lucky one if– or, when– you decided you might need it.”
The ritual still made no sense to me. But his explanation showed a certain care that warmed my heart. It was a more loving gesture than I expected from someone I had only known for a year.
I bounced off my bed and sprung toward Stephen to wrap him in an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you for that.” As I let him go before it got too awkward, and slinked back toward my bed, I added, “If it’s ok, I think I’ll keep them.”
“Of course,” he said, taking his bowl in his hands before turning toward his room. “Just check the expiration before you use them.”
Expiration. Like fruit. Having fruit is a commitment. There exists an obligation to consume them before their expiration.
My eyes scoured the wrappers, finding the dates so my fingers could sort them within each neat column. Ascending made sense for storage. Closest deadlines sitting on the top of each stack, like products in a store.
I had 28 months to use the first one, which felt reassuring, and only 37 months to get to the luckiest of luckies. It sounded like such a long time but there were so many condoms. And that’s after figuring out how to do the impossible task of getting someone into my bedroom. Or me into theirs.
It would be nothing for Stephen, of course. He was obviously good at getting people into his–each of my surplus of luckies resulted from him using a whole box. At best, assuming he only bought the smallest boxes, that number was staggering. I couldn’t imagine what it would be if he was smart enough to buy in bulk.
Damn, Stephen. You go.
I knew it was silly to think about my stash this way, but maybe the subtle nudge of a ticking clock was what I needed at that point in my life. And the gesture of support from Stephen made me feel like I could actually do this–if I wanted, which was the aspect I continued to grapple with.
I realized I did want it when one night before bed, my fingers were dangling over the edge of my barely-opened nightstand drawer, feeling the shape of the top-most condom through its wrapper. I snatched it from the drawer and put it on top of my nightstand so I could watch my fingers trace its shape.
Index finger making slow loops, my mind did the same. I imagined it unfurling on a man’s erection–any man’s–feeling latex on my skin, and how he would feel to my touch. The thoughts grew hotter, spiraling out of control, and so did my body. Fortunately, my trusty vibrator satisfied. It always does.
In the morning, I left the condom on my nightstand and doubled-down, selecting a second one to carry in my bag. Its presence allowed my newfound excitement to follow me around town, errand after errand, store by store. Fantasies and hope. Anything was possible.
It took further weeks of thought before I was ready to make something happen for myself. I weighed my options, considered the outcomes. And I made my choice.
Saturday afternoon, I was sitting on the edge of my bed, nervously fidgeting with my chosen lucky. The fact that I’d stared at it so many times didn’t take my eyes off its shiny chrome wrapper and red letters: MAXX Luxury Ultra-Thin with REAL-FEEL. This was the one.
“How’s it going in there?” Stephen asked from the hall, craning his neck toward my room.
Seeing my downcast look and closed posture, he approached the doorway. “You alright?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, trying to swallow my nerves with a too-dry mouth. “You can come in.”
“Oh, whatcha got there?”
“It’s the one that expires soonest. One of them, but I liked this one best.”
He stepped closer, catching a glance of it as it moved in my fingers. “Those are good.”
“Yeah, I figured you liked them because I had a bunch.”
“So…” he prompted, but my hand shot out toward him before he could elaborate. “What for?”
My cheeks burned as my eyes shifted to meet his. I wagged my hand for emphasis. “Um… Want to?”
I felt like I left my body as I waited for his response. His eyes carefully analyzed me. My eyes, my expression, every bit of body language possible, to avoid any possible misreading. “Are you sure?”
“Mhm!” I chirped.
Stephen sat beside me, his face closer than it had ever been. His eyes sunk deep into mine. His hand lighted on my thigh just above my knee. “With me?”
“Stephen–”
I let my thoughts stream out.
“I know you better than I’ve known any other guy. I trust you. You’re so nice to me. So supportive and understanding. The girls who have been here have only great things to say about you. They keep coming back, which means you are probably good at it too, I mean, you do have a lot of experience. You seem like the right one for this.”
“But that’s just sex.”
“That’s all this is too. I want to have sex. Just sex. With you.”
“If we do, then won’t it be weird? Living together? Me bringing around other girls?”
“No weirder than it is now. I don’t really mind it.”
He paused, his face twisting slightly. “I feel like–I don’t know–I should at least take you out first. Buy you dinner.”
“Why? I don’t think I’d want a full belly.”
“Your first time should be special though.”
I turned toward him, insistence on my face. “It being my first time should be special enough, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.” His head wobbled in acceptance and he huffed in disbelief. “You’ve obviously thought this through.”
“I have. Only a little, but, enough. So? What do you think?”
“Right now?”
“I’m ready, that’s all.” I smiled up at him, cheeks blushed and hands locked together in my lap.
“Ok, so, make out for a bit? Then we could try some hands? And then when you’re ready, if you’re still up for it, we could do it?”
“Oh no, no need, not for me. I’m ready.”
Stephen chuckled and shook his head. “Prepared and eager. I don’t know why I expected anything different. Should we just get naked then?”
“Sure!”
I don’t think I could have stripped any faster if my clothes were on fire. So fast that I doubt he even saw the sexy underwear I put on for him. Oops.
“Jesus! Your tits, girl!”
A pit formed in my belly. I always thought they were nice, although it’s hard to expect them to be perky at their size. “What about them?”
“I knew they were big, but wow, they’re something.”
He stared at them for a while before realizing how ambiguous his statement was. “They’re really sexy. I just never thought– You always keep them covered.”
“Maybe I won’t anymore. At least around you. If you like them that much.”
“I’d, yeah, I would not complain at all. I just–” He huffed. ”Who knew?”
He was still working his way out of his clothes–and still staring at my body–as I settled onto the bed, lying the “short” way across the middle of it with my feet toward him.
“You’re way sexier than I gave you credit for, you know. I always thought you were cute, adorable, or whatever, but no, you’re–” He paused as his eyes drifted. “Oh, you’re shaved.”
“Yeah.”
“For this?”
“No. Always. For me. It just feels better.”
At last, he joined me on the bed, sitting beside me with his legs folded. “It works for you. Really sexy. Can I?”
I bit my lip, trying to contain my eagerness, but it was apparent in my nodding. An exhale rushed out of me as his fingers slid over my mound and down my lips, one finger splitting them.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you were ready.”
“Uh uh. I, um, had my, vibrator. Over my shorts. For a while.” The gentle strokes of his hand made forming cohesive thoughts a challenge. Then a new distraction arose. “May, may… I?”
“Please!”
I reached out my hand to touch him back. It wasn’t like I had never seen a dick–I’ve seen plenty of porn–but feeling one was new. I don’t know why I assumed that the first feel I’d get would be inside me. It had a pleasant, soft texture and felt like foam around steel–nothing like I’d expected–and its size was remarkably close to my trusty vibrator, only with rearranged proportions.
All I could think about was having it inside of me, wrapped in that lucky bit of latex I’d stroked through its package for weeks. “We can, uh, start.”
“Any preferences? Position, how you like to be touched, what not to say. Speed. Style…”
“You ask like I have anything to base it on.” I felt something inside me twinge, a much stronger version of a feeling I knew. “How about you just fuck me like you fuck those other girls? That seems to work out well for them.”
With a laugh, he pulled my leg toward him then moved his body into the empty space between my thighs. I caught him staring at his destination as he opened the condom’s wrapper, and I was rapt watching him unroll it down himself. I adored the way the latex made him shine and highlighted his shape, but before I had my fill of looking, he was on top of me, checking in to make sure I was comfortable.
That I still wanted this.
That I was ready for it.
Aside from having his body on top of me, and all my nerves firing in response to so much touch, the heat of him inside me was what I noticed most. I shouldn’t have been so surprised by it. The fullness felt more familiar, though it was different than my vibrator. The way it squished as the fullness ebbed and flowed. Where his angle put pressure. The points of sweet friction and the tickle of his pubes against my mound.
He was unexpectedly sweet about being slow and gentle. It didn’t match what I so-often heard through the walls of our place. But I let him continue to lead, and I began to understand what all the fuss was about.
It felt good.
By comparison, my vibrator–the much-vaunted champion of so many ladies’ bedrooms–should have been ashamed of itself.
I didn’t want to lie there and do nothing, but I also didn’t want to get too romance-y, so I mapped a safe region of his chest and shoulder for my lips to busy themselves. Similarly, my hands looked for a comfortable spot on his body and settled on his waist, where they could feel his core flexing through each thrust.
As he was a considerable bit taller than me, he mostly kissed the side of my head and nibbled the top of my ear a bit. The feeling of his breath made me shiver with warmth.
This was so much better than anything I ever did alone. The heat of another body, the unpredictability of what they’ll do, the ripple through your body and moment of weightlessness at the apex of each push. The sounds. The musky, heady smell that permeated the room. Yet, the newness of it all was so distracting that I struggled to find that familiar rise of tension and heat inside me.
And that was ok. This wasn’t about an orgasm. I didn’t ask for one–didn’t need one–I could have as many as I wanted later, on my own like I had been doing for years. I was good at that. Probably better than he could ever be.
His voice rasped against my hair, “I’m so close, so close, so close.”
I didn’t know what to say. I tipped my face toward his and tried to be affirming. “Good, yes. Please.” Kissing the corner of his jaw, I watched his cheeks scrunch and felt his jaw go slack. His hips tensed and pushed harder against mine.
He let out the most vulnerable noise I think I’ve ever witnessed. A groan that came out like a whimper sweetened with pleasure.
When he left my body, he didn’t go far. He curled himself against my side, his head on my chest, and his fingers returned to stroking my mound.
“You don’t have to,” I told him and meant it.
“Maybe I want to.”
“I suppose you can then,” I said just before his fingertip lit a fire in me. I tried to continue my thought regardless, a futile effort, “It’s just, I can, do that, mysel– Ohhhhhh, oh that’s– Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.”
My arms clutched around him, my hips frantic, following his touch. Up, down. A little harder. I could still see the agonized face he had when he made that hot little whimper. It was my turn now. To scrunch. To tense. To pant and squeal.
And then to apologize.
“Sorry for grabbing you like that. I don’t– normally, it’s my pillow or my comforter–”
“That’s what sex is. Doing what feels right. And sometimes your body does it for you.”
I exhaled hard, still catching my breath as I tried not to be awkward. “It felt very right. Not just at the end. All of it was really good.”
We shared a knowing little smile. A reassurance for the rainbow swirl of emotions flooding through me. Notably, regret wasn’t among them. Nor was doubt. It was all happy colors in my head. Warm ones inside my body.
“Thank you, Stephen.”
“Anytime.”
“You mean it? Any… time…?”
His gaze narrowed, inspecting me, maybe wondering what he had gotten himself into.
“I did offer to return that stash of luckies. Maybe you’d accept them one at a time?”
“That could work,” he said with the makings of a grin.
I felt my whole face light up. My body left the bed on a cloud of air. “Really?!”
“Yeah, silly.”
“They’re in my nightstand!” I said, already on my knees and halfway there.
“Oh, now?!”
I froze, filled with the dread of making such an assumption. “Or… whenever.”
“No, no, we totally can. I need a few minutes before that–again–but, you know, there’s plenty more we can do until then.”
I turned back toward him, my butt thumping on the comforter, the glow returning to my face. “Tell me where to start!”
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