Where your pleasures are shared
In Which I Meet Julie
Let me say at the outset I never went to Charley's to pick up a girl. I know Taylor says I did, but she's full of shit. I suppose I've shagged my share of New York womanhood, but, except for the once, I never hooked up with any girl I met at Charley's.
I was horny, though.
I guess I should start at the beginning. Charley is a friend of mine who invites his friends over every couple of months for a party. The word "party" is a bit of an exaggeration, though, because all he does is buy some beer and wine. Some of us bring food, and anyone who is fussy about what he drinks brings what he likes.
Charley works for a big ad agency in the IT department and the people at the parties tend to be either ad agency people or computer people. They stand around in two groups, one drinking wine and talking about ads and art, and the other drinking beer and talking about Linux and the Yankees. I’m with the computer guys.
I was at the food table getting some Chinese spare ribs when I glanced toward the arty crowd and got a clear view of a girl I hadn’t met before. She was about thirty, middle height, brown hair, moderate bosom, and just a little too thick around the waist to be considered slim. In other words, average, but attractive average, and the little voice that men carry around in their heads said to me, “yeah, I could fuck that.” (Don’t read too much into it. It happens all the time to guys.) Then someone blocked my view, and I loaded my paper plate with ribs and went back to the discussion of Roger Clemens.
Later in the evening, someone introduced me to her. “This is Julie. She works with Taylor.”
Taylor, I should explain, is some sort of manager or director at the ad agency. The people she manages are graphic artists or the like, and she often shows up at Charley’s with some new hire in tow. It’s always an intense young woman, two years out of art school and looking to make it in the big city. Taylor will say she’s “getting them settled in the city” and “introducing them to people” but she’s jealous of them. Jealous in the sense of possessive. Don’t take it wrong; Taylor is straight. She has some mystery man stashed away somewhere who no one’s ever seen. The girls are straight, too, as far as I know.
I asked Julie if she was in the art department, and she said she was, but doing some sort of administration, not art, and then Taylor called her over to meet someone.
And that was about it until I was on my home and met Julie at the elevator. I made some innocuous remark about the party, and we rode down together. When we hit the sidewalk, we both turned the same way which triggered a discussion of who lived where. It turned out I had to walk pretty much past her door on my way home, and we set off together.
After we walked a little way in silence, she said, “Taylor warned me about you.”
“Oh dear,” I said, “What am I supposed to have done.”
“She says, umm…” She paused to consider her words, then continued, “She says you have a lot of one-night stands.”
“Ah, a seducer,” I said, “Actually my life list of one-night stands is pretty short.”
“How short is short?” she asked with a grin.
“Let’s see…. Four, I think. It might depend on how you count.”
She was still amused. “Most people don’t have trouble counting to four,” she said.
“How about this? If you have a one-night stand, and then you have sex with the person again, say a year later, does the first on still count, or is it taken off the list?”
“Oh, It still counts; it’s on the permanent record,” she said, and we walked back to her apartment building having a facetious discussion about what a one-night stand was, and wasn’t, and what the exact definition is. Once that was settled, she asked if my total was still four, and I told her it was. And when we got to her building, she asked up.
I hadn’t expected that, and as God is my witness, I didn’t expect anything to come of it. She swiped a card and let us in the door and pushed the button for the elevator. As we got in the elevator, we were joined by an older couple.
The car was quite small, as is often the case with elevators in New York apartment buildings, and for the first time, I caught a whiff of Julie’s perfume as the door closed in front of us. As the elevator started up, Julie stepped in front of me, still facing forward, and leaned back against me, her butt against my thighs, her back against my chest. Then she slid her hands behind her back, palms turned back toward me, and cupped my crotch.
I stepped out of the elevator with a changed expectation.
The apartment was the typical, New York one-bedroom. The living room was barely big enough for a couch and a TV. I could see a postage stamp kitchen, and doors to a bathroom and bedroom. Julie excused herself for a second and I peeked through the Venetian blind to see what sort of view she had: the side of another apartment building about 20 yards away.
Appearing at the bedroom door, Julie suddenly looked unsure. She leaned against the door frame, and looked at her hands before gathering some resolve and stepping closer. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t have done that. In the elevator…”
“No harm done.”
“No, that’s not it. It’s that I keeping thinking about..” She paused to pick a word, “ … about your dick.”
That stumped me a little. “Look, I said, it’s an ordinary dick. Nothing unusual about it.”
“The unusual thing is that it’s in my apartment,” she said.
“Maybe I should leave.”
“No, please. Sit down.” Still a bit nervous, she sat next to me on the couch. There was an uncomfortable silence while she fidgeted with her hands.
I leaned close and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t worry,” I said, “I can behave.”
She turned her face to me and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. Then she kissed me again and in a few seconds we were locked lip to lip, tongue to tongue. I ran one hand down her back, while my other rested first on her belly, then moved up toward her breast. I felt her hand on my knee and then my thigh sliding toward my crotch.
She caught herself, and broke off the kiss. She took her hand off my thigh with a wry smile.
I wanted to say something, but nothing coherent came out, just “Um, look. Er..um” Then I undid my belt and pants, and unzipped my zipper. Then I ran my hand behind her neck and pulled her mouth to mine. We kissed and tongued, and I felt her hand in my lap, in my underwear, and then on my dick. As she pulled it out of my fly, she broke off the kiss to look at it as it stiffened in her hand, and then slid onto her knees between my legs. She lowered her mouth over it, and began to give me head.
It was not an unusual blow job. She was more of a kisser and licker than a sucker. She had a nice way of sliding her lips over the prick head and further, and licking the shaft furiously before sliding her lips back up again. Once or twice, she rubbed it gently on her cheek. She held my cock in a particular way, too, with her thumb vertical on the shaft, pressing, caressing, and sliding up and down in harmony with her mouth.
“I have to tell you,“ I gasped, “that if you keep that up, something messy is going to happen.” Her eyes flicked up at mine, and in them I read her pleasure. I leaned back, eyes closed, and gave myself up to her mouth and hand. When I erupted, she caught the spume in small towel that mysteriously appeared in her hand, and rested for a moment or two with her head in my lap.
“You owe me one,“ she said, and added, “By the way, does an experienced seducer like your always carry a condom when he goes out?”
I was a little embarrassed to have answer, but I said, “Not always, but as a matter of fact, by purest chance, there is one in my jacket pocket.”
“Then you better bring it with you,” she said, and went into the bathroom.
Figuring that a man who needs a condom does not need clothes, I started shedding my shoes, sock and pants. When Julie popped out of the bathroom and went into the bedroom, I caught a flash of her ass; she was naked from the waist down. I went to bedroom door, unbuttoning my shirt on the way with the condom in the fold of my hand.
She lay on her back, completely naked. “You look very nice,” I said accenting the “very”. I lay next to her, and lowered my lips to hers and we kissed again. I palmed her breasts and ran my fingers around her nipples. Then I kissed between her breasts. It smelled of perfume and sweat. The erecting nipples were slightly salty. My hand led the way down her belly, over her mons. My finger tip traced the ridges and furrows of her genital lips.
Her hands gently guided my head down, down until my face was also below her mons and the aroma of her arousal filled my senses. My tongue investigated where my fingers had been moments before. I was licking the inner labia – just teasing them really - and I heard her whisper “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” She moved my head slightly until my tongue was on her clit and held it there. I teased, then licked, then teased again in cycles until she gasped and shuddered and lay still.
“Please, come inside.”
Her hand had found my cock and I was hard again. I did my best to open the condom and put it on quickly and smoothly like a seasoned seducer. When I moved between her legs, she drew her knees back and reached for me, guiding my hardon to its target between her thighs. I thrust several times moving my whole body, my pubes moving against her pubes, my belly against her belly, by chest against her breasts. Then I buried my face into her neck and fucked her steadily moving my hips only. After a minute or so, I stopped briefly to reposition my arms and felt a grip on my shaft.
“Do you do your Kegels at this time every day?” I asked.
“Religiously”, she said.
“Amen to that, sister,” I said, and drove myself into her again.
Seconds later, she drew a deep breath, and let it out with a barely audible “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”. Her hips starting bucking, rising and fall to meet my thrusting cock. I fucked her fast and hard until, with grunts and moans and gasps, and a final, violent stab of my cock, I climaxed, spewing my cum deep in her twat.
A minute or so later, while I was getting rid of the condom, I heard her say, “You’re my sixth.”
I turned and looked at her.
“My sixth one night stand,” she said. “And the best.”
I was horny, though.
I guess I should start at the beginning. Charley is a friend of mine who invites his friends over every couple of months for a party. The word "party" is a bit of an exaggeration, though, because all he does is buy some beer and wine. Some of us bring food, and anyone who is fussy about what he drinks brings what he likes.
Charley works for a big ad agency in the IT department and the people at the parties tend to be either ad agency people or computer people. They stand around in two groups, one drinking wine and talking about ads and art, and the other drinking beer and talking about Linux and the Yankees. I’m with the computer guys.
I was at the food table getting some Chinese spare ribs when I glanced toward the arty crowd and got a clear view of a girl I hadn’t met before. She was about thirty, middle height, brown hair, moderate bosom, and just a little too thick around the waist to be considered slim. In other words, average, but attractive average, and the little voice that men carry around in their heads said to me, “yeah, I could fuck that.” (Don’t read too much into it. It happens all the time to guys.) Then someone blocked my view, and I loaded my paper plate with ribs and went back to the discussion of Roger Clemens.
Later in the evening, someone introduced me to her. “This is Julie. She works with Taylor.”
Taylor, I should explain, is some sort of manager or director at the ad agency. The people she manages are graphic artists or the like, and she often shows up at Charley’s with some new hire in tow. It’s always an intense young woman, two years out of art school and looking to make it in the big city. Taylor will say she’s “getting them settled in the city” and “introducing them to people” but she’s jealous of them. Jealous in the sense of possessive. Don’t take it wrong; Taylor is straight. She has some mystery man stashed away somewhere who no one’s ever seen. The girls are straight, too, as far as I know.
I asked Julie if she was in the art department, and she said she was, but doing some sort of administration, not art, and then Taylor called her over to meet someone.
And that was about it until I was on my home and met Julie at the elevator. I made some innocuous remark about the party, and we rode down together. When we hit the sidewalk, we both turned the same way which triggered a discussion of who lived where. It turned out I had to walk pretty much past her door on my way home, and we set off together.
After we walked a little way in silence, she said, “Taylor warned me about you.”
“Oh dear,” I said, “What am I supposed to have done.”
“She says, umm…” She paused to consider her words, then continued, “She says you have a lot of one-night stands.”
“Ah, a seducer,” I said, “Actually my life list of one-night stands is pretty short.”
“How short is short?” she asked with a grin.
“Let’s see…. Four, I think. It might depend on how you count.”
She was still amused. “Most people don’t have trouble counting to four,” she said.
“How about this? If you have a one-night stand, and then you have sex with the person again, say a year later, does the first on still count, or is it taken off the list?”
“Oh, It still counts; it’s on the permanent record,” she said, and we walked back to her apartment building having a facetious discussion about what a one-night stand was, and wasn’t, and what the exact definition is. Once that was settled, she asked if my total was still four, and I told her it was. And when we got to her building, she asked up.
I hadn’t expected that, and as God is my witness, I didn’t expect anything to come of it. She swiped a card and let us in the door and pushed the button for the elevator. As we got in the elevator, we were joined by an older couple.
The car was quite small, as is often the case with elevators in New York apartment buildings, and for the first time, I caught a whiff of Julie’s perfume as the door closed in front of us. As the elevator started up, Julie stepped in front of me, still facing forward, and leaned back against me, her butt against my thighs, her back against my chest. Then she slid her hands behind her back, palms turned back toward me, and cupped my crotch.
I stepped out of the elevator with a changed expectation.
The apartment was the typical, New York one-bedroom. The living room was barely big enough for a couch and a TV. I could see a postage stamp kitchen, and doors to a bathroom and bedroom. Julie excused herself for a second and I peeked through the Venetian blind to see what sort of view she had: the side of another apartment building about 20 yards away.
Appearing at the bedroom door, Julie suddenly looked unsure. She leaned against the door frame, and looked at her hands before gathering some resolve and stepping closer. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t have done that. In the elevator…”
“No harm done.”
“No, that’s not it. It’s that I keeping thinking about..” She paused to pick a word, “ … about your dick.”
That stumped me a little. “Look, I said, it’s an ordinary dick. Nothing unusual about it.”
“The unusual thing is that it’s in my apartment,” she said.
“Maybe I should leave.”
“No, please. Sit down.” Still a bit nervous, she sat next to me on the couch. There was an uncomfortable silence while she fidgeted with her hands.
I leaned close and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t worry,” I said, “I can behave.”
She turned her face to me and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. Then she kissed me again and in a few seconds we were locked lip to lip, tongue to tongue. I ran one hand down her back, while my other rested first on her belly, then moved up toward her breast. I felt her hand on my knee and then my thigh sliding toward my crotch.
She caught herself, and broke off the kiss. She took her hand off my thigh with a wry smile.
I wanted to say something, but nothing coherent came out, just “Um, look. Er..um” Then I undid my belt and pants, and unzipped my zipper. Then I ran my hand behind her neck and pulled her mouth to mine. We kissed and tongued, and I felt her hand in my lap, in my underwear, and then on my dick. As she pulled it out of my fly, she broke off the kiss to look at it as it stiffened in her hand, and then slid onto her knees between my legs. She lowered her mouth over it, and began to give me head.
It was not an unusual blow job. She was more of a kisser and licker than a sucker. She had a nice way of sliding her lips over the prick head and further, and licking the shaft furiously before sliding her lips back up again. Once or twice, she rubbed it gently on her cheek. She held my cock in a particular way, too, with her thumb vertical on the shaft, pressing, caressing, and sliding up and down in harmony with her mouth.
“I have to tell you,“ I gasped, “that if you keep that up, something messy is going to happen.” Her eyes flicked up at mine, and in them I read her pleasure. I leaned back, eyes closed, and gave myself up to her mouth and hand. When I erupted, she caught the spume in small towel that mysteriously appeared in her hand, and rested for a moment or two with her head in my lap.
“You owe me one,“ she said, and added, “By the way, does an experienced seducer like your always carry a condom when he goes out?”
I was a little embarrassed to have answer, but I said, “Not always, but as a matter of fact, by purest chance, there is one in my jacket pocket.”
“Then you better bring it with you,” she said, and went into the bathroom.
Figuring that a man who needs a condom does not need clothes, I started shedding my shoes, sock and pants. When Julie popped out of the bathroom and went into the bedroom, I caught a flash of her ass; she was naked from the waist down. I went to bedroom door, unbuttoning my shirt on the way with the condom in the fold of my hand.
She lay on her back, completely naked. “You look very nice,” I said accenting the “very”. I lay next to her, and lowered my lips to hers and we kissed again. I palmed her breasts and ran my fingers around her nipples. Then I kissed between her breasts. It smelled of perfume and sweat. The erecting nipples were slightly salty. My hand led the way down her belly, over her mons. My finger tip traced the ridges and furrows of her genital lips.
Her hands gently guided my head down, down until my face was also below her mons and the aroma of her arousal filled my senses. My tongue investigated where my fingers had been moments before. I was licking the inner labia – just teasing them really - and I heard her whisper “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” She moved my head slightly until my tongue was on her clit and held it there. I teased, then licked, then teased again in cycles until she gasped and shuddered and lay still.
“Please, come inside.”
Her hand had found my cock and I was hard again. I did my best to open the condom and put it on quickly and smoothly like a seasoned seducer. When I moved between her legs, she drew her knees back and reached for me, guiding my hardon to its target between her thighs. I thrust several times moving my whole body, my pubes moving against her pubes, my belly against her belly, by chest against her breasts. Then I buried my face into her neck and fucked her steadily moving my hips only. After a minute or so, I stopped briefly to reposition my arms and felt a grip on my shaft.
“Do you do your Kegels at this time every day?” I asked.
“Religiously”, she said.
“Amen to that, sister,” I said, and drove myself into her again.
Seconds later, she drew a deep breath, and let it out with a barely audible “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”. Her hips starting bucking, rising and fall to meet my thrusting cock. I fucked her fast and hard until, with grunts and moans and gasps, and a final, violent stab of my cock, I climaxed, spewing my cum deep in her twat.
A minute or so later, while I was getting rid of the condom, I heard her say, “You’re my sixth.”
I turned and looked at her.
“My sixth one night stand,” she said. “And the best.”
Tags: one night stand, sex
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Created by MoonAllure Jun 29, 2008 at 11:48pm. Last updated by MoonAllure Jun. 30, 2008.
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