You’re my obsession. You always have been, always will be. It doesn’t matter how far the distance grows between us, or how long time passes without seeing each other. I still burn for you, and I regret with every fiber of my being that I can’t have you.
In 1977, your family moved next door to mine in Berkley, Michigan, and I discovered what the word swoon meant. Of course, I was a gawky, sixteen-year-old nobody, too shy for her own good, while you were gorgeous, athletic, and instantly popular. I had the biggest crush on you, but you barely acknowledged my existence. In fact, I was pretty much invisible to you throughout the remainder of high school, despite our parents being friendly. So, I longed for you from afar, and, admittedly, called your name out in the privacy of my bedroom when I locked the door and frantically pleasured myself with my fingers.
Things changed once we started college. Although you attended the University of Michigan and I went to Wayne State University, we found ourselves at the same frat party on my campus during October of our freshman year. By then, I had blossomed, as my mother called it, and I was a little more confident fitting in with the social scene.
We made eye contact across the room; you were by the keg, filling your cup, and I was nursing the bottle of beer that I’d brought myself. My father always worried that someone would slip something into my drink, so he cautioned me never to drink anything I hadn’t opened myself and never to set it down.
When you walked toward me, I was giddy! I recall that first conversation as if it were yesterday.
“Hey, Virginia! Fancy meeting you here,” you said with that gorgeous grin on your face.
“Hey, James,” I answered as if you talking to me was the most normal thing in the world.
Then, you surprised the hell out of me by continuing to engage in conversation. I am sure I babbled, and I probably made a fool of myself, but you didn’t seem to mind.
In fact, it was incredible how into me you really seemed to be, and I enjoyed every minute of it. We talked for about an hour, then ducked into the hallway where you kissed me so passionately that you made my toes curl.
After getting ribbed by one of your buddies to "get a room," you invited me to go fool around in the back seat of your car. I was nervous at first; I didn’t want anyone thinking I was easy. But you convinced me it would be fine since you were parked in the deck on the far side of campus. My nipples were poking out of my shirt like slutty little party hats, and suddenly I regretted going braless. But I took the hand you offered to me and followed you with lust coursing through my veins.
I looked around nervously once we reached your car, but you were right; it was dark and quiet. You opened the door for me, and I climbed in, fully primed to lose my virginity to you. Within minutes, your hands were everywhere. I felt aroused and alive and impulsive; it was incredible!
Though I’d kissed a boy before, I had no experience beyond first base. Bravely, my hand reached out to feel the stiff shaft that made your pants bulge. You grinned impishly at me and unzipped your fly, letting the length of you spring out of your jeans. I’d seen pictures of a penis before, but nothing prepared me for the size of your dick. I put my hand around it and frowned.
“What’s the matter?” you asked.
“I didn’t expect it to be so hot,” I replied.
“Virginia, haven’t you ever held a cock in your hand before?”
I remember how my cheeks burned when I blushed. “No,” I admitted shyly. “I’m, uh, I mean…”
You were so kind. You took my chin in your hand, kissed me, and said, “That’s okay, Virginia. I’ll be gentle with you.”
And you were gentle, incredibly so, as you used your clever fingers to get me wet and ready for you, all while I experienced sensations beyond my wildest imagination. I remember you taking a beat to be responsible as you reached for your wallet, and rubbed your condom-clad cock against my slippery slit until you grinned and asked me, “Ready?”
“Oh, God, yes!” I cried as you entered me with more tenderness and grace than one would expect from a horny frat boy. Your thrusts were slow and deliberate at first until I felt the stabbing pain of my hymen giving way. You stopped as I caught my breath, then continued when I smiled at you and said, “More.”
Our hips moved in rhythm with each other, curiously in sync. It was as if our bodies were made for each other. I could feel my arousal growing with each stroke. Knowingly, you reached down to stimulate my clit and sent me over the edge into an abyss of pleasure, and increased your pace until our mating was frenzied and frantic.
When you came, you took me with you once more, and I knew from that moment we were destined to be together.
Afterwards, you kissed me and asked me to be your girl. Yours. This wasn’t just sex!
Of course, I said yes; that was all I had ever wanted since the minute I’d laid eyes on you. From that moment on, we were obsessed with each other. We spent the rest of that semester visiting each other. I’d go to Ann Arbor to visit you, or you’d come home to Detroit to see me. We’d sneak off to places we could park somewhere private, and I learned the fine art of fellatio in the backseat of your silver ’72 Ford Granada.
“God, yes, Virginia! Suck my cock. Oh, fuck! You keep getting better and better at this, baby!” you shouted as you shot your load down my throat.
The times in between, we spent talking on the phone, much to the chagrin of our respective roommates. Sometimes we’d even manage to get each other off just with our voices. But the instances we spent together in person were, of course, my favorite.
We were completely enamored with each other and took advantage of every opportunity when one of our roommates would go home for the weekend, leaving us alone to enjoy each other fully. We’d make love for hours, leaving no parts of our bodies untouched. You made me cum so many times; I’d lose track of my orgasms. It was exhilarating!
Somehow, in the midst of all our horny hookups, we made time for our studies so we could graduate and get good jobs. We talked a lot about the future; the life we planned together included careers, travel, and children in the years to come. We were desperately in love, and both our parents were thrilled at the idea of becoming in-laws together. It was like a dream come true.
Until the summer after graduation.
We were adamant about taking a two-week trip before we started our big people jobs. We wanted one last hurrah as young and reckless lovers. Your aunt gave us what she called “play money” so that we could afford to enjoy a bit of frivolity before we had to settle down, get married, and act like responsible adults.
We fully embraced the vacation with gusto! Obsessing over every detail, we chose a destination, visited the AAA office to pick up our Trip-Tiks, and packed up the car for a road trip to the Smoky Mountains. Popping the mix tape into your dashboard cassette player, we cranked the tunes as we embarked on our journey down I-75. It was wonderful to feel so carefree, enjoying our last bit of freedom before becoming what we considered full-fledged adults.
To pass the time, we made up erotic stories to entertain each other. Tales of things we would never in a million years do in real life, but that were decadent to think about. Gangbangs and orgies, spanking and anal, and BDSM were the main topics of discussion during those first few hours of the trip. We were so fuckin’ horny that we couldn’t wait to stop for the night in Lexington, Kentucky.
We never made it past Lima, Ohio.
A deer came hurtling over the median and landed on our windshield. It all happened so quickly that there was no time to swerve; we didn’t even know what hit us.
I recall falling in and out of consciousness, seeing glimpses of flashing lights from emergency vehicles, and hearing the voices of first responders telling us to hang on.
We spent a good month or so in the hospital, clinging to life at times, but eventually our conditions were stable. My parents decided to set up a rehabilitation center in their house, as there was ample space, and, together with your parents, they hired outstanding medical professionals to provide the best possible care for both of us. They believed that we would heal better at home.
Over time, I watched with joy in my heart as you improved dramatically with the help of a pretty, blonde Physical Therapist. Her name was Sara, and she was exceptionally good at her job. You made remarkable progress, and soon enough, you were walking with a walker.
Your ability to speak took longer to return, but I knew that you’d conquer that as well. It became your new obsession. You were so determined, and your Speech Pathologist was relentless. She suggested that you start trying to tell me stories as a way to build fluency between your sessions with her. Little did she know that all of your stories were raunchy and risqué.
One Sunday afternoon, while our folks were busy watching the Lions lose yet another football game, you snuck into my room and said, “Hey, V-v-virginia! F-f-fancy me-meeting you here.”
My heart leapt. I remembered that night at the frat party, where you had finally noticed me, and I sighed. You grinned that beautiful grin and proceeded to tell me a story.
“W-when we g-g-get better, I’m g-g-gonna spread those l-l-legs of y-yours a-a-a-and eat that delicious p-p-pussy.”
You went on to describe how you’d kiss every inch of my body and tease me with your talented tongue. I closed my eyes and imagined the scene:
“God, yes, James! You’re driving me wild! Do whatever you want with me, take me, please!”
“Mmm, Virginia, you’re so fuckin’ hot! I’m going to nibble those perky nipples and finger your pussy till you explode for me. Then I’m going to flip you over and take that juicy box from behind. I’ll slide my big, thick cock into your wet hole and fuck you till you can’t see straight.”
“Oh, God, yes! Please James! I need you inside me.”
It was a delicious fantasy, and I couldn’t wait until we could make it a reality.
Time marched on; eventually, you were able to walk and talk as if the accident had never happened. You started taking a few grad classes and even got a part-time job. But every night, you’d come home and tell me dirty stories. One balmy evening at the end of summer, you entertained me with a tale about a princess in the tower. I listened intently as you spoke, and hung on every word.
“Once upon a time, there was a gorgeous princess with long red hair and the bluest eyes. The court jester was beyond obsessed with her beauty and charm. He spent his days entertaining her and making her laugh.
“Her parents, the King and Queen, thought she was pure and chaste, but the jester knew better. He’d climb the steps of the tower quietly every night and sneak into her bed chamber so he could satisfy the princess’s needs. It wasn’t an easy task since she was incredibly horny, but the jester knew all the right places to touch her and taste her. He would lift her skirts and slip her bloomers off so he could pay homage to his future Queen.
“Most of the time, he would woo her with flowery words and make love to her slowly and sweetly. However, every once in a while, he would ravish her as if she were a common strumpet. His tongue would dance along her delicate pink folds until the princess was mewling like a kitten. But the jester would always wait until she begged before lapping at her engorged clit, causing her hips to rock and her back to arch as her orgasm raged through her body.
“’Oh, God, yes!’ the princess would cry out. But the jester was relentless. He kept feasting on her needy pussy until she lost all control. Once she was bucking like a filly, he flipped her on her hands and knees and plunged into her as if she were his dirty little fuck doll. Grabbing her hips, he hammered into her until his balls tightened and he let go, spilling his seed deep inside her.”
Your story made me so fucking aroused! I longed desperately to touch you and be touched by you. But instead, you broke my heart.
“Virginia, I won’t be coming back for a while. I took a job in Philadelphia, and I won’t have any time off until Christmas break. But I promise, I’ll come home for the holidays and…”
I stopped paying attention at that point; it didn’t matter why you were going, just that you were leaving me behind. Tears streamed down my face. I had no words.
You kissed me softly, told me you loved me, and walked away.
For the first month, you called once a week. There was no such thing as FaceTime back then, and long-distance calls were expensive. Eventually, the communication dwindled until I stopped hearing from you.
Your parents, who once thought of me as their daughter, drifted out of my life. Visits became awkward and uncomfortable until they ceased altogether.
Still, I held onto the hope that things would be different when you came home in late December. I counted the days, waiting for your return. Maybe, just maybe, you would throw your arms around me and everything would be back to normal again. Perhaps you would love me once more.
On Christmas Eve, you showed up at my house with a friend in tow. You were excited to see me, or so it seemed.
“Virginia! I’ve missed you so!” you said enthusiastically. “I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Marilyn. Marilyn, this is my best friend, Virginia.”
Best friend?
My brows furrowed in confusion. You had the decency to sense my unhappiness.
“Hey, uh, Marilyn? Maybe you could go into the living room and wait for me there?”
Marilyn frowned. “Sure, James, whatever you want, baby.”
Baby?
She left the room, and you took my hands in yours. Your eyes were so kind, but the pity behind them was excruciating.
“Virginia,” you said softly, “you know that I love you. You will always have a special place in my heart. But I’m a young man, and I, well, with what happened and all…”
Silent tears streamed down my face. Not because you were ending things with me, but because it had never once occurred to me that you would.
What a fool I’d been, thinking that your love ran as deeply as mine, and that you’d be satisfied in a relationship where you’d be relegated to the role of caretaker for the rest of our lives.
“Virginia, I want a life where I can travel and have children, and that’s never going to happen with you. I’m sorry, so very sorry, baby, that the accident left you unable to talk and stuck in a wheelchair. I’m sure it must seem incredibly unfair that I recovered, and you didn’t. But I hope you understand; I think, if the tables were turned, you’d do the same thing. And I wouldn’t blame you for wanting a normal life. I hope you can forgive me.”
My heart was broken.
“I have fallen in love with Marilyn, and I’ve asked her to be my girl. I don’t know if it’s the real deal like you and I had. But I hope that you can find it in your heart to be happy for me.”
Happy for you?
“I promise I’ll still visit you whenever I come to town to see my parents. I won’t ever forget you, darling. You will always be my first love.”
When you walked out of my room and out of my life, my whole world was shattered.
We weren’t just first loves; we were an obsession—one that I thought would last a lifetime.
Fast forward in time, and I’m still in my chair. However, through the miracle of assistive technology, I learned to communicate and went on to earn a Master’s degree in Nonprofit Management. I found a job working with people who have been the victims of accidents like ours, the ones who have ended up like me.
For the most part, I’ve learned to move on. But I’ll always need help with my day-to-day care, and I’ll never be able to live out the sexual fantasies that I still have about you. All of those erotic tales are just meaningless stories now—reminders of a life that can never be.
On those rare occasions that I see you visiting your family, I smile politely. But inside, I still burn for you. You’re still my obsession, and though I want you more than the air that I breathe, I’ll never have more than the memories of when I was yours.
