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A Growing Desire

A college student comes to terms with her sexuality
I kept having the same dream. Not that that's anything new. I'll have recurring dreams about losing my makeup, missing a flight, failing out of school. But I usually don't have these types of dreams. The ones where I wake up in the middle of the night feeling guilty, ashamed, and incredibly wet. Guilty because my boyfriend would be gently asleep next to me, unaware what filled my dreams. Ashamed because, well, I love sex. I love the way it feels when my boyfriend pushes deep inside of me, the way he touches me, kisses me, and whispers how much he loves me. I love it when he spanks me. I love it when he takes control of me.

But I grew up with high moral standards and southern Christian summer camps. Dirty words weren't uttered, heard, or thought. Even now, at twenty-one, I hate the word pussy. I hate the word cock. I feel repulsed at vulgarity. I don't even know why. It makes me talking dirty to my boyfriend as he fucks me needlessly grueling as I make sweet sounding synonyms of body parts and obscene actions –– I'm okay with fuck, it has enough different uses that it seems innocuous. But other than that, I simply can't move past that conditioning from my childhood. I was raised that ladies don't say such things. So every time I had this dream, I would feel so ashamed because the only thought in my mind when I would wake was how much I wanted to touch another girl's pussy.


My boyfriend, Jake, and I had dated for a year at this point. Though I've been with others before him, I have never felt as strongly and deeply about a person. He seems to have been placed on this earth for the sole purpose of being a husband, complete marriage material. At least in contrast to the fun but immature boys that seem to populate the campus dating scene. It's like watching a bad Judd Apatow movie being around most of them.

I first met Jake in the library, finals week, December. The week that two-thirds of campus discovers the library for the first time, making it more crowded and more noisy than the student union. Freshmen year I had found my sanctuary, however. Tucked up on the fourth floor, through two doors, one with the very dull title 'The Edgar J. Potts Collection of Official Waindell Documents and Historical Research,' was a wood-paneled reading room for the rare soul interested in our New England town. The doors and the name acted as a wall to the average student; for the brave student, it acted as a buffer from the rest of the finals studiers who were only too happy to memorize their notes next to hundreds of others.

I made it my home. No one, save a professor or two, ever ventured through the doors. No one, I think, even knew about the reading room behind the documents. It was such a small blip on the library map. And it was on the fourth floor in a library without an elevator.

On this particular snowy December day, I trudged my way through the campus to the library, backpack heavy with my books and computer, struggled up the four flights of stairs, walked to the end of the hall, through the two doors, and found a stranger in my study hole. What the fuck.

His face had been buried in a big book. He looked up when I entered. My frustration melted as I took in his smile and charming eyes.

"Hello." He had deep voice.

"Hi, you don't mind, if I join?"

"Not at all, great place to study."

"Yeah, I know," I said. I noticed a touch of bitterness was creeping back into me, despite this stranger's politeness and good looks.

I placed my bags on the table and sat down in the chair. He had returned to his book. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his notebook open, as he took notes from whatever he was studying. He seemed completely immersed. I sighed and removed my computer and textbook from the bag. I kept darting my eyes over toward him as I opened the textbook to the chapter I needed to work on.

We spent two hours in silence. Him absorbed in some boring book on what I finally discerned was a history, me trying to concentrate on my textbook and typing up notes. He broke the silence around noon.

"Hey so, I'm about to grab lunch from the cafe, you mind watching my stuff?"

"You sure you can trust me?" I said.

He laughed. It was a cute laugh. "You have a point. I don't even know your name."

"Brett." I extended my hand.

"Brett, I'm Jake. Do you want me to get you something?"

"Actually, yeah, here's a five, I just need a coffee."

"No food? It's on me."

"If they have any good looking pastries, I'll take one. Doesn't matter the kind."

As he left I let out a deep breath. I simply couldn't study any longer. I couldn't keep my eyes off him. When he stood up, he was taller than I had guessed. Probably six feet. He had dark hair that ran to his ears, with a slight curl, dark brown eyes, and fair skin. His strong jaw and winter stubble made him look like Cedric Diggory from the Harry Potter movies (you know, Robert Pattinson without that vampire glow). His smile was either a smirk or a childish grin, with strong white teeth and defined lips. It was irresistible. And I was definitely captivated.

I wondered if he thought the same about me. I had never had trouble with dating. But he was a few steps up from my last date. I took my mirror out from my bag and looked at myself. I hadn’t worn much makeup, but my blue eyes and soft skin looked fresh and well rested. My long blonde hair had a nice wave to it. I smoothed out my red V-neck sweater, letting my breasts show a bit more prominently when I heard the door open.

"Alright, here's your coffee, and here's a cheese pastry."

He himself had bought a coffee too, along with a strong smelling sandwich.

"Seriously? This is a small enough space as is, and you come back to fill it up with onion and meat smells?" It was a bit mean considering we'd only met a few hours ago, but I hoped he realized I wanted to flirt.

"A simple thank-you would have sufficed. A boy has got to eat." He said it with a smile.

"Surely you could have found something that wouldn't have stunk up the room for the next few hours?"

"But then I wouldn't get the pleasure of annoying you and enjoying how delicious this sandwich is."

We finished our meals, books forgotten, and talked for the next hour about ourselves. The simplest details, the silliest stories all seemed so exciting. Every suggestion was revealing, every gesture significant of who this guy was. After an hour, maybe two hours, it was clear that Jake was smart, ambitious, and confident. I found a way to pin every positive masculine adjective on him in my mind. He was simply a man.

We both agreed we were done studying. He asked if he could see me again, perhaps in a less smelly or dull location, and by the time I returned to my dorm at 4 PM, I had a date Friday evening. We went on more dates after that, and we both felt the beginnings of love, and by the last day of the term, we were comfortably ensconced in my warm dorm room as snow piled up outside.

The lights, except my desk lamp, were turned off. The reflection from the setting sun on the snow supplied enough light for us to see each other. I remember at this point, at four dates, I had been surprised at his gentlemanliness and ease. But I was getting restless coming home alone every night and finding my underwear soaked after hot kisses and his gentle hands caressing my body. A girl has needs, and I really hoped his hesitance wasn't because he was a virgin. We had yet to talk that much of our sexual histories.

I remember he was on top of me, supported by his elbows. His body pressing against mine, he held my face in his right hand, as he kissed me and we whispered to each other how happy we were. It was all very romantic, and we had had a wonderful day together. Suddenly he stopped kissing me, and pulled away slightly. I looked up at him and saw a smile spreading over his rugged features, as if he had a secret to tell me.

He stood up, got off the bed and walked over to my refrigerator. Come over here, he said. He pulled out a bottle of Champagne (where did that come from?) and grabbed two of my wine glasses as he popped open the bottle. I thought we should celebrate the end of the term, he said. I nodded, smiling. Cheers, he said. As I drank mine, he went over to my record player and put on my favorite record. A soft, folky guitarist with a whispery voice. He pulled me towards him, setting down his glass. His lips were all over me. His body pressed tight against me, my breasts crushed against him, as he held the back of my neck with one hand and my lower back with his other hand.

He tongue flicked into my mouth and I met his, moaning softly into his kiss. My heart was hammering; I wouldn't be able to stand up if he hadn't been holding so firmly onto me. I loved when he kissed me like this. His mouth making its way back, biting and kissing my neck, my ears, nibbling. His desire clear from the hot breath that hit my ear and sent chills down my spine. I wondered if it would happen, if we would finally do it. I mentally pictured what I had on underneath, and when I remembered, I pushed back into his kiss and returned it even stronger. It was lingerie meant to be seen and appreciated.

Without notice, his strong hands grabbed my butt and pulled me up. I wrapped my legs and arms around him as he carried me back to the bed, our mouths still devouring each other with passion and intensity. He placed me down on the bed, and continued kissing me. I could feel his hardness pressing against me. I moaned with need. He started to work his way down my body. Biting my neck, my shoulders. He grabbed the bottom of my sweater and started pulling it up. I leaned forward to help him, and he looked with lust at the lacy black bra and my full breasts underneath. I smiled.

He was kissing me again. My mind was in a daze. His hands and mouth seemed everywhere. Until suddenly I felt his right hand behind my back, expertly unclasping the bra. Then his hands were on my breasts, pushing them up, licking underneath, the sides, everywhere but where I needed it the most. Teasing me. God. He would not stop teasing me. Biting, licking, kissing. Finally, I breathed huskily, demanding he take my nipple into my mouth. I ached for it.

And then it happened. The pleasure spread from my nipple to my breast to the rest of my body. I felt soaked with desire. His hot mouth had finally taken my hard nipple into his mouth, and he knew exactly what to do. Sucking it up into his mouth, he bit gently as the other hand snaked its way down my stomach.

Then it was over. I was left breathless as he kissed his way down my stomach. He unbuttoned my jeans, pushed my legs back toward me and yanked them off effortlessly. I lay before him in a matching black thong. The smell of my arousal suddenly filled the room. He was kissing me again, and then whispered in my ear how he couldn't waste to taste me. His mouth was on my nipples, my breast, my stomach, he kissed his way up my leg, he bit my inner thighs, he breathed over my panty-covered slit. I was frozen with pleasure. When his mouth was on my inner thighs, his hand had found another erogenous zone by my ribs, under my breast. I had become clay in his hands. No one had ever touched me like this. No one had ever suffused my body in pleasure like this. (In fact, as I reflected later, no one had ever given me more than a grudging lick on my vagina.) No one, I realized, had ever cared enough.

I still had my panties on and this had lasted about as long as any of my previous sexual experiences.

I wondered if I should touch him? He had stripped down to tight blue boxer-briefs. I could see the outline of his penis. The hardness I had felt but never seen.

But then I felt his mouth on my underwear. He had bitten down on it and was slowly pulling it down my body. Suddenly I was naked before him. I felt vulnerable but incredibly turned on. Thoughts of touching him had evaporated as I watched him take in the sight of my dripping center. I had shaved myself since our first date, in anticipation of this very moment.

"You're beautiful," he said right before his tongue ran from the bottom of my vagina to the top, barely touching my clit.

I nearly screamed with lust.

I looked deep into his eyes, mouth wide open, as his tongue pushed inside me. God, he was good. His tongue explored, gently finding the spots that made me squirm. He sucked me into his mouth. He tongue-fucked me. He tongue skimmed that spot no one had ever touched –– so dirty, but fuck, it felt incredible. Finally, my clit was in his mouth. His tongue danced on it, soft, hard, quick, slow, teasing. My eyes closed. Suddenly a finger was making its way inside my tight hole. I screamed this time.

"Fuck, Jake," I said. "Don't stop, babe."

He kept pushing it into me, and expertly, pressed the flat side of the tip of his index against the top of my vagina, hitting what I assumed was my G-spot, while his tongue expertly worked my clit. I was in danger of coming, and coming fast.

"Fuck, fuck, god, that feels good, Jake, please don't stop."

He didn't. He pushed me harder and harder, faster and faster. Jesus Christ. In a blinding light, I felt my entire body convulse as I came all over his mouth. I shook and shook. I felt my pussy –– fuck I said it –– contracting around his eager finger. I was breathless. My screams kept echoing in my ears. The entire room smelled of my juices. And Jake was looking at me with the biggest grin on his face. I was so lost in his eyes that not only did I not notice he had removed his underwear, but his hard dick rested against my wet center.

"I'm going to make love to you now." That would have been the cheesiest line with anyone else, but all I could do was nod eagerly.


And he certainly did, I smiled to myself. I must've had seven orgasms that night under the care of his expert tongue, fingers, and penis. I looked over at the clock. 5:00 AM. Jake was fast asleep next to me still, despite the fact that my room smelled like it did a year ago when he first made love to me and I'd been idly touching myself as I remembered our first times together. I was wide-awake and severely horny. I thought about waking Jake, but he had been exhausted last night from school and work that I figured he needed the sleep. With the burning need to come not going anywhere anytime soon, I crawled out of bed and went out into the living room. It was a bit chilly with only my red silk nightie on.

I opened up my computer, a bit hesitant about what I was about to do. But I needed to satisfy myself or I would never get back to sleep. I briefly wondered what Jake would think. I always tell him when he's away that I think about him when I masturbate. And while that's generally true, I do like variety. This would be more than just some fantasy in my mind, but the curiosity was killing me. There must be a reason I'm having these dreams. Am I turned on because it's simply a sex dream? Or am I turned on because I'm? I shook my head before I could finish the thought. Even thinking it made me uncomfortable.

"Because I'm bisexual," I whispered. My stomach felt a bit queasy.

I went to Google, and an old memory hit me. I was in middle school. Midst of puberty. I spent a lot of time watching TV, and I remembered now, like some old repressed thought, the first time I'd ever thought about another girl in a sexual way. It was mostly an innocent thought, then, but I remembered feeling hot when I watched two of the female characters on my favorite television show make-out. It was so sensual, and no boy had yet to kiss me like that. Then, like good cable television, it was promptly over. And I never thought about it again, except when randy teenage boys would ask if my friends and I would make out for them, and we would demurely say no.

I typed the show's name and the names of the characters and the word kiss and clicked enter. As the video loaded of the short scene, my hand crept back under my panties, feeling my soft, wet folds. As they started kissing, I felt myself get wetter, my heartbeat sped up, and my finger slipped inside of me as my other hand put pressure on my clit. I imagined I was the more naive one, falling under the sway of the experienced girl.

The video ended. Damn. I wanted more. Jake had admitted he would watch porn occasionally. I had never seen any, and we had never really talked about it besides when I asked him. Fuck it. I googled porn and clicked on the first link.

No wonder boys are so depraved, I thought as I took in the site and its less-than-classy advertisements and its vulgar titles. I saw a search function and I typed, all hesitation vanished, lesbian. It took me awhile, but I found a video that featured two semi-attractive girls that looked more like a typical college student than a porn star, and didn't start with them already naked and fucking.

I shed my nightie. I placed the computer on the coffee table, propped my feet up, and started fingering myself as the two girls kissed. I took my large breast into my hand and touched my hard nipple as my other hand rubbed my clit, my eyes glued to the video.

Fuck. Jake gets me wet, I mean really wet. He knows just how to please me. He knows how to talk dirty to me. He knows when I want to feel like a slut and when I want to feel like a princess. But I had never felt so sexual than when I fucked myself at five in the morning to two girls having sex with each other. Their sexy moans. Their curvy bodies. Their wild moans. Their desperate kisses.

As I sat there, hair tousled and masturbating crazily, the dream popped back in my mind. My best friend for years was confessing she had always had a crush on me. That she spied on me as we changed together. That she needed to kiss me. And then we were in each other's arms, kissing madly, with all the softness and sensuality of female flesh. And then another scene, with me on my back and her in between … eating me out.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, fuck," I whispered to the empty room. I closed my eyes as the orgasm swept over my body, but I kept rubbing despite the surfeit of pleasure. I could hear the strangled moans of the girls in the video as they pleasured each other. My mind darted back to the image of my best friend going down on me. And suddenly, without any warning, I came all over the couch and my legs. Everything was soaked with my juices. My smell of my pussy everywhere.

"Shit," I said. I had never squirted before, even though Jake would try occasionally. After I came down from my orgasm, the guilt was back: would Jake be upset? But, for whatever reason, I had trouble feeling ashamed about myself for once. I had just covered the couch, and some of the floor, with my juices. Nothing sounded more right, not to mention better, than pussy. I giggled as I thought about the various names I would sometimes substitute. My wetness, me (as if that's real descriptive, Brett), my center, my vajay. No wonder Jake would look amused as I would tell him I can't wait to have you deep inside of me. So innocent and imprecise. I let out an involuntary moan when I remembered the time he forced me to say, "I can't wait to have your thick cock deep inside my wet pussy." For once, that didn't leave a bad taste in my mouth. Speaking of taste, I thought to myself. I stuck my fingers in myself and tasted my pussy. I moaned. No wonder Jake loves to go down on me.

I turned off the laptop and pulled back on my nightie. Jake was still asleep in the bedroom. I slipped right next to him and instantly fell asleep.


From the incident forward, I no longer just loved sex. I craved it. Usually Jake was the initiator, but I found myself more frequently, well, attacking him. I seemed to be constantly horny. And when Jake didn't spend the night, I watched porn, fantasizing about being with another girl.

We had just finished our latest lovemaking session. Both of us, exhausted, on our backs next to each other. Jake was slowly coming back to reality. He slipped his hand behind my blonde hair and turned my head to face him.

"You've gotten over your disgust at saying pussy and cock." It wasn't a question. I felt myself blushing.

"Well, yeah, I figure it's time I grow up and get over it. I guess I realized how lame my dirty talk was without your favorite words."

He laughed. 

"My favorite words? I think you know my favorite words are I love you."

"God, you're cheesy. I love you too."

"But you're right, you do sound a bit less clinical saying pussy rather than vagina."

"Shut up." I hit him on the shoulder.

"Keep hitting me, I like the way your boobs move when you do."

"You suck," I said.

"You seem to like it."

I moaned. "So what?"

I still hadn't shared with Jake this fantasy that had been boiling inside of me. I obviously couldn't ask one of my friends for advice.

"Jake," I said, "Want to get drunk tonight?"


We stumbled back to my place around 2:00 AM. We'd spent most of the night in our favorite campus bar. We weren't wasted, but we were both feeling the affects of shots, a few mixed drinks, the crush of bodies, and the promise of flirting. I had worn more makeup than usual, a tiny miniskirt and tight top that emphasized my big boobs. I figured it's okay to dress like a slut if you have a boyfriend. I eyed Jake with the sultriest look I could muster.

"Take off your clothes." I walked up closer to him. "I want you to fuck the shit out of me like the slut I am."

He eyes went wide.

"I told you to take off your clothes, Jake. Why are you just staring at me?"

I sat back on the bed, legs crossed, watching. He certainly didn't have the grace of a woman, but for a drunken male, he did well. I imagined him as a stranger I met at a bar. I would be congratulating myself for getting so lucky. I caught my breath as he took off his shirt and his abs and chest came into view, covered with sparse manly hair.

I beckoned for him to cover over to me. I kissed him and brought his ear to my mouth.

"My pussy has been wet all night, and I need to feel your cock inside me."

That seemed to raise his energy a bit, and he started to put his male strength to use. He threw me back on the bed, ripped off my skirt and top. I had taken off my panties in the bathroom at the bar.

"You slut," he growled.

"Your slut. Fuck me, Jake."

He stripped off his remaining clothes and positioned himself on top of me. I looked into his eyes.

"Fuck my slutty cunt. It needs your cock."

Despite how wet I get, I'm a small girl and I'm tight and he has a thick cock. It usually takes a finger or tongue first, some gentle pushing, slowly getting deeper, before his dick is all the way in me. But I think he got my message because any softness he usually shows had disappeared and all that was left was his throbbing hard cock deep within my pussy.

"FUCK!" He had pushed all the way in with such force that it felt like my pussy was being torn in two. He started rapidly fucking me, pushing in and drawing all the way out. He held my face in one hand, and the other hand was twisting my hard nipple.

"You feel so good Jake, fuck me harder!"

He flipped me over, onto my hands and knees. I felt his strong hand descend on my ass and I moaned loudly.

"Fuck, yes, spank me, Jake, spank me, I've been a bad girl!"

"A bad girl, huh?" He spanked my other cheek. "You know I don't like bad girls. I don't think you deserve my cock anymore." He spanked me again, even harder this time and I could feel the red glow spreading across my ass.

"Please, please." And then I felt his mouth descend on my pussy from behind. Fuck, that felt good. His tongue speared my wet slit, working its way around skillfully.

Then he licked my ass.

"Fuck! Jake. Jake. Please."

"Please what?"

I struggled to say it. This was beyond our current routine.

"Please what?" He repeated.

"Lick my ass! I want to feel your tongue there."

I couldn't believe he was licking my ass. It felt so naughty. I felt incredible. I heard myself spewing out phrases I didn't even know existed, moaning loud enough to wake the entire apartment complex.

"Please fuck me now, please Jake, I need your dick," I moaned.

He lined his cock up from behind and pushed into me as I looked back at him. I grabbed my sore ass and spread it wide for him, giving him a view of where his tongue had just penetrated. I felt his cock twitch inside of me. I moaned in response and started thrusting myself back against him as he pounded into me.

Then I pulled him away and told him to lie down. I positioned my knees to his sides and grabbed his cock and pointed it inside of me. I lowered my hot pussy down, engulfing his thickness. I felt my wetness drip all over him. We were both sweating.

I lowered my face to his to kiss him as I started moving my body up and down his hard shaft. I rocked back and forth, up and down. He grabbed my ass, biting his nails into it. My hair was everywhere.

"Finger me," I whispered and took his index into my mouth and then placed it back behind me. He rubbed it around my asshole. "That's it, babe, I can take it." He slowly pushed his wet finger inside my ass.

"Ugh. Don't stop, babe. It's okay, you won't hurt me."

I was on top of him, rubbing my clit against his body as my pussy worked his cock in and out, and his finger was making its way into my virgin ass. I felt so wonderfully dirty.

"Mm, yes, you like when I fuck you like this? Don't you? I remember the first time you ate my pussy. You licked my ass, didn't you? You've wanted my ass for a long time. It's yours. My sexy virgin ass, it's all yours. You've come in my mouth, you've come in my pussy, don't you want to come in my ass?"

His eyes were closed. I could tell he was holding off coming, my words seeping into his scalp and imprinting themselves in his brain. I knew he would remember every single word I said. I was on a high. I slowed down to keep him from coming.

"Don't come yet, babe. I want to come together."

He opened his eyes and nodded. Then, finally, he spoke.

"You said you had been a bad girl. What did you mean?" His finger had made its way deeper into my ass, and had started moving in and out. The pain had mostly gone, but the dirtiness of it remained and it made my pussy even wetter. Now or never, I thought.

"I've been having the dirtiest fantasies."

"Like what?"

I lowered one of my tits down to his mouth. He eagerly took my nipple into his mouth as he twisted the other one.

"I'm not sure I should tell you," I whispered into his ear.

"Does it have to do with anal?"

"Mm, no, but this is amazing." I started picking up the speed again. "You sure you won't be mad if I tell you?" He shook his head.

"I keep dreaming. Oh yes, fuck me harder. That feels good. I keep dreaming of having sex with another girl." I was nervous, but I tried to sound confident and smile.

I don't know why I had worried. The second I said girl his cock throbbed, and felt like it enlarged inside of me. He let out a strangled, masculine groan. He started fucking me harder.

"Oh, did that turn you on?" I placed my hands against his strong chest and started working myself up and down his dick.

"You have no idea."

"Mm, good, because I keep having to watch two girls together to get off. I keep dreaming about it. I even squirted the other night all over the couch as I watched porn."

That set him off. He grabbed my ass and started directing my movements on his cock. Making me fuck him fast and hard.

"Yes, Jake, yes, just like that, don't stop, come with me. Come baby."

"I'm getting close, come for me. Come on me. Let me feel you all over my cock."

I felt his cock grow inside me, and then I felt his come fill my pussy. And then I came, screaming as my pussy contracted around his cock, milking him for more. I felt my come everywhere. Or was it sweat? Everything was slick with our lovemaking.

I was out of breath. He was passed out, and I quickly joined him.

To be continued.

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