Close Encounters of the First Kind

The keys rattle for a few seconds before the door swings open. He comes home to strangers. There's a quick introduction. He's cute, not my type - too short - but cute nonetheless. I wonder if he thinks I'm cute too as he bypasses the living room and opts for the comforts of his bedroom in back. His roommate follows, leaving my friend and me on the couch in front of the blank TV screen. I look at her. It's late, I'm tired, and I'm here because of her. Because she needed to talk. The club is not the place to complete unfinished business, but a Manhattan apartment is, even after 4 a.m.
"How long are we staying here?" I ask.
"Well me and him really need to talk," she answers.
This is going to be a long night. I settle into the cushions and get comfortable, adjusting my top so neither of the "girls" spill out. Bras weren't meant for shirts like this. The boys come back. Two of them, two of us. Two pairs is only a winning hand in Poker, not real life. He's tired, but he sits with us anyways. He talks. His roommate sulks and I can tell she's gonna have to do a lot of talking to make it better. But not yet. It's movie time. I've already seen Coach Carter, but I'll watch it again.
She whispers to his roommate. He whispers back to her. She takes him to the back. They will have their talk and I will have the couch to myself. Even trade.
"Do you mind if I sit over there with you?" he asks me from his perch on the loveseat.
"Not at all."
I curl up to make room and he sits on the far end.
"You can stretch your legs out if you want," he offers.
Why not. My feet rest on his lap. Yep, he thinks I'm cute. I watch the movie. Damn, there are some fine men in this movie, especially that tall white boy.
"You comfortable?" he inquires.
"Mmmmhmmmmm," I purr, nodding my head slowly. "Are you?"
"Do you mind if I lay down too?"
"Not at all."
He stretches his feet towards my end of the sofa. It won't work. We both knew that when he tried, but the polite option must at least be attempted. I know what he wants, so I give it to him.
"You can lay on this side too," I tell him.
He's quick to take me up on my offer. I move forward. He crawls behind me and contours his body to mine, chest to shoulders, stomach to back, crotch to ass. I curl my legs to his knees, making us the same height.
"Can I touch your hair?" he wonders. I know it only looks enticing, like a large ball of cotton waiting to be squeezed. In fact, it's dirty, in need of a shampoo, deep conditioning, and a trim. I say yes because I don't care. He plays with the tight springs, pretending they feel good to the touch. He wraps his other arm around my torso, and I snuggle, pretending I want to be there. The sun rises as the movie ends. It's time for bed. He gets up to go to his bedroom.
"You don't have to sleep on the couch."
I follow him to his bedroom. A warm body in a warm bed is better than nobody on a lumpy couch. I sit on the bed, but he stops me before I can lay down.
"Do you want some shorts and a shirt to sleep in?" He offers, not to make me more comfortable, but to make his mission easier. Basketball shorts slide off faster than jeans. But it keeps up the pretense that we are going to sleep. I change in the bathroom, feigning modesty. He's waiting for me as I crawl under the unnecessary covers. My head hits the pillow and my eyes close. He pulls me close and we contour again. I'm tired. Falling asleep like this is all I want. He wants more. He moves against me and I can feel him rising.
"Has anyone ever told you that you've got a really nice ass?"
Laughter is the only appropriate response. It comes out as a girly giggle. This is ridiculous. He pushes against me harder, holding each thrust against my ass longer than the previous one. I move away slightly. He cups my breasts and I move back towards him. Good counter. I don't have to participate, he's doing enough for both of us. His breathing is heavy in my ear. I wonder if this is all he wants. When he moves on top of me I know that it's not. I make room for him between my legs. The clothing between us makes it okay. I'm not worried. Dry humping is kids play (literally). His weight is on me, but it doesn't crush me. I can feel him through his shorts and mine. He shifts and rubs against me in fluid motions that grow increasingly intense. He's anticipating something he won't get, but I wrap my legs around his waist and squeeze anyways. It's something to do. He could stop at any second and I wouldn't care. He pushes my borrowed T-shirt over my head. He places his mouth over my nipple. I don't feel much, but I moan anyways. He keeps going and it gets better, but not much. I want my shirt back, but he wants my pants down. That's a problem. This is going too far. I don't even know his last name, I'm not really interested, and I haven't had a bikini wax. This was not in my plans when I left the house the previous night. I grip the shorts' waistband. He tugs at them from the bottom. He wins. He goes 2 for 2 when he gets my panties down too. FUCK!!! I'm not supposed to be naked. I squirm away. He slips down my body, his face hovering at my belly. I cross my legs in an attempt to hide the jungle growing down there. He wouldn't. Oh, but he would, and he does. He pries my legs apart and places his face in the untamed wild. Shit! This needs to stop. I try to move away, but the movement gives him the impression that it's too good for me to handle. He cups my hips in a vice grip, forcing me to feel everything. I can feel it, but I don't know if it feels good. He hits a new spot and I know for damn sure that one feels great. I look down at the top of his head. Our eyes meet for a moment before I lay back again. Why didn't I get a wax when I had the opportunity? This is embarassing. So embarassing I can't finish. I know he won't stop until I do. I moan louder and begin to shake my right leg. I writhe against him, then scream "Oh Shit!!" into a pillow several times before one elongated scream. My performance is convincing so he comes up for air. I watch him pick a hair out of his mouth. Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck. Where are my clothes? He reaches for a condom before I can reach for my shirt. Aww hell no!!! I push him off me.
"I'm not fucking you," I state.
"Why? We're both adults. It feels right. I'm not judging you," he coaxes. I hate that bullshit line. This is NOT happening. I put his clothes back on my body.
"I'm going to sleep. I'm tired," I tell him.
He respects it for three whole minutes before he grinds against my ass again. I let him, knowing the process will begin all over again. He feels me up, trying to turn me on. I let him. It feels good, but not good enough to change my mind. I lay there as he tries. In an attempt to show me just how fun participation can be, he takes my hand and places it down his pants. Not bad! I give him a few half ass strokes before removing my hand. He asks if I want to kiss it. Ummm, not so much. He's getting nothing out of this. I suck in bed right now and really don't care. I didn't come over with the intention of being "good." And I damn sure didn't come over there to be bad for a couple hours either. Is it time to go yet?