u/HoneyGlowettee

The lake was still and the afternoon had that specific weight that makes everything feel slower than it is. I was at the dock with a book I hadn't opened, watching the water, when I noticed him for the first time.

He was standing on the upper deck of the house with a drink, not looking at anything in particular. Early fifties, the kind of man who filled a space without seeming to try. Salt and pepper, broad shoulders, the ease of someone who had been comfortable in his own body for a long time. My friend had mentioned her dad had a colleague visiting for the weekend. I filed this away without knowing why.

We were introduced properly that evening. His handshake was firm and his attention was complete, the kind of eye contact that registers as unusual only after it's over. I found reasons to stay near his end of the conversation.

The following afternoon he found me at the dock.

"You said you'd never been on a boat," he said.

"I haven't."

He looked at his and then at me. "I could change that."

The walk down was short. He helped me aboard with one hand and the contact was brief and deliberate. He showed me the hull first, then opened the hatch to the cabin below, and I followed him down into a space that was small in the specific way that makes you conscious of every inch between two bodies. A bed. A kitchen. A table bolted to the floor. The smell of wood and water and something warmer underneath.

He talked about his wife while we stood in the cabin. How they used to take it out for whole weekends, anchor somewhere quiet, sleep under the sky. He said it without sentimentality, just as something that had existed and no longer did. I told him it sounded like something worth doing. He looked at me with a steadiness I was not accustomed to and agreed.

The boat rocked gently. The light through the cabin window was dim and amber. I was aware of the two feet between us in a way I felt rather than thought.

He said he hadn't enjoyed someone's company this much in a very long time. I said the feeling was mutual and meant it. He said he'd like to spend more time with me, and the way he said it left nothing ambiguous.

I told him I was open to it.

He told me then about the money. That he had more of it than he currently had reasons to spend and that he would be generous with someone who made him feel the way I had. I stood in that cabin and heard this and went very still. He named a number. My face moved without my permission. He named a higher one.

I thought about my friend upstairs. About her father, who trusted this man. About all the reasonable things a person would do next.

I reached behind my back and undid my bikini top.

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched and did not move and the composure of that, the complete patience of it, was something I had not encountered before. I felt my pulse in my throat. I took the bottoms off and stood in the amber light and let him look properly and felt the power and the vulnerability of it in the same breath.

He crossed the cabin without hurrying. His hand came to my jaw first, tilting my face up, studying me the way someone does when they intend to remember. His mouth found mine and I kissed him back and felt the floor shift slightly beneath me and it was not the boat.

He got me to the table and I went. His hands moved with knowledge rather than guesswork, finding what mattered and staying there, and I was gripping the edge within minutes with his mouth at my neck and his fingers working between my thighs with a patience that made me acutely aware of how much I had been settling for. I was soaking and he was unhurried and the cabin was quiet except for the sounds I was making and the water against the hull outside and I kept thinking he is her father's colleague, we are alone on this boat, nobody knows I am here, and every thought made everything more charged rather than less.

When he pushed inside me it was slow and full and deep and I pressed my face into his shoulder and made a sound with nothing self-conscious in it. He moved the way he did everything, deliberately, reading what my body did and adjusting, no distance in it, no performance. I came with my back arched and both hands locked behind his shoulders and my legs around him, the orgasm longer than I anticipated and louder, and when it finished I lay there breathing and felt completely undone in a way I had no framework for.

He asked quietly if he could finish inside me.

I said yes. There was no pause between the question and the answer.

He came buried entirely still and I held him there until it was over.

When I stood up I was dripping onto the cabin floor. I looked down at that and felt something I still don't have a clean word for. Nothing like shame. Something much older than shame and considerably more honest.

He paid me exactly what he had promised. We went back up to the dock separately.

My friend was on the porch when I came up from the water.

"Where were you?" she said.

"Just looking at the boat," I said.

She nodded and went back to her phone.

I stood in the afternoon sun for a moment before going inside and felt the heat on my skin and thought about the cabin and thought about nothing else at all.

I've always said I wasn't into older guys. I've said that my whole life. I'm saying it with slightly less confidence now.

This happened at my friend's family lake house a few weeks back. Her dad had a business colleague visiting for the weekend, someone he's known for years. Early fifties, the kind of man who's clearly been good looking his whole life and has aged into something better than what he started with. Salt and pepper hair, the build of someone who still works out, dressed casually in a way that looked expensive. Not creepy. Just present.

I noticed him noticing me around the dock and I noticed I didn't mind.

We ended up talking that afternoon while my friend was inside. Genuinely easy conversation, the kind you don't expect across an age gap that wide. He asked real questions and listened to the answers. Held eye contact the way most guys my age never quite manage. At some point it stopped feeling like small talk and started feeling like something else and I let it keep going because I was curious where it went.

He mentioned his boat. Asked if I'd ever been on one. I said I hadn't. He said he'd show me if I wanted.

I wanted.

We walked down to the dock, just the two of us, and he helped me up with one hand and the contact was brief and warm and I was aware of it more than made sense. He showed me around the hull and then the cabin below. It was small in the way that makes you conscious of where your body is relative to another person's. A proper bed, a kitchen, a table, the faint smell of wood and water and something that was probably him.

He told me about taking it out for whole weekends with his ex wife. Said it quietly, just as a fact. I told him it sounded like something worth doing. He looked at me for a second before he answered and said it was, and that he missed having someone to do it with.

The boat rocked gently. The cabin was dim. I was standing maybe two feet from a man I'd met four hours ago and I was thinking about the two feet between us in a way I could feel in my stomach.

He said he hadn't enjoyed someone's company this much in a long time. I said the feeling was mutual and I meant it. He said he'd like to spend more time with me. Made the meaning clear without making it anything less than dignified.

I told him I was open to it.

Then he said he had more money than he currently had reasons to spend and that he'd be generous with someone who made him feel the way I had today. Nobody had ever said that to me before. I went very still. He named a number. My face did something involuntary. He named a higher one.

I thought about my friend upstairs. I thought about how her dad trusted this man. I thought about the fact that I was eighteen and alone in a boat cabin with someone I'd known for four hours and I was not reaching for the door.

I took my bikini top off.

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched and didn't move and didn't rush anything and that specific composure, the fact that he just waited and looked, was hotter than anything he could have done. I felt my own pulse in my throat. I took the bottoms off too and stood there and let him look properly and felt the power and the vulnerability of that simultaneously in a way I can't fully explain.

He crossed the cabin and touched my face first. Just his hand on my jaw, tilting my head up slightly, studying me like he had time and intended to use it. Then his mouth on mine, slow and certain, and I kissed him back and felt my knees do something unreliable.

His hands moved down and they moved like he knew what he was looking for, no guessing, no hoping something would work. He got me onto the table and I went. He took his time in a way that had me gripping the edge within two minutes, his mouth at my neck and his fingers between my thighs working with a patience I have not experienced before from someone my own age or anywhere close to it. I was already embarrassingly wet and he was unhurried about it, drawing it out, and I kept thinking this is her dad's colleague, I am on his boat, my friend has no idea where I am, and none of those thoughts made me want to stop, they only made everything more charged.

He pushed inside me slow and it was full and deep and I felt it in my chest somehow and pressed my face into his shoulder and made a sound that was not quiet. He moved with the same deliberateness he'd had since the moment I met him, long strokes, reading my body the way someone does when they've been paying attention, adjusting when I shifted, staying where it mattered when I gripped him harder. I came with my back arched and my legs locked around him and my hands in a fist behind his shoulders and it went on longer than I expected and was louder than I planned and I could not have cared less about either of those things.

He asked if he could finish inside me. Said it low, right at my ear.

I said yes immediately. There was no pause. I'm not sure there was even a thought.

He came buried completely still inside me and I felt every pulse of it and held him there until it was done.

When I stood up I was dripping onto the cabin floor. I looked down and felt something I still don't have a clean word for. Not shame. Something much closer to the opposite.

He paid me exactly what he'd said he would. We went back up to the dock separately.

My friend asked where I'd been. I said just looking at the boat.

I've thought about that cabin every single day since.

I've always said I wasn't into older guys. I've said that my whole life. I'm saying it with slightly less confidence now.

This happened at my friend's family lake house a few weeks back. Her dad had a business colleague visiting for the weekend, someone he's known for years. Early fifties, the kind of man who's clearly been good looking his whole life and has aged into something better than what he started with. Salt and pepper hair, the build of someone who still works out, dressed casually in a way that looked expensive. Not creepy. Just present.

I noticed him noticing me around the dock and I noticed I didn't mind.

We ended up talking that afternoon while my friend was inside. Genuinely easy conversation, the kind you don't expect across an age gap that wide. He asked real questions and listened to the answers. Held eye contact the way most guys my age never quite manage. At some point it stopped feeling like small talk and started feeling like something else and I let it keep going because I was curious where it went.

He mentioned his boat. Asked if I'd ever been on one. I said I hadn't. He said he'd show me if I wanted.

I wanted.

We walked down to the dock, just the two of us, and he helped me up with one hand and the contact was brief and warm and I was aware of it more than made sense. He showed me around the hull and then the cabin below. It was small in the way that makes you conscious of where your body is relative to another person's. A proper bed, a kitchen, a table, the faint smell of wood and water and something that was probably him.

He told me about taking it out for whole weekends with his ex wife. Said it quietly, just as a fact. I told him it sounded like something worth doing. He looked at me for a second before he answered and said it was, and that he missed having someone to do it with.

The boat rocked gently. The cabin was dim. I was standing maybe two feet from a man I'd met four hours ago and I was thinking about the two feet between us in a way I could feel in my stomach.

He said he hadn't enjoyed someone's company this much in a long time. I said the feeling was mutual and I meant it. He said he'd like to spend more time with me. Made the meaning clear without making it anything less than dignified.

I told him I was open to it.

Then he said he had more money than he currently had reasons to spend and that he'd be generous with someone who made him feel the way I had today. Nobody had ever said that to me before. I went very still. He named a number. My face did something involuntary. He named a higher one.

I thought about my friend upstairs. I thought about how her dad trusted this man. I thought about the fact that I was eighteen and alone in a boat cabin with someone I'd known for four hours and I was not reaching for the door.

I took my bikini top off.

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched and didn't move and didn't rush anything and that specific composure, the fact that he just waited and looked, was hotter than anything he could have done. I felt my own pulse in my throat. I took the bottoms off too and stood there and let him look properly and felt the power and the vulnerability of that simultaneously in a way I can't fully explain.

He crossed the cabin and touched my face first. Just his hand on my jaw, tilting my head up slightly, studying me like he had time and intended to use it. Then his mouth on mine, slow and certain, and I kissed him back and felt my knees do something unreliable.

His hands moved down and they moved like he knew what he was looking for, no guessing, no hoping something would work. He got me onto the table and I went. He took his time in a way that had me gripping the edge within two minutes, his mouth at my neck and his fingers between my thighs working with a patience I have not experienced before from someone my own age or anywhere close to it. I was already embarrassingly wet and he was unhurried about it, drawing it out, and I kept thinking this is her dad's colleague, I am on his boat, my friend has no idea where I am, and none of those thoughts made me want to stop, they only made everything more charged.

He pushed inside me slow and it was full and deep and I felt it in my chest somehow and pressed my face into his shoulder and made a sound that was not quiet. He moved with the same deliberateness he'd had since the moment I met him, long strokes, reading my body the way someone does when they've been paying attention, adjusting when I shifted, staying where it mattered when I gripped him harder. I came with my back arched and my legs locked around him and my hands in a fist behind his shoulders and it went on longer than I expected and was louder than I planned and I could not have cared less about either of those things.

He asked if he could finish inside me. Said it low, right at my ear.

I said yes immediately. There was no pause. I'm not sure there was even a thought.

He came buried completely still inside me and I felt every pulse of it and held him there until it was done.

When I stood up I was dripping onto the cabin floor. I looked down and felt something I still don't have a clean word for. Not shame. Something much closer to the opposite.

He paid me exactly what he'd said he would. We went back up to the dock separately.

My friend asked where I'd been. I said just looking at the boat.

I've thought about that cabin every single day since.

I've always said I wasn't into older guys. I've said that my whole life. I'm saying it with slightly less confidence now.

This happened at my friend's family lake house a few weeks back. Her dad had a business colleague visiting for the weekend, someone he's known for years. Early fifties, the kind of man who's clearly been good looking his whole life and has aged into something better than what he started with. Salt and pepper hair, the build of someone who still works out, dressed casually in a way that looked expensive. Not creepy. Just present.

I noticed him noticing me around the dock and I noticed I didn't mind.

We ended up talking that afternoon while my friend was inside. Genuinely easy conversation, the kind you don't expect across an age gap that wide. He asked real questions and listened to the answers. Held eye contact the way most guys my age never quite manage. At some point it stopped feeling like small talk and started feeling like something else and I let it keep going because I was curious where it went.

He mentioned his boat. Asked if I'd ever been on one. I said I hadn't. He said he'd show me if I wanted.

I wanted.

We walked down to the dock, just the two of us, and he helped me up with one hand and the contact was brief and warm and I was aware of it more than made sense. He showed me around the hull and then the cabin below. It was small in the way that makes you conscious of where your body is relative to another person's. A proper bed, a kitchen, a table, the faint smell of wood and water and something that was probably him.

He told me about taking it out for whole weekends with his ex wife. Said it quietly, just as a fact. I told him it sounded like something worth doing. He looked at me for a second before he answered and said it was, and that he missed having someone to do it with.

The boat rocked gently. The cabin was dim. I was standing maybe two feet from a man I'd met four hours ago and I was thinking about the two feet between us in a way I could feel in my stomach.

He said he hadn't enjoyed someone's company this much in a long time. I said the feeling was mutual and I meant it. He said he'd like to spend more time with me. Made the meaning clear without making it anything less than dignified.

I told him I was open to it.

Then he said he had more money than he currently had reasons to spend and that he'd be generous with someone who made him feel the way I had today. Nobody had ever said that to me before. I went very still. He named a number. My face did something involuntary. He named a higher one.

I thought about my friend upstairs. I thought about how her dad trusted this man. I thought about the fact that I was eighteen and alone in a boat cabin with someone I'd known for four hours and I was not reaching for the door.

I took my bikini top off.

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched and didn't move and didn't rush anything and that specific composure, the fact that he just waited and looked, was hotter than anything he could have done. I felt my own pulse in my throat. I took the bottoms off too and stood there and let him look properly and felt the power and the vulnerability of that simultaneously in a way I can't fully explain.

He crossed the cabin and touched my face first. Just his hand on my jaw, tilting my head up slightly, studying me like he had time and intended to use it. Then his mouth on mine, slow and certain, and I kissed him back and felt my knees do something unreliable.

His hands moved down and they moved like he knew what he was looking for, no guessing, no hoping something would work. He got me onto the table and I went. He took his time in a way that had me gripping the edge within two minutes, his mouth at my neck and his fingers between my thighs working with a patience I have not experienced before from someone my own age or anywhere close to it. I was already embarrassingly wet and he was unhurried about it, drawing it out, and I kept thinking this is her dad's colleague, I am on his boat, my friend has no idea where I am, and none of those thoughts made me want to stop, they only made everything more charged.

He pushed inside me slow and it was full and deep and I felt it in my chest somehow and pressed my face into his shoulder and made a sound that was not quiet. He moved with the same deliberateness he'd had since the moment I met him, long strokes, reading my body the way someone does when they've been paying attention, adjusting when I shifted, staying where it mattered when I gripped him harder. I came with my back arched and my legs locked around him and my hands in a fist behind his shoulders and it went on longer than I expected and was louder than I planned and I could not have cared less about either of those things.

He asked if he could finish inside me. Said it low, right at my ear.

I said yes immediately. There was no pause. I'm not sure there was even a thought.

He came buried completely still inside me and I felt every pulse of it and held him there until it was done.

When I stood up I was dripping onto the cabin floor. I looked down and felt something I still don't have a clean word for. Not shame. Something much closer to the opposite.

He paid me exactly what he'd said he would. We went back up to the dock separately.

My friend asked where I'd been. I said just looking at the boat.

I've thought about that cabin every single day since.

I've always said I wasn't into older guys. I've said that my whole life. I'm saying it with slightly less confidence now.

This happened at my friend's family lake house a few weeks back. Her dad had a business colleague visiting for the weekend, someone he's known for years. Early fifties, the kind of man who's clearly been good looking his whole life and has aged into something better than what he started with. Salt and pepper hair, the build of someone who still works out, dressed casually in a way that looked expensive. Not creepy. Just present.

I noticed him noticing me around the dock and I noticed I didn't mind.

We ended up talking that afternoon while my friend was inside. Genuinely easy conversation, the kind you don't expect across an age gap that wide. He asked real questions and listened to the answers. Held eye contact the way most guys my age never quite manage. At some point it stopped feeling like small talk and started feeling like something else and I let it keep going because I was curious where it went.

He mentioned his boat. Asked if I'd ever been on one. I said I hadn't. He said he'd show me if I wanted.

I wanted.

We walked down to the dock, just the two of us, and he helped me up with one hand and the contact was brief and warm and I was aware of it more than made sense. He showed me around the hull and then the cabin below. It was small in the way that makes you conscious of where your body is relative to another person's. A proper bed, a kitchen, a table, the faint smell of wood and water and something that was probably him.

He told me about taking it out for whole weekends with his ex wife. Said it quietly, just as a fact. I told him it sounded like something worth doing. He looked at me for a second before he answered and said it was, and that he missed having someone to do it with.

The boat rocked gently. The cabin was dim. I was standing maybe two feet from a man I'd met four hours ago and I was thinking about the two feet between us in a way I could feel in my stomach.

He said he hadn't enjoyed someone's company this much in a long time. I said the feeling was mutual and I meant it. He said he'd like to spend more time with me. Made the meaning clear without making it anything less than dignified.

I told him I was open to it.

Then he said he had more money than he currently had reasons to spend and that he'd be generous with someone who made him feel the way I had today. Nobody had ever said that to me before. I went very still. He named a number. My face did something involuntary. He named a higher one.

I thought about my friend upstairs. I thought about how her dad trusted this man. I thought about the fact that I was eighteen and alone in a boat cabin with someone I'd known for four hours and I was not reaching for the door.

I took my bikini top off.

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched and didn't move and didn't rush anything and that specific composure, the fact that he just waited and looked, was hotter than anything he could have done. I felt my own pulse in my throat. I took the bottoms off too and stood there and let him look properly and felt the power and the vulnerability of that simultaneously in a way I can't fully explain.

He crossed the cabin and touched my face first. Just his hand on my jaw, tilting my head up slightly, studying me like he had time and intended to use it. Then his mouth on mine, slow and certain, and I kissed him back and felt my knees do something unreliable.

His hands moved down and they moved like he knew what he was looking for, no guessing, no hoping something would work. He got me onto the table and I went. He took his time in a way that had me gripping the edge within two minutes, his mouth at my neck and his fingers between my thighs working with a patience I have not experienced before from someone my own age or anywhere close to it. I was already embarrassingly wet and he was unhurried about it, drawing it out, and I kept thinking this is her dad's colleague, I am on his boat, my friend has no idea where I am, and none of those thoughts made me want to stop, they only made everything more charged.

He pushed inside me slow and it was full and deep and I felt it in my chest somehow and pressed my face into his shoulder and made a sound that was not quiet. He moved with the same deliberateness he'd had since the moment I met him, long strokes, reading my body the way someone does when they've been paying attention, adjusting when I shifted, staying where it mattered when I gripped him harder. I came with my back arched and my legs locked around him and my hands in a fist behind his shoulders and it went on longer than I expected and was louder than I planned and I could not have cared less about either of those things.

He asked if he could finish inside me. Said it low, right at my ear.

I said yes immediately. There was no pause. I'm not sure there was even a thought.

He came buried completely still inside me and I felt every pulse of it and held him there until it was done.

When I stood up I was dripping onto the cabin floor. I looked down and felt something I still don't have a clean word for. Not shame. Something much closer to the opposite.

He paid me exactly what he'd said he would. We went back up to the dock separately.

My friend asked where I'd been. I said just looking at the boat.

I've thought about that cabin every single day since.

I made a decision before I left the house that Halloween and I executed it better than I planned.

The costume helped. Full vampire. Short black dress, cape, dramatic makeup, fake blood at the corner of my mouth, fishnets. I looked at myself in the mirror before I left and felt like a completely different version of myself, the kind who could do whatever she wanted for one night without it meaning anything permanent. I had condoms in my pocket because I came prepared and because that's just sensible. I liked her immediately.

The party was at someone's house off campus, the kind that fills every room and spills into the yard and has a playlist loud enough that people stop bothering with words. I had two drinks, got comfortable, and started looking at the room with a specific intention.

The first was a friend. I've known him a couple of years, we've always had something hovering at the edge of our friendship that neither of us had done anything about. He found me in the kitchen and told me I looked incredible and I looked at him and thought tonight is the night for that hovering thing to land somewhere.

I leaned in close and said "trick or treat, suck my meat" in my most serious voice.

He stared at me.

"That was terrible," he said.

"Bathroom. Now," I said.

He went.

I got on my knees on someone's bathmat and he was hard in my hand within seconds. I took my time with him, slow and thorough, one hand working the base while my mouth handled everything else, eye contact the whole time because I like watching what my mouth does to someone's face. He came with both hands braced against the wall above me trying not to make noise and making noise anyway. I fixed my lipstick in the mirror and we walked out separately.

The second was a stranger. A face that was easy to keep returning to across the room, and we'd been doing that circling thing people do at parties when they're both interested and both pretending not to be. Around midnight he came and stood next to me outside and I turned to him with full vampire commitment and said "Bleeh. I vant to drink your cum. I mean blood. Bleeh."

He laughed for a solid ten seconds.

Then he followed me around the side of the house.

I got on my knees in the grass in my cape and fishnets and sucked him off while the party noise hummed through the walls and he looked down at me like he was trying to decide if I was real. Slow at first, then less slow, taking him deeper when his breathing changed, keeping my hand moving with my mouth until his legs went unsteady. He came and I took everything and he said something complimentary that I've forgotten because compliments don't stick the way the look on someone's face does.

There were two more over the course of the night. One turned out to be a dad, which I found out when he mentioned his kids while we were talking before. Different rooms, different situations, same outcome each time, same feeling of being completely in control of a night that belonged entirely to me.

I drove home at two in the morning with my makeup slightly wrecked and felt absolutely fantastic.

I made a decision before I left the house that Halloween and I executed it better than I planned.

The costume helped. Full vampire. Short black dress, cape, dramatic makeup, fake blood at the corner of my mouth, fishnets. I looked at myself in the mirror before I left and felt like a completely different version of myself, the kind who could do whatever she wanted for one night without it meaning anything permanent. I had condoms in my pocket because I came prepared and because that's just sensible. I liked her immediately.

The party was at someone's house off campus, the kind that fills every room and spills into the yard and has a playlist loud enough that people stop bothering with words. I had two drinks, got comfortable, and started looking at the room with a specific intention.

The first was a friend. I've known him a couple of years, we've always had something hovering at the edge of our friendship that neither of us had done anything about. He found me in the kitchen and told me I looked incredible and I looked at him and thought tonight is the night for that hovering thing to land somewhere.

I leaned in close and said "trick or treat, suck my meat" in my most serious voice.

He stared at me.

"That was terrible," he said.

"Bathroom. Now," I said.

He went.

I got on my knees on someone's bathmat and he was hard in my hand within seconds. I took my time with him, slow and thorough, one hand working the base while my mouth handled everything else, eye contact the whole time because I like watching what my mouth does to someone's face. He came with both hands braced against the wall above me trying not to make noise and making noise anyway. I fixed my lipstick in the mirror and we walked out separately.

The second was a stranger. A face that was easy to keep returning to across the room, and we'd been doing that circling thing people do at parties when they're both interested and both pretending not to be. Around midnight he came and stood next to me outside and I turned to him with full vampire commitment and said "Bleeh. I vant to drink your cum. I mean blood. Bleeh."

He laughed for a solid ten seconds.

Then he followed me around the side of the house.

I got on my knees in the grass in my cape and fishnets and sucked him off while the party noise hummed through the walls and he looked down at me like he was trying to decide if I was real. Slow at first, then less slow, taking him deeper when his breathing changed, keeping my hand moving with my mouth until his legs went unsteady. He came and I took everything and he said something complimentary that I've forgotten because compliments don't stick the way the look on someone's face does.

There were two more over the course of the night. One turned out to be a dad, which I found out when he mentioned his kids while we were talking before. Different rooms, different situations, same outcome each time, same feeling of being completely in control of a night that belonged entirely to me.

I drove home at two in the morning with my makeup slightly wrecked and felt absolutely fantastic.

I made a decision before I left the house that Halloween and I executed it better than I planned.

The costume helped. Full vampire. Short black dress, cape, dramatic makeup, fake blood at the corner of my mouth, fishnets. I looked at myself in the mirror before I left and felt like a completely different version of myself, the kind who could do whatever she wanted for one night without it meaning anything permanent. I had condoms in my pocket because I came prepared and because that's just sensible. I liked her immediately.

The party was at someone's house off campus, the kind that fills every room and spills into the yard and has a playlist loud enough that people stop bothering with words. I had two drinks, got comfortable, and started looking at the room with a specific intention.

The first was a friend. I've known him a couple of years, we've always had something hovering at the edge of our friendship that neither of us had done anything about. He found me in the kitchen and told me I looked incredible and I looked at him and thought tonight is the night for that hovering thing to land somewhere.

I leaned in close and said "trick or treat, suck my meat" in my most serious voice.

He stared at me.

"That was terrible," he said.

"Bathroom. Now," I said.

He went.

I got on my knees on someone's bathmat and he was hard in my hand within seconds. I took my time with him, slow and thorough, one hand working the base while my mouth handled everything else, eye contact the whole time because I like watching what my mouth does to someone's face. He came with both hands braced against the wall above me trying not to make noise and making noise anyway. I fixed my lipstick in the mirror and we walked out separately.

The second was a stranger. A face that was easy to keep returning to across the room, and we'd been doing that circling thing people do at parties when they're both interested and both pretending not to be. Around midnight he came and stood next to me outside and I turned to him with full vampire commitment and said "Bleeh. I vant to drink your cum. I mean blood. Bleeh."

He laughed for a solid ten seconds.

Then he followed me around the side of the house.

I got on my knees in the grass in my cape and fishnets and sucked him off while the party noise hummed through the walls and he looked down at me like he was trying to decide if I was real. Slow at first, then less slow, taking him deeper when his breathing changed, keeping my hand moving with my mouth until his legs went unsteady. He came and I took everything and he said something complimentary that I've forgotten because compliments don't stick the way the look on someone's face does.

There were two more over the course of the night. One turned out to be a dad, which I found out when he mentioned his kids while we were talking before. Different rooms, different situations, same outcome each time, same feeling of being completely in control of a night that belonged entirely to me.

I drove home at two in the morning with my makeup slightly wrecked and felt absolutely fantastic.

I made a decision before I left the house that Halloween and I executed it better than I planned.

The costume helped. Full vampire. Short black dress, cape, dramatic makeup, fake blood at the corner of my mouth, fishnets. I looked at myself in the mirror before I left and felt like a completely different version of myself, the kind who could do whatever she wanted for one night without it meaning anything permanent. I had condoms in my pocket because I came prepared and because that's just sensible. I liked her immediately.

The party was at someone's house off campus, the kind that fills every room and spills into the yard and has a playlist loud enough that people stop bothering with words. I had two drinks, got comfortable, and started looking at the room with a specific intention.

The first was a friend. I've known him a couple of years, we've always had something hovering at the edge of our friendship that neither of us had done anything about. He found me in the kitchen and told me I looked incredible and I looked at him and thought tonight is the night for that hovering thing to land somewhere.

I leaned in close and said "trick or treat, suck my meat" in my most serious voice.

He stared at me.

"That was terrible," he said.

"Bathroom. Now," I said.

He went.

I got on my knees on someone's bathmat and he was hard in my hand within seconds. I took my time with him, slow and thorough, one hand working the base while my mouth handled everything else, eye contact the whole time because I like watching what my mouth does to someone's face. He came with both hands braced against the wall above me trying not to make noise and making noise anyway. I fixed my lipstick in the mirror and we walked out separately.

The second was a stranger. A face that was easy to keep returning to across the room, and we'd been doing that circling thing people do at parties when they're both interested and both pretending not to be. Around midnight he came and stood next to me outside and I turned to him with full vampire commitment and said "Bleeh. I vant to drink your cum. I mean blood. Bleeh."

He laughed for a solid ten seconds.

Then he followed me around the side of the house.

I got on my knees in the grass in my cape and fishnets and sucked him off while the party noise hummed through the walls and he looked down at me like he was trying to decide if I was real. Slow at first, then less slow, taking him deeper when his breathing changed, keeping my hand moving with my mouth until his legs went unsteady. He came and I took everything and he said something complimentary that I've forgotten because compliments don't stick the way the look on someone's face does.

There were two more over the course of the night. One turned out to be a dad, which I found out when he mentioned his kids while we were talking before. Different rooms, different situations, same outcome each time, same feeling of being completely in control of a night that belonged entirely to me.

I drove home at two in the morning with my makeup slightly wrecked and felt absolutely fantastic.

I made a decision before I left the house that Halloween and I executed it better than I planned.

The costume helped. Full vampire. Short black dress, cape, dramatic makeup, fake blood at the corner of my mouth, fishnets. I looked at myself in the mirror before I left and felt like a completely different version of myself, the kind who could do whatever she wanted for one night without it meaning anything permanent. I had condoms in my pocket because I came prepared and because that's just sensible. I liked her immediately.

The party was at someone's house off campus, the kind that fills every room and spills into the yard and has a playlist loud enough that people stop bothering with words. I had two drinks, got comfortable, and started looking at the room with a specific intention.

The first was a friend. I've known him a couple of years, we've always had something hovering at the edge of our friendship that neither of us had done anything about. He found me in the kitchen and told me I looked incredible and I looked at him and thought tonight is the night for that hovering thing to land somewhere.

I leaned in close and said "trick or treat, suck my meat" in my most serious voice.

He stared at me.

"That was terrible," he said.

"Bathroom. Now," I said.

He went.

I got on my knees on someone's bathmat and he was hard in my hand within seconds. I took my time with him, slow and thorough, one hand working the base while my mouth handled everything else, eye contact the whole time because I like watching what my mouth does to someone's face. He came with both hands braced against the wall above me trying not to make noise and making noise anyway. I fixed my lipstick in the mirror and we walked out separately.

The second was a stranger. A face that was easy to keep returning to across the room, and we'd been doing that circling thing people do at parties when they're both interested and both pretending not to be. Around midnight he came and stood next to me outside and I turned to him with full vampire commitment and said "Bleeh. I vant to drink your cum. I mean blood. Bleeh."

He laughed for a solid ten seconds.

Then he followed me around the side of the house.

I got on my knees in the grass in my cape and fishnets and sucked him off while the party noise hummed through the walls and he looked down at me like he was trying to decide if I was real. Slow at first, then less slow, taking him deeper when his breathing changed, keeping my hand moving with my mouth until his legs went unsteady. He came and I took everything and he said something complimentary that I've forgotten because compliments don't stick the way the look on someone's face does.

There were two more over the course of the night. One turned out to be a dad, which I found out when he mentioned his kids while we were talking before. Different rooms, different situations, same outcome each time, same feeling of being completely in control of a night that belonged entirely to me.

I drove home at two in the morning with my makeup slightly wrecked and felt absolutely fantastic.

There are jobs you take for the money and jobs you take for the story and this one turned out to be both.

I shoot photography on the side while I'm in college. Portraits, events, the occasional couple. A woman found me through IG and messaged asking if I'd be open to shooting something "more intimate and creative" for her and her partner. I asked a few questions, she gave me reassuring non-answers, and I said yes because the rate she named was generous and I needed rent covered.

I showed up to their apartment with my camera bag and approximately no idea what I'd agreed to.

They were both stunning in a way that registered immediately, the kind of attractive that makes you recalibrate a room. She was dark haired and curved and moved like someone completely comfortable being looked at. He was broad across the shoulders, tall, the kind of build that makes a plain shirt look like a decision. They were warm and easy and that specific sort of couple that makes you feel like you've known them for an hour when it's been ten minutes.

We started simple. Fully clothed, their bedroom, good light coming through the windows. She was easy to direct and he was easier. The chemistry between them was already there in the background, something low and constant that I noticed through my viewfinder and told myself not to think about.

Clothes came off gradually. His shirt first, then hers. I kept shooting and kept breathing and kept reminding myself I was here professionally.

He had his hands at her waist when his mouth found her neck and her eyes closed and his hands started moving somewhere else and I made the decision to keep shooting and see where this went.

She was in her underwear, he was still in his boxers, and I could see exactly what was happening under them. The shape of him was obvious and significant and I pointed my lens somewhere neutral for approximately four seconds before pointing it back.

His hand moved between her thighs. Over the fabric first, then under. She inhaled sharply and I watched her expression change completely. He worked his fingers inside her and she made a sound that I felt somewhere behind my ribs and I was wet. Genuinely soaking, trying very hard not to think about that while maintaining professional focus on my viewfinder.

She opened her eyes and looked directly at me.

"You don't have to keep pretending this isn't affecting you," she said.

I didn't answer. I took the picture.

He moved down her body, got her underwear off, and buried his face between her thighs and I stopped attempting to direct anything and just watched. She grabbed the back of his head with both hands and her whole body arched off the bed and she was loud in a way that filled the room completely and I gripped my camera and felt absolutely nothing professional.

She pulled him up by his hair. Got his boxers off. He was thick and hard and already wet at the tip and she reached down and guided him inside her and the sound she made when he pushed in went somewhere in my memory that I don't think is leaving.

He fucked her slow at first and then considerably less slow. His hand working between them on her clit while he moved, and she got louder and her breathing went completely apart and I was watching all of this through a lens with nowhere to put the ache that had been building since the moment he first touched her. She came with her back arched and her nails in his shoulders and her whole body shaking hard, and he followed right after, buried deep and completely still, both of them flushed and wrecked and genuinely beautiful to look at.

The room was just their breathing after that.

I said something to break the silence. I have no idea what it was.

They flirted with me on the way out. I drove home and sat in my car for a long time before I could start it.

I have thought about that afternoon more times than I can count and I think about it differently every single time.

There are jobs you take for the money and jobs you take for the story and this one turned out to be both.

I shoot photography on the side while I'm in college. Portraits, events, the occasional couple. A woman found me through IG and messaged asking if I'd be open to shooting something "more intimate and creative" for her and her partner. I asked a few questions, she gave me reassuring non-answers, and I said yes because the rate she named was generous and I needed rent covered.

I showed up to their apartment with my camera bag and approximately no idea what I'd agreed to.

They were both stunning in a way that registered immediately, the kind of attractive that makes you recalibrate a room. She was dark haired and curved and moved like someone completely comfortable being looked at. He was broad across the shoulders, tall, the kind of build that makes a plain shirt look like a decision. They were warm and easy and that specific sort of couple that makes you feel like you've known them for an hour when it's been ten minutes.

We started simple. Fully clothed, their bedroom, good light coming through the windows. She was easy to direct and he was easier. The chemistry between them was already there in the background, something low and constant that I noticed through my viewfinder and told myself not to think about.

Clothes came off gradually. His shirt first, then hers. I kept shooting and kept breathing and kept reminding myself I was here professionally.

He had his hands at her waist when his mouth found her neck and her eyes closed and his hands started moving somewhere else and I made the decision to keep shooting and see where this went.

She was in her underwear, he was still in his boxers, and I could see exactly what was happening under them. The shape of him was obvious and significant and I pointed my lens somewhere neutral for approximately four seconds before pointing it back.

His hand moved between her thighs. Over the fabric first, then under. She inhaled sharply and I watched her expression change completely. He worked his fingers inside her and she made a sound that I felt somewhere behind my ribs and I was wet. Genuinely soaking, trying very hard not to think about that while maintaining professional focus on my viewfinder.

She opened her eyes and looked directly at me.

"You don't have to keep pretending this isn't affecting you," she said.

I didn't answer. I took the picture.

He moved down her body, got her underwear off, and buried his face between her thighs and I stopped attempting to direct anything and just watched. She grabbed the back of his head with both hands and her whole body arched off the bed and she was loud in a way that filled the room completely and I gripped my camera and felt absolutely nothing professional.

She pulled him up by his hair. Got his boxers off. He was thick and hard and already wet at the tip and she reached down and guided him inside her and the sound she made when he pushed in went somewhere in my memory that I don't think is leaving.

He fucked her slow at first and then considerably less slow. His hand working between them on her clit while he moved, and she got louder and her breathing went completely apart and I was watching all of this through a lens with nowhere to put the ache that had been building since the moment he first touched her. She came with her back arched and her nails in his shoulders and her whole body shaking hard, and he followed right after, buried deep and completely still, both of them flushed and wrecked and genuinely beautiful to look at.

The room was just their breathing after that.

I said something to break the silence. I have no idea what it was.

They flirted with me on the way out. I drove home and sat in my car for a long time before I could start it.

I have thought about that afternoon more times than I can count and I think about it differently every single time.

There are jobs you take for the money and jobs you take for the story and this one turned out to be both.

I shoot photography on the side while I'm in college. Portraits, events, the occasional couple. A woman found me through IG and messaged asking if I'd be open to shooting something "more intimate and creative" for her and her partner. I asked a few questions, she gave me reassuring non-answers, and I said yes because the rate she named was generous and I needed rent covered.

I showed up to their apartment with my camera bag and approximately no idea what I'd agreed to.

They were both stunning in a way that registered immediately, the kind of attractive that makes you recalibrate a room. She was dark haired and curved and moved like someone completely comfortable being looked at. He was broad across the shoulders, tall, the kind of build that makes a plain shirt look like a decision. They were warm and easy and that specific sort of couple that makes you feel like you've known them for an hour when it's been ten minutes.

We started simple. Fully clothed, their bedroom, good light coming through the windows. She was easy to direct and he was easier. The chemistry between them was already there in the background, something low and constant that I noticed through my viewfinder and told myself not to think about.

Clothes came off gradually. His shirt first, then hers. I kept shooting and kept breathing and kept reminding myself I was here professionally.

He had his hands at her waist when his mouth found her neck and her eyes closed and his hands started moving somewhere else and I made the decision to keep shooting and see where this went.

She was in her underwear, he was still in his boxers, and I could see exactly what was happening under them. The shape of him was obvious and significant and I pointed my lens somewhere neutral for approximately four seconds before pointing it back.

His hand moved between her thighs. Over the fabric first, then under. She inhaled sharply and I watched her expression change completely. He worked his fingers inside her and she made a sound that I felt somewhere behind my ribs and I was wet. Genuinely soaking, trying very hard not to think about that while maintaining professional focus on my viewfinder.

She opened her eyes and looked directly at me.

"You don't have to keep pretending this isn't affecting you," she said.

I didn't answer. I took the picture.

He moved down her body, got her underwear off, and buried his face between her thighs and I stopped attempting to direct anything and just watched. She grabbed the back of his head with both hands and her whole body arched off the bed and she was loud in a way that filled the room completely and I gripped my camera and felt absolutely nothing professional.

She pulled him up by his hair. Got his boxers off. He was thick and hard and already wet at the tip and she reached down and guided him inside her and the sound she made when he pushed in went somewhere in my memory that I don't think is leaving.

He fucked her slow at first and then considerably less slow. His hand working between them on her clit while he moved, and she got louder and her breathing went completely apart and I was watching all of this through a lens with nowhere to put the ache that had been building since the moment he first touched her. She came with her back arched and her nails in his shoulders and her whole body shaking hard, and he followed right after, buried deep and completely still, both of them flushed and wrecked and genuinely beautiful to look at.

The room was just their breathing after that.

I said something to break the silence. I have no idea what it was.

They flirted with me on the way out. I drove home and sat in my car for a long time before I could start it.

I have thought about that afternoon more times than I can count and I think about it differently every single time.

There are jobs you take for the money and jobs you take for the story and this one turned out to be both.

I shoot photography on the side while I'm in college. Portraits, events, the occasional couple. A woman found me through IG and messaged asking if I'd be open to shooting something "more intimate and creative" for her and her partner. I asked a few questions, she gave me reassuring non-answers, and I said yes because the rate she named was generous and I needed rent covered.

I showed up to their apartment with my camera bag and approximately no idea what I'd agreed to.

They were both stunning in a way that registered immediately, the kind of attractive that makes you recalibrate a room. She was dark haired and curved and moved like someone completely comfortable being looked at. He was broad across the shoulders, tall, the kind of build that makes a plain shirt look like a decision. They were warm and easy and that specific sort of couple that makes you feel like you've known them for an hour when it's been ten minutes.

We started simple. Fully clothed, their bedroom, good light coming through the windows. She was easy to direct and he was easier. The chemistry between them was already there in the background, something low and constant that I noticed through my viewfinder and told myself not to think about.

Clothes came off gradually. His shirt first, then hers. I kept shooting and kept breathing and kept reminding myself I was here professionally.

He had his hands at her waist when his mouth found her neck and her eyes closed and his hands started moving somewhere else and I made the decision to keep shooting and see where this went.

She was in her underwear, he was still in his boxers, and I could see exactly what was happening under them. The shape of him was obvious and significant and I pointed my lens somewhere neutral for approximately four seconds before pointing it back.

His hand moved between her thighs. Over the fabric first, then under. She inhaled sharply and I watched her expression change completely. He worked his fingers inside her and she made a sound that I felt somewhere behind my ribs and I was wet. Genuinely soaking, trying very hard not to think about that while maintaining professional focus on my viewfinder.

She opened her eyes and looked directly at me.

"You don't have to keep pretending this isn't affecting you," she said.

I didn't answer. I took the picture.

He moved down her body, got her underwear off, and buried his face between her thighs and I stopped attempting to direct anything and just watched. She grabbed the back of his head with both hands and her whole body arched off the bed and she was loud in a way that filled the room completely and I gripped my camera and felt absolutely nothing professional.

She pulled him up by his hair. Got his boxers off. He was thick and hard and already wet at the tip and she reached down and guided him inside her and the sound she made when he pushed in went somewhere in my memory that I don't think is leaving.

He fucked her slow at first and then considerably less slow. His hand working between them on her clit while he moved, and she got louder and her breathing went completely apart and I was watching all of this through a lens with nowhere to put the ache that had been building since the moment he first touched her. She came with her back arched and her nails in his shoulders and her whole body shaking hard, and he followed right after, buried deep and completely still, both of them flushed and wrecked and genuinely beautiful to look at.

The room was just their breathing after that.

I said something to break the silence. I have no idea what it was.

They flirted with me on the way out. I drove home and sat in my car for a long time before I could start it.

I have thought about that afternoon more times than I can count and I think about it differently every single time.

There are jobs you take for the money and jobs you take for the story and this one turned out to be both.

I shoot photography on the side while I'm in college. Portraits, events, the occasional couple. A woman found me through IG and messaged asking if I'd be open to shooting something "more intimate and creative" for her and her partner. I asked a few questions, she gave me reassuring non-answers, and I said yes because the rate she named was generous and I needed rent covered.

I showed up to their apartment with my camera bag and approximately no idea what I'd agreed to.

They were both stunning in a way that registered immediately, the kind of attractive that makes you recalibrate a room. She was dark haired and curved and moved like someone completely comfortable being looked at. He was broad across the shoulders, tall, the kind of build that makes a plain shirt look like a decision. They were warm and easy and that specific sort of couple that makes you feel like you've known them for an hour when it's been ten minutes.

We started simple. Fully clothed, their bedroom, good light coming through the windows. She was easy to direct and he was easier. The chemistry between them was already there in the background, something low and constant that I noticed through my viewfinder and told myself not to think about.

Clothes came off gradually. His shirt first, then hers. I kept shooting and kept breathing and kept reminding myself I was here professionally.

He had his hands at her waist when his mouth found her neck and her eyes closed and his hands started moving somewhere else and I made the decision to keep shooting and see where this went.

She was in her underwear, he was still in his boxers, and I could see exactly what was happening under them. The shape of him was obvious and significant and I pointed my lens somewhere neutral for approximately four seconds before pointing it back.

His hand moved between her thighs. Over the fabric first, then under. She inhaled sharply and I watched her expression change completely. He worked his fingers inside her and she made a sound that I felt somewhere behind my ribs and I was wet. Genuinely soaking, trying very hard not to think about that while maintaining professional focus on my viewfinder.

She opened her eyes and looked directly at me.

"You don't have to keep pretending this isn't affecting you," she said.

I didn't answer. I took the picture.

He moved down her body, got her underwear off, and buried his face between her thighs and I stopped attempting to direct anything and just watched. She grabbed the back of his head with both hands and her whole body arched off the bed and she was loud in a way that filled the room completely and I gripped my camera and felt absolutely nothing professional.

She pulled him up by his hair. Got his boxers off. He was thick and hard and already wet at the tip and she reached down and guided him inside her and the sound she made when he pushed in went somewhere in my memory that I don't think is leaving.

He fucked her slow at first and then considerably less slow. His hand working between them on her clit while he moved, and she got louder and her breathing went completely apart and I was watching all of this through a lens with nowhere to put the ache that had been building since the moment he first touched her. She came with her back arched and her nails in his shoulders and her whole body shaking hard, and he followed right after, buried deep and completely still, both of them flushed and wrecked and genuinely beautiful to look at.

The room was just their breathing after that.

I said something to break the silence. I have no idea what it was.

They flirted with me on the way out. I drove home and sat in my car for a long time before I could start it.

I have thought about that afternoon more times than I can count and I think about it differently every single time.

There are jobs you take for the money and jobs you take for the story and this one turned out to be both.

I shoot photography on the side while I'm in college. Portraits, events, the occasional couple. A woman found me through Instagram and messaged asking if I'd be open to shooting something "more intimate and creative" for her and her partner. I asked a few questions, she gave me reassuring non-answers, and I said yes because the rate she named was generous and I needed rent covered.

I showed up to their apartment with my camera bag and approximately no idea what I'd agreed to.

They were both stunning in a way that registered immediately, the kind of attractive that makes you recalibrate a room. She was dark haired and curved and moved like someone completely comfortable being looked at. He was broad across the shoulders, tall, the kind of build that makes a plain shirt look like a decision. They were warm and easy and that specific sort of couple that makes you feel like you've known them for an hour when it's been ten minutes.

We started simple. Fully clothed, their bedroom, good light coming through the windows. She was easy to direct and he was easier. The chemistry between them was already there in the background, something low and constant that I noticed through my viewfinder and told myself not to think about.

Clothes came off gradually. His shirt first, then hers. I kept shooting and kept breathing and kept reminding myself I was here professionally.

He had his hands at her waist when his mouth found her neck and her eyes closed and his hands started moving somewhere else and I made the decision to keep shooting and see where this went.

She was in her underwear, he was still in his boxers, and I could see exactly what was happening under them. The shape of him was obvious and significant and I pointed my lens somewhere neutral for approximately four seconds before pointing it back.

His hand moved between her thighs. Over the fabric first, then under. She inhaled sharply and I watched her expression change completely. He worked his fingers inside her and she made a sound that I felt somewhere behind my ribs and I was wet. Genuinely soaking, trying very hard not to think about that while maintaining professional focus on my viewfinder.

She opened her eyes and looked directly at me.

"You don't have to keep pretending this isn't affecting you," she said.

I didn't answer. I took the picture.

He moved down her body, got her underwear off, and buried his face between her thighs and I stopped attempting to direct anything and just watched. She grabbed the back of his head with both hands and her whole body arched off the bed and she was loud in a way that filled the room completely and I gripped my camera and felt absolutely nothing professional.

She pulled him up by his hair. Got his boxers off. He was thick and hard and already wet at the tip and she reached down and guided him inside her and the sound she made when he pushed in went somewhere in my memory that I don't think is leaving.

He fucked her slow at first and then considerably less slow. His hand working between them on her clit while he moved, and she got louder and her breathing went completely apart and I was watching all of this through a lens with nowhere to put the ache that had been building since the moment he first touched her. She came with her back arched and her nails in his shoulders and her whole body shaking hard, and he followed right after, buried deep and completely still, both of them flushed and wrecked and genuinely beautiful to look at.

The room was just their breathing after that.

I said something to break the silence. I have no idea what it was.

They flirted with me on the way out. I drove home and sat in my car for a long time before I could start it.

I have thought about that afternoon more times than I can count and I think about it differently every single time.

This is probably the most impulsive thing I've ever done and I genuinely cannot decide whether to be embarrassed or proud of it.

I was visiting my friend at her campus for the weekend. Commuter student situation so her campus always felt like this alternate universe I could step into for two days and leave before anything caught up with me.

She is objectively gorgeous. I'm very aware of this and usually fine with it. She gets more attention, I get more peace and quiet, everyone wins. But she had convinced me to dress up that night — a dress I felt genuinely good in, heels, the whole thing — and somewhere halfway through the party something shifted in a direction I didn't plan for.

She was glowing. She always glows. Every guy in the room could see it and I stood there holding my drink feeling very much like the friend.

I told her I wasn't feeling well and headed back to her building alone. Partially true. I was tipsy and in my head and the combination was not pleasant company.

Some guy was walking in the opposite direction on the path outside. He barely looked up when he said it. Just a passing "you look really good tonight" in the most offhand way possible, like he was commenting on the weather.

I stopped.

The casualness of it hit differently than if he'd been trying. I turned around and said, before my brain had finished approving the sentence: "Say that again and I'll drop to my knees for you."

He stopped. Stared. I could see him deciding whether I was serious.

"You look really good tonight," he said, carefully.

I was serious.

I took his hand and led him up to her floor and into her room and he sat on the edge of her desk chair like he still wasn't sure this was actually happening and I got on my knees in front of him and it was.

He was half hard when I got him out and fully hard within about ten seconds of my mouth being on him. I worked him slow at first, one hand at the base, taking my time with it, and he stopped questioning the situation pretty quickly after that. I went deeper when he got less cautious about the sounds he was making, pressed my tongue flat against the underside of his cock on each slow pull back and felt his legs go slightly unsteady and felt better than I had all night. There is something specifically corrective about being very good at something in front of someone who didn't expect it.

He came with his hand hovering over my head like he wanted to grab it but wasn't sure he had permission. I let him take it. Held eye contact when he finished, took everything, swallowed, and stayed where I was until he was completely done.

He said thank you, which was very polite. He left. I brushed my teeth and went to sleep in my friend's bed and felt completely fine.

She never found out. I'm not planning to tell her.

To everyone in the comments who called me pretty without even seeing me — genuinely means more than you know. I cannot personally honor every comment but I want you to know I thought about it and my appreciation is completely sincere.