Freedom 09: July 2

“So you really are a nasty boy.”

I think I subconsciously knew something was going to happen between us, especially when she stepped out of the car looking like some kind of 6-foot tall sex bomb, luscious brunette curls cascading down her slender back (see above).

We’ve always had an unusually strong and intimate connection. But over the ten years that we’ve known each other, it’s always remained plutonic.

Then again, so much has changed since those days, especially me. I’ve learned to at least accept if not love myself to a degree that I’m just more open to the possibilities. Ah, I’ve finally grown a pair. That’s all.

We went to the club, and it was as ridiculous as expected. Well, we did some lines first. I wanted to test the waters, and just like that New Year’s Eve all those moons ago when she first introduced me to blow, she dove right in.

The club was packed, mostly with hot women. But next to me, gripping my hand, was the sexiest lady in the place. We drank a lot of vodka, laughed at the scene, and left.

We picked up a friend of hers, a sultry, olive-skinned beauty. I didn’t ask, but I think she’s biracial. The three of us bought a large bottle of vodka and went back to my place.

We did a lot of coke. They called another friend to come over—a tall, gorgeous blond with mischievous eyes. She’d just come from getting a tattoo done on her back. To show us, she simply dropped her dress and turned around. There she was, naked except for a pair of tiny Hello Kitty panties, standing in the middle of my living room. She had lovely, brown-tipped breasts and a lean, flat stomach. Her ass…oh, that ass. Let freedom ring, baby.

The night progressed. More cocaine was snorted. The blond got dressed and left. The cute biracial girl passed out on the couch. And the bombshell and I attacked each other with a fervor generally reserved for Animal Planet.

“You should just manhandle me,” she slurred drunkenly as I eagerly pawed at her long, muscular body. Her left nipple is pierced with a small silver hoop that I tugged at with my teeth. When I pulled aside her panties, I found a small barbell through her clit hood.

We licked, sucked, tugged, wrestled, kissed—everything but fucked.

“I just got dumped and you’re on a break,” she panted at one point. “Maybe we should take it slow.”

And then she grabbed by crotch and bit my neck—hard.

We fell into my bed, practically fighting as we dug into each other.

She rammed two of my fingers deep into her sweet, slippery warmth. I bit her thigh and she sunk her teeth into my arm. Outside, the sun waited as long as possible before finally relenting and taking a peek over the horizon and at the debauchery going on in my room.

I grabbed her by the throat and held her down. She smiled. That’s when she said it.

“So you really are a nasty boy.”

I don’t remember when we curled up into a cuddle spoon and fell asleep.

When we woke up, she asked for water. She gave me a deep, delicious tongue kiss. Her friend that we left sleeping on the couch was gone.

We went out for food and came back to my place.

“OK, come here,” she purred. We curled up on the couch, put on a movie and fell asleep.

Epilogue: The following morning, I woke up totally sore all over my body. When I looked in the mirror, there were huge, splotchy bruises along my shoulders and biceps. Thankfully, she spared my neck. When I saw her, she had similar markings along her inner thigh and on her ass.