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Rub Me the Right Way

By:Amy Brent

CHAPTER ONE: Cassandra Casey

I couldn’t even tell you his name.

I mean, come on, it happened eighteen-years ago and to say that I was a little drunk would have been an understatement. Plus, I was barely twenty-one when it happened, a horny college girl out for a good time, not a steady boyfriend.

It was something like Kevin or Evan or Derick or Dennis or something like that. Now, so many years later, it was all like a hazy dream or a clouded memory, one where you weren’t sure what was imaginary and what was real. You know how these things work. You only remembered little things and hoped they were real; the warmth of his lips, the firmness of his caress, the hardness of his body, the way his fingers explored your body, that first sensation of electric pleasure when the head of his c*ck touched your cl*t just before sliding inside. Sigh…

I could remember the way he looked at me across the little dive bar, smiling softly through the smoke and neon haze.

I remembered how he caught my eye through the madding crowd of drunken frat boys and dancing sorority girls, like spotting Waldo in a life-size mural filled with a hundred other Waldo-wannabes.

I remembered the way my heart fluttered a little when I saw him working his way through the crowd, keeping his eye on me as he worked his way closer, like a great lion slowly and deliberately stalking its prey.

I remembered his smile as he got close enough to touch me; the luscious lips curled up at the edges, a mouthful of perfect, white teeth, made even whiter by the black lights that lined the wall above the mirror behind the bar. He had one of those scraggly, beatnik kind of beard and surfer boy hair; blond, silky, long, hanging over his forehead to his eyebrows. He twitched his head to sweep the hair back from his eyes.

He slowly licked his top lip as he gazed into my eyes, hypnotizing me, preparing to devour me. I knew I was powerless to do anything but succumb to his every wish. His gaze held me as tightly as a chain around my neck. It would be useless to resist, not that resistance was even on my mind. We both knew the moment he got close enough to touch that I would be his and he would be mine, at least for a little while.

I remembered how I didn’t hesitate when he asked if he could buy me drink, even though I was already well on my way to get plastered.

I remembered how quickly I turned my back on my girlfriends and completely forgot that they were even there when he asked if I was alone.

I remembered how quickly I slipped my hand into his and let him lead me onto the crowded floor when he asked me to dance. I remembered how easily I slipped into his arms and how he held me so close that I could feel his hot breath in my ear.

We danced the slow ones and danced slowly through the fast ones, much to the irritation of the revelers dancing around us. We ignored them, he and I, as our bodies melted together in a slow, sultry rhythm like a single stalk of cane swaying gently in the wind.

I remembered that it was hot in the bar, hotter still on the dance floor. Sweat sluiced from my neck and ran down between my breast, across my stomach, pooling at the waistband of my jeans. There was moisture further below; hot, oily, salty, oozing from deep inside me like a hot spring threatening to break free and gush forth in great waves at any minute.

Sweat drenched the t-shirt he was wearing, forming to his muscular body like a second skin. I pressed my cheek to his chest and inhaled his salty aroma. I could feel the roundness of his chest against my skin, the bulge of the muscles in his back as they tapered into the narrow waist of his jeans.

My hands went found their way under his t-shirt. My fingers massaged the small of his back. The sweat on his back moistened the tips of my fingers, making them slide over the hard muscle. His skin was on fire. I felt myself getting wetter. I could smell the heady scent of my pussy now, or maybe I just imagined the smell because of the moisture I felt pooling between my legs, soaking my cotton panties, threatening to soak through my jeans, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to smell me, to pick up on my scent and give witness to things that were his fault and his responsibility to sooth.

He wasn’t wearing a belt. His jeans were baggy, hanging low on his narrow hips. I pulled him closer and slid my fingertips down the back of his jeans to the top of his ass. I pressed my nose to his chest and inhaled deeply, sucking in his smell until my lungs could take no more. His scent made my mouth water. I wanted to lick the sweat from his body and swallow it like nectar. My lips found their way to his earlobe. I gave it a little nibble with my teeth. He sighed heavily in my ear.

Then there was just him and me and the music.

Every other human on the planet had suddenly disappeared.

There was only me in his strong arms, my cheek pressed so tightly to his chest that I could feel the vibration of his heart beating. He rested his cheek on my head and ground his hard cock into my belly, me pushing out my hips to grind back against him. His cock felt long and thick against me. My juices flowed heavy as I imagined milking it with my hand, sucking it in my mouth, licking it with my tongue, clenching my pussy around it; feeling it hard and pulsating and gushing hot milky goo on my skin and in my mouth and deep inside my cunt.

I remembered the song that was playing just before he kissed me for the first time. Three Times a Lady. He sang along to it drunkenly as we moved in slow circles at the center of the floor, oblivious to the throng of dancers moving around us.

When the song ended, he kissed me. Softly at first, slowly, no tongues, only lips. Then I opened my mouth and felt his tongue slip between my lips and into my eager mouth.

My lips wrapped around his tongue and I sucked on it like a meaty little cock. His hands slid down my back and over my ass. His strong fingers cupped my ass cheeks and pulled me into him. I resisted the urge to throw my legs around his waist and beg him to f*ck me.

There was no need to beg. He was going to f*ck me and I was going to f*ck him. We both knew it now. Nothing would stop us. We had come too far to turn back now.

I moaned as he pressed against me. He was fully hard now, his cock long and thick in his jeans. I shifted my weight and ground my pussy against it. I could feel him hard against my clit. The first hint of an orgasm shuddered through me. I wanted to cum right there on the dancefloor. A minute more and my wish would come true.

Then he leaned down and whispered in my ear.

“If I don’t fuck you soon I’m going to die.”

His voice was soft and deep, like a whisper echoing through a canyon. His breath tickled my ear. I shivered a little and stared up at him for a moment. Another song came on. I couldn’t tell you which one.

Without hesitation, I said, “I have an apartment across the quad. Take me there now and fuck me. Hurry. Before you die.”

Now, don’t you dare judge me. I wasn’t a slut or anything. I was just having fun. You would have done the same in my shoes. Or my panties. I was an unattached, twenty-one-year-old prelaw student at UCLA, one of the biggest party schools on the west coast. I slept with boys all the time, but I did not consider myself to be loose or a slut or a nympho. I was a healthy young woman with a healthy libido doing what all the kids were doing then. If you have a problem with that, well… screw you...

It wasn’t like he was my first one night stand. I’d had more than my share of one night stands. It was kind of a competition among the girls in my sorority. It was literally called Fuck ‘Em and Forget ‘Em. It was a stupid game that could have gotten us killed or diseased or kicked out of school, but we didn’t care. You don’t think about that kind of stuff when you’re young and horny and partying your ass off every night. You think you’re invincible. You think you can do anything and survive. You think you’re gonna live forever. At least I did. Sometimes I still feel that way, especially when I’m kicking another lawyer’s ass in court, but not so much lately in my personal life.


The point of the game was to fuck some strange boy’s brains out and never see him again. Or at least fuck him again. The point was to have a one night stand with a boy you had never fucked before, not a one night stand with every member of the football team or several boys at once or members of the faculty, though some girls did all those things and lobbied to have them added to their scores.

That’s right, we actually kept a leaderboard in the rec room of the sorority house with the names of the sisters participating and the running tally of boys or men they’d fucked. I was far from winning the race. In fact, even with my over-active libido, I was nowhere near the top of the leaderboard. That honor went to Debbie Givens, a third-year med student and our chapter president. If the leaderboard was to be believed, Debbie had fucked nearly three dozen lucky recipients since the semester started just over two months ago. I wondered when she even had time to attend class. Or study. Or sleep.

Oh, and it didn’t have to be a UCLA student to count. I’d fucked bartenders, waiters, a hot cop that stopped me for illegally changing lanes, a barista at Starbuck’s who gave me free lattes, and four actors (in L.A. you can’t swing a stick without hitting an “actor”), including one who swore he had a part in the next Tarantino movie. I called bullshit on that one, but only after we did the dirty deed in the back of his mom’s Prius. I mean, there was no need to ruin the mood by calling him a liar right off the bat now, was there.