hands and lips and a tongue attached to it with some real man meat to explore my walls.
Lance was well aware of the nature of our relationship.
We met in summer session in a Sociology class. He was on the basketball team, so he had a busy schedule which worked perfectly.
He’d sit next to me every class and try to make small talk – whether it was about notes, when a paper was due or when the next test was – all things he could have easily gotten from the syllabus.
He finally worked up the nerve to ask me for my phone number one day. He claimed that he wouldn’t be in class that week because the team had an away game, and wanted to know if he could call me for the missed notes when he got back.
I let him proceed with an amateur’s approach because there was no long-term, invested interest in it for me.
My goal had never been to have a man in my personal space for any longer than I needed him to be, so Lance fit the criteria – added to that, he was an athlete and thanks to Kenny, I didn’t want any more of those.
The day he initiated a text dialog, I had just warmed my Thai food from the night before and had my feet kicked up watching TV, when my phone chirped.
When I looked at the screen, I was surprised to see who it was. I would have thought the first contact would be a phone call. Text messaging had made it way too easy for people:
“Hey, it’s Lance from class. Got a minute?”
“Sure, Lance…what’s up?”
“Wondering when you wanted to get together…to study.”
“You’re funny. I think you know that I don’t need to study.”
“Yeah, I see you on the grades, intelligirl (smile).”
“Yeah, my focus is definitely on school work, but all work and no play…”
“Okay, then, Ms. Gabriella (smile)”
“Okay, then what? (smile)”
Moments went by with no response. Then after a few minutes:
“That’s up to you.”
“The long pause just to tell me that? Wow.”
“Sorry about that. Was trying not to come on too strong.”
Those words coming from the athlete.
A staple on the field…one who’s known for driving the girls wild. I assumed he’d have more spunk about him than that. But I let it slide because I figured it was a sign that he could be trained.
Either he didn’t know how to take control of a situation or he preferred to be the one who was hunted. Whatever the case, I had a single mission, so the final text message was from me:
“Well then let me do the honors, Lance…I don’t need a study buddy. I need a fuck buddy. If you’re good with that, we’re good to go.”
And apparently he was… Lance proved to be worthy of my company and was able to spend more than a few nights in my bed.
He became that someone to be called upon in times of need .
~*~*~
Lance arrived at my apartment promptly at 11:37 PM and it was down to business as usual.
To his credit, he was a skilled and thoughtful lover. He did all the right things in all the right places and knew that even when I hadn’t reached peak, he was to keep going until I did.
As a reward for consistently ensuring my satisfaction, he was invited into my bed at least three times per week – sometimes more.
I lived by the philosophy that communication is a key component to a successful sex life and that those who didn’t take that seriously would be forever doomed to mediocrity and dissatisfaction.
Early on I talked to Lance about what my expectations were. I figured that if I didn’t tell a man what I wanted, the result would be switching lovers several times a week.
While I wasn’t the commitment type, I also wasn’t the type who cared to have multiple lovers to manage. That was too much work.
One lover that could get the job done was enough.
~*~*~
Normally, when Lance and I were done having sex, I’d wait for him to get dressed and out the door, then off to the shower I’d go.
That night I indulged him. I confessed to him exactly how it came to be he got the
Lance was well aware of the nature of our relationship.
We met in summer session in a Sociology class. He was on the basketball team, so he had a busy schedule which worked perfectly.
He’d sit next to me every class and try to make small talk – whether it was about notes, when a paper was due or when the next test was – all things he could have easily gotten from the syllabus.
He finally worked up the nerve to ask me for my phone number one day. He claimed that he wouldn’t be in class that week because the team had an away game, and wanted to know if he could call me for the missed notes when he got back.
I let him proceed with an amateur’s approach because there was no long-term, invested interest in it for me.
My goal had never been to have a man in my personal space for any longer than I needed him to be, so Lance fit the criteria – added to that, he was an athlete and thanks to Kenny, I didn’t want any more of those.
The day he initiated a text dialog, I had just warmed my Thai food from the night before and had my feet kicked up watching TV, when my phone chirped.
When I looked at the screen, I was surprised to see who it was. I would have thought the first contact would be a phone call. Text messaging had made it way too easy for people:
“Hey, it’s Lance from class. Got a minute?”
“Sure, Lance…what’s up?”
“Wondering when you wanted to get together…to study.”
“You’re funny. I think you know that I don’t need to study.”
“Yeah, I see you on the grades, intelligirl (smile).”
“Yeah, my focus is definitely on school work, but all work and no play…”
“Okay, then, Ms. Gabriella (smile)”
“Okay, then what? (smile)”
Moments went by with no response. Then after a few minutes:
“That’s up to you.”
“The long pause just to tell me that? Wow.”
“Sorry about that. Was trying not to come on too strong.”
Those words coming from the athlete.
A staple on the field…one who’s known for driving the girls wild. I assumed he’d have more spunk about him than that. But I let it slide because I figured it was a sign that he could be trained.
Either he didn’t know how to take control of a situation or he preferred to be the one who was hunted. Whatever the case, I had a single mission, so the final text message was from me:
“Well then let me do the honors, Lance…I don’t need a study buddy. I need a fuck buddy. If you’re good with that, we’re good to go.”
And apparently he was… Lance proved to be worthy of my company and was able to spend more than a few nights in my bed.
He became that someone to be called upon in times of need .
~*~*~
Lance arrived at my apartment promptly at 11:37 PM and it was down to business as usual.
To his credit, he was a skilled and thoughtful lover. He did all the right things in all the right places and knew that even when I hadn’t reached peak, he was to keep going until I did.
As a reward for consistently ensuring my satisfaction, he was invited into my bed at least three times per week – sometimes more.
I lived by the philosophy that communication is a key component to a successful sex life and that those who didn’t take that seriously would be forever doomed to mediocrity and dissatisfaction.
Early on I talked to Lance about what my expectations were. I figured that if I didn’t tell a man what I wanted, the result would be switching lovers several times a week.
While I wasn’t the commitment type, I also wasn’t the type who cared to have multiple lovers to manage. That was too much work.
One lover that could get the job done was enough.
~*~*~
Normally, when Lance and I were done having sex, I’d wait for him to get dressed and out the door, then off to the shower I’d go.
That night I indulged him. I confessed to him exactly how it came to be he got the
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