ON SEX AND BEING FREE

ON SEX AND BEING FREE

“Aren’t there any bitches to fuck OUT HEREEEE??”
The shout was still bumping off walls with their creamy color peeling off. No answer came, so the guy walked down the corridor to make sure he hadn’t missed a girl shyly opening her door. No such sight shone before his eyes, so he slowed down and wished he hadn’t left the party upstairs because there might have been some alcohol left.
A door opened several meters ahead of him. A girl in a wide T-shirt came out with no pants underneath, her hair messy, reaching little below her ears, and her reading glasses giving her a scrutinizing (and sleepy) look. She inspected him as though sending an x-ray beam from top to bottom, made a few steps, took him by the hand without smiling, and closed the door of her room behind their backs.
Her roommate was out, but there was also little evidence of her living there. Maybe she had a boyfriend who tucked her into bed under the sheets next to him, so she didn’t have live in her own dorm. But she hadn’t even made an effort to make a comfortable space in this room; the girl in the wide T-shirt didn’t appear too disappointed.
The girl lifted a laptop and a book from her bed, placed them on her desk, and removed her glasses. She bent over to look for something beneath her bed. A box of condoms emerged, and she left one at an arm’s reach. She turned to the guy--he was the only article not in place yet. This time she didn’t take him by the hand but sat on her bed alone. He looked as though mesmerized or simply bored by the feeling that he was about to fulfill a duty he had chosen himself, the pleasure already cut down by half; or increased by the fact that she honestly wanted him? He pressed on top of her and attempted to stick a kiss on her lips, but she craftily turned her head right, so that the saliva on his tongue ended up on her neck. He mechanically spent a minute and a half getting her ready for what was about to follow, and she patiently endured it all. Luckily, her pussy was quite obliging and moistened readily. He entered it, rubbed it, scratched it—satisfied it for a day or two. He didn’t enter her; it wasn’t his fault, it was the circumstances’. Two bodies of human beings making a favor to each other. Their minds brushed against each other but each knew better than to try and make some contact with the other. Would there be a way, in theory, for two minds like these to fall in love only after bumping against each other like this? Love at first sight is a rumored phenomenon, but it is said to happen when the two keep their distance and don’t show any belonging to the other. While sex, no matter how much modern time tries to twist it, brings an immediate connection that marks the two who shaped a memory together. It’s interesting how extreme opinions can be here. Whether sex is so intimate that you have to do it only with someone you care about, or love (this one’s considered old, but it’s surprising how many people still stick to it), whether it can be a pleasure for you by yourself, so you can be engulfed in your own sensations and label as ‘one’s own business’ whatever the other person feels, or whether sex is an independent and only slightly dependent thing you have with someone: a web of two intertwined human bodies that very well realize their own solitude and make a temporary favor to each other. It comes out of a little desire to smile at someone in a similar position like yourself, not as much as to help him but to comfort him for a split second. It seems more beautiful to me if the guy sees it that way, and, surprisingly, that happens often: the more a guy is used to fucking a girl just this once or a few more times, the nicer he is to the next girly faces that fly by him. About girls I got no idea; I dare say they are more selfish, they know they appear more sensitive and when they are not hurt, they use the stereotype to fight against an innocent (on this occasion) guy and try to make him shed some blood. I might be too tough on girls though; they do eat the Big One often enough (I hope guys eat it as often too).
Sooo, I was wondering whether those two who had sex so suddenly and so silently could have fallen for each other after this one night maybe precisely because they were so free and so candid. After they decided (without shedding a word) that they were finished, she lay on her back ready to drift off to her unclear, distressful, curious dreams, but he attempted a hug: a purely warm, human, I-just-had-an-orgasm-inside-of-you hug. She didn’t protest but didn’t reply either. He was the one who had sought refuge by hugging her, even though so slightly and unobtrusively. Therefore, she had the right to just sigh, feel more independent than him but leave his bodily warmth on her left breast, on the left side of the tummy, on her left leg. Her pussy hummed softly to the rest of the body with a trace of satisfaction. Her mind drifted off to a field of interconnections hopping one over the other, unknown faces resembling known characters, a sun, a textbook, a wallet, a llama. The fact that she couldn’t place each one precisely in a precise row of her table with sensations (because it was a dream-like thing) freaked her out. Before her heart could leap again with curiosity and fear at the edge of a mind which she recognized but could not control, zzzzzz.
In the morning, she looked with thanks and scorn at the body beside her. She went to the bathroom, peed, brushed her teeth, took a shower, and dried her skin with a towel. When she went back in the room to choose some clothes, the male body explored her body only with his gaze this time. It took him a fraction of a second to recall last night’s ending. She gave him an innocent, understanding smile.