4 comments/ 8438 views/ 5 favorites Cole By: BeautifulLiars This story was edited by JerryJonesAfrique. Rather, an incoherent, sloppy piece of work was made into a story by this amazing editor. Much love, BeautifulLiars. PS. This is my first ever submission, be kind. ***** Now that my mind is a whirlwind of emotions, sometimes I wonder if I had imagined it all. When I lay in bed at night, a part of my mind whispers that it was all in my head. So I decide, before I lose my mind, I would chronicle this beautiful disaster; as a proof that it wasn't mere solipsism. Or maybe it was, the line is barely discernible in my head. I was a fresher in college, and had barely been in the university hostel a month; slowly adapting to the groove of living with people I had never known in my life. We had been cooped in the hostel in the evenings for the first month as dictated by the college; so almost all the girls decided to go out on the weekend we were finally allowed outside after 7 pm. Although some girls had house parties to attend, most made a beeline for a tiny eatery five minutes walk from our campus. This particular café had apparently been serving as a makeshift bar for nineteen year olds' year after year. I was surrounded by my classmates tapping away on their phones or making rapid phone calls to their boyfriends, or boyfriends-to-bes as we approached the sturdy brick house with a glow sign in squiggly cursive blinking invitingly at the end of the road. The front of the building was painted a simple green, with frosted windows and a plain wooden door. As a girl pushed it open, a tinkling chime greeted us, along with the welcoming smell of brewing coffee and alcohol. The café was decorated with old vinyl records that covered the walls on each end, from the ceiling hanging yellow lamps served as the only source of illumination. Facing the door, at the back of the room stood a counter of polished wood with scattered bar stools, and bottles of assorted drinks stacked on shelves, lining the wall behind it. One side of the room was closed off for the staff. The other side partitioned with a silver curtain, behind which was a tiny lounge- with woofers fixed into walls, hazy blue-red lights and the unmistakable clouds of hookah. A perky throb of local, popular music wafted out from the speakers. I couldn't place the song, but its beat seemed in time with the optimistic air surrounding the girls. Most of the girls in my pack moved towards the lounging boys who were pretending to be men. Almost everybody knew someone. We have Facebook to thank for that. I don't have an account. I am not adept at swimming in the pond of subtleties that is socializing. I swerved towards the bar, barely giving the half-men in low-hung denims and over-styled hairdos a glance. To be fair, they wouldn't glance back anyway. Maybe I'd have a G&T and go back to my room. Least I could do is get a little drunk. Not that I was a charming drunk; but then there wasn't anyone I had to impress now, did I? As I stood waiting for my turn, It dawned on me that I had missed this more than I had realised. Wistfully, I recalled how two of my best friends and I would drink till we passed out at the end of every semester. The crazy night ins, where we didn't have to bother about anything, only three of us and an endless flow of booze. It was the only thing that had pulled us through the ten-hours-a-day study schedule we had to follow every single day of our sorry school lives. I missed having a room to myself too. I tried not to remember my comfortable room at home. At least the dormitory would be blessedly empty tonight, given that most of the coy, flirtatious, tight-assed girls cooing around the just mentioned boys were from my department anyway. I had ordered my pallid drink, and was watching the bored bartender mix it with his back to me, when I caught the reflection of a boy in the martini glasses shelved behind the counter. I turned my head, taking him in with half-bored interest. Sitting by himself on a corner stool before the gleaming bar counter, playing with the rim of his unimpressive mug of beer, his seat and his self absorbed appearance made most people miss him at a cursory glance He was sitting right under a yellow lamp, his dirty-blonde curls set off in the golden ambiance. He was dressed in a simple round-neck t-shirt and denims that thankfully did not have half his ass hanging out. I could see a simple leather belt peeking from under his shirt. One of his feet was planted casually on the leg of the adjacent stool; his finger was continuously rimming the mug of frothy liquid gold as he lifted his head to look right at me. For a full minute I remained still, holding his gaze with the same lazy boredom, pretending to be the master at stare-downs in bars, just a flash of interest running through me as gave me a smile- uncertain, but a full winning smile. Just then, the bartender, a man in his late thirties, with the unmistakable beer paunch and receding hairline that belied a midlife crisis, knocked my drink on the table harder than strictly necessary. I flinched at the sudden action, tearing my gaze away from the stranger to give the bar man a requisite dirty look, but he was gone. Rolling my eyes, I picked up the glass, turned and started walking over to where my smiling stranger was sitting. The smile got bigger. I raised my glass to him, sipping the bitter drink with a little grimace. "Cole" he said, offering his palm. I took it, not offering a name in return. His hand was firm and large, it enveloped my hand completely. I looked down at our conjoined fingers, He had calluses on the side of his thumb, a part of my brain registered that he probably played the piano. His grip was tight but light-making me wonder if he knew martial arts. My mind was screaming at me to stop staring at his hand like a psycho with limb-fetish and say something. Anything. I was so not good at conversations. "You're not from around here," I observed aloud. No shit. He didn't seem to mind my nail-on-the-head approach to communication though. "No, but neither are you." He gave me his affable, self-conscious smile. "This is my second year at the University. My usual Friday place is closed down this week." I wondered briefly why he was indulging my awkward attempts at talking, while my mouth rambled on. "Beer is a rare choice for Friday nights. Men usually pick something stronger." - I swirled the oily liquid in my hand. I had low tolerance, I'd be sloshed by my fourth drink. "I was going to drive home." He motioned at the glass in my hand- "You have a ride home?" He had a hint of a rasp in his voice; like he had been silent for a while. "I live across the block. University Campus- just been here a month" He nodded, taking a sip of his drink, while looking at me over the rim of his mug. I felt the questions disappear in my head, like soap suds under sluices of water. There was something about the way he was watching me, I could feel the intensity of his gaze- not many men look at me like that. In my defense, I am not strictly unattractive; I am just too ordinary. Maybe I'll draw on a mole on my lip, Marilyn Monroe style. I tucked my hair self-consciously, trying to appear confident as I stood on my sensible sandals. There was nothing sophisticated or seductive about me. I had no idea what he was looking at. Laughter rang through the room as one of my batch mates teetered out from behind the bead curtains, screeching out 'reeeefillll', and slammed a glass down on the table. Partly relieved for a distraction from the awkward silence, I turned around to watch the richest girl in the hostel make a fool of herself. I took another sip of my drink, watching as she held onto the counter, ready to topple over, revealing half of her voluptuous Her dress was probably my entire allowance for three months. The bartender looked up from where he was obsessively polishing the counter, gazing at her with an expression of pure loathing, taking in her manicured nails scratching his beloved bar table. She pouted and held the glass out over the bar and at him wearing her best can-i-have-some-more-please expression. She didn't quite make it though, because the glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the table. "Oh my...!" I heard Cole swear under his breath and half-stand. I watched the bartender turn red and stalk over to where she stood, erect now, all her buzz gone and replaced by an apologetic expression on her face. I was convinced the bartender was going to throw her out, and he indeed would have if Cole hadn't slipped in between them. He gave the seething man an affable smile, placed a note on the table and simultaneously slipped his hand around the girl's waist. The girl was looking at him with wide eyed wonder as he slowly scooped her up in his arms and walked confidently to the place where her friends sat watching the show. He deposited her on a couch occupied by her girlfriends, nodded at the others and turned back when the girl called out, "Stay! Please!" Her letters still slurred. "staaaaaaaaaaaaaay" "You are my hero" She scooted slightly, her dress hitching up her smooth thighs as she made space for him between her and another girl who gave him a dazzling smile, patting the couch slowly while she drawled out. "Come, sit with us." her invitation more coherent than her dazed friend's. Her hair fell about her pixie face in perfect ringlets, her eyelashes curled with mascara. In her black designer dress and supermodel figure, she could easily be one of the hottest girls in the whole university. I stood no chance once a boy set his eyes on her. I saw him turning towards the counter and quickly glanced away, disappointment already gnawing at my belly. The warmth of the drink was spreading through me and I decided all I wanted to do was get back to the hostel and noncompetitive security of my bed. "Well that was awkward! I am pretty sure the girl groped me in the short span that I carried her through." He joked. I started and looked up at him, He was standing very close behind me. I hadn't even heard him approach. My heart leapt off a cliff and heat rose to my cheek at the sudden burst of happiness that ran through me. "I am sure it was unbearable." I couldn't keep the sarcasm off my voice. "Not unbearable- just not desirable." I snorted, not really bothering to reply. I mean, even I would have enjoyed that girl's body against me. She was hotter than fifty me's made over by Paris Hilton's personal stylist put together. He stood quietly, leaning against the counter, tilting his head and watching me. I felt a blush rise to my cheek, chewing my lip nervously. After another half a minute of near awkward silence- I came to a decision. I didn't know what he was aiming at, I didn't know why he was hanging around still. Somehow, none of it mattered. I found him intriguing; but I wasn't in the mood to play the complicated game of flirting. I never really understood it much anyway. Some of the other guests were leaving- I could hear the tinkle of the curtain as they laughed and stumbled out of the room. Some of the girls called out in a drunk shout- " byeee Coleee" they lay stress on the 'e' sound, making it sound like the dog-name, Collie; I hid my smile. The friend who had offered Cole a seat stumbled over to where we stood, pretending like I was invisible thrust her phone under his nose. "Can I have your number?" I rolled my eyes as he looked her over, smoothly taking the sleek phone and beginning to dial, presumably saving his number to her phonebook. I quelled the sudden prick of surprising jealousy, telling myself it didn't matter to me if other women wanted his number. Suppressing an irritated sigh, I drowned my drink, and turned around to leave. I had taken half a step when he caught my wrist. He was still holding the phone, smiling at the girl, but his fingers were ringed around my hand, in open view. I looked bewildered as the girl fixed a frosty glare in my direction, as he charmingly handed her back the phone. My cheeks heated up in embarrassment, as I willed myself to not pull my hand away. His thumb was on the inside of my wrist, and I had an awful feeling that he was measuring my steadily climbing pulse rate. I tried not to concentrate at the sensation of him rubbing an endless circle on my skin as he waved at a few of her other friends, leaning against the counter with the air of absolute nonchalance while I stood beside him like a red faced hot mess. When all of them had left, he finally turned towards me, a gleam in his eyes. They were a shade in between blue and green, I couldn't decide on which. "Can I walk you home?" He asked. I stared at him stupidly, before nodding, but pulled my hand away. I felt a little sulky, as I involuntarily gripped my wrist in my hand. His mixed signals were driving me crazy, I wanted him but at the same time I refused to be led on and dropped halfway. My emotions were in a turmoil as I chewed my lip, trying to understand his odd behavior, wishing I could read his mind. Cole took out a few bills from his back pocket enough for both our drinks and left it on the counter. "Did you get jealous?" He asked casually as we wove our way through the tables. My heart stopped for a second, and a hurried denial sprung to my lips as it dawned on me that I actually was inexplicably jealous. I had lived my life content with being studious, almost looking down on girls who cared only about appearances. Now I was jealous of exactly what I had strove not to become. "Why should I get jealous? She is studying fashion designing in our university, just in case you were interested " He looked at me, and asked casually. "So you know her?" I did. Everyone knew you if you drove to your first day in college in a Porsche. I nodded solemnly. "Yes, she has a cat-fetish and rumor had it that she tied her last boyfriend up to the bed while the animals licked him all over." He smirked as he opened the café door for me, murmuring "That is strange because her wallpaper is a snapchat of her with a huge Alsatian that read- "My kind of cat." I blushed and cursed under my breath as I snuck a look at him. He was openly laughing at me as we walked out of the door into the chill air of the night. I wrapped my arms around me and snuck another look at his still laughing face. He looked gorgeous when he laughed, his face crinkled and deep dimples appearing on each cheek. God, he was handsome. I think I was staring, and almost drooling. I started as he waved his hand in front of me. "Hey lovebird, left or right?" I blushed some more, as he stared down at me from his six foot height, and muttered a "right" before turning to start walking. God, I felt so awkward... so bloody wound up. The last few months, with my high school finals , the subsequent barrage of entrance examinations, and the excitement of adjusting to a new phase of life; I was living away from my parents for the first time, all of it had left me in a cranky nervous ball. What I needed, in plain honest words, was a good, long fuck. However, that required a lot of wooing or being appealing enough to be wooed, and I was too stressed out to play that cat and mouse chase all girls are inherently good at - a trait which had been completely denied me. I inhaled the clean scent of the air concomitant with the freshness after a down pour. My senses returned from my musing and I realized it had rained outside for a bit. The sickly orange of third world country street lamps bathed the wet asphalt, painting the world in a washed out shade of yellow and grey. He took my hand again. The stars aligned, the clouds shifted, the air seemed lighter, romantic almost. My blood sang, an emptiness I hadn't known existed seemed to fill up with his presence by my side. His fingers were warm as he began walking me towards the hostel, a welcome contrast to the cold atmosphere, My digits slowly interlocking with his we walked, I felt all my reluctance vanish. He let the silence do the talking, my head swimming with thoughts as we walked. From the jumble pile of ranting my brain always seemed to be filled with, a stray thought emerged in a sudden flash before my eyes, of his callused hands sliding around my naked body as we breathed hard, our figures entwined in the throes of sexual fantasy. My breathing hitched as I felt my nipples tighten in my bra cup. I stole a quick glance at him, hoping he didn't know how to read minds, even though my red ears would have given almost everything away. Thankfully though, he hadn't seemed to notice. However his breathing seemed strained. I noticed his gaze kept shifting to our joint hands. The air between us was charged with a tense expectation, so palpable that I could hear my heart thumping loud in my ears to the rhythm of a constant heat which seemed to flow from his body to mine through our joint hands. Everything - every brush of skin, the sound of the scrape of his denims against his arm, the soft squelch of his shoes as we walked over the slightly muddy campus - everything seemed into flood me. All my senses were in overdrive - the stress, the alcohol and the unfamiliar feeling of his hands on mine was getting to my head. We were almost at the door to my hostel when an iron certainty hit me. I wouldn't make it.I couldn't possibly handle another week of continued rustiness on masturbation alone. Especially when I had come this close. 'Especially when he smells so good that you'll never be able to cum once it fades,' a small voice whispered in my head. He did indeed, He smelled of a lingering perfume; not some overdose of deodorant, but a proper perfume - a combination of musk and an underlying smell of manliness that was so intoxicating and heady that it worked better at getting my insides than the gin had. I thought of having to go back to my room, which I shared with three other cranky girls and paused. I looked at the pout of his lip in the light of the dulled bulb on the doorstep and all lingering thoughts of decorum fled. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. I was at least a foot shorter than him, so my lips barely reached his lips. Instead my puckered kiss caught his shaved chin If he was surprised, he didn't show it. He simply wrapped one of his big arms under my ass, lifting me up bodily and crushing my softness into him. His mouth was a searing hot question seeking to devour mine. He tasted impossibly good, so I wound my arm around his curls, kissing him back without a single care in the world. How long the kiss stretched, I can't remember. All I knew was the taste of his mouth against mine, the way his arms slowly traveled up my body, allowing my frame to slide back to the ground. His smile was back when we finally stopped to catch our breath. He was looking at me with an expression so hungry, so impossibly tender, that I felt my heart soar. What had I gotten myself into? I pushed my cynicism aside, as he cupped my cheek, looking into my brown eyes. "I am quite sure this is a dream," he said. I took in his serious expression, the earnestness in eyes, and a pinprick of courage grew in my fluttering heart. I smiled back, taking his hand and slowly lifting it to my lips. His breath was ragged as I gently bit the stiffened meat of his thumb. "Is that real enough for you?"- My voice was soft, a bare whisper. The smile returned, a groan escaping with it. "Will you get into trouble if you don't go back?" I ducked my head, checking my watch. I should have been afraid, apprehensive atleast, about what I was just proposing to do; but the man before me exuded a sense of safety that told me he wouldn't do anything I didn't wish for. Cole and Ellen Do Spring Break Being yesterday's hero took some getting used to. Cole Reynolds was no longer the star quarterback. No, at the tender age of eighteen, he was a has-been, already looking back with nostalgia at those thrilling Friday nights on the gridiron, sharing the heat of battle with his loyal teammates, cheered on by his adoring fans. But life goes on, and for him that meant getting through his last semester at Damascus High, applying for college and keeping himself in shape to perhaps play college ball. He had always planned to attend college, though he looked forward to it with some ambivalence. Some of his friends were joining the Marines to "fight those commies" in Vietnam. He had no qualms with the Johnson administration's Cold War thinking: If we don't stop "them" in Vietnam, all of Southeast Asia could go red—the domino theory in a nutshell. Cole harbored a strong sense of patriotism, felt that college and the student deferment that went with it might be shirking his duty to God and country, a duty his dad fulfilled in World War Two. Then, of course, there was Ellen Goldfarb. She was his new main squeeze—still an unlikely one in the eyes of friends like Travis Callahan who still couldn't understand how he could have dumped hot Kayla Ranucci for her. Cole ignored their incredulity. In fact, he and Ellen got closer as winter went on. They ate together in the cafeteria and walked together in the halls, ignoring and sometimes laughing at those who still shook their heads in disbelief. On weekends they were inseparable. They saw movies together ("Thunderball" and "Doctor "Zhivago" among them), spent time over each other's houses and, as Cole once did with Kayla, cruised up and down the strip in Cole's GTO. The only thing they didn't do was what they did on New Year's Eve: go all the way. Oh, they wanted to. But, with parents and/or siblings who always seemed to be around, coupled with their negative feeling about doing it in the car, there wasn't much opportunity. One exception was the Saturday night before Valentine's Day. Cole booked a room at the Grayson House, a Victorian era bed and breakfast a few miles from town. The cozy intimacy of the place and the light snow that fell throughout the night provided the perfect setting for romance. Even though the drinking age in their state was twenty-one, Cole managed to wrangle a bottle of pink champagne from a sympathetic liquor store clerk after telling the guy that he and Ellen were celebrating their engagement. "Hey, you're old enough to fight for your country, you should be old enough to vote and drink," the guy said. Following a candlelight steak dinner in the dining room, they went upstairs to their room, free at last to do what they had longed to do since New York. After they dimmed the lights, they stood by the window, sipping champagne, watching the snowfall. The contrast between the view here and the one from high up in the Americana was striking. In New York, they were over forty floors above the street, gazing out at Gotham's amazing verticality, all lit up and busy with millions of people going about their business. Here, they were two floors up, their view confined to snow swirling over a brick roundabout, quaint and charming in the way small towns tend to be. They watched awhile before moving to the foot of their king-sized bed. Cole began to kiss her. He then opened her blouse and began to fondle her breasts, surprisingly small for such a big girl. Not that that bothered him. He loved her. More than loved her, he adored her. All of her. "Je t'aime," he said. "If someone had told me a few months ago that I'd be at the Grayson House hearing those words from Cole Reynolds...in French yet..." She began to tear up. He wrapped his arms around her. "And if someone had told me months ago that I'd be saying those words to Ellen Goldfarb..." They didn't say much after that, couldn't say much, not with their lips and tongues locked together, then moving in, over and about each other's erogenous zones, confining their verbal communication to moans and shrieks of delight. Cole came well prepared with a couple packs of lambskin condoms, pricy but well worth it. Latex offered better protection against sexually transmitted diseases. However, you couldn't beat lambskin for sensitivity just shy of unprotected sex. Besides, the HIV scourge was years away and Cole's and Ellen's experience with intercourse had a short history; both had been virgins prior to New Year's. The nervous, tentative awkwardness of that first time had given way to a fluid, confident comfortableness. Ellen, ever scholarly and curious, had read up on the Kama Sutra; she had no trouble convincing Cole to try variations beyond missionary. Cole amazed Ellen with his staying power. He even amazed himself. He came four times that night, and that's with the champagne. He added a fifth for good measure the next morning. "You're an all around athlete," she joked. "And I give most of the credit to you," he said, "the way you wrap those big powerful legs of yours around me, stay wet for hours on end and dirty talk me, so out of character but so fucking hot." They held each other for most of the night and slept until ten. It was when Ellen had just changed into her short denim skirt that Cole once again got the urge. She was bending over, packing things in her travel bag. Stepping up behind her, Cole started to message the backs of her bare legs. When he began to dry hump her, she said, "Checkout time is eleven. But if it's a quickie you're after, I'm game." She then slipped her panties off, flipped her skirt up and bent over the bed. He dropped his drawers, slipped on a lambskin and slid inside her. "Oh, Cole, oh my, you're too much," she said, straining to keep her voice down, aware of people moving about, walking the halls, going up and down steps just a few feet from where they fucked from behind closed doors. They followed up with a fancy brunch in the dining room, eggs Benedict with salmon and fried potatoes washed down with orange and tomato juice. The day was cold but sunny. The storm had passed, leaving the ground lightly snow covered. Ellen pulled a camera from her coat and asked a passerby to take their picture. They posed in front of the Grayson House, with its wrap-around porch and thick Mansard roof, Cole in his short suede jacket and dark, scrub denim jeans; Ellen in her blue, double-breasted coat, its brass buttons glistening in the bright sun. "You've spoiled me, Cole Reynolds," Ellen said on the way back. "Please don't make me wait too long before we can do this again, before you make love to me again, before we can cuddle up like we did, just the two of us, naked and alone." He squeezed her hand, keeping his eyes glued to the road. "How about next month during spring break? Fort Lauderdale is supposed to be wild. It's in the seventies and eighties in March and we won't have to make up stories to get alcohol because the drinking age is eighteen. Maybe we could even make love on the beach." "Absolutely! When do we leave?" ************************************ Fort Lauderdale was indeed wild during spring break, thanks in part to a certain movie. Kids flocked to the place before then, but "Where the Boys Are" (1960) upped the human biomass faster than any chamber of commerce promo ever could. As in the movie, most of those who ventured into this bacchanalia showed up single, groups of gals and guys, hormones raging, playing out a teen mating ritual under sunny skies and cheap tequila. Unlike Cole's parents, Ellen's mom and dad didn't take kindly to the idea of their daughter traveling a thousand miles with her boyfriend "just to drink and have sex," as her mom had put it. A couple nights in New York and a Valentine's Day overnight at the Grayson House were one thing; spring break in Lauderdale for a week was something else. Reluctantly, they let her go. After all, she was eighteen and they were very fond of Cole. "Just see that he takes good care of you," her dad had said. So in mid-March they were off, heading south on I-95 in Cole's GTO, its trunk packed to the gills with luggage and with music blasting from the 8-track, an eclectic mix heavy on the Bs, from Beethoven and Bach, to The Beatles and Beach Boys. It was just when they crossed into North Carolina that Cole and Ellen had their first fight. Well, not a fight, really, more like a profound disagreement argued vociferously by both. "So, it looks like we're in Vietnam to stay," Cole said. "A huge foreign policy blunder," Ellen said. "We don't belong there." "I say we do belong there. Communist aggression is a fact of life that needs to be contained." "No, Cole, it's a civil war over there. None of our business. Don't tell me you believe in the domino theory?" "Theory? Come on, El. Look at Eastern Europe. Red China. North Korea. Cuba. All mighty good evidence that it's more than just theory. Laos, Thailand and Cambodia could all be next. We've got to show our resolve in stopping communist aggression. Otherwise, we look weak in the eyes of our enemies as well as in the eyes of our friends. " "Cole, the French got humiliated over there in their vain effort to subjugate an indigenous people that refused to be subjugated. The same will happen to us if we don't pull out." "Ellen, you know where trying to appease Hitler got the British. If we don't do something about—" "Please, Cole, Ho Chi Minh is no Hitler. Granted, he's a committed communist. But he's no threat to us." "He's taking his cues from Moscow, Ellen, and those guys in the Kremlin ARE a threat to us." Ellen didn't buy the idea that communism was some sort of monolithic movement controlled by Moscow. But she kept that to herself. She saw no point in trying to score debating points at the expense of ruining this trip. Following a tense silence, she said, "Cole, would you be willing to risk your life fighting over there? You had said something to me about joining the Marines after graduation." "Haven't decided, but yeah, I can see it," he said just as they pulled into a Howard Johnson's. "Some of my friends plan to enlist." Ellen looked away and shook her head. Then she began to cry. "Hey, come on," he said, throwing an arm around her. "We're here to have fun, not argue American foreign policy. Let's agree to disagree and drop it." She nodded and hugged him. "I just don't ever want to lose you. The thought of losing you over there, of losing you period... " She cried harder over his shoulder. He pulled away, kissed her and wiped tears from her cheeks. "You won't lose me. Not unless you wander off with some guy on the beach while I'm plastered, some crazy guy who digs tall, smart, sensitive girls with great legs." She laughed through her sobs. "I wandered off with that crazy guy already. Then I fell in love with him. And I still love him even though his position on some stupid war is diametrically opposed to mine." "Good, because I still love you too. Now let's get something to eat. We can at least agree on that."After some passionate makeup kisses, they went in to grab some lunch before hitting the road once again. ************************************ It took them two days to reach Lauderdale, arriving late in the afternoon. The streets were wet from a mid-day rain, but dark clouds were giving way to blue sky. Thousands of tourists were already there, mostly college kids but also those of high school age and older people on extended adolescence. Once off Broward Boulevard, Cole's GTO slowed to a crawl through the congestion. From there he drove mostly in second gear to The Beachcomber, a motel two blocks from the ocean. Architecturally, it was a prime example of the type that sprang up at beach resorts everywhere following World War Two—a three-story, white-walled affair with balconies that overlooked a swimming pool on one side, the street on the other. A gaudy neon sign in front spelled out The Beachcomber in red, superimposed on a lime green palm tree. Cole found it listed in an AAA travel book. The price and accommodations seemed right (color TV in every room, AC, ice maker, fresh coffee in the lobby every morning), so he booked a five night stay on the first floor, room number 7. After checking in, he and Ellen hauled their luggage into their room, hit the AC and collapsed on the queen-sized bed. Ellen, in pink shorts, threw a bare leg over Cole's waist. "I could jump your bones right now," she said. Cole laughed. "Even after a ten hour drive? You've got some high octane energy, girl." "Look who's talking about high octane energy—Mr. four times in one night." "And a fifth banger-roo in the morning. Don't forget that one." "Oh, I won't forget, me getting humped from behind in my denim skirt, trying to keep my moaning to a minimum in deference to all that hall traffic outside our room." Cole pointed to the door. "And speaking of hall traffic..." Even with the AC going, the sound of tourists dragging their luggage across the concrete flooring outside, interspersed with voices in party mode, came through loud and clear. In minutes, they were up, emptying their luggage and stuffing their clothing in the faux wood bureau drawers. "I hope you didn't forget the Trojans," Ellen said. Cole pulled out three boxes of condoms in their distinctive brown and black package and grinned. "Never leave home without them. At least when I'm with you." "Magnifico," Ellen said, making a circle with her thumb and forefinger. She then grabbed her hairbrush for some quick primping in the bathroom before dinner. She wore her dirty-blond locks just below her shoulders, banged in front, flipped up at the ends, nothing fancy but stylish enough for the times. Gone were the days when she didn't do anything with it, when it looked like a pile of straw thrown over her head. Also, she had gotten used to wearing contacts. Still, she sometimes wore glasses instead, usually when she was in too much of a hurry to put them in. Only recently did she start wearing those blue frame glasses around Cole. After all, he was the one who suggested she start wearing contacts. But when he told her that she looked prettier in contacts but somehow sexier in glasses, she lost her inhibition about wearing them. By six, they were enjoying a nice dinner at Caffe Europa, a small Italian restaurant a few blocks away. The food gave them a second wind, but instead of guzzling beer at some club like many here did, they bought a bottle of Chardonnay, then returned to their room, first showering together, and then climbing into bed with the curtains drawn and the lights off. There was plenty of light from the pool area for them to see what they needed to see, though they did more feeling than seeing. Cole's tongue on Ellen's nipples and then her clit sent her into spasms of delight, eclipsed only by the rhythmic thrusts of his cock and the soft, soothing tone of his voice uttering words of love. Cole kept to himself wistful thoughts of Kayla. He knew he shouldn't compare, but he somehow couldn't help himself during his and Ellen's "down time," when they held each other after climaxing, before they got ready to indulge themselves once again. He had loved Kayla, or at least thought he did when they were together, the "sweethearts of Damascus High," some called them, and not derisively either. She was so pretty, conventionally pretty, the kind of pretty that turned heads, male and female, some with admiration, others with envy, but more likely a mix of both. Their sex was confined to heavy make-outs and petting in the car and on sofas, usually above the waist. Kayla wouldn't blow him, nor would she give him but token access to her pussy. Even then it was finger jobs only. Intercourse? Pul-eze. This was a girl who talked about "saving herself" for marriage. Presumably, it was Cole she had in mind. They had talked about it, more in the abstract than anything else. But then Ellen entered his life. Or, more accurately, she entered his consciousness, first as a damsel in distress who needed to be shielded from the slings and arrows of outrageous bullies; and then as his significant other, someone on the same intellectual wavelength as he, who could talk about politics and such, who wasn't shy about letting her carnal desires known and then acting on them. That was Ellen, a chick he loved in the way he might have wanted to love Kayla, and one whose pyrotechnics under the sheets kept his wallet a little thinner from buying those gourmet lambskins. He had just disposed of his second lambskin in as many hours. "I'll get some ice for this, Cole said, referring to the bottle of Chardonnay sitting in a bucket on the dresser. Ellen rolled over on her side, smiled seductively with her hand between her legs. "And I'll keep the sheets warm for you. Hurry back." After throwing on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, he descended a few steps to the ground, walked a few yards, and then turned a corner to see two people ahead of him at the ice machine, both women around his age. One was scooping out ice, while the other stood behind her. She wore skin-tight white slacks, a blue and white striped blouse and sandals. Her straight blond hair dropped to the middle of her back—generic image of the Surfer Girl, etched into the cultural Zeitgeist by the Beach Boys' song of the same name. Kayla fit that bill, her body, her face, her hair, not distinctive by the aesthetic standards of its "type," though distinctive enough, because most males would be hard pressed to deny that among the rabble of young females, very few looked that desirable. Even the "black is beautiful" crowd, if brutally honest with themselves, might have to surrender their aesthetic/carnal preferences to what they claimed were white racist standards of beauty. Cole's attraction to said female aesthetic hadn't waned. Here it was close to ten at night; he had ten hours of drive time under his belt, plus two jacks in as many hours, not to mention a horny girl in his room who appeared as if she wanted at least one more. Yet here he was, staring at the blond, she with the deliciously perfect derrière, slim, taut waist and the legs of a gymnast or cheerleader. His cock began to stir. He had only to see her face for confirmation of what he expected her to look like, an expectation fulfilled when it was her turn at the machine, and she spun around to see who was behind her. "Cole! Oh my god! What the... "Kayla?!" "Cole?!" "I don't believe it." "Small world, huh?" "Isn't it though." "Cole Reynolds, you followed me here. You must have." "You WOULD believe that." "I suppose that out of hundreds of thousands of kids on spring break, it's a coincidence that we both decided to come to Lauderdale to stay at The Beachcomber." "Looks that way. Who are you here with?" "A couple girlfriends. You?" "I'm here with Ellen." "Ellen. Of course. I should have known." "Kayla, do you realize that these are the most words you've spoken to me since homecoming?" "Hello would have been one more word I've said to you since then. So yeah, I know." "You look great by the way, boss, totally boss." "Thanks. But not TOTALLY BOSS enough apparently, for why else would you have dumped me for her, of all people." "Looks aren't everything, Kayla." "No, they sure aren't. Ellen's living proof of that." "I'm sorry you hate me." "I don't hate you. I just don't understand." Cole could see her tearing up. "I didn't mean to hurt you." "But you did, damn you, you did." "I'm sorry." She sniffled and grabbed a ladle full of ice. "Look, my friends are waiting for me. And I'm sure you've got more exciting things to do than watch me cry." He watched her fill her bucket, so tempted to hug her. Discipline prevailed. "See you around," he said after she finished. Cole and Ellen Do Spring Break She started to walk off, then turned around for a parting shot. "I hope not." Ellen was under the sheets watching "The Fugitive" when he returned. "Geeze, Cole, I was getting worried. Did you get lost?" "Not exactly," he said, putting the bottle on ice. He was honest about telling her why it took so long to fill an ice bucket. "Look, we can search for another place if you'd like," he said, sensing her unease. "It's not worth the hassle, not on spring break with all these no vacancy signs. What room is she staying in?" "Don't know. With some luck, we'll all avoid each other." "That would be nice." Soon, they were sipping their wine and watching the program, followed by the news. By the time Johnny Carson came on, Ellen was sound asleep in Cole's arms, while Cole, eyes wide open, thought back to the girl in the white, skin-tight slacks. ************************************** "Come out of it, Kayla," said the blond with the bouffant hairdo. "You should be happy. We're in Lauderdale on spring break, for goodness sake. It's party time." "She's right, Kayla," said the brunette with the short, curly hair. "Tons of great looking guys down here, and you're brooding over one that doesn't deserve you anyhow." Kayla picked at her food. She didn't have much of an appetite, not since running into Cole the night before. The three went clubbing last night. But Kayla couldn't get into it. She never finished her beer, nor did she show much interest in that handsome pre-med student from Florida State who tried talking to her. Now, late morning, she was still in a funk, sitting in Omelets, Etc., a diner type eatery situated along route A1A, just yards from the beach and ocean. She glanced out the large window, squinting against the sun's rays, one hand under her chin, the other holding a fork, stabbing into her meal, lukewarm and half-eaten. Turning back to her friends, she said, "I still love him, I guess. Still love that two-timing SOB. Sounds crazy, I know." Spencer-Ann, the brunette, frowned. "Are you telling us you'd take him back?" "I don't know." Kayla said. "But that's not an option anyway, not when he's still with her." Donna, the bouffant blond who knew Ellen from Damascus High, asked Kayla what she thought possessed Cole to take up with Ellen in the first place. "He'll tell you it's because she's smart and he can talk to her about stuff I take no interest in. I'm not DEEP enough for him. Yeah, right. The real reason, I bet, is because she puts out. I mean, the girl rarely had a date before she took up with Cole, much less a boyfriend. He's getting from her what he couldn't get from me." "Not to defend Cole," Donna said, buttering a slice of her toast, "but I never thought of him as a user. But, who knows, you could be right." Spencer-Ann shook her head. "A jock guy like Cole taking up with a girl solely on the basis of her intellectual depth? It doesn't add up. No, I think Kayla's right. Cole's a decent guy. But, like all guys, decent or otherwise, he thinks with his penis." "So if you really want him back," Donna said, "you're gonna have to do what Ellen does—spread them legs, girl. Pardon my crudeness, but that's what it's gonna take." Kayla shook her head and laughed, the first time she cracked a smile in almost twenty-four hours. "Okay, then that's what I'll do. Somehow I'll get Ellen out of the way, drag Cole into our room and let him have his way with me." She laughed some more. Now Spencer-Ann started laughing. "Wait, wait, it'll work this way. Me and Donna will kidnap her and stuff her into the trunk of our car, blindfolded, bound and gagged, leaving you free to pursue Prince Charming." "Then, then, with Ellen still in the trunk," Donna said, breaking up, "we'll head south and drop her off in Miami Beach." "No, no, we'll drop her off in Key West," Spencer-Ann said, holding her stomach, her face all red, almost screaming in hysterics. "That'll give you even more time, Kayla. You could screw him dry." Diners turned their heads, staring at these three out of control young women laughing themselves silly. They could barely answer the waitress who came over to ask if they wanted something else. "Just the check," Kayla managed to get out while bent over, banging her fist on the table. It took a few minutes for them to calm down. "Okay, so now that you're happy again," Donna said, "let's hit the beach." "Good idea," Kayla said, before they paid the check and headed back to The Beachcomber to change. ***************************************** Cole tried to push Kayla out of his mind. He was in Lauderdale with a girl he loved, and they were having a great time, doing what people their age normally did during spring break—hitting the beach during the day, sometimes clubbing at night. Both liked to drink but not to the point of getting sloshed, wasted like so many of the kids here, binge drinkers who often ended up in emergency rooms. A small percentage even died each year. Cole and Kayla were lucky; they had what some called the ideal spring break vacation, the three Ss—suds, sun and sex—and not necessarily in that order. While others were on the prowl, searching for their fantasy bed mate, they were back at The Beachcomber making whoopee. Vacation or not, Cole stuck to his training regimen. While Ellen slept, he got up early and ran as much as ten miles to keep in shape. If he didn't join the Marines, he planned to attend college, maybe get back to those two football recruiters who had expressed an interest in him. That's primarily why, on this third day in Lauderdale at seven in the morning, he was running as he normally did on a beach all but empty save for squawking seagulls and a few people out for an early morning stroll. He ran near the water's edge in green shorts, barefoot and shirtless, his straight, brown hair blowing in the wind. His skin was beginning to tan and, as tanning usually did, it brought out the best of his muscular, athletic physique. He loved the feel of wet sand under his feet and breathing in the soothing, clean salt air. He looked forward to a hearty pancake breakfast with Ellen and then more fun in the sun. He was on his way back, less than a mile from The Beachcomber, when he saw someone he didn't expect to see: Kayla. Or was it? From close to a full football field away, it kind of looked like Kayla. Then again, it could have been another hot blond coming his way. But Kayla, like him, exercised regularly, so it was possible. She was running in the opposite direction in white shorts and a peach colored halter top, coming toward him, her long blond hair flying around her face. He laughed to himself thinking of that corny Clairol ad: "the closer he gets, the better you look...!" Then, when he closed to within fifty yards, he had little doubt it was she. He was sure she'd ignore him, would run right by him as she would a total stranger. And if she did, no problem; he'd keep on going, wouldn't say a word. When she got to within ten yards, he could see her slowing down, even smiling. Then she stopped. "Well, well, well," she said. "We meet again. Where's your girlfriend, nursing a hangover? No, don't tell me. She's exhausted from all the sex. Am I right?" "Still sleeping," he said, trying to ignore the sarcasm. "And your friends? Where are they?" She laughed. "Now THEY are nursing a hangover. Or at least Spencer-Ann is. Donna's back in the room, making sure Spence doesn't puke her brains out." She looked him over, focusing her eyes on his abs and sculptured pectorals. "I must say, Cole, you look—what did you call me the other day?—boss, totally boss." "We're the bossiest couple on the beach." "We're not a couple anymore, remember?" "Ah, you're right. Okay, then we're the bossiest EX-couple on the beach. How's that?" She looked off toward the ocean and shook her head. "You know, I was doing okay until about thirty seconds ago. " She wiped her eyes. "Damn it! Why do I cry every time I see you?" He scratched his head, looked up, shuffled his feet. He didn't know what to say. He knew what he wanted to do. "Kayla, I'm—" "Yeah, I know, you're sorry. You're always fucking sorry. Well, so am I, sorry for..." She pulled her hair back, shook her head. "I know, sorry for ever meeting a lousy, no good, two-timing cad like me." He smiled, hoping his self deprecation might help. She got in his face, letting the tears roll freely down her cheeks. "Sorry for still loving you, damn it! I still fucking love you, can't you see that?!" His discipline collapsed like a sand castle. He threw his arms around her, closed his eyes and then commenced to kiss her like he did when things were good between them, when they were known as the "sweethearts of Damascus High," when life somehow seemed a lot simpler. For a brief shining moment, he lost himself to the passion she gave in equal measure, absorbing her deep kisses, her silky hair, her lemony scent, her perfect body that so used to frustrate him because he wanted it all, not just in token parts. He still wanted it. Boy, did he want it, craved it is more like it. And, to his utter surprise, she began to act like she was willing to give it, thrusting her loins into his, then shoving her hand down his shorts and wrapping it around his cock. She never did that before. He had always been the aggressor. Now, it appeared, the tables had turned. "You want me, Coley? Okay, you can have me. Right here on this beautiful beach under this beautiful sunrise. Take me, Coley, take me. Come on, Coley, fuck me. You know you want to." Of course he wanted to. But was she serious? Or was she just testing him? She had to know that doing it here would land them in the slammer; not to mention the fact that there were people in proximity; not to mention the little matter of Ellen. She looked around, taking note of the passersby. "Look, my girlfriends will get lost for a couple hours. We can have the room all to ourselves." She looked up at him, her big blue eyes almost pleading with him to say yes. Then she took his hand and shoved it down her shorts. "Bet you never thought my pussy could get this wet, did you? You're hard and I'm wet and wanting you. You, Cole Reynolds, you who used to want me so bad it turned your balls blue. Well, now you can have me." This was torture, emotional and physical torture. He couldn't do that to Ellen. Yet how could he resist the irresistible? How does any man, especially when tempted by the Kaylas of the world? She had her hand around his cock; he had his fingers up her pussy. The sun was on the rise. Seagulls squawked. Palm trees swayed in the cool morning breeze. Waves whooshed gently upon the shore. And here he stood close to tears, trapped in the middle of a tug-of-war between his carnal desires and doing the right thing. He stepped back and held her face in his hands. "Kayla, a part of me will love you till the day I die. And if I ever wanted any girl more than I want you at this very moment, I can't recall who. But I can't go on hurting people. It won't work. Not now. Not here." He expected her to slap him, to unleash a fusillade of profanity at the very least. Instead, she nodded, reached up and gently touched his face. "You're a good guy, Cole Reynolds. Ellen's a lucky girl. She won't need to be kidnapped after all." "Huh?" "Oh, nothing. Something my silly friends made up," she said, chuckling. She pulled him toward her and then kissed him, as loving and tender a kiss as he'd ever received from anyone. "I'll see you around, okay? You take care." She started to jog up the beach, then turned around. "But if you ever change your mind..." He smiled and nodded, waited until she was out of sight and then started back toward The Beachcomber. ************************************** Upon his return, he expected to see Ellen sound asleep, or perhaps watching the "Today" show. However, when he opened the door, the TV was off and she was sitting straight up on a white wicker chair, her arms crossed stiffly over her chest, dressed in jeans, halter top and blue Keds. "You're up early," he said. He could see she'd been crying, and he could see she looked mad. "Yes, I am up early. Too early for my own good. How was your run?" He grabbed a towel, draped it over his shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed. "Great. I love running on the beach. Seconds passed, tense and silent. "Okay, I give up. What's going on?" She shook her head. "You tell me. I get up early and walk down to the beach, hoping I can catch you at the tail end of your run, hoping to surprise you, thinking we can walk together along the shore, watching the sunrise. But the surprise is on me, because there you are, getting all loving and indecent on a public beach with another woman, a one, Kayla Ranucci." He looked down, took a deep breath and shook his head. Then he told her what happened, from the time they met until she jogged off into the sunrise. "So that's the story. I'm sorry you had to see that." "Yeah, me too. Well, what goes around comes around, right? I mean, Kayla was on the receiving end at homecoming, and now it's my turn, I suppose." "It's not like that, Ellen," he said, meekly. "I love you, not her." "You could have fooled me, what with the way you were holding her and kissing her, doing everything but screwing her. And I'm sure you'd have done that too had it been nighttime." "Not true," he said, though he knew it could be. "Look, Cole, at least admit that you still have feelings for her, if not emotionally than at least in the way that your cock understands best. Kayla's very pretty. She's a hot number, I get that." "You're a hot number, too, El. And as far as my cock, yes, it's got a mind of its own. But it takes directions from up here," he said, pointing to his brain. "I control IT, IT doesn't control me." This was another partial truth that he'd let stand. He kneeled down and took her hands in his. Look, it's still early. Let's take that walk you talked about. Then we can have ourselves a nice breakfast, lie on the beach or around the pool for awhile, and then make love all afternoon." He looked down between his legs. "You hear that cock? I'm calling you to duty. That is, if my sexy girlfriend here will take me back into her good graces." She wiped her tears, reached out and hugged him. "You're too damn good looking for your own good, you know that? I'm surprised that Kayla's the ONLY chick who's tried to hit on you down here." He stood up and pulled her into his arms. They kissed for awhile before he washed up, threw on a T-shirt and stepped into his Jack Purcell sneakers. Then, hand in hand, they headed for the beach. ****************************************** On the morning it was time to leave, Ellen stood on The Beachcomber parking lot, helping Cole load up the GTO. Across the lot, she saw Kayla loading up the trunk of her dad's big blue '63 Chevy Impala. Kayla caught Ellen's stare and stared back—a cold if not downright hostile stare is the way Ellen read it. Ellen wanted the break the ice, thought some type of peace offering was in order. She, unlike Kayla, harbored no hard feelings. Moreover, she'd be seeing her in class when they got back. So why not try to ease the tension? They didn't need to be enemies just because they weren't friends. Kayla crossed her arms against her chest as Ellen approached, appeared anything but welcoming. "Yes, can I help you?" "I just wanted to say that I hope you and your friends had a good time," Ellen said. Kayla stood stiff and rigid in the same tight white slacks she wore when she bumped into Cole at the ice machine. "It's spring break. Why wouldn't we?" Ellen threw her hands on her hips. "Look, Kayla, I know what you must think of me. I'd feel the same way if things were reversed." "Would you now. Thanks, I'm touched. Anything else?" "No, nothing else. Sorry I bothered you." Ellen began to walk away when Kayla stepped forward. "Wait. Look, I'm sorry. It's all water under the bridge. What happened, happened, what always happens when two girls are in love with the same guy. One of them gets hurt. I had my turn with Cole, now it's your turn. Like I told him, you're a lucky girl." "You told him that? When?" "A few days ago when I saw him running on the beach and we, well, I'll spare you the gory details." "It's okay. I saw you and Cole on the beach that morning, gory details and all. You two put on quite a show." Ellen proceeded to tell Kayla how that came to be. "Jesus, Ellen," Kayla said sympathetically, holding her head in her hands, "you must have been foaming at the mouth." "That, and thinking of ways to kill him. Now I know how you felt at homecoming."They both laughed. Kayla embraced her. "See you back at school. And tell Cole to drive safe. Sometimes he acts like he's A.J. Foyt behind the wheel." "Yes, I know." They hugged before Ellen walked back to the car, thinking how right Kayla was. Ellen Goldfarb was indeed a lucky girl. Cole "Undo my pants girl" Some part of me instinctively obeyed the unmistakable command in his tone. My face was cold, my body hot, needy as I knelt on the middle of the road, my hands seemed so small against the blue fabric of his denims. I quickly unbuckled his belt and undid his pants, pulling it down slightly. He was breathing hard, his eyes wide with lust, his mind hovering on the knife edge of madness as I saw his arousal bulge forward obscenely in the loose boxers. Before I could protest however, he grabbed a fistful of my hair, unlocking the door with one hand. He slid into the back seat with his legs planted on the road, dragging me over till I was between his legs. I was dimly aware of my skirt ripping in the mud while the rain came down harder, bruising my back. Yanking his boxers down at the front, he let his cock spring out and smack me right across the face. Then, in a voice I barely recognized, he growled "Suck my cock." I remember how my cheeks burned as I knelt in front of the open car door. He pulled at my hair, my eyes gazing up at him pathetically, moaning when his head brushed my lips. I could feel the skirt blow up in the breeze, the rain splattering onto my ass. He groaned as he held my gaze, his moan guttural as he repeated. "Suck my cock. Right now, right here" What could I do? I took a deep breath, held the throbbing arousal in my hand and then slid my mouth around the swollen head. His hips buckled and he gasped, moaning out incoherently. I took it in all the way, making my mouth tighter and hotter than I knew I could, the cold water dripping from my hair into his pants as I started pumping the silk of his iron hard length, sucking with a hunger I barely knew I would feel. I lost all sense of time, closing my eyes and enjoying the heat of the cock in my mouth. I could feel it pulsate and throb against my tongue, and I gave into the heat, letting go of my inhibitions and sucking it just like he wanted me to. His moans were exquisite as he held on to my head, his thighs quivering as my tongue slide and twisted against his shaft. "Oh yes! Just like that! Take it all the way!" His voice seemed to be coming from so far away. All I could feel was the burning desire that shuddered through me. He was humiliating me, shoving his cock right into my throat as he held me down, bending over and slapping my ass if I tried to resist. He was fucking my throat, making me suck him like a slut in the middle of the road like in a third grade porn film. And I was loving every moment of it. I wasn't a masochist, had never imagined myself having anything but consensual sex, but I could feel the wetness roll down the side of thighs, my body aching and throbbing with need. I had, never in my life, been this aroused. To my credit, I never gave up, even though I gagged once or twice. He was swelling fast, his cock pushing deeper in my throat when he finally let go of my head. His face was wild, scrunched up in pleasure. This must've been new for him too for he could barely contain himself a moment longer. His hand gnashed and scratched at the leather headrest, grunting out. "C-cuming! I'm..." then he gasped. I looked up at him, giving him a good view of how my lips were strapped around his member, then began to pump him, my mouth sucking in his heat as I dragged my mouth out excruciatingly slow. I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, the rain blurring his face from view as I bent my head and pressed my tongue against the tip of his arousal, flicking it rapidly. With a howl, Cole grabbed my head with one hand, tilting my face up, while his other hand directed spurts of his cum right over my face, splattering it with the thick white sweetness of his seed. I licked his cum off my lips. I tilted my head back and let the rain wash it off my face, letting it run down over my body and drain away. I imagined how I looked on my knees on the wet asphalt, rivulets of white washing off my upturned face as I panted hard. My lips were red, and the water had pressed my clothes into my skin, outlining the spidery lines of my bra the flat brown of my stomach and the flash of my thighs where the skirt had ridden up. I could hear him panting when I finally straightened my head, there was a fervor in his eyes as he stared at me. I tried an uncertain smile and he groaned, pulling me in so roughly that he me topple right into his arms. Holding onto my waist with one hand, he scooted back before leaning in and closing the door, locking it with a click. For a moment I stared at him, breathless, blinking at the sudden absence of rain thundering over my head. The glass behind him was fogging over from the heat of our bodies, as he grabbed the bottom of my skirt. Then he was pulling at my clothes, trying to get them off. I was ripping at them too, pulling my shirt off while he yanked off the skirt. While I unhooked my bra, he slid his hands up my thighs, pushing me against the door. His rough palm was warm against my frozen skin, his hands roaming down my arms, up my legs and my over breasts. He starts to knead, squeezing and teasing my now naked body as I writhed in his leather seat. He looked at me as I made a grab for the handle above the door, his eyes dark with lust as he nipped at my skin, his teeth sharp on my navel before he licks up to my right nipple, his hot mouth covering the rough skin of my areola before he began to suck hungrily. I couldn't help the almost wail-like moan, slowly spreading my legs as my hand dove straight for my swollen clit. He let me finger myself as he teased and played with my nipples, biting my skin, pinching my ass as he slid his hands underneath me, ripping the fabric of my panties down, revealing my fingers knuckle deep in my pussy. I think he realised I was so close to my release when my moans started to come faster, my toes curling as I bit my lip hard. He sat up, watching how I pleasured myself under him as he pulled off his shirt, kicking off his denims. I was almost at the edge, my moans shrill, my fingers working faster in my pussy, my thumb rubbing my clit when he was done undressing. He gave me his infuriatingly affable smile, and then I couldn't stand it, for he pulled my hands away. I begged and moaned and sobbed as he held my wrists in one hand, laughing quietly as he kissed down my navel, over my mound and to the bridge of my wet folds. He was groaning quietly as his lips grazed down my soaking pussy, his tongue tracing the thin line before flicking my folds rapidly. My body was tensed, coiled into a spring as I begged him incoherently. Ignoring my pleading, he began snaking the long journey back to my breasts. He kissed up my skin, hot trails of fire that danced on my skin as I ached for release. His moans were restrained, his arousal pressing against my leg seemed to jerk every time I struggled and squirmed. No matter how much I begged, how many times I pleaded for him to stop this tease, he just kept going. He retraced the trail down my collar bone and the swell of my breasts, over the pucker of my hard nipples, down my stomach to my wet, bursting crotch. He kept at it till I was seeing stars, and then, when I was on the verge of blacking out due to the sheer torment he was inflicting on me, he, without warning plunged his tongue deep inside my pussy, wriggling it till I came explosively on his tongue and mouth. I was shaking, the glasses fogging with the heat of our bodies as I felt my body release the pent up ache in one desperate burst of pleasure. I could see blackness where the roof of his car should have been, the pleasure coursing through me and overflowing out from my body in a drawn out animal scream. After I had cum, he just began sucking, making me cry out as he pulled on a clit trembling and numb from an earth shaking orgasm. He buried his face in my sex, sucking and licking and loving me, letting my wrists go. I tangled my fingers in his curls, wrapped my legs around his head and lifted my hips up into him, moaning so loud in the cramped space of his car. I lost track of the orgasms after a point. When I would get numb, his tongue would circle around the clit, an endless revolution that drove me to madness before it would start swelling again, and he flicked and lashed at my pussy, sucking the endless flood of wetness that poured out. I was shoving my pussy into his mouth, gasping for air, drenched in sweat, just at the brink of my umpteenth orgasm when he stopped. "Enough!" He growled, before flipping me over onto my stomach. He smacked the flesh of my ass hard. "Up!" I got on my knees in the cramped space, and he pulled me down on his cock. I screamed into his groans as he speared so deep into me, feeling him throb in my core. He then lifted me up and pressed me against the door. My breasts were squashed against the glass as he pulled his cock out of me, now slick with my wetness, before thrusting in once more, making me groan with the force. My hands slipped on the glass as he slowly began to thrust into me, crashing his hips onto my ass as he rode me down. My hips slammed against the door as I cried out, his thrusts turning to a frenzy of pounding as he gripped my hips tight, his knuckles now hitting the car door, cushioning me from the glass. My head lolled back; my breath, a gasp for air as he growled and moaned, his cock pushing in and out of me with a ruthless, relentless thrusting motion. My mind felt disjointed, constantly flooded with a thunder of pleasure; my voice was hoarse with moans, as was Cole's. The rain kept pouring outside, splattering on the roof of the car and making the world outside a world of blurred white. As he pulled at my hair, making me cry out louder, his voice was a gruff sound in my ear "You like that Reh?" My eyes widened as he called me by my name, I moaned and gasped, feeling him expand inside the tightness of my pussy. I could feel his hips hit my ass, his cock slamming into me in an endless frenzy. One of his hands were planted on the glass beside my face, as he came violently inside me, making me scream as the heat flooded in me. My mind was throbbing, my entire body arched back as I felt the white-hot explosion of pleasure coursing through me. Every fiber of my being seemed to expand and contract all at once as I reached my climax again, gasping out a word that was seared into my soul. "Cole!"