Thanks, Mark

I like Mark. He’s a thinking woman’s fuck. He’s a hipster crossed with a bear; tall, big framed but not muscular; hairy, but pleasingly so. He’s a condom snob, bringing his own Crowns and snubbing my peasant Trojans and Lifestyles (hey, Planned Parenthood gives them out for free). Mark goes to the head of the class for agreeing to period sex. And for being a good sport about it.

He shrugs. “I was married.” We both look like Carrie below the waist before we’re done. It’s kind of nasty, but I come three times. Afterwards we shower.

It’s lovely to be in bed with Mark, up against his broad warmth. He wraps his arms around me, cradles me, rolls me from one side of the bed to the other. He packs a thick six inches with a g-spot caressing curve. He works the G like a potter at the wheel threading clay through his fingers, moving them in together and out again, thickening, stretching again. A few times I feel the beginnings of something big happening, an opening, a shift inside. His stamina is epic; he fucks me for so long I have to ask for a break.

He spoons me. I have an idea. Mark is gentle and experienced. He should take my anal cherry.

I don’t want to tell him; I don’t want a fuss. Besides, I know I don’t have to. He’s a studied and considerate lover. He’s not going to cowboy it.

I hand Mark the lube and pull his hand toward my ass. He gets it. He caresses my asshole with lube and works his fingers in one at a time, slowly, gently. Pushing and pulling. I visualize being open, allowing him in. He tells me to roll over on my stomach, straddles my ass. I can feel the pressure give way inside me, unfamiliar but not unwelcome, feeling stretched and tantalized. He was fucking me in the ass, and I was loving it.

Mark, who does not come easily, bellows his orgasm shortly after. I am such a rock star, I have to tell him it was my first time. He is amazed.

“You were so nonchalant about it,” he says. “Give me a few minutes; we can make it your second time.”

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