Trigger Point

It’s been well over ten years now, a fourth of my life gone by, and I think I can finally talk about it.

The car crash that took Jeremy and little Misha by all rights should have killed me too. I wasn’t even wearing my seatbelt. I was thrown clear, straight through the windshield, while they burned.

The surgeons did a commendable job stitching me back together. You can still see the scars, but you really have to look. The broken bones knit up, the lacerations healed, but my insides were a mess. My therapist tried hard, but I just stared right through her. I moved back in with my parents in Chicago. I don’t think I even cried very much. I was completely devastated.

Over the course of a long grey winter, I pulled myself back together, a little bit, just enough. I moved to New York City. This was back in ’98. I didn’t really have to worry about money; there was enough of that from the insurance settlement. More or less at random, I got an apartment and a roommate, in nosebleed country, upstate Manhattan, on 207th street. I decided to go back to school to be a nurse. The idea of helping others appealed to me.

Slowly, I got better. I graduated, and got a job working in the burn unit at Columbia-Presbyterian. I liked it there. I rode my bicycle to work, and shopped for groceries at Dominican bodegas, cooked my meals at home, and slowly found myself starting over. Some days I even felt whole again.

I met Sam when he helped me fix a flat tire, which is kind of ironic because before the accident I had done a stint as a bike messenger, and I still prided myself in my ability to change my own damn flat, thank you very much. But that required carrying a pump and a patch kit, and I’d stopped carrying those because my commute was so short, and because they kept getting stolen.

It was a beautiful summer morning, and I was riding down the West Side bike path when my steering went all mushy and didn’t sound right, and sure enough I looked down and had a motherfucking flat tire.

So I was pushing my bike along the path, wondering where the nearest bike shop was, and what I was going to tell my boss (I was still the most junior nurse on the ward, and Amanda, the charge nurse, did not countenance tardiness), when Sam rode up like some kind of latter-day knight in shining armor, and asked if I needed a hand.

He changed my flat for me, slower and clumsier than I would have, but I knew better than to step in and bruise his male ego, and when he was done he flashed me a smile that pretty much melted my heart. And certain other regions of my anatomy. Sam was good looking, in a thirty-something, slightly chunky, understated sort of way. He was an EMT; he usually worked the night shift, seven at night to seven in the morning, which I couldn’t help but notice complimented my own work schedule quite nicely. He was soft-spoken, he was sweet, he was funny, he had a bit of a belly and thinning sandy hair, and before he pedaled wobbly away, I managed to wrangle his phone number out of him.

I surprised myself by actually dialing that number after my shift was through. I surprised myself even further by asking him out on a date. An actual date. I hadn’t been on one of those in years and years, not since I had first gotten together with Jeremy.

It was fun. We went to the Natural History museum. We ate pizza together, and then went for a stroll in Central Park. Where I was pleased to discover that my guy Sam was an awfully good kisser. I hadn’t been kissed – or anything else – in over three years, not since before Chicago and the accident.

I don’t know if it was my accumulated horniness bursting through the crack that he had made in my defenses, or if we just had great chemistry, but I was shocked to hear myself inviting him over to my apartment. We pedaled uptown together, the seat of my bike stimulating my already erect clitoris through my jeans all the way.

My panties were more than a little moist. Clara, my roommate was home, so we went directly up to the roof of our building (where someone had long-ago installed a couple Adirondack chairs and potted plants and called it a ‘roof garden’) which, thank God, was unoccupied. You could see the whole city from up there, all the way down to the skyscrapers of midtown and the financial district away to the south. At the time we only had eyes for each other.

He was good. Damn, he was good! And I felt really comfortable with him. So comfortable, in fact, that my jeans and panties slipped right off onto the asphalt rooftop.

Before Jeremy, nobody had ever really gone down on me. Not for real. A few guys I’d dated had given my pussy a symbolic, perfunctory lick or two before moving on to the main event, but Jeremy was the first guy who actually ate me out and meant it. He was also the first guy to actually give me an orgasm. Not that I hadn’t gotten off during sex before; but I’d always had do some self-stimulating in order to get there.

Sam had no qualms whatsoever. He dove straight in, relishing the task at hand. He grabbed a thigh in each hand, and lifted me up to his face, devouring me like a starving man at a buffet table. And he was fucking amazing! I was already sopping wet, and he quickly got me even wetter. I kicked my legs, I squirmed and writhed, I shook my head like an epileptic and screamed up at the clear blue urban sky, and still he kept on licking until I orgasmed all over his face. It was a startlingly intense climax, one that seemed to go on for hours and left me weak and shaky. Still he kept on licking, until I pushed him away. My parts get super-sensitive for a while after I come. And anyway, now I wanted it to be my turn. I wanted to eat him alive!

“Thank you!” I gasped, kissing his slippery, wet mouth, tangy with my juices, “Thank you! Thank you!” I kept on kissing him, aggressively attacking him with my tongue, while I stuck my hand straight down his pants. I found exactly what I was looking for. His cock was hard as titanium, hot, thick, and juicy.

Never removing my mouth from his lips, I managed to tug his slacks and undies down. I started jerking him off fast and furiously. I wanted him to come in my mouth, but I couldn’t bring myself to let go of his dick. It felt so good to have him in my hand while we kissed.

“Stop! Please stop! You’re going to make me come.”

Well yes, that was certainly my intention. I had planned on pushing him past the point of no return before finally breaking that delicious kiss and dropping down on my knees and swallowing him whole. But he pushed me firmly away, his cock bobbing and straining, bright red and swollen and frustrated. “I can’t.”

“For real? Why not?”

“Bad things happen when I come.” He was already buttoning his pants. “I should go.”

But by now my lady parts were sufficiently recovered, and Sam didn’t seem to be in any real hurry to leave, so I managed to persuade him to stay for a little while. My tank top joined my panties and jeans, strewn across the rooftop, and I sat on his lap, feeling his erection straining through his slacks like an erotic speed bump.

Like a true gentleman, he fingered me to one more very nice orgasm, while he traced the spider’s web of scars all over my chest, and fondled my breasts, and kissed up and down my neck and ears, while I slid my naked ass up and down his frustratingly fabric-covered crotch.

And then he really did go, leaving me in a dazed and confused state. I had just had the best sex in…well, possibly ever. Sam was a sweetheart, a nice guy, and an amazingly skilled and generous lover. But could I really date a guy who I couldn’t reciprocate on?

I got dressed and went back down to the apartment, still reeling. Clara smirked at me. I flopped down onto our couch, a big goofy grin plastered to my face. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. Yes, apparently I could.

*

We were up on the rooftop again. It had quickly become our favorite place; no-one else ever seemed to go up there. We were intertwined on one of the wooden lounge chairs, my skirt was piled up around my waist, and I wasn’t wearing any panties. Sam was letting his fingers do the walking, and I was looking longingly at the prominent bulge in the front of his khaki pants.

Sam had this incredible/infuriating way of bringing right to the edge with his fingertips, and then keeping me there indefinitely, for what seemed like hours on end, until I quite literally couldn’t stand it anymore. And then, responding to my verbal or not-so-verbal clues, he would shift his technique ever so slightly and bring me to a ginormous orgasm. It was delicious and excruciating, and I could not get enough.

“Tell me again why you can’t come?” I asked.

“I just can’t. When I do, bad things happen.” My clit felt like it had swollen to the size of the planet Jupiter.

“What kind of bad things?”

He sighed, his fingers never pausing in their eternal complex weaving pattern up, down, in, out, and all around my squishy, soaking, swollen wet vulva. “Terrible things. It started when I was just a kid.”

“Don’t stop,” I told him.

“I still remember the first time. I was fourteen years old, home sick from school, and I was in the bathtub.” His fingers hovered just nanometers from my aching clitoris. “I guess I was kind of a late bloomer. I knew about masturbation, and I know I had experimented with playing with myself before, but this was the first time it had all come together.

“So I was lying there in the sudsy warm water, my dick pointing up at the ceiling, and I had finally hit on it. I was stroking myself and just loving it. The sensations kept getting better and better!” I knew exactly what he meant. I remembered my own discovery of masturbation; at a slightly earlier age, but also in the bathtub.

“I was making splish-splashing noises with my fist. I was incredibly turned-on, and I knew that I’d somehow slipped past the point of no return. The closer I got to the edge, the smaller the movements of my hand became, until I just had my thumb and forefinger wrapped around my cock, just below the head, and my hand was quivering like I had Parkinson’s.

“I remember almost passing out from the intensity of the moment. My back arched, my toes curled, I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood, and I shot off. Big gobs of come shot out the end of my dick, spewing up like a geyser and splashing down into the warm tub water. More and more kept on oozing out, like it was never going to stop. It felt great. I was high with the sensation, playing with my semen, spreading it all over my dick, which was still erect, and I was just wondering whether I could do it all over again, when my mother tapped on the bathroom door.

“She told me that the space shuttle Challenger had just exploded. That pretty much killed my hard-on. I got out of the tub, toweled off, got dressed, and watched the explosion over and over again on TV. I knew it was all my fault. I felt sick.

“I didn’t masturbate again for over a year. The next time I was over at my friend Shelly’s. We were just friends, nothing more. We were hanging out at her house, down in the game room, and we started talking about sex; about guys and girls and porn and who and what we were both attracted to, and then out of the blue she asked me if I’d ever seen a chick whack off.

“I hadn’t, and she asked if I wanted to, and of course I said yes. She produced a VHS tape from a hiding place under the couch and stuck it, blushing mottled pink, into the VCR, with the sound turned way down.

“In retrospect, it was probably embarrassingly bad, but at the time it was the hottest thing I had ever seen, hands down. It was one of those low-budget ‘amateur’ pornos, shot in some aseptic L.A. apartment with a consumer-grade video camera. There were two girls, probably only a few years older than me and Shelly, with really bad hairsprayed hair, and they were getting it on. One was blonde, one was brunette, they both had big tits, and they were both naked, except that the blonde one was wearing a double strand of huge fake pearls, and the brunette had on these fingerless black lace gloves that went all the way up to her elbows. They proceeded to have sex, fairly enthusiastically, all over a big, brown leather couch.

“I’d never seen real porn before, just furtive glimpses of my dad’s old Playboys; and this was pretty thrilling; but that was nothing to what happened next. Shelly shimmied off her jeans and her underwear, and spread her legs, turning to give me a good view of what she was doing, and started fingering her pussy right in front of me.

“I was so turned on I almost couldn’t breath. Her pussy was furry, and I could see the wetness on her labia and even her clitoris. She would slide one finger all the way inside, and then pull it out and rub it all over the outside, spreading her lips apart and making her little pink clit stand up. “Go on,” she said, “I want to see you do it too.”

‘Well, I could hardly say no to that! My dick was about to burst through my zipper anyway. I pulled off my pants and started jerking off for her. We were sitting on opposite ends of her ratty old sofa, and our eyes were glued to each other’s crotches, the porno on the TV totally forgotten. We tried to match each other’s pace, tried to draw it out and delay the inevitable, but I don’t think we really lasted very long. We were both too excited. Shelly started to come first, throwing back her head and scrubbing at her clit furiously and breathing in sharp little gasps, her boobs shaking like Jell-O under her t-shirt. I had just the tip of my forefinger petting just below the head of my cock, and I was squeezing my balls hard with my other hand. When I saw her coming, it set me off. I ground my teeth so hard I was afraid I would break them, and shot off all over the beige fabric of the couch.

“We were both panting hard, and the girls on the TV were still going at it. Shelly laughed, and then I laughed, and she said “That was awesome!” and turned off the video, and then we both got dressed and cleaned up and played some Nintendo.

“That night, on the news, I heard that a house had burned down, and a bunch of kids had died. They were the children of migrant workers, and the place had illegal apartments in the attic, and they couldn’t get out. One girl, an eleven-year, had burns over eighty percent of her body. She lingered for a week. That was the first and only time in my life I’ve actually prayed.

“That was when I swore off sex and orgasms for good. I’ve had girlfriends since then, but I’ve put all my energy into the giving of pleasure.” No kidding. Sam’s fingers were playing a concerto on my nether regions, and it felt so damn good I could barely stand it. “I guess now I just get off on getting other people off.

“There was one more time. It was my senior year in college – my dad wanted me to be an engineer – and it was about eight thirty in the morning. I had been working all night down in the drafting studio.

“At the time there was this girl who was really into me, and aside from all the practical aspects, I just wasn’t that into her. But anyway, she came wandering into the studio where I was finishing up my final project. She had brought me a big fat cup of coffee, and as I drank it, she stepped behind me, and started rubbing my shoulders. It felt really nice.

“Well, you know how it goes… she kept massaging me, and kind of pressed herself up against me, and it did feel really good… and then she reached around and started playing with my dick through my pants, which was, of course, hard as boron steel, and I didn’t do anything to stop her.

“She got my zipper down and fished my dick out, and by this time the train had totally left the station. I put down my drafting pencil and spun around on the stool, and she opened her mouth and swallowed me whole.

“She was one of those girls who could suppress her gag reflex or something; it was pretty impressive. She just opened wide, and started bobbing her head up and down on me. She’d lift up so that only the head was captured between her lips, and then she’d drop down until her face was pressed into my pubes and my cock was halfway down her throat. It felt amazing, and all the while she was softly tickling the area behind my balls, making little beckoning motions with her forefinger.

“I don’t think I lasted five minutes. I exploded into her mouth with a shout, and she took it all, sucking me dry, and coming up with a big fat feline smile on her face.

“Before we could even say anything to each other, the radio, which had been playing classical music, cut in with a news flash. There had been a big explosion in Oklahoma City. There were casualties. Nobody knew what had happened, but it kept getting worse and worse. At first they said it was Islamists, and then it turned out to be some asshole redneck with a Ryder truck full of fertilizer.

“I dropped out of college, a month before graduation, and moved here, and became an EMT. And that’s the story.”

It was a really messed-up story, and I really didn’t know what to make of it, and my brain wasn’t functioning very logically because I was right on the edge of a massive explosion of my own. Sam obliged me, his timing as perfect as ever, slipping two fingers up my ravenous cunt, and touching my clit in his patented way with his thumb, and bringing me off to an enormous, incredibly satisfying, window-rattling orgasm. Damn, he was good!

Afterward, we talked a little more. His dick was so obviously agonizingly hard inside his pants I had to physically restrain myself from tearing his clothes off and jumping him. More than anything in the world, right about then, I wanted to feel his hardness inside me, feel him shoot off inside my pussy.

“How do you do it?” I asked, “How can you stand to get excited like this and not get off?” Me, if I go more than two or three days without an orgasm, I get the girly equivalent of blue balls.

Sam looked bashful, which was awful darn fetching. “From time to time I do a prostate massage,” he said, “To relieve the pressure. It feels kind of nice, and it doesn’t seem to have the same… effect as an orgasm.”

“I’d do that for you!” I said. My mouth was literally salivating at the prospect.

“Really?”

“Oh, hell yes!” I had never touched a guy’s anus before. I’d had a couple dudes stick a finger in my butt; and Jeremy used to do this thing where he rubbed the outside of my asshole with his thumb while he was going down on me, which felt amazing; and I’d had anal sex twice; the first time sucked, the second time was OK. I’d never thought of that zone as being particularly erogenous for guys, but all of a sudden I was on fire to get my fingers up inside Sam’s butthole.

We didn’t waste a lot of time. He stripped out of his pants – I rarely got to see him naked, and it was a treat – and his dick was hugely erect and drooling precome. He crawled up on the wooden deck chair, facing backward with his cute little rump thrust out and his balls hanging down, his dick pointing straight out like a spear, and I proceeded to get my index finger nice and wet and slippery.

It was hot to do that to him. I felt like I should be gentle, but he made a cute little mewing noise when I pressed my finger against his puckered anus, and it slid right in. He was tight, and it was really sexy the way his asshole gripped my finger like a little fist. I found his prostate right away – it was practically the size of a walnut, and I started gently rubbing it, following his directions. I wished that I could grab his big fat hard cock at the same time, and jerk him off with my finger up his ass, but as the Rolling Stones once said, you can’t always get what you want.

It didn’t take very long at all. I felt his body tense up and then relax, and he made a strange guttural noise deep in his throat, and his balls tightened up and his cock twitched, and started leaking come, thick white pearlescent come, as if someone had turned on a spigot. A ton oozed out, before he was all done. His cock stayed hard as hard could be. And my pussy was all wet and ready for action all over again.

I removed my finger from his butt, and he kissed me all over, grinning like a maniac, and proceeded to eat me for lunch.

Our sex life sort of hit a plateau after that, a glorious, fabulous, sexy plateau. Sam and I got together all the time, whenever we weren’t working, which was a lot, and we’d go up to our little rooftop Eden and fool around.

I convinced Sam to let me touch him, to let me take him in my mouth, even to fuck me a little bit, as long as I made sure to let him pull away long before he felt the first tinglings of an orgasm. Then he’d pull out and roll over, or lift his legs up to the clear blue sky, and I’d finger his asshole until the come drooled out of his gorgeous cock. Which I’d usually lap right up like a cat with spilled milk, not so much because it tasted so great, as because it was just plain sexy. And then he’d flip me right over, and eat out my pussy and lick my clit until I came all over his face. It was a pretty awesome arrangement we had going on.

One time I mustered the nerve to ask him what he’d think about me fucking him in the ass with a strap-on, and he blushingly told me he thought that’d be pretty hot. I got as far as going shopping for dildos and harnesses before I chickened out.

It was a Tuesday morning, one of those glorious late summer/early fall days when the whole world seems just OK. Sam had just gotten off his night shift; I had the day off. We waved at Clara, my roommate, who rolled her eyes at us and blew me a kiss, and we headed up to the roof. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was a perfect morning for being naked.

We wasted no time losing our clothes. His dick was already nice and fat and hard; my pussy was hot and slick. We laid out the blanket that we’d started stashing up there for our own personal use, and got busy in a sort of 69 where Sam lavished oral affection on me, licking all over my pussy and clit and darting experimentally up to my asshole; and I carefully played with him, lazily tracing my fingertip up and down his hard cock, ticking his balls, drawing spirals on his tummy and inner thighs, and poking gently into his anus.

We did that for a little while, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I got up and turned around, and lowered myself carefully onto his waiting cock. It felt so good to have him inside me! We never bothered with condoms; I knew I was clean, and he sure wasn’t fooling around with anyone else. I loved the feeling of togetherness when his naked dick was nestled up inside my horny pussy.

I rocked back and forth, impaled atop him, savoring the sensations. I felt like I was oozing pussy juice all over him. His eyes were half-shut, his face a serene mask of bliss.

I felt something slip inside me, the beginnings of my own orgasm. I started to buck on top of him, grinding myself onto his dick, harder and harder. Sam halfheartedly tried to push me away, but I pinned his arms down. I rode him like a cowgirl, my tits bouncing wildly, my hair flying all over the place. He began to hump back at me, matching my rhythm. Our hands clasped, fingers intertwined, squeezing hard. I bent down and kissed his lips, and he kissed me back, hard, desperately. I started to come, wailing out loud into his open mouth, my cunt devouring his cock, and he fucked me back, fucking me straight to orgasm. Through the sound and the fury of my own climax, I felt him come, his cock twitching and trembling inside me, his hot semen flooding into my cunt, overflowing, and drooling out all over us both.

When it was all done, he stayed inside me, diminished. We were both panting, out of breath.

“I knew that would happen, sooner or later,” he said, “It was bound to happen. It’s not your fault.”

“Is it ok?” I asked him.

It seemed like every siren in the city had gone off at once. I could already see one huge column of black smoke away to the south, and even as I looked, I saw the fireball as the second plane hit.

Traffic had stopped in the streets. People were wandering around, bewildered. Radios chattered.

“I’ve got to get down there.” Sam said, pulling on his clothes. I got dressed too, and pedaled my ass down to the burn ward at Columbia-Presbyterian, where we were expecting massive casualties. The thing is, we didn’t actually see that many bad burn patients. It seems like people mostly either got out more or less OK, or they didn’t get out at all.

I never saw Sam again.

I called his phone obsessively. At first I called him hourly, then every day, then every week. I stopped leaving messages early on; I used to just listen to his voice on the outgoing message. Eventually the number stopped working.

END

2 Comments »

  1. Van Byrd said

    Wow! That’s what happened! Very clever.

  2. Mike said

    I guess I’m a sucker for a happy ending (no puns intended). I like your stories better when they end on a positive note.

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