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She sat across from me deep in the basement of a ratty lounge on 14th and 7th ave. The place was a shithole with drab music and cheap tea lights highlighting the joints flaws. In the right frame of mind I wouldn't be there with a fellow classmate knowing full well my wife-to-be was sitting at home studying for a final.

My downfall began during the last day of class when she took a seat in front of me, apparently oblivious to the fact that her ass was protruding pleasingly out of her jeans, popping out of her thong. I tried not to look out of respect for her but it was so soft, glistening with lotion and intrigue.

Somehow, before the end of class, I was accepting an offer to have a drink with her. I knew then in my mind that sooner or later, preferably sooner, I would be sinking the hardest penis into the softest of wombs. I would be doing something I promised myself I would never again do. Become disloyal.

She sat across from me, deep in the basement of a ratty lounge on 14th and 7th ave. The place was a shithole, but the drab music and cheap tea lights lit her face in a way that stilled time. As she spoke, her tongue waved hello across my chest, my back, the hardness of my cock. My mind was going a thousand miles an hour on everything but the words she was saying. Little by little, I had a growing ache that desparately wanted to be rubbed away.

I realized I had made the decision to cross the line when I found myself sitting next to her, her ribs rising and falling gently against my own. I heard something along the line of "my life is crazy" spilling from her lips, and subconsciously, my brain calculated the words needed to be said...she drew even closer to me, her hand resting on my knee...my penis growing ever so hard, oh so eager.

In my attempt to relive a lost Sound Factory memory I had forgotten the golden rule that every man learns after a serious case of blue balls. That is, never jump the gun in your mind. I made that mistake, and the pain I had not experienced in years was resurfacing with a vengeance. I hurt, and the image of her biteable ass dripping wet with sweat, swallowing my cock would not go away. The images grew and grew. Her mouth getting closer to my own. We kissed, slow motion, time stood still. The cosmopolitan basting her tongue was sweet. Sobriety slowly waning, my hand brushed across her back underneath her shirt. She felt so soft. So foreign. So exiting. DAMN my dick hurt bad...as if gamma rays penetrated my veins.

Ooh, I wanted to fuck. I wanted to soothe away every ache on her body with my mouth. Looking into her eyes, I fucked her pussy through her pupil. She could feel it too. She said, "my pussy is so fucking wet!"

"Mmm. It must know I'm thirsty." (Saint)

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Baby, my intention is to lick shit up like a pussy diaper." (Saint)

"What the hell are you talking about."

"Baby, hell is the heat between you and me beasting it on weed and beats." (Saint)

By that time, she didn't know what the hell I was talking about, and neither did I. All I knew was I had a desparate urge to throw my relationship down the drain for a twenty-minute savage fuck. A relentless bombardment of clashing pubic bones and sweat-induced muscle clenching.

She sat on top of me, deep in the basement of a ratty lounge on 14th and 7th ave. The place was a shithole, and I was starting to realize that I belong in such a place. I belonged in a lair of dry-humping lunatics highlighted by cheap tea lights and tasteless raeggae. But fuck it, her juicy fuckin ass was grinding my cock like a slab of cheese on a grater. It hurt, but fuck it, her thong poppin ass was spinning its vibe on my phat fuckin needle and I was doing everything I could to impregnate her through clothing.

She sat on top of me. All eyes on us. Fuck it. They didn't exist. We were drunk, her nipples were hard, and my balls thumped like Carl Cox. In the horizon, my fiancee to be studying for a final.

The time came to head home before that mysterious instillation of suspicion could be telekinetically transmitted between long-time lovers. I lied and told her I had a late night rendezvous in my apartment with some old friends. Somehow I got her to believe a story I had immediately forgotten. We both got up, swallowed tongues several times throughout fifteen minutes before getting to the exit.

Before stepping through the exit, we turned back to absorb the remains of our night.

It was nice and breezy outside. The girl next to me was no longer a classmate, but a tool. A delicious sex object I would have to mold over the next few weeks to suit my tentative availability.

She could sense my attitude was different 'outside' the walls of the lounge. I was distant. Hesitant to grope, to acknowlede her appeal, to lick my lips with devilish intent.

She was right. Being seen in public would ruin a good thing, on both sides of the fence.

As I staggered home I plotted the various ways in which I could erase her sent from my neck and clothing. Grape juice smeared on my lips, car exhaust spraying my outfit. These are the things an old pro whips out of the closet. Tonight it worked. And as I delicately jacked off my wounded brethren I could think of nothing else than that deep basement housing the ratty lounge on 14th and 7th ave. The place was a shithole with drab music and cheap tea lights highlighting the joints flaws. But the drinks were soo fuckin good.


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