2 Girls to Get Over 1

2 Girls to Get Over 1

by McCutcheon
The sun is blinding at midday. I stare into it. Need to keep my mind from wondering. I'm at the tennis court with Jill. My phone vibrates. It's Ashley. I don't waste any time.

"Did you sleep with someone else?"

She pauses.

"Did you?"

"Yes."

My whole world explodes. Straight into my stomach, a knockout punch.

"Oh."

"At least I didn't lie to you."

"What was it like?"

"You don't want to know," she says.

She is right. I don't.

"I'll probably sleep with someone else as well someday," I pathetically whisper. I don't realize how soon that will be.

She laughs. I hang up. Rage and defeat coarse through me. I can't comprehend Ashley being sexually intimate without me. We used to say we would be always and forever. Now she has let some guy put his dick where I used to kiss her so adoringly.

Jill is waiting to rally. I hit a few balls until I throw up on the court. This is not polite tennis etiquette. I have to leave.

I'm in no state to play sports. Jill's roommates are having an afternoon cookout. I don't want to be social and I don't want to be alone. I decide to get drunk and we go to the party.

I don't know many people there. I grab a bottle of tequila. Downing the golden liquor burns my stomach and dulls the pain. Jill explains my story to a few of her girlfriends. I get sympathetic smiles.

More people arrive. I sit in the corner drinking. Still not drunk enough to hold a conversation. I go into the bathroom to pee. The door opens on me.

"I'm in here," I say.

"I know," comes the reply.

The door opens wider. Martina is standing in the doorway. I met Martina twenty minutes ago. She is Mexican with long legs and almost no tits whatsoever. What she lacks in breasts she makes up for in nipples. Her nipples are long cylindrical rods protruding straight at me.

The halter-top Martina wears hangs on her slender frame, her nipples providing the only definition. A lot of visible Latin American skin is exposed at the midriff between the top and her slight short skirt. She has an impressively tight stomach. She's also wearing sandals. Martina stands there with her hands on her narrow hips.

I finish pissing. Flush the toilet and turn to Martina. By this time she has entered the bathroom and shut the door. She saunters towards me. At first I think this is a tequila hallucination. Martina clasps her hands around my neck. The physicality of her touch proves this is real.

"Dance with me," she says. Her lips go to a whisper on my neck. Her tongue flicks in my ear. She slips my shirt off.

We start to gyrate against each other. Our minuscule amount of clothing stretches taunt as we move our bodies in flirtatious friction. Soon my cock is hard and pokes out the top of my tennis shorts, pressing between our two bare bellies.

"You like that?" She asks.

"Yes," I say.

She grabs my proud comparatively pale penis in her rustic tanned hand. It takes only a few jacks of her wrist to make me spurt my cream colored come over her distinctively dark hued knuckles.

She takes my cock and lifts her skirt. There is an oily black patch of trimmed pubic hair. It is shaved into a thin landing strip. She places my come-covered cock between her pink glistening pussy lips. I'm slightly filled with terror by this indiscreet act of unsafe sex. I have only been with Ashley in the last year and a half. Someone with Martina's audacity scares me. She must have many partners being so straightforward.

I've never had the nerve to fuck unknown people in bathrooms in the middle of a drunken afternoon. I'm quickly unlearning my natural espousal nature. It is stupid and erratic. I feel fictitious, surreal and keep on fucking.

Her cunt is so addictive it maintains my erection. There is no escape from this audacious female organ. My member is thrust into it full tilt. I take every pulse as the vitality of virility. This is why God made man and woman. We call out to his son in thanks.

"Oh Jesus!"

I have her off her feet. She wraps her legs around my waist. I slide my index finger into her asshole. With both of her orifices full Martina's body shivers and rides me suspended from the ground.

I reach my second orgasm within twenty minutes. My knees buckle and we crash to the floor. Martina skips to the sink. Turns on the faucet. She cups water into her hand and douches. Then she assiduously straightens her skirt, flattens her top and walks out.

I stand up. Walk out of the bathroom. People are dancing in the living room. Smoking bongs on the balcony. In the kitchen I grab a beer. When the bottle comes to my mouth I smell my fingers. They are fragrant with the unwashed scent of dirty sex. I breathe in through my nostrils enjoying the odor and gulp my beer. The lager is crisp and cold going down easy. It wets my libido, saturating the sensual experience.

Half an hour later I go into Jill's bedroom with her to pick out a few compact discs. Jill immediately takes off her shirt and shorts. She isn't wearing a bra. Her breasts are full and bountiful. She has on leopard skin patterned panties that she wiggles out of. We start kissing. These girls are really pouring on the sympathy. I should have my heart broken more often.

We bound to her bed in a tangle of limbs. I turn her over and take her from behind doggy style. She has a petite upside down heart shaped ass. I watch my penis penetrate with impregnable power, then fixate on the tiny blonde hairs and beauty mark of her lower back.

Martina walks in and locks the door. Either I'm pleasantly paranoid or this is a ploy. Martina hikes up her skirt and spreads her legs in front of us. Jill goes down on her lapping away. She does this with the ease and perfection of a lover's knowledge. I'm behind Jill pumping in steady motion. I watch her tongue dart circularly around Martina's clitoris. Martina reclines and winks. This must be a set up.

Moments later Martina's face changes from the smug conspiratorial wink to one of fear. It's like her orgasm is coming on so strong she can barely contain herself. Watching her squirm pushes me over the edge. I come into Jill. Then we all collapse in a heap on the bed.

I look at the girls. There is a second when we don't say anything. We just stare at each other. Then we simultaneously convulse in a fit of giggles.

"You guys planned this?" I ask.

"Well, kinda," Jill lets on. "I always thought you were so cute and too good for that girl. And Martina and I had this fantasy. When she went into the bathroom it was to check you out."

"So I passed the test?"

"Big time," says Martina.

"You didn't like Ashley?" I ask.

"No one does," says Jill. "Sure, she is beautiful. But that's it. She is such a narcissistic selfish bitch. She has the whole complex going on."

Jill gets more beer. We sit in the bed naked, drinking and smoking cigarettes. We ignore the rest of the party. I'm not sure when I pass out. I don't think it's that late.

I wake up and the girls are not in bed. I walk to the bathroom to get a drink of water. Passing the hallway mirror I see red blotches covering my body. On closer inspection I discover I'm covered in hickeys. I don't remember this happening.

All the lights are on but no one is in the apartment. I look at a clock. It's five-twenty in the morning. I gather my clothes and walk home.

It's a lonely walk. The alcohol has turned into a hangover. It deludes my psyche with despair. I think of her with him. The loss of love is overwhelming. Tears streak my face. No one sees. The streets are deserted.

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