I'm twenty-two years old today! Hot damn!
Had some hot damn pre-birthday sex, too. Alan is the Lotus Elise of lovers--he only does one thing but he does it really, really, really well. No cargo space, no cupholder, no bud vase... just straight vaginal missionary done within a tenth of a millimeter of perfect.
We got in bed. He gave me almost no foreplay; I don't always need it. Knowing I would see him tonight and and thinking about it all day was the foreplay. (And so, in its own way, was the discomfort from starting when I was a little unready. I kinda dig that.) He just slammed his cock in me and that was that. I hooked my legs around his thighs, pulling myself up to him, doing my damndest to fuck him from underneath.
And we just fucked. There's nothing to tell you about, no bizarre adventures; just good hard steady fucking and I kept coming but it didn't fucking stop. The first time I came I went limp and panting for a moment but he didn't break his stride and I had no choice but to recover fast and keep going. But each time I came was harder than the time before. Until finally, maybe the fifth time, I started coming and didn''t stop. It just kept going, an endless explosion, an instant of pure bliss dragged out for thirty seconds until I collapsed completely, unable to even speak.
He never did come. (Well, that time; we'd had less remarkable sex earlier in the evening, but he missed out on a second orgasm.) I feel kind of bad about that. I couldn't go on with the sex and he couldn't finish in my mouth or his hand. He told me he didn't mind though, it was worth it just to see me. I'll take him on his word there.
I couldn't find my panties afterward. Had to go home commando. It's just as well though. When I come back to pick up my undies, I can make him do that again.