I had met Lucy a total of two times.

The first time was when we had matched on Tinder. She was still in college then, on the cusp of completing a degree in engineering whereas I was still an undecided first-year.

It became apparent, less than thirty minutes into our coffee date, that we were incompatible. She was studious, focused, while I had spent the better part of three hours last night scrolling through TikTok.

Each time I pulled her into conversation (with her seemingly dragging and kicking at my attempts), she replied with only the facts.

Yes. No. Twenty-four. Engineering.

It was like talking to a witness at a murder trial.

Which was why it surprised me when she invited me back to her house for a nightcap. Finding no reason to refuse, I accepted the invitation.

Besides, I was curious. What could this lady, who up until this point had made it clear that Tinder’s algorithm had bugs, want with me?

I waited on her couch as she brought out a bottle of wine. We chitchatted — I couldn’t remember what about. After two glasses, I closed the distance between us. When she didn’t protest, we kissed.

At first, it was like kissing a smooth stone. But then I felt the tip of her tongue greet my upper lip. My mouth opened to give her an opportunity to explore, which she did, hesitantly, but in a way I thought was cute.

We made out like Horny teenagers. I could tell that she was inexperienced. At one point, she licked my mouth when I intended to peck her lips. It was an accident, and from her flushed expression I knew she was embarrassed. But, that, among other accidents, only made me more ravenous.

The transition into the bedroom was seamless. I wasn’t sure if it was her or I who initiated it. I had just enough time to admire the art work on her walls before I found myself lying her on her bed.

She lifted her legs so that I could slip off her leggings. Her underwear was surprisingly brave: a lacy pair of La Vie En Rose. I shoved my face between her legs and placed my tongue, flat, where her underwear covered her cunt. She squirmed beneath me as I teased her. When I felt she had been sufficiently teased, I removed her panties.

The juices leaking from her Pussy reflected the room’s ceiling light. I ran my tongue from her perineum to her clit. She had a strong taste.

I loved it.

I felt her grab my hair as I ran my tongue from her perineum to her clit, again and again. She moaned and fidgeted beneath my onslaught. When I brought her clit into my mouth, sucking it gently, she tried to pull away, but I held her in place. I focused on her perineum to give her clit a break and returned to her clit when I judged she was ready. I switched between her perineum and her clit like this until she warned me that I was going to make her cum.

I redoubled my efforts on her clit, maintaining a steady pace until I felt her squirt in my mouth. It was warm and sweet. I closed my mouth around her vulva. She squeezed my head between her thighs as every muscle in her body tensed. At last, she relaxed.

I came up to kiss her. She joked that my lips tasted nice. I slipped my tongue inside her mouth. She sucked it. I was hard as granite by this point. I asked her if she had any condoms.

“I can’t fuck you,” she said.

I looked at her as if she had just shot a puppy right in front of me.

“Oh,” I mumbled, “Okay.”

Before I had time to get too disappointed, I felt her pulling my pants down. Soon, her tongue was licking the head of my erection. I groaned something unintelligible. We changed positions. I sat at the head of her bed, my legs spread, as she lay on her stomach, my cock peaking just over her head.

A somewhat embarrassing amount of precum leaked from my cock. She jerked my shaft as she sucked on my right testicle, then my left. Perhaps she knew that I was on the verge of Cumming because she jerked my cock slowly to postpone my Orgasm.

She started sucking the helmet of my cock as she jerked my shaft. I could hear a wet, naughty slap whenever her fist made contact with her lips. I warned her that I was about to cum. She didn’t move away.

No longer able to hold back, I shot rope after rope of baby batter down her throat. Because I hadn’t masturbated in the past week, it was a lot of cum.

When I had finished, Lucy opened her mouth to reveal the cum that I had deposited there. She closed her mouth. When she opened her mouth again, my cum was gone.

I thought she would kick me out afterwards, but instead she asked me to stay for the night. It was almost as if we were going on a second date. (The first date having ended hours earlier, just before she invited me into her apartment). She was much more loquacious than when we were at the coffee shop. She confessed to me that she regretted entering engineering, that she had wanted to study English instead. Her father would have nothing of it, however.

“He means well, but he can be strict. He has a list of approved friends I can hang out with, for instance,” she said. When I asked her why he was so protective, she simply shrugged and said, “Immigrant parents,” as if that explained everything.

When it got late, we slept in her bedroom, where she sucked me off again. I offered to return the favor but she felt like cuddling instead, which we did.

When I woke up, she had left for school.

The second time I met Lucy was when I had entered my final year of university. I had wanted very much to see her again since that first time, years ago, but she had ignored my calls and texts. She had also blocked me on Tinder.

The distance she squeezed between us was disorienting. I felt as if the time we had shared at her apartment had been some drug-induced hallucination. Our date had ended at the coffee shop and I was being socially-insensitive by reaching out to her after an objectively horrible date.

But of course I knew that the time at her apartment had happened. I had awoken in her bed, after all.

I was surprised at how much her ignoring me hurt. It wasn’t the first time — and wouldn’t be the last — that a woman had rejected me. I was used to it. Rejection, I surmised, was congenital to the bachelor lifestyle. I tried to understand what I might have done to inspire her rejection but no reason came to mind.

After a few attempts to contact Lucy, I decided to move on. I dated a few other girls here and there in the following years. Most of my relationships were short-lived, however. One lasted more than a year.

When I met Lucy again, it was at a party my friend was throwing at his dad’s cabin. At first, I didn’t recognize her. She had dyed her hair red and was wearing makeup. The more I studied her, however, the more I was able to piece together the Lucy that I remembered.

She was talking with a guy she had entered the party with. I tried my best to not stare at them, but I was clearly failing at this because my friend nudged my shoulder.

“Dude, stop being antisocial,” he said, “I’ll introduce you to a few people.”

He guided me to a group where a guy was sharing his thoughts on some new dating show Netflix had released. It was apparently “fucking crazy”. I struck up a conversation with one of the girls in the group — a petite, Asian girl with bright eyes and dark hair. Somewhere in the conversation, I glanced over the girl’s head to notice Lucy.

When our eyes met, she quickly turned back to the guy she had been speaking with earlier. However, it was too late. She had been staring at me — for how long I wasn’t sure. But, she recognized me and was now trying to pretend that she didn’t. I tried to focus on the petite Asian in front of me, which was easy, as she loved to talk (so unlike Lucy, I thought).

When I glanced at Lucy again, she was dancing with her friend. I scowled.

“Do you want to dance?” I asked the girl I was speaking with.

She that she’d Love to. I pulled her onto the dance floor — the space where sofas had been pushed away to make an area for people to dance — and occupied an area that was right next to Lucy and her partner. As the space was cramped, her partner didn’t seem to find it weird when two people materialized beside them. Lucy, however, frowned when I approached her.

Ignoring them, I danced with the petite Asian, whose named I had learned was Nikki. Although Lucy still occupied my mind, Nikki proved to be a tantalizing distraction. Her every movement seemed meticulously crafted for seduction. At one point, she started grinding on my crotch, as if she was auditioning for a role in a Hip Hop music video. I was frankly embarrassed by her bravery, but also, aroused.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Lucy pushing her way out of the crowd of dancers. At some point, Nikki had started kissing me.

“I have to go to the washroom,” I said, extricating myself from her mouth.

I left her without further explanation and immediately started searching for Lucy. I eventually found her standing outside, at the back of the cabin, hugging her self against the cold.

She must have heard me open the door because she turned around the moment I stepped outside. If she was surprised to see me, she didn’t show it. She turned back around.

We stood beside each other, neither of us saying anything for the moment.

“I called you,” I said, breaking the silence, “Many times.” When she didn’t say anything, I continued, “I just — I just don’t get it. If you didn’t like me, why didn’t you just say something? Why did you ghost me?”

“I did like you.”

“Then why?” I nearly screamed, exasperated. I stole a glance at the door from which I had just left the party. When no one checked in on us, I asked again, “Lucy, why?”

“Because I had a boyfriend,” she nodded in the direction of the party, “I still do.”

“You were cheating.”

“Mark and I have been dating since middle school. I wanted to know what it was like to be with someone else.” She shrugged. “That doesn’t excuse what I did, though.”

At some point, tears started rolling down her cheeks, smudging her makeup. Without realizing it, I wiped her tears with my thumbs. She let me. It took all my will to not kiss her.

“If it wasn’t for Mark, would you have given us a chance?” I asked her.

She didn’t answer. And I didn’t press her. I watched her return to her boyfriend, who was flirting with a group of girls (well, I didn’t know if he was flirting with them, but I wanted some reason to hate the guy).

I found Nikki with the group of friends she had been with earlier. When she noticed me, her face lit up.

“Dude, where did you go?” She asked.

I considered lying to her.

“I was chatting with an ex.” I said instead.

“And?” She asked.

“It’s over.”

She smiled, and, before I knew it, she kissed me. Her friends whooped teasingly when they saw but otherwise didn’t disturb us. Which I’m glad for.

I would never meet Lucy again. I sometimes wonder what might have happened if she had answered my question at that party, years ago. What might have happened if we had met more than twice?

Other times, I realize that my infatuation for Lucy is the infatuation that a young boy has towards a somewhat enigmatic woman. Nothing more.

Nikki and I dated for a few months after that party. Then she had to move to the United States for work, and neither of us wanted to do a long distance relationship. We still hook up whenever she visits Canada, and I have to admit: Nikki makes it very easy to forget about Lucy.

That petite minx rides cock like a fucking champ.