My head was in her ass forever – we watched a Seinfeld episode – she called her damn friend while I was in there waiting, trying with all my might not to cum.
But that happened later on near the end of this story. If you haven’t read the first part, here is link to it. The Ideal FWB
As requested here is more of the story.
I’m not trying to say that Zoe was a snob or arrogant. It’s just that she was young, smart and attractive — everyone was kissing her ass and were after something — she hated that much attention and insincerity. I didn’t give a fuck. I had survived over a year on Venice Beach and wasn’t needing to suck up for anything – I took shit from no one, accept the gang I’d narrowly escaped Venice with my life from (another story) but I didn’t need to kiss ass to score some..
I think it was refreshing for Zoe that we could be real — to be around someone who wasn’t intimidated or trying to claim her. I didn’t have to try at all really, which is so funny given how hard so many guys tried and ended up empty. Mainly I could get her off. And that was a big deal for her — enough for me to have the power. I attribute to Zoe the full realization of my sexual power. She wasn’t ashamed or shy to describe me. Zoe had all the self confidence and enough i-don’t-give-a-fuck to spell out anything I had missed. She told me any woman in Hollywood would fuck me because of my eyes and cock; of course it wasn’t true, but these were enough for Zoe, which was the hell close enough for me. The only famous Hollywood person was so not pretty I’d be too embarrassed to even mention her.
Zoe’s beauty and body were legions more spectacular – she had the type of body and genetics that everything just grew right — no moles or blemishes, no mismatch in symmetry — I’m not even sure that she had to groom – that her pubic hair didn’t just grow that lean. Zoe must have had Aphrodite genes. She didn’t even know it, or think about it, but she knew she couldn’t live her life without being approached by men — we talked about how uncomfortable it made her. You figure she had been hounded since 15 or younger, so the pursuits had been going on for over a decade. This is not to say that she was the stereotypical “perfect 10.” Zoe was right in the most targeted pocket — she wasn’t so perfect that guys were afraid to approach her, and attractive and interesting enough to attract everybody she met.
The difference with me was that I wasn’t after a chance, so I never sweated it. Knowing Zoe helped me to appreciate how very attractive women feel; insane how many creepy guys they have to deflect and how much anxiety a girl can feel when being hounded so. One night after she said goodnight to another eager, hopeful date, a nice guy, she literally cried – and I realized the unique emotional load she was carrying. It’s easier for a less intelligent and conscientious girl perhaps, but Zoe felt horrible every time she had to let a guy down. It made me wonder if perhaps our exterior does describe our inner heart and soul sometimes, because Zoe’s heart and intentions were exactly as beautiful as her face, curves and skin.
I know the question, so why didn’t I grab her up, right? I wasn’t good enough. Not wealthy enough, disciplined enough, or brave enough. And honestly, it wasn’t the right connection. It was a phenomenal sexual connection but not a soul-mate marriage vibe for either of us. We were so in sync and comfortable from the start about what we were not, and would never be – the most chill and worry free deal. And, okay, the sex was too good to risk fucking up with a more formal relationship.
Zoe moves in – Introductions
With that introduction I’ll tell you how we met. Zoe knocked on my door the night she moved in next door, to ask me if I had a wine opener. She was wearing low rise black pants and a white top, showing about four inches of her slender belly.
A while later Zoe knocked on my door again to return the opener. Her friend was with her this time. They were both a little loopy – it was clear they had made use of my wine opener.
“You’re right, the neighbor is cute,” Zoe’s friend said. It didn’t appear to bother Zoe that her friend had just given her up. I found her lack of embarrassment curious. So the ice was broken right away you could say.
I was unit the end on the second floor – right at the top of the stairs – Zoe lived in the adjacent apartment to the left. Our apartments were actually the same positioning as those in the photo, but kitty corner – facing the ocean that you can see in the background. Accept, mine had a big window.
Being the end unit, everyone on their way to another apartment upstairs would pass by mine — i could see Zoe returning home, and whenever she returned she could see if I was home and what was going on at my place — my blinds and widows were almost always open for the view and the breeze. My apartment was a fish-bowl — It didn’t bother me. It made it easy to meet and get to know neighbors.
Both of us had a similar system – we commuted far and worked our butts off during the week, and spent every weekend doing it up and socializing. Whether on dates or with friends, we were both out almost every Friday and Saturday night. I’d see her return if I got home first, and I’d look when I got home to see if her lights were on — see if she was home yet.
I had spent most of my birth day with some friends, drinking at the place pictured below.
Four of us walked back to my place (well more like we stumbled accept for the designated driver). The three had driven up from Newport Beach. We had the music cranked and were doing margaritas when Zoe returned that evening. I was near my window and saw her coming up the stairs. I knew she was returning from a date — make up on, sexy skirt and her little date purse; and, I knew the date sucked. If she didn’t let them walk her to the door they sucked; they did okay if she did let them escort her; and, only a few were ever invited in.
I was drunk and loud, yelled that it was my birthday as she passed, and invited her over to join us for margaritas. She accepted the offer and said she’d be over in a bit. She came over around ten minutes later still in her sexy date outfit, and was as happy as we were about the margaritas. She got along with my friends and kept up with our drinking. She was still there a couple hours later when my buddies left my place.
I kissed her as soon as my friends walked away down the stairs and were out of sight. We had all heard what a disaster her date had been that night. I told Zoe she could always come by for a kiss when her dates didn’t matriculate.
We were very comfortable with each other right away. Part of it may have been due to the sexual attraction, and our personalities matched well perhaps — but I suspect a lot of it was just the dumb luck of getting started “on the right” foot. In every way the friendship began perfect, and from the beginning when we didn’t yet know each other, and didn’t give a damn, we were totally open and upfront about anything – it became sport to be rambunctiously direct with each other; we appreciated being able to be like that. Neither of us had anyone we could fuck and also say whatever the fuck we wanted in front of – she was like a guy, I could say whatever. She could be sexual and naughty and nobody would know.
All of the lights were on and my window blinds were wide open for anyone coming up the stairs to see. I remember thinking about it and specifically not caring.
We ended up on my couch. I reached up her skirt, pulled it up, and Zoe kept pace and grabbed for my crotch. I hadn’t taken any of her clothes off and hadn’t even had time to get hard before Zoe untied my beach trunks and pulled them off.
She sat next to me, window still open wide, looking at my cock that I held up draped over my hand like an orca. It was random good fortune that Zoe was so into me: this smart, professional, hard-to-get, responsible, educated girl was into my cock as much as anyone I had ever been with. It’s impossible to convey without sounding gratuitous or shallow, but it’s not trivial to the story that Zoe liked my shit. I’ll stop short of describing her as obsessed.
She eventually sat on me and rode me on the couch – still wearing her skirt and blouse. I got the lube before we started and had her apply it.
We fucked for a long time. Not hours, but for a full hour probably. I came twice and she had never come while fucking before, she said. She was sore – and was always sore but never-the-less liked it hard and all the way, hitting it up against her. She told me to fuck her hard every time. She loved to be wrecked and we both liked missionary the best. I liked being able to see her face, she liked me to leverage into her, pin her down, fuck her pussy like it needed to learn a lesson, grip her hair, and tell her to be a good girl while she orgasmed- no, scratch that, while she came her brains out and begged me to do this.
Never have I known a girl who liked the actual fucking – the intercourse so much. Never has the world known a girl who you’d least expect to timidly knock on my door after saying goodnight to her date, and then repeatedly tell me to fuck her pussy until she came and yelled “fuck me, I’m cumming!” One time she fucked her date and came over after because she didn’t have an orgasm. Of course she showered, gross, I can’t believe you had that thought.
It was so spontaneous and relaxed after that first time. She’d walk by and see me chilling, or we’d knock on the other’s door when we saw lights on. After a while we just banged on the wall between our bedrooms to check if the other was free to hang out or come fuck. If I pounded she’d come over if available, and if she knocked from her side, I’d go over to her place, or more often give it a few and knock again so she’d come to me..
The last and naughtiest part of this story will be published if there is still interest and ifi this part wasn’t too explicit for you all. Let me know.