I wish I had called some time ago, but until then I had lacked courage. He was afraid of what the reception would be like. After all, the past was already so far away that it seemed more like a dream. Although the memories, the memories, the images were so vivid in my memory that the impression I had was that everything had happened to us right now, just before I made the call. Yesterday. Everything seems to have happened yesterday. Although it’s been a few years. Some, not, Four, to be more precise.
Until he answered, it was five rings from the phone. I counted them mentally. If I had played twice more, on the seventh, I would have turned it off. I’ll wait to play seven times and if I do not answer, I’ll turn it off, I decided. On the fifth ring, I heard the hello and it took me a few seconds to realize that it was the voice I was so eager to hear. When I said, “It’s Katia, do you still remember me?” I could feel him hesitating, as if he had been shocked and lost his speech for a moment. When asked if it was me and how I was, I answered, with a little laugh, sweetening the voice “it’s me, myself in the flesh and if you want to know, I’m still hot.”
He had always thought I was hot. Since before giving it to him, he had already said it ten times that I was very hot. We did not even date and he ate me with his eyes when I passed him, with my friends, in the square of the light source, in our little town in Minas Gerais. He stood staring at me and pretending not to look at me while I also pretended that I did not see his eyes. Until one night he stopped me saying I do not know what, some nonsense just not be quiet. When I saw it, I was alone with him. I had let my friends keep walking around the square and I was left behind, walking with him by my side. It was the first time we talked.
The other day we kissed. In fact, he kissed me. I was a bit flustered when he held me by the waist, pulled my body close to his body and kissed me on the mouth.
So, without further ado. I knew there was going to be a kiss between us, but I did not expect it to be the day after we first talked. At first it was a scare. But a warmth grew within me, and I gave myself up to the kiss. That went from scared kiss to a hot kiss. Late. We were leaning against one of the trees in the small square.
I had kissed other boys already and had done some sucking but had never given it. She was a virgin.
But every time he hugged me and kissed me I burned to give him. When he felt then that he was hard-pressed there, it was that strong will. I had to stop myself. Not once did I not come home with my pussy wet. Now, here he was talking to me on the phone, and I, again, feeling a huge chill for him. Oh, how nice it would be if he was eating me hot right now.
As we spoke my memories were coming back stronger. I felt the warmth of his body tighten mine. The impression I had was that if I stretched my hands I could touch his hard cock, catch him, lower and suck. Oh, I want you to fuck me again. As I want, I thought.
In an instant, the image came back strong and became almost real. I was at your house. I had come to visit him. He was very cold, had a fever, and had missed classes that morning. I had come into his room and realized he was alone at home. I told him that I had gone to take care of him. We talked for a long time and then suddenly I said that I wanted to be yours, that I had gone there to give it to him, that I wanted him to fuck me good.
I locked the door, took off my clothes and lay on his bed and hugged him. It was not pleasant, honestly, my first fuck. He told me, half-awkwardly, that he had never really gotten in, that he had only had some tartar, and that he had only enjoyed it until that day when he was punctilious or with some girl pouncing him. Fuck really, I had been the first. I was the first woman in her life and he was the first man to fuck my pussy.
“Oh, you can not stop being hot,” he told me. “I bet he still fucking hot like he used to be, or better yet, I’m wrong?” I told him that I was not mistaken, that I was still fucking hot, that someone who had never fucked me had complained that what I fucked still cost me, With a laugh. I took advantage of it to say that I still remembered how fucking delicious he was, that no one had ever eaten me yummy as he ate. That I still felt what it was like when he’d stick his dick in me and make me cum. That I still dreamed of him fucking me and making me cum again like I used to. The last sentence I’ve already said just whispering how horny I felt. As he spoke, he crossed and uncrossed his legs, feeling the joy coming down his thigh. It was a delightful enjoyment that I enjoyed as I listened to his strong breath on the phone.
When he asked if I had married I told him not that he should remember that I had told him one day that I would only marry him. And that I had disappeared because I had spent time abroad, in other countries, studying and working. But she’d never forgotten him.
That I always remembered him fucking me, who dreamed of his cock getting hot on me, that sometimes felt like sucking his cock. And that there, in another country, I cried when your dick needed me.
I smiled with happiness when I heard from him that I had not married either, that I had a bundle of hopes of meeting again, that he had sought me out for a part of this world, which I had thought until I had died. And he was stuck talking to me. Pure will to fuck me again. We laughed together.
That’s when I invited him out the other day. He accepted and, before hanging up, told me just “it was nice talking to you, baby. See you tomorrow”