THE STORY OF C – Chapter 8

I met Marco at Hermannplatz in Neukölln for lunch. I was late, but he didn’t seem to mind. I wore my dress that has no back (lucky), my jeans jacket (also lucky), and thigh high tights (also also lucky). We went to a euro-bistro and both got salads. Arugula for me, Saisonsalat for him. He has a sort of pleasant accented English. He sounds very slightly British and very vaguely German and not at all American. He is well built, with some muscles, yet also lean. He wore a v-neck and I could see the chest hair peeking through. His glasses have a medium-thick dark rim and his hair is receding just a little bit. We discussed any number of topics, touching upon music, being introverted, our histories, Berlin in the winter, Berlin in the summer, the German word Schadenfreude, his job. We never suffered for lack of conversation. We chatted, taking cappuccinos as he smoked a cigarette. It began to rain very lightly, which we took as our cue to go.

Then the moment of decision. We began discussing sex, my craigslist ad, the appalling and ever-climbing 166 responses I received, the nature of those responses, among other things. I blurted out awkwardly that I don’t shave. He admitted that he found this to be positive. After a moment of indecision, we went up to his apartment, a nice clean wood-floored flat with enough mess to make me comfortable in the knowledge that he was not a clean freak. After we both used the bathroom, the games began. I was quivering ever so slightly out of nervousness, waiting for him to take control of the situation.

He kissed me, mouth open and warm, his beard bristling my lips pleasantly. His tongue had a sort of softness and roughness that seemed new to me. He seemed pleased by my responsiveness, by how quickly my hands found his hair and pulled. He also seemed pleased that my dress had no back and that I was bra-less. The moaning began when his hand found my nipple. The other hand found its way to the sensitive spot of skin between the end of my spine and my ass. I felt I had to be active, so I worked on taking off his shirt while he worked on my dress. He clamped his mouth on my breast and I gasped. One hand wandered below to cup my pussy. I felt like putty in his hands. I wriggled one finger beneath the waist band of his pants. He took them off and I noticed the bulge in his underwear, moving my attentions to it. Unsure of what to do, I stroked it lightly on the outside of the cloth, as I would do to a woman’s pussy through her underwear. He gently tugged down my underwear for better access, beginning to finger me.

Distracted, I continued my ministrations to his clothed penis, biting his neck, kissing, my other hand wandering about his back. He took off his underwear and his erection sprung free. I imagine that my eyes widened–there is something always still very new for me about the unleashing of an erection. I am never sure what to do with it, other than stare at it. I wrapped my hand around the shaft and began to play with the skin, moving my hand up and down the length. He feed me his hand wet with my juices, then returned to finger fucking me in earnest.

He gestured with a turn of the head that we go to the bedroom and I followed, at first hand in hand, and then running my hand lightly down his back. He laid down. “You know, you do have to tell me what to do…” I said with a slight smile, “because I’m submissive and a bit inexperienced.” He smiled and pulled me down on top of him to kiss.

“Turn around,” he said. I obeyed and moaned all the more as he licked me, thrusting the wet length of his tongue inside me. His hand entangled in my hair, pushing my face into the mattress. He serviced me in different ways for a while, working me into wetness, then gave me the length of his (large) penis to suck on. I tried my best to breathe through my nose and keep a steady rhythm, but he was so large that I could not fit the length of him in my mouth.

He guided my head in a bobbing motion, making me take him deeper, though I gagged. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I continued to suck him, taking frequent breaks to breathe and to relax my gag reflex. At one point, I stopped during one of my breaks to ask him shyly and earnestly, “Am I doing alright?”

He smiled, may have said yes, pulled me in for a kiss. I returned to my ministrations. My saliva began to coat the head of his penis, slipping down over my chin as well. I kept choking on him. “It’s very big,” I once paused to explain. As I sucked him, he resumed fingering me, sometimes stopping to slap my pussy or tweak a nipple.

After what seemed an eternity, he rolled over to get the condom. I sat up to watch him put it on, curious to see protected sex in action, having never watched a man put a condom on before. It was a tight squeeze in the latex. He gently nudged my legs apart and set himself up to penetrate me. At first, there was a moment of awkwardness, during which he muttered (perhaps more to himself than to me): “Ich hasse Kondom.” But by some magical combination of angles, force, and natural lubrication, the awkwardness disappeared and suddenly I was vaguely conscious of making sounds I had never made before, incapable of opening my eyes, my hands balled into fists. He did all of the work and wielded all of the control, varying speed and intensity. He choked me once or twice and put his hands possessively around my head. My toes began to curl and my voice climbed.

We switched to doggy style and he stopped either because a) I was bleeding, or b) he came, or c) both. I am not sure what combination of things caused him to stop, but despite my lack of explosive climax, I was feeling very satisfied indeed. I trotted off to the bathroom to put on underwear and a tampon and then lay down with my head on his hairy chest and my arms draped around him. His heart beat heavily and his breathing was labored as well.

“Feedback?” I asked, turning my head to look at him.

“After I’ve caught my breath,” he admitted (perhaps with some chagrin).”I’ve got to stop smoking,” he joked.

“Because that’s the only reason to stop smoking,” I joked back. He laughed. We spoke occasionally, but mostly lay quietly beside each other. “You were much better than the last guy,” I said after a long pause. “He was a dick.” I revised. “He was a bad person with a big dick. You are a good person with a big dick. I think.”

He laughed a little and seemed truly pleased with the praise. “That’s made my day!” he said.

We talked a bit more, a little about German, and the idea of speaking it in the bedroom. I agreed. “But not now,” I specified. His phone rang. We spoke a little bit more on his balcony as he smoked a cigarette, and then we parted ways so he could prepare for his gig.

I most definitely hope to do this again.

After I left, I bought cilantro at the market at Hermannplatz. The man selling it to me asked if I wanted to go get some drinks. I declined politely, reveling in this new feeling of sexual power.