I Want Your Judgment

His hand darts between my thighs and I grip his wrist unable to decide if his touch is welcomed or not. Friend or foe? My pussy can’t very well decide… No, my pussy says friend with each wet squelch.

“I barely know you.” My words are trembly even as I let my thighs splay open for him.

That dormant part of me, be she submissive or unsure girl, melts under a show of force. She wants to say yes even when my logical self shouts about the danger that lies ahead.

“But that’s the fun of this. Don’t you want to have a little fun?”

He smells delicious and his accent gives him a sexy quality I can’t ignore. His newness excites me too, luring me when it shouldn’t. That clever, seeking hand is trying to find my secrets and I can’t find the higher thought process to deny him.

“Come back here with me.”

You’d be dumb to, girl. My mind whispers it to me, but I still slide in beside him. Part of me is eager to take a risk knowing I may regret it. His hands are all over me then. Helping me out of my shorts and underwear, turning me so he can slip between my thighs as his hand strokes his naked cock. Funny I’m not scared, but I know I need to say no.

“I will not have sex with you tonight and most definitely not without a condom.”

“Come on. Come on.”

I’m still not scared though I should be scared shitless. He’s strong, strong enough to overpower me if he wanted. There’s a small part of me that wonders what it would be like if he did… Oh, god. I can’t even think it, know I shouldn’t because what woman thinks about her own potential rape like that? Like there’s a certain eagerness that bubbles up, trickling from my body.

I push him away. “No. I’m not having sex with you.”

He mumbles something and sits back, but I can’t take my eyes off his cock as he strokes. My mind is telling me to get out of the car, but my treacherous cunt and salivating mouth want just one taste. And since he wasn’t getting into my cunt…

I let him lead me down to his lap. I lick the engorged tip of him and then take a deep breath. He tastes like everything I’ve been craving for the last month. He smells of a man that’s been working all day, his body confined in clothes. There was that musk, a hint of piss, his cologne all in one mouthful. One taste isn’t enough. My lips seal tight around him, gliding up and down, my hand pumping in tandem, and then he groans. Yes, I love that sound from a man… I. Love. Giving. Head.

But his hand snakes into my body from behind and I come to my senses again. Not here, not like this, not what I want. Too damn casual. Right? I think. Shit, I can’t even think straight I’m so needy.

“I’m going to go.”

More was said, but it’s lost in the jumble of my mind. I call him a dud when my roommate and I talk, explaining away my need and practically begging for her judgment. She won’t give it and I’m confused by my lack of guilt.

What I do know is that I’m not as upset as I should be. In fact, I’m wishing he’d have stayed still so I could have finished him off. A part of me wants to see him again, get to know him better just to finish what I started because his cologne lingers on my hands arousing me. Just like I find myself wanting to arouse him as we talk after the fact.

What’s more is I want to feel bad for enjoying it, him. Something about him fires me up, like a temptation I should resist but can’t. Like a taste of danger I want to walk into. Maybe he’ll save me from myself and disappear into the ether.

How do you explain those cravings without coming off as crazy? Maybe I misplaced my common sense tonight. Perhaps I lost it in that hungry spot between my legs.

I want to live in fear and loathing, but neither is present to swallow me up right now.