It's Not the Size That Counts Ch. 04

I called Steven from the car on the way to his house.

"Hello?"

"Hey you. How goes dinner?"

"Hi beautiful! It's going. I never asked; anything other than mushrooms you're allergic to?"

"Nope. Listen, is there anything you want I should bring?"

"Nah, I think I've got everything I need. Well, except you, of course."

"You don't need me, Steven."

"Well, maybe not technically, but I want you really bad. Doesn't that count?"

I blushed, and tried to change the topic. That's one reason I always liked talking on the phone - no one could see me blush.

"Well, what about some wine or something?" My mother taught me never to go anywhere without taking something with me. I was a good girl. Well, sort of.

"Wine is good. I think red wine would probably be best with the food."

"Sure, sounds good. I'm on my way - I'll pick something up."

Picking through wine bottles at the liquor store brought back memories for me. It reminded me of the best sex I'd ever had.

Doug and I had been dating for a few months. We'd had sex a number of times, and it was always okay, but never fantastic. It was better if he would perform oral sex first, which he liked to do almost as much as I liked to receive it. Every once in a while, he was able to bring me to orgasm twice in a row; usually after that I was too exhausted to do anything more than lie there limply and let him finish himself off.

I would often give him blowjobs instead of having sex with him. It was just easier, and I didn't have to worry about the pain. When we would start fooling around, in bed at his place, I would go down on him and suck his cock into my mouth. There was a method to my madness; if he came first, he tended to be a much more patient lover, and tried harder to return the favour. I knew exactly what to do to bring him to the edge quickly. I had never learned how fun it was to make someone wait to come while I gave them pleasure but not enough pressure.

Because he was not overly large, I could get his entire cock into my mouth, with the head just barely tickling my throat. I would start by licking the entire length of his cock like a lollipop, which usually had the effect of making him groan and try to thrust into my mouth. I'd taught him not to grab the back of my head - I was afraid he'd choke me.

I would usually then gulp him right down until my face was pressed against his belly, and start making swallowing motions with my throat and tongue. I generally didn't have to keep this up for long - the base of my tongue and the back of my throat constricting around the glans and head of his cock was enough that he would get even harder and shoot in my mouth in just a few minutes. I didn't really like the taste, but it was tolerable. Doug couldn't stand the thought of kissing me after I'd blown him, so I would get up, head to the bathroom, rinse out my mouth and brush my teeth before getting back in bed,

That particular night, we had been drinking. I don't drink often, so after a couple of glasses, I was completely drunk. Doug had also had a couple, but he was a much heavier drinker than I was, so it hadn't really affected him much. In bed that night, I had greedily slurped on his cock for all I was worth. Usually alcohol makes me sleepy, but every now and then I have just the right amount to energize me, instead of knock me out, and to make me horny. I had probably never been so eager to make Doug come. After he finished in my mouth, he was so turned on by my enthusiasm that he grabbed me as I got up to stumble to the bathroom, and kissed me fiercely. I opened my mouth to protest that I hadn't brushed my teeth yet, but he pressed a finger to my lips and dragged me back into the bed.

Once I was on my back, he made a beeline straight for my pussy. I was much more relaxed than I'd ever been before when he'd gone down on me, and I got really caught up in it. I was horny enough that when his tongue went immediately to my clit, I didn't push him away and tell him to slow down like I normally would. Instead, I hissed and bucked my hips, encouraging him on. Getting the hint, he sucked my clit between his lips and proceeded to lash it back and forth with his tongue. At the same time he slid one hand up and slipped first one, and then two fingers into my vagina. Normally that didn't do much for me, but that night the stimulation of his fingers and mouth, combined with the alcohol flowing through my veins, had me squealing and arching my back up off the bed, as I rode my first orgasm to completion.

Instead of stopping, he continued to thrust his fingers in my vagina, and started enthusiastically tonguing my clit again. It was so overly-sensitive I almost screamed, but before I could push him away I felt another orgasm crashing on top of the first one. I'd never had two orgasms consecutively like that, and as I panted and gasped, trying to catch my breath, I started giggling.

Doug seemed to understand that the giggling was my body's hysterical response to sensory overload, and so he continued gently kissing my labia and thigh, his fingers still deep inside my canal. Once the giggling died down, I felt him gently separate my labia with his fingers, and softly lick the entrance to my vagina and my labia.

"God, Doug, not again," I moaned; he looked up at me long enough to give me an impish grin, and went back to licking me. Against my better judgment, I felt a streak of pleasure run from my genitals, up my spine to my scalp, and up my belly to my nipples. When his tongue bumped into my clit again, I twitched with the surplus of stimulation and ground my crotch against his face. He kept at it until I was chanting his name in time with his tender ministrations on my clitoris, and then all of a sudden he stopped.

"Doug?" I pleaded. As I was trembling with the need for one final completion, I felt him climb up beside me, flicking one nipple with his tongue as he passed.

"Roll over," he whispered in my ear. "On your tummy Sarah. Roll over."

I complied, my brain foggy with desire and wine. He tugged me up until I was kneeling on the bed. I felt his weight shift, and suddenly felt a pressure at the entrance to my vagina. The head of his cock slid up and down between my lips a couple of times, gathering moisture. It contacted my hard little nub, and I gasped and convulsed under him. That was all he could take. He positioned his cock at the opening of my tunnel, and slowly pressed in.

I dimly felt the pain of his erection forcing its way past my ring of scar tissue, but in my lust induced haze, I ignored it and slammed my hips back against him. My ass contacted Doug's tummy with enough force to swing his sac forward, and it swung against my clitoris. Almost immediately I started cussing at him, demanding that he fuck me harder and faster. He obeyed my commands, and started ramming himself into me as hard as he could, at high speeds.

Normally when Doug and I had sex, he didn't last very long. This time, however, having come so recently, he was able to hold out much longer. The different angle of penetration was new for me, and between that, the alcohol, and the intermittent contact of his sac on my clitoris, I started shuddering underneath him. When Doug reached around under me, took a nipple between two of his fingers, and pinched, I let out an ear-splitting scream and came. My vagina spasming tightly around his cock finally overwhelmed him, and he groaned and erupted inside me.

As soon as he softened and pulled his limp cock out of my dripping vagina, I slumped to the bed and fell asleep. We both slept well past noon the next day. Not long after that, Doug and I began having problems, and it was never repeated.

I think the beverage of choice that night had been white wine, but I had bought the bottle at the same liquor store. The memories made me smile (it was one of my few happy memories with Doug) while I was waiting in line to pay for the nice bottle of red wine I had chosen; the cashier, who was close to ten years my junior, smiled back with a hopeful look on his face. I shook my head to clear it of the cobwebs, paid for my selection, and hopped back in my car.

********

As I pulled up my blue Chevy outside Steven's door, I automatically checked out my reflection in the rear-view mirror. I tucked a few errant curls behind my ear, and grimaced at the small blemish on my chin. I stuck my purse underneath the passenger seat, and then hopped out of the car, hitting the automatic locks.

For some reason I had dressed carefully; habit, I suppose, when planning to see Steven. I had been wearing my nicest clothes and of course my sexiest undies on all of our dates - for the occasional grope session, as well as 'just in case'. This night was no different - I was wearing my satiny black panties and bra, and a sleeveless sundress; I had put on my usual touch of make-up (just mascara - stupid blond eyelashes), and scrunched my hair up into its usual array of unruly curls that his fingers knotted through so well. I was even wearing high heels - I loved that he was tall enough to tower over me even when I had three inches added to my height. It was silly, really, considering I planned to break up with him that night.

I stepped around the hood of my car and on to the sidewalk; I listened to my heels clicking with satisfaction. I have always loved that sound. However, this time it was not the nice rhythmic ticking that I was used to. As I climbed the wide, cement stairs in front of Steven's house, I tripped.

I didn't just trip and lightly stumble, however. Oh no, not me. I fell. Hard. I'm sure I let out a hell of a scream as I went down; I could actually see myself falling in slow motion, but couldn't seem to do anything to stop it. I landed on my stomach and face, and the pain shooting up through my nose took my breath away. I immediately rolled over and sat up, stomach heaving and eyes watering as a result of my facial injury. I leaned over and hung my head between my knees, willing my lunch to stay down. My nose was bleeding, and I was getting blood all over my dress.

One of Steven's neighbours, an older gentleman (who had been out watering his lawn), started on his way over to assist me. Just at that moment, however, I heard Steven's front door open; my scream probably attracted attention from all over the neighbourhood, I thought gloomily. The neighbour smiled and gave me a look as if asking if I was okay. I nodded, and he went back to his plants. Steven came rushing out to me, stopping dead in his tracks as he saw my bloody face and scraped hands.

"Oh my god, Sarah, are you all right?" His face blanched a little, and I realized how bad I probably looked. It's amazing how seeing blood can make some people light-headed; I was suddenly worried he would pass out, and I knew I wasn't in any shape to catch him. I'd seen more than one full-grown man in the emergency department faint when they caught sight of something messy.

"I'm fine Steven. Honestly. I mostly just bruised my pride," I assured him. "At least I didn't spill the wine!" I showed him the burgundy bottle from the liquor store, miraculously unharmed.

"You look a bit pale. Why don't you sit with me for a second?" I grabbed the bridge of my nose with one hand, squeezing to cut off the dripping blood. Steven sank to the ground one step below me, the expression on his face an interesting mixture of concern and nausea.

"What a way to make an entry," I joked weakly, still clasping my nose. "I never claimed to be graceful." I saw a gleam of humour shining through his eyes, and relaxed. Usually if people can laugh, I don't have to worry about them losing consciousness.

"You know, I could be in big trouble here. I might get sued!" Steven tried to pull off looking scared, and failed miserably. We both burst out laughing.

I threw him my car keys. "Grab me the box of tissues out of the back of my car, and I'll think about forgiving you." He caught the keys, and rushed over to unlock the car. He handed me the tissues, and I started trying to clean up my face.

"Oh, can you grab me the bag in the trunk, too? I think this dress has seen better days," I asked ruefully, noting a rip in the skirt.

"You carry spare clothes when you go on a date?" He asked, a confused look on his face.

"Nah, they're my on-call clothes. I always keep a spare set in my trunk, just in case I get stuck at the hospital overnight." He nodded.

"Why don't we go inside, Sarah? You can get fully cleaned up in there." I nodded, and inched to the edge of the stair, trying to get my feet under me without letting go of my nose. Steven held out his hand to assist me. As I tried to shift my weight and get up, my ankle gave out, and a lightning bolt traveled up my right leg.

I groaned in pain, and sank back down onto the cement. Steven made a grab for my arm, slowing my descent. He kneeled down beside me.

"Something hurt?" I nodded.

"My ankle. I can't put any weight on it." I groaned again. I felt like such an idiot. There's nothing more embarrassing than falling where others can see you, and I cursed my clumsiness.

Steven looked at me, with a hint of a smile on his face. He slung my work bag over his shoulder, and before I knew what was happening, he leaned down, scooped me up in his arms, and started climbing the few stairs left. I shrieked, mostly with surprise, but a large amount of indignation as well.

"Steven, you put me down right now, or I swear..." I started yelling. Steven interrupted me.

"Or you'll what? Bleed on me?" He laughed all the way into the house.

********

Having made it inside without having my head smacked against the door frame, Steven proceeded to try and impress me with how strong he is. Well, let's be honest, I was impressed. I'm no 98 pound woman, you know. And he carried me all over the house, to give me the grand tour. I saw the kitchen, living room, computer room, and both bedrooms. His room was amazingly neat - I wished mine had looked that good when he'd been at my apartment.

I ended up being unceremoniously dumped on the living room couch.

"Stay there a sec. I have to check on the food." And he was gone. I re-evaluated my injuries; palpating my nose, I decided it wasn't broken, and it had apparently stopped bleeding. I gingerly felt my ankle; there are guidelines doctors can follow to figure out if something is broken, or merely sprained. I applied them to my own sore joint, and decided it was a sprain, and that I'd probably live. The palms of my hands were also a mess, but I knew they'd heal in no time. My dress, however, was not so lucky. I'd had plenty of opportunities to learn how to get blood out of clothes (it's an occupational hazard), and I knew that the dress was beyond redemption.

I also had blood all over my face and hands, and it was starting to crust in my hair. If you've ever smelled clotted blood, you know that it is almost impossible to get the horrid metallic smell out of your nose. I was truly disgusted with how I knew I must look, and I hadn't even seen a mirror yet.

Steven strolled in just as I was finishing up my self-inspection. He set a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel on my ankle.

"It'll be about a half-hour before dinner is ready; will that give you time to clean up?"

"Oh Steven, I'm so sorry. What a pathetic mess I am. I've got blood everywhere, and it's not going to come out easily. I should probably just go home."

"Oh? Well, tell me. Which ankle is it that's sore?"

"My right," I responded, puzzled.

"And can you walk on it?"

"I doubt it, at least not without help."

"And could you drive home with it this way?" he persisted.

"Not legally."

"Well then I guess you'll just have to stay here and let me take care of you, because you can't get home by yourself, and I'm not going to drive you." He grinned. I threw the bag of frozen peas at him.

"Seriously, though, please stay? At least let me make it up to you with supper."

I smiled and nodded at him. "Look, I am gonna have to get cleaned up though. Think you can help me and my bag to the bathroom? I'll wash up in the sink."

"I can even do better than that." He lifted me up in his arms again, and headed into the master bedroom. The ensuite shower had a large bench in it, and he deposited me on it.

"Okay, here we go. If I leave you here, can you get undressed, shower, and get dressed again?"

"I think so, Steve. Thanks."

He gave me a funny look. "You've never called me Steve before."

"Oh! I didn't think. You introduced yourself as Steven; I just always called you that. Is it okay? Which would you prefer?"

"Well, normally I hate it when people call me Steve. But for some reason, it doesn't bother me when you do it. I guess you can use whichever you want." I smiled.

"Just yell if you need anything, okay?"

With that, he placed my bag and a large fluffy towel within reach, moved the soap and his shampoo onto the floor at my feet, and left, closing the bathroom door behind him. I leaned back against the shower wall and sighed, running my fingers through my blood-soaked hair. I got undressed, tossing my stained dress out onto the bathroom floor, but placing my underwear on top of my overnight bag. I pulled the shower stall door shut, and turned on the water. I yelped, as the water was cold, but it warmed up quickly. I had to wash my hair twice to be sure all the blood was gone, and I did my best to untangle it while the water ran.

The whole time, the wheels in my brain were spinning frantically. "I can't believe I came over here to break up with the guy, and now he ends up having to take care of me!" I thought to myself. I worried about how I would get home, what would happen for work, and how on earth I was going to break up with this amazing man. To try to distract myself, I started humming snatches of various songs, singing the words if I knew them. I don't really know what I was going on in my head, singing in someone else's shower while that someone was home. I guess it was just a reflex.

I finished up and dried off while sitting on the bench in the shower, balancing precariously on one foot while I dried my rear and put on my panties and the scrub pants I keep in my overnight bag. I hopped awkwardly out of the shower stall and finished getting dressed, then lurched over to the sink to look for a brush. I must have been making a hell of a racket hopping around like that, and soon I heard Steven pounding on the door.

"You okay, Sarah?"

"Yeah, Steven, come on in. I'm decent."

He opened the door, and glanced around quickly as though to verify I truly was dressed before he entered. "You should have let me help you get out," he admonished. I ignored it.

"I like your shower," I commented as I towel-dried my hair vigorously, perched on the counter top.

"And I like you singing in my shower," he shot back, a big shit-eating grin on his face.

"You were listening?? You schmuck!" I cried, incensed. I grinned and playfully swatted him with my towel to soften my words.

"I was worried something would happen to you in there. I just stayed near the door in case you needed help. I swear I wasn't eavesdropping on purpose," he responded. By this time he was standing right next to me.

"You are sweet," I mumbled, and pulled his face down for a kiss. I had meant for it to be a peck, but he had other ideas. Soon we were tongue-wrestling madly, while my mind whirled. How could I be kissing this man who I planned to break up with tonight? His arms wrapped around me, and I groaned into his caresses. His hands were wandering up and down my back, once or twice reaching down to cup my ass, then lightly skimming along my ribs and the side of my breasts. I knew I should stop him, but I didn't. I couldn't.