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Oh, the things we do in the name of love.

.."

"It's okay," I said. "My fault. I distracted you."

"You can distract me anytime. Seriously, I'll make this up to you later." She blew me a kiss and was out the door, as always a whirling dervish.

After she left I jacked off to the memory of her pussy. Even by myself I reached a knee-shaking orgasm.

--

It was pouring rain on the day Jean Martel lost her virginity. (Or so she tells me; this is all hearsay but at least it's true for one person.) Her younger brother's friend Lyle had come over to play video games. The only issue was that Jean's brother wasn't actually there. He was, it turned out later, stuck behind a traffic accident.

So Jean was shanghaied into keeping him company and making sure he didn't break anything. To her surprise Lyle was actually, and I quote, "an interesting guy". Somehow they ended up in her room and she reached into his pants and things spiralled out from there.

At that time Jean was eighteen, in her first year at McGill, where she would go through four majors in eighteen months before dropping out. Her brother and Lyle were in tenth grade. She had fooled around with some guys before, but never gone all the way. But as soon as she touched his dick Lyle was a pornographic robot, wordlessly pulling her pants down, constantly pushing forward until he was thrusting through her hymen. Three short strokes later and he came, pulling out to shoot on her tits.

It was painful and disillusioning. The two of them never really talked again, her brother never found out, and she swore off men, dedicating herself to the one-woman cult of masturbation. Obviously (she told me this postcoitally) it didn't stick, but she still remembered every detail.

Like I said, I don't know if this is the truth. Maybe Lyle (if that's even his name) rocked her world and she just didn't want to threaten my self-esteem. Like I would feel envious of a fifteen-year-old kid anyway.
Okay, I'll admit it. I'm a little jealous. Not proud of it.

--

The furniture store. Two PM on a Tuesday. Half a week since I had tasted Jean's pussy.

Jean bounded up to me with a bright grin on her face. "You've got to see this, Dave. We've got a busker outside."

"A what?"

"You know, like a street performer?"

"Oh. I think that's a first." We were nestled away in a dull residential area that rarely saw a lot of foot traffic. But summer was winding down, and the school year was approaching, so the place was packed with kids going off to college. I guess if you were going to busk here it this would be this time of year.

We drifted through the crowds and reached the front of the store, where we could see and hear a silver-haired man strumming out the old standards on an acoustic guitar. Judging from the money haphazardly dropped in his case, he wasn't doing too badly. I don't think the guy was a hobo - or if he was, he pulled it off with a remarkable amount of dignity.

Jean put an arm around my waist and rested her head on my shoulder. I was startled at the public contact. "I still owe you from last weekend," she said.

"You'd better be careful," I said, teasing her. "I charge interest."

"Well, I guess I'd better pay it back right away, then."

"How about Thursday night?"

"How about right now?"

Once again I was startled. "You serious? We're kind of busy..."

"Fuck the customers. I don't get horny that often." (This was a lie.) "So you'd better take advantage when that happens."

What can I say? I followed her into the employee bathroom, feeling my cock begin to stiffen in my pants.

Jean shut the door and pulled open my fly. She moved quickly, unbuttoning my jeans and dropping them around my ankles. She reached up and rubbed her hand along my boxer shorts, rubbing the fabric across my cock and teasing my balls. She was grinning ear to ear. I don't think I'd ever seen a girl look this excited about giving head.

She tugged my shorts down and my cock flopped out, almost hitting her in the face.

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