What My Mother Never Knew #20: Dark Intrusion

After sitting on the toilet for about 15 minutes, I decided that knowing who was in my bed was more important than any ill fate that might be waiting. I could hear that he hadn't left the room. I had enjoyed the privacy of this room in the basement for a year or so but now I wasn't so sure. But even if my mom did come downstairs, it would be pretty hard to convince her that I didn't know who was in my bed or how he had gotten there.

I cracked the door and tried to peer into the darkness.... but having come from a lit bathroom I could see nothing. I shut the door and turned on the light. Propped up on my pillow with a Cheshire grin on his face was a guy I knew from up the street. A gorgeous guy who sold us dope once in an while -we'd smoked some with him a few weeks earlier up in the park. He was heartstoppingly sexy in a Jim Morrison, "just passing through" kinda way. He was the last person I'd expected to see in my bed, in the middle of the night, with my mother and step-dad upstairs.... I couldn't believe the nerve.

"How did you get in?"

"The back door was unlocked"

Hmmmm..... I stood there taking this image in, his dark tussled hair, his taught bicepts, his inviting smile.

"You look cold. Why don't you come back to bed?"

I stood there in my oversized Black Sabbath t-shirt, feeling completely shy but secretly thrilled that he'd actually noticed me. I turned out the light and got back into bed.

His mouth was warm and sensuous. Some guys couldn't kiss but this one did it justice. He kissed me in a way that I could feel in both sets of lips, his hunger pressing through a probing mouth, exploring my lips, my tongue, my ears and neck... I opened up to this sexual god, allowing him access once again, consciously this time. He was more muscular than I thought and deliberate in his movements. This wasn't some floundering adolescent, desperate to get his rocks off. This was a passionate, sensitive intruder, totally aware of the female body, teasing out moans and squirms, enjoying the reaction almost as much as his own pleasure.

Shadows move under the sheets, legs spread wider as he enters me, slowly, inviting my lips to reach out and encircle him. I'm now fully engaged, he - fully engorged. We hold this sweet moist-plunge pleasure, frozen on the edge of time, such a beautiful sensation. And then slowly, I squeeze my pussy and he pushes in as deeply as I can receive. We move together and apart - he teases, I laugh, I push him away, feigning resistance. And we make love for what seems like hours. And then, just as the nightingales begin their early song, he slips from my bed, grins at me and then exits just as silently as he must have come in. Wow - now I've been truly fucked.

Driving up to Whistler the next day with my family for a ski vacation, I feel the dull ache in my labia that reminds me of my rock-star lover and I hold the memory in like a toke or a snorted line that continues to deliver it's punch long after the party's over. My best friend later confided that my behaviour that night confirmed to her that I was a full-fledged slut (she had actually done worse than that - and more often), but I guess I didn't mind her thinking that. It is still probably one of the most sensuous memories I've carried; well worth the breech of appropriateness. And it's not like anyone else ever knew about it... until now I guess.