Panserhistory, part 6: Michelle

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y'know....do THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

Part 6: Michelle

I was doing some theater work about three times a week when I met Michelle. One of the other players had brought her by one evening because she had been interested in seeing what we did. I noticed her right away -- tiny, cute, blonde mop of hair, bubbly personality, very friendly and approachable. She was the very definition of the word "spunky" in many ways. I spent a while talking to her and decided I was more than passably interested. We all went out for dinner later that evening and I sat near her again for more fun conversation, where she again demonstrated the same likable qualities. She was a lot of fun to be around -- relentlessly cheerful, upbeat, good sense of humor, laughed a lot. I couldn't help noticing that she was also more than a little ditzy and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, not as intelligent as I tend to prefer in the women I'm dating. But she was cute and fun and had a nice, tight little body, which she kept in a constant state of animation. And I kept wondering if that energy would translate into the bedroom. I could tell she wasn't serious relationship material, but I'd tried the serious relationship thing several times already and it hadn't worked so well. Maybe it was time for something casual and fun.

So, even though Michelle was very little like me -- different backgrounds, different interests, almost nothing in common -- I asked her out. She said yes, and I arranged to come by her place and pick her up since she had no car. I had a moment's discomfiture when she said she lived in a trailer park with a pair of friends -- thinking, Do I really want to be seeing a trailer park girl? Have I sunk that low? -- but what the hell, I could roll with the unexpected, right?

Well, maybe. When I picked her up, I was a bit shocked by the condition of the place. The park itself pretty much fit every stereotype of trailer parks: dirty, disorganized, trash lying around, cars up on blocks, stray animals running loose, etc. The trailer she lived in was no better than the others outside, although when she invited me in I found it was a bit neater inside. Only in the general area, though. When she showed me her room, she apologized for it being so messy, but "messy" wasn't the word. It was a wreck. Clothes everywhere, CDs and other possessions flung all over the place, bras hanging on the blinds -- yeah, it was pretty high-class, all right.

I tactfully suggested that we head elsewhere, and we went out for a pretty standard dinner-and-a-movie. And had a lot of fun, actually, although I kept wondering at times what I was really doing. But then I'd look at the way her breasts bounced under her tight shirt, or she would touch me on the arm while making a point, or I'd ogle her ass in the tight jeans she favored, or she'd laugh a go-to-hell laugh that was so endearing. And then I'd reassure myself that I was having fun, so what if she was a lot different from me?

We had several more dates over the next couple of weeks. It got physical pretty quickly. On our third date, she turned 21 and I took her out for drinks, and she practically attacked me in my car on the way back to her place. Only incredible self-control kept me from letting her hop on my cock right there in the parking lot -- she made it pretty clear she wanted just that, but I didn't really like the idea of getting arrested. A few times we made out on her couch, but then we'd have to stop because her roommates would walk in and the guy apparently objected to her having male companions over. God only knows why.

Each time I was out with her, I had fun, but I kept having misgivings -- about her carefree attitude to everything, about her let's-just-have-fun way of dealing with things, about her vastly different background, about her overall wild-child feel. A few times she accused me of being a stick-in-the-mud; I'd never felt like one before, but compared to her, I was. Still, I kept seeing her, and the theater troupe eventually started asking what was going on with me and Michelle. We weren't hiding it, exactly, but the truth was that I felt a bit embarrassed about being out with her sometimes because she really was lower-class than me. That's a shitty thing to say, but we really were radically different.

Still, I was still mostly enjoying it, at least for now, and I was still very curious about whether that body lived up to its promise. So one night I convinced her to come over to my place for the evening. We watched a movie and she eventually snuggled up on my chest and fell asleep there. I woke her up and gently suggested that we move to the bedroom, and she didn't seem to mind that idea at all.

There was no blushing or uncertainty about her. She was totally matter-of-fact about the whole thing, pulling off her top and skimming out of her tight jeans like it was absolutely nothing. There was no mystery to it, no teasing -- one minute she was dressed and the next her clothes were lying on the floor in a heap. Her breasts were small and pert and had bright pink nipples, already hard and pointing at me. Her pussy wasn't shaved, but was trimmed very very short. She waggled her ass at me and lay down on my bed, and said, "Well?" I was a bit nonplused about her carefree, detached attitude, but got my own clothes off as well, and started in with the kisses and licks and caresses that had served me so well with the other women I'd been with.

And that's where the problems started. See, it turned out that she was absolutely hypersensitive to being touched. I couldn't caress her breasts, or kiss them, or suck on her nipples, without her screeching and writhing away from me in giggles. Same went for her thighs, her back, her neck, her ears -- all the zones I loved to attack, and had been weak points in the women I'd been with. Each time I tried it, anywhere I tried it, hands or lips or tongue, she would shriek and twitch and start giggling, which (after being repeated several times) is a hell of a mood killer.

Oh, she was eager enough. I could smell her arousal from almost the second she got her jeans off. She didn't mind fondling and caressing me, and she played with my cock like an expert. She liked being kissed, and hard. Her tongue was in my mouth from almost the first kiss. She liked to be bitten on the throat, or on the shoulders, and hard. But any light touches -- and I love light touching and lots of caresses and foreplay -- were right out. And she let me go down on her but it was obviously not her thing. I kept asking how she liked it but she wouldn't give me any feedback, only more giggles. After about five or ten minutes of near dead silence from her while I tried every trick I knew with mouth and tongue and fingers, she finally giggled and said "Look, why don't you just get a condom and fuck me already?"

More than a little off-putting, right? It got worse. I dutifully put on a condom and slid into her, starting off slow and grinding. But she was almost totally silent. She wrapped her arms around me and her legs too, and would make a few soft gasps, but I absolutely could not tell whether or not she was enjoying it at all. I kept asking her if that felt good, or if she wanted it harder or deeper, or faster, or slower....or anything. Each time she'd just giggle at me (I was starting to hate that giggle), or reply in just one or two words, or not answer at all. Finally I figured out that she liked it when I pounded her really really hard -- that finally got her gasping and moaning, digging at my back, calling out. Both of us started making more noise and it looked like the night was going to be kind of fun after all. The headboard started thumping against the wall and the bed began moving slowly across the hardwood floors of my apartment as we got more enthusiastic.

And right then the people in the apartment below me started banging on the ceiling and shouting to hurry it up and finish already, it was past midnight.

That was pretty much the last straw. Michelle and I looked at each other, frozen, and then we both started laughing helplessly. My cock wilted a bit, but with a bit of encouragement I managed to get hard enough again to at least finish up. I still don't know whether Michelle came from our fucking or not, and she wouldn't let me finger her or give her any oral, so that was out too. Soon she was asleep, sprawling across most of the bed and taking most of the covers. I got up and padded to the bathroom, wondering what the hell had just happened, and what the fuck I was doing with this girl. I shook my head, then went back to bed and curled up next to Michelle. Sleep was a long time coming.

Next morning Michelle showed absolutely no discomfort or awkwardness at being nude in my bed on The Day After. Ruefully, I decided she'd probably done this sort of thing lots of times before. No discomfort or awkwardness, no, but neither did she seem to have any interest in another round. She woke up after I did and immediately started getting dressed. It was only later that I realized she had maybe decided the previous night was a mistake too.

I took her out to breakfast -- it's only polite after a one-night stand, I had heard -- and then ran her home. I kissed her goodnight and she told me to call her, but I think we both knew I wasn't going to do anything of the sort. She went on into the trailer without a backward glance, her ass still swinging quite nicely in those tight jeans.

I shook my head and got out of there. I did see Michelle a few more times, but only at the theater, and usually in the company of some guy. A different one each time, I noted. About two months later she stopped hanging out at the theater with us; about a month later, somebody told me that she was pregnant. A year after that, I heard she was pregnant for the second time, by another father, still unmarried, and dating an honest-to-God monster-truck driver. You dodged a bullet there, old son, I thought to myself, not very charitably, when I heard how she had ended up.

I didn't get much out of my brief time with Michelle other than my first one-night stand. I did get one belief turned on its head, though. Used to be that I thought that even bad sex was better than no sex at all. Wrongo. I realized even halfway through that night that I wasn't having any fun, and by the next morning I was full-on into good LORD that was a bad fucking idea territory. So bad sex is not better than no sex at all. This also kind of turned me off the whole "casual sex" thing for a while, although seeing how well it works for so many of you, I'm readjusting my beliefs back in the other direction now. As long as it's with a decent partner!

Anyhow, thanks for a wild couple of weeks, Michelle. It was......interesting.

-- PB