Ethan's breath swept over my collarbone in between kisses, his erection grazing the spot between my thighs. I had a lean leg on each side of him, my back against his fuzzy blanket and my chest against his.
I raised my hips to grind against him, each movement making my libido hitch. If I could've seen over the edge of the bed and onto the floor, I would've seen my golden, strapless dress and red bra littered over his carpet. All I had on now was my thong and glittery, peep-toed heels.
"You sure you're ready?" he asked, heavy breaths accenting each word.
I stole a glance at the clock on his nightstand and said, "Been ready for ninety whole minutes."
He laughed, and I laughed along with him, because an hour and a half was exactly how long we'd known each other. His roommate had invited me to a party at their dorm, where Ethan and I had happened to start talking (and by talking, I mean flirting). We could still hear the partygoers playing beer pong through his bedroom door (and by beer pong, I mean chugging tequila out of little red cups).
It's not like I was new to the whole "sex" thing. I'd lost my virginity back in high school. Now that I was in the college, smack dab in the middle of my experimentation phase, it wasn't unusual for me to return to my own dorm with a stranger.
Some girls, even friends of mine, considered me a slut, but I just called myself curious. Not like I cheated or spread around AIDs. I wasn't a heartbreaker. I wasn't pregnant. I was careful. I was smart.
That's why I asked, "Where do you keep your condoms?"
He paused for a second, like the question had come out of nowhere, and finally said, "I'm out. Used up the last of them."
He returned to kissing me on my neck, and tried to make his way down to my chest, but I grabbed the hair on his neck and yanked until his head popped up.
Like most men, he found the move sexy. "You want to be in control, huh?" he asked. "Go on. Tell me what you want."
"I want you to go get my condoms. I have some in my pocketbook, but I left it in the other room."
His brows furrowed. "You carry that stuff around?"
"Yeah. In case I sleep with an irresponsible imbecile like you." I said it with a smirk, a playful lilt in my voice, but he didn't look amused.
"Aren't you on the pill?"
"I am. But that's not going to do anything to prevent the spread of STDs. You should know that. First grade stuff."
"So you don't think I'm clean?" he asked, clearly insulted.
"You think **I** am?"
That made his nose rise. "Wait. You have an STD?"
"No. But that's not the point."
He was siting on his knees now, and I had my back against the headboard. No part of our bodies were touching, not our legs or our fingers.
"Come on," he groaned. "You know how much condoms suck."
"Do they suck more than the hot girl leaving your bed and forcing you to masturbate to get rid of your blue balls?"
His eyes rolled, and when he got off the bed and pulled on his jeans, I assumed he was going to return to the party, find a new girl, and pray she wasn't as naggy as I was.
Instead, he asked, "What does your bag look like?" and went on a search for it, so that we could have the safe one-night stand I'd wanted.
** That's the whole story! Remember ladies, stay safe! **