What's Your Number? #5

I didn't stay in residence while I went to university, but I did inevitably end up in a dorm room once or twice.

What is about post-secondary education that makes us all turn into reckless, uninhibited sex addicts? You can lie and say you weren't one of those and maybe I'll believe you. But in my experience, it's those college years that bring out the little slut in all of us. Is it a bad thing? Of course not. But there's a reason all the welcome packages you receive in university include at least one condom. We all know what goes on in those dorms. I lived off campus but I sure managed to find out for myself.

Welcome to my countdown of the Top 10 (and only 10) men I have slept with. I recently reached this milestone and decided that there was truly no better way to celebrate than to take a look back at the best of the best and the worst of the worst. And now it's time we take a look at the guy who taught me the pleasures of rough sex, Noah.

(I want to quickly make it clear that I am talking about consensual, rough sex here. I do not condone any sexual partners taking advantage, abusing, or otherwise causing physical/emotional harm during sex when it is not specifically consented to by all parties involved.)

Do you remember the first time a guy wasn't so gentle with you? When his hands held you a little tighter than normal; when his hips pistoned just a little bit harder; when his teeth lingered just a little bit longer? Do you remember how that felt? Were you excited by it? Terrified? Maybe a little bit of both simultaneously?

Yeah, me too.

Noah and I collided our freshman year of university. He was tall with ashy blond hair, big hands, and a deeply charming lopsided smile. An environmental science major, he smoked weed, listened to Simon and Garfunkel, and ate blueberry toaster waffles for dinner almost every night.

He was strange and new to me, and I wanted him so badly.

We really didn't know each other very long before he invited me over to his dorm "to watch a movie." Up until this point, I think we'd been casual friends with a sort of understanding that it was always going to end up in a bedroom eventually.

I mean, we really didn't have that much in common. Our conversations weren't particularly stimulating by any means, and I never told my friends about him. It felt like we were in this strange, secluded bubble together. I never considered us to be dating. We texted, we flirted, and eventually, we hooked up.

His co-ed dorm was like nothing I had ever experienced before. I'm not sure what exactly I had been expecting, but I suppose it was more akin to what American coming-of-age movies had led me to believe dorm-life would be like. I pictured people crowding the hallways for communal hang-outs and guys throwing footballs and a lot of music blasting from subwoofers. But I was wrong.

The floors, which were completely empty, all smelled like Old Spice body spray and microwave popcorn. There wasn't much noise at all, beyond an odd cough that came from behind a door, muffled talking through the walls, or the sound of toilets being flushed inside the shared washrooms. No one came out of their room while I searched either side of the hallway for Noah's.

Each closed door boasted a cheerfully painted sign, courtesy of the resident advisors. Noah's had his name written in several different colours and was covered in emoji stickers. Someone had used a black marker and added a lot of cartoon penises, particularly near the mouths of the poor emojis.

The first thing I noticed once I was inside Noah's dorm room was how small his bed was. I wasn't an idiot — I knew he'd invited me over to hookup. But as I apprehensively observed the twin bed, and then looked at the 6'2 guy next to me, I realized the math really wasn't working out in his favor.

But, that turned out not to be much of a problem at all.

I was lifted up onto his desk, which was opposite his bed, as Noah quickly rid me of my shirt and bra. He worked fast. Incredibly fast. So fast that I felt dizzy trying to keep up with him, my own hands awkward and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he worked on my jeans. I was naked miles before he was. He clearly knew what he was doing.

I learned very quickly what Noah liked, and that was to be in control. When he dropped to his knees in front of me and pulled my legs apart, I self-consciously tried to close them again. But his hands were strong and they forced my legs open again as he grinned wickedly up at me.

"Stay," he said. And I did.

He kept his hands around my calves so my legs were splayed apart, giving him perfect access to my center. When he tasted me, I moaned and then stopped myself, remembering where we were and how thin the walls were. I feared being too loud and risking any of his neighbors hearing us.

Noah didn't like that. He lifted his face and looked at me. "I don't want you to be quiet," he said in a low voice that I hadn't heard from him before.

"I don't want your neighbors to hear us."

He was unfazed. "Let them."

While he ate me out, I gripped the edges of his desk and did my best not to think about who might be listening to us on the other side of the walls. Eventually, I became so distracted by the intense pleasure Noah was orchestrating from between my legs that I forget where we were entirely. I was too caught up in the orgasm I felt building.

My legs tensed, my moans increased, and I fell back on my elbows, already anticipating sweet release.

And then Noah stopped.

I blinked up at his ceiling, completely confused and reluctantly feeling my orgasm receding. He pulled me up so we were eye to eye, and gave me a long, deep kiss. I tasted myself on his tongue and felt a wicked thrill.

When he pulled back, he was completely sober. "I don't want you to cum yet," he said firmly.

I frowned. Wasn't the goal to make me cum? Why avoid it? "Um, when do I get to?" I asked.

"When I say so."

I had never seen this side of Noah before. He was usually so calm, so even-tempered. Don't get me wrong, he wasn't angry or anything. I didn't feel like I was in any sort of danger. He was just different. It was actually very exciting to witness this new aspect of his personality. So he was dominant. Very interesting.

He fisted his cock in his hand and instructed me to go lie down on his bed. Once there, I watched him approach me slowly, his eyes taking in every inch of my naked body which trembled a little under his stare. I was nervous and excited, no longer trying to anticipate his next move. It was impossible to.

He never asked me to touch him, never asked for my mouth around his cock. He simply rolled on a condom and then collapsed over top of my body, holding his weight in his forearms. I wondered, briefly, if he felt cramped in this tiny bed. But when the tip of his cock teased my clit, I closed my eyes and effectively stopped thinking altogether.

Noah fucked harder than I had ever experienced before. His thrusts were deep and perfectly precise, hitting my most sensitive spot without fail each time. The orgasm I had been so unfairly refused earlier now threatened to peak as his fingers found my clit. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to get me close, trying to make my body fight against an orgasm it so desperately needed. He knew that and he used that to his advantage. He wanted me to beg for it.

At some point I began clawing at his back, my nails digging hard into his skin as I fought my own body's plea for pleasure. Noah quickly noticed and that same grin returned to his lips.

"You're fighting it," he said, nipping at my earlobe and then tugging on it. "All you have to do is ask."

I could barely think, let alone speak at that moment. My mouth released a stream of noises I didn't even recognize or realize could come from my own lips. Whatever he was doing, he was doing so perfectly.

"Ask," he said again, more firm this time. He locked gazes with me and repeated himself one more time.

"Please." I'd finally found my voice. "Can I please cum?"

I was so far gone at that point that I knew I would give up, no matter what he said. Thankfully, he was done playing games. He gave one nod and that was all it took. I let myself go, succumbing to one of the most intense, most gratifying orgasms of my existence. Through the thick gauze clouding my brain, I recognized the smirk on Noah's face, followed by the grimace as he too finished.

I saw Noah a few more times after this before classes finished for the summer. I still never told anyone about him because he was my dirty little secret, and somehow I liked it better that way.

His fingers used to leave deep bruises on my skin from where he gripped me too hard, but I didn’t mind. It made me feel special, going to lectures and knowing I was harboring these little secrets under my clothes. When I had hickies I put my hair up so people could see them. When he bit my lips hard enough to turn them purple I wore it proudly like a new shade of lipstick.

I don't think we were friends with benefits, like #8 and I were because it was more than that. I think of us as two people who collided and reaped the benefits of such a collision together on several occasions. It almost seems ungrateful to call Noah merely a friend with benefits. He was more than that to me. He brought me to new heights, introduced me to new experiences, and taught me just how thrilling sex can be, when done right.

And isn't that what college is all about?

Stay tuned for #4.