As she walked the length of the mall back to her car, purchases in hand, Megan’s lust reached the point where it began to worry her. Jesus, I hope I don’t start dribbling onto the floor, she thought. She had gotten off Zoloft a few days earlier, and her sex drive was returning in desperate spurts. And, today being laundry day, she had left the house in a skirt and no underpants. She’d never experienced anything like this, getting wetter and wetter with no stimulation whatsoever and despite her best efforts to repress the feelings. She’d just shaved her legs that morning, and the feeling of her thighs rubbing against each other made her knees literally begin to feel weak. She unconsciously stopped and rubbed the shin of one leg against the calf of the other, smiling softly and then forcing her face back into a neutral appearance.

She had been on the Zoloft for months, ever since she was thrown out of college in her senior year for existentialist pronouncements and heavy drug use and forced back into her parents’ house. They were alright to live with, really, but she couldn’t help feeling a little like a failure and a burden. She dutifully got a job so that she could pay something in rent, but it was the sort of job that makes you feel even more like a failure—the sort of job that drives you to make fun of your supervisor behind his back and smoke pot out by the dumpster on your breaks. Which was ok for a while, but while the Zoloft kept her from returning to the darkest nights of existential depression, she couldn’t help but feel she had lost something of herself. She didn’t cry now, ever. And while that was a relief in one way, it was weird not to ever feel that soul-wracking first sob of a good cry—despite the pain, she felt like bawling was one of the most alive things a person could do. And, she felt, this wasn’t the only thing she was missing. Even the fairly low sex drive she’d had before starting the Zoloft had pretty much disappeared. So she decided to go off the anti-depressant. She cut her dose in half, and then in half again, and as of a few days ago, she was off it entirely, and feeling just fine.

Then, she started feeling the spurts of lust. Before the Zoloft, she had had a few boyfriends, but she’d kind of always felt that the sex part of the relationship was more for their sake than for hers—she’d enjoyed getting a little worked up, but she usually didn’t come, and when she did she was actually a little embarrassed. But last night, with the sudden sexual energy she was beginning to feel, she’d borrowed a Playboy from under her little brother’s mattress (could you believe, he actually hid it under his mattress), and stayed up all night flipping through the pages while fingering her clit and asshole.

Now, in the mall, she felt an even greater wave of lust coming over her. Without really thinking about what she was doing, she started staring at the people walking in the other direction and imagining propositioning them. What about that preoccupied-looking guy in a suit? What would he say if a decent-looking woman half his age invited herself over to his place? Could be married though, and it wouldn’t be right to come on to a married guy. How about that punk rock chick in a Crass shirt and homemade canvass skirt sitting on a bench by the fountain in the mall’s center? She imagined running out into the alley behind the mall, pushing the girl’s skirt up, and keeling before her to lick all around her pussy, shove her tongue deep into her vagina, tap, teasingly, against her clit.

She looked up, made eye contact with the girl, and then looked away, embarrassed. What was she thinking? She couldn’t proposition a random stranger. What if they didn’t want to do it? It would be unbearably embarrassing. She walked quickly past the punk rock girl.

Then she saw him. A year or two younger than she was, wearing sunglasses and a hairstyle he was definitely not cool enough to pull off, and—she knew this immediately somehow, with complete confidence—terribly, terribly horny. He would absolutely, without a doubt, fuck anything that requested it.

She walked up to him and requested it.

Minutes later, she was leading him to her car. In the twilight of the mall parking lot, she felt like they were actors in a mid-eighties heavy metal video—bad kids living out their forbidden love in the back streets of America.

She sensed immediately that she was going to have to pretty much lead the way with this kid. He was eager, but, she could tell, pretty inexperienced. She put on the oldies station on the radio and drove out to a spot she knew next to the pond. She and an old boyfriend had gone there a few times, and while it was a little scary to think how easily you could get caught, it was also kind of a romantic spot. She pulled over and led the kid into the back seat. This wasn’t going to be overly comfortable, but she’d just have to make up for that with the adventure of the thing.

Sitting side-by-side in the back seat, she pulled him to her and kissed him, softly at first, and then more demandingly, rubbing her hands all down his body, sliding them lightly over the wakening hardness in his jeans. She pulled off his shirt and ran her mouth over his chest, stopping to lick and bite lightly at each of the nipples, and then down his side to the top of his jeans. Deftly, she undid his belt and pulled the jeans down to his ankles. Her mouth moved slowly down his side and then down the inside of his thigh, and then over slightly to just barely touch his balls, and then farther over his balls until she was licking and sucking at them while beginning to touch his cock with her hand. And then pushing his now-rock-hard dick all the way down her throat and then twirling her tongue along the shaft as she released and then re-enveloped the cock.

By now she was trembling hard, but she wanted to get everything she could out of this experiment. She pushed him down until he was lying on his back across the back seat, and propped herself up above his head, one leg standing on the floor and the other bent and braced against the car seat, her skirt falling around his face. His tongue licked merrily along the length of her vulva and even down into the other hole below—score a point for the boy. She moaned approvingly, and noticed what fun it was to advertise her pleasure, something she’d never felt in her previous relationships. Grunting with enjoyment, she ground her cunt against the guy’s mouth, and then, just before reaching the point of no return, she pulled away and slid her hands gently down his front.

Fuck. We need a condom, she thought. Oh god, she wanted him fucking her so badly, but she just couldn’t do that without a condom. She must restrain herself. But here she was, more carried away then she ever remembered being in her life, and she couldn’t imagine what she would do if she couldn’t have him inside her. Hey, she said, trying to sound casual, you got a condom? He smiled and said sure, and reached into the wallet that had fallen from his jeans. She looked at the thing, not even expired she thought and carefully opened the package and slid the condom over his cock. Then, she moved on top of him, and, gravely, slid the head of his cock into her pussy. Then, hard and fast, she enveloped the whole thing, and then faster, she did it again. She got into a fast rhythm, broken up only by occasional swivels of the hips, to the left or right. God he felt good inside her, so fucking hard and big and ready. She wanted to make him come, with precisely the same frenzy and intensity that she wanted the same thing for herself. She slowed her thrusts and leaned down softly to kiss his lips and run hers down his throat to his nipples.

Hey she whispered softly, trying to sound breathy but not like she was trying too hard, how do you like fucking me? He looked at her cautiously then quietly responded, it’s great. Mmmm, she responded, it feels so good, your big hard cock sliding into my pussy. For a moment she worried she was sounding ridiculous, but, as she slid her hand down around his balls and continued fucking him rhythmically, she realized he was too far gone to care. As she firmly and deliberately slid up and down his dick while massaging his balls, she felt that sudden rock-hard tenseness of his whole body and saw the overwhelmed look in his eyes, and on the next thrust she could no longer contain herself, and came with a low moan and then several almost-frantic whimpers of enjoyment, which ended just as he began his final thrust, seemed suspended above his body for a moment, and then relaxed back into the car seat with a look of complete satisfaction on his face. Which might as well have been a refection of hers.

As they lay there for a moment, she felt her rational mind return to her body, having seemingly been banished for the past hour. Her mind ran critically through her behavior, but finding nothing overly dangerous or hurtful had been done, she settled on a bemused pride. She sat up quietly and began dressing, and the boy did the same. She slid back up into the driver’s seat and asked, want me to take you home? He nodded and gave her directions to an ugly complex of pre-fab buildings that formed much of the off-campus housing available for students at the local college. She stopped at his door and wondered what the appropriate way to end the evening would be. Really, she just wanted to return to her own bed and maybe write the experience up in the journal that she kept meaning to update.

He opened the door and she said well, that was fun. Thanks. He looked at her in a slightly dazed manner and wrote his number on a matchbox he pulled out of his pocket. If you want to, you know, call me anytime, he said. And she said thanks and drove the car back home, playfully considering whether to call him, and whether to go back to the mall some time and see if she can find that punk rock girl again.

Wow, she thought, I was right. I was missing some stuff that’s way better than having a good cry. @