I Met a Slutty, Kinky, Bisexual Vassar Girl. We Could NOT Stop Fucking.
You can take the girl out of Vassar...
All photos are of Daphne, courtesy of Daphne.
There’s a moment when a gorgeous woman first enters a crowded room, and all conversation ceases. Heads turn to stare as the light hits her just right, causing her skin to shimmer and her eyes to sparkle. She flips her hair in slow-motion, revealing her regal neck. She’s a little flustered, having just walked into a loud and packed room, but that only humanizes her. It reminds all those gawking that she isn’t a fembot, only there for the male gaze, but a real person with feelings and desires.
Nineties movies knew how to depict the female entrance. And my favorite of all of them has to be from The Mask, when Cameron Diaz, escaping the rain, stepped foot into the bank where Jim Carrey begrudgingly worked.
The chokehold this scene had on me from a young age. Diaz’s red, form-fitting dress shows off her hourglass figure. The pan up from her shoes, to her legs, to her breasts, to her face. And that subtle hair flip ending with Diaz pushing up the back of her hair? I honestly think this scene alone complicated my coming out process. Men? I didn’t know them. All I knew was Cameron. All I craved is Cameron.
I hadn’t thought about Diaz’s entrance in years until recently, when I saw it in real life. Only it wasn’t with Cameron. It was with Daphne (link NSFW). She wasn’t wearing a red, but rather, lacy baby blue. Her hair was shorter, and her breasts were bigger, and I stopped mid-conversation with my friend, Violet, to stare. Violet, an extremely lesbian-leaning bisexual, was also bewitched.
“My God,” I said, turning away from Violet.
“Seriously,” she replied.
Violet and I tried to return to our conversation, but neither of us remembered what we had discussed. Neither were we looking at each other. We were just staring at Daphne.
“Okay, I feel like I should talk to her!”
“Duh,” Violet replied.
I headed over but didn’t want to interrupt her conversation. Instead, I began speaking to my friend, Ryan, but when I overheard that she had graduated from Vassar College, I nearly lost my goddamn mind. As my friends (or anyone who’s read Boyslut: A Memoir and Manifesto) knows, I graduated from Vassar a decade ago and, to this day, am obsessed with it. It helped shape me into the man I am today, and my best friends are still from that small liberal arts college.
“Did I hear you went to Vassar?” I asked Daphne.
She turned her head toward me, her smile big and wide. “Yes, I graduated in 2018.”
“Omg, I graduated in 2013,” I replied.
That was all it took. Seconds later, the two of us were on the couch, having a quintessential Vassar conversation (i.e., knee-deep in sexual identity politics). But to our credit, we weren’t just regurgitating a 101 gender studies angle; we spoke with nuance and complexities. We reveled in the gray.
When I tell you I was smitten.
The quickest way to my heart—beyond having an ass with its own gravitational pull—is through deep conversation. I’m attracted to people who have opinions, express themselves without fear, and teach me new things—the latter being the most important. I’m often delegated into the role of “teacher” in my relationships, but I would like to learn and grow, too.
When I asked to kiss Daphne, I knew the answer would be yes. We were gazing into each other’s like teenagers on prom night. She was just waiting for me to make the first move. I grabbed the back of her waist, pulled her in close, and we locked lips.
We both smiled as we pulled away.
“Oh Jesus,” I said, looking down. I was wearing assless leather chaps with a green satin thong. (Did I mention we were at a pregame before heading to the BDSM-focused sex party, Hit Me Up?) The outline of my dick, underneath my tight thong, was on display.
“Ohhh,” she cooed.
“I would really, really like to have sex with you when we get to Hit Me Up if you’re down,” I said. It was forward, but I was confident we were on the same page.
“I’d really, really like that,” she replied, flashing her pearly whites.
Thirty minutes later, we were at HMU’s venue downtown. Thirty-six minutes later, we were lying on the mats, naked, with no one besides us. The party was just getting started, so folks weren’t playing yet. That didn’t stop us. We had been flirting now for what felt like forever and were raring to go.
Once she was completely undressed, I took a moment to take in her beauty. Her cherubic face with a bit of blush accentuating her cheeks. Her green eyes were ablaze. Her red lips curved slightly into a seductive smile.
Her silken skin felt almost fake. No one has skin that soft except, apparently, Daphne.
And her curves were otherworldly: massive breasts leading to a tiny waist that ballooned to a planetary ass.
I could hardly focus. Daphne didn’t seem real. She was too gorgeous, too out of my league. Like Jim Carrey, I was shocked to learn that this goddess was interested in me.
I spread her legs apart and looked at her pretty, shaven pussy. I looked back at her, sustaining eye contact as I buried my face between her legs.
I nuzzled my nose against her clit and licked her pussy lips. Daphne let out a whimper. I inserted a finger. She was already drenched.
“So wet, baby,” I said.
“All because of you, Daddy,” she said. I love me some DDLG (Dom Daddy/Little Girl) roleplay.
“What else do you like?” I asked.
“I like it—” I started to finger her harder while swirling my tongue around her clitoris.
“Answer the question,” I said.
“I—I like being choked. My…my—fuck.”
“Keep going,” I commanded.
“My hair pulled, face slapped, ass slapped, nipples pinched. I like a rough, Daddy.”
“Good girl,” I said, crawling up from her pussy, her juices running down my chin. “Taste how sweet you are.”
I spat into her mouth, and she thanked me. I brushed my hand against the side of her face.
“I’m going to slap you now.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said. And I slapped her rosy cheek, grabbed her face, and kissed her.
“Does my good girl want to get fucked?” I asked.
“Please. I need you, Daddy.”
She looked at me with that sub face. You know the face—biting her lip, big innocent eyes. It’s a look that asks, “Do you want me?” It’s an alluring visage but unnecessary, as the answer is always, “I want nothing more than you.”
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