Hey guys, I’m Jaan, 5’11”, Bangalore, skinny frame, nothing to brag about in the looks department.
I’m still raw from it. This is my truth, no hookups before her, no lies. First day of my master’s at this big-shot college, I saw Nihal. 5’8″, skin like milk, smile that punched me straight in the chest. I still feel it in my heart when I think about it.
Breaks became my quiet obsession: watching her laugh with her girls. She was shy, always in her pack, never alone. Six months of stolen glances. Then one day, by the elevator, she caught me staring. Her friends had already whispered my name.
After that, every corridor was a silent spark. Another six months of that slow burn. Saturday, heart pounding, I pulled her aside.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
She froze. “What?”
“I’m into you. And I love you”
“I don’t love you. I don’t want anyone.” Voice cracking.
“Two days. Just think.” She walked away.
Two days later, her friend blocked me: “She’s not interested. Leave her.”
It gutted me. I don’t smoke, but that night I did, then shot her a bitter “thanks” on FB. She was online at 11 PM and asked why I felt that way. We typed till 12:30. I promised silence.
Two months later, it’s her birthday. Midnight call, first wish. She was shocked and demanded the number. I begged for a morning meet, gifts in hand. She said yes. I waited. She didn’t come. I drank hard, texted garbage. She panicked as she thought I’d hurt myself.
Texts are turned daily. Four months in, she was my closest friend. She knew I loved her, but she said she needed time. One evening, we wandered through Lalbagh, talking like we’d known each other forever. At 8:30 PM, rain crashed down. Soaked, we ducked into a park near her place.
She shivered. I pulled her in, hand on her tiny waist, stared at those wet lips. I kissed her, deep, tongue sliding in like I’d die without it. She jumped, scared, angry, ready to run. I whispered, “I’m sorry, I just want you so fucking bad.”
She softened, said okay, but I stayed quiet, hating myself. Rain hit again; under a dripping tree, I kissed her harder. This time, she kissed back, a soft moan in her throat, her boobs pressed to my chest. I held her tight, dick rock-hard against her pussy through wet clothes.
Guilt slammed me. I pulled away. Walked her home in silence. That night, we picked apart every second in chat. Then, one day, “I love you too… but I’m not sure.” My heart exploded.
Aunt and uncle are out of town, so I invited her over. Door shut, I crushed her against me, arms locked, mouths hungry. We were virgins at this, clumsy, desperate. I lay her on the bed, climbed on top, kissing like the world was ending.
Hips rolled, my dick grinding her pussy through clothes, heat building like fire. I yanked her top up, bra aside, and took her soft, warm boobs in my mouth. I sucked hard, tongue flicking nipples till she gasped, fingers digging into my scalp. She pushed at first, then melted. She had to leave.
At the door, one last hug, I choked out, “Sorry for going too far.”
She smiled: “Lovers do it… But control yourself next time.”
Chat lit up:
Me: How was it?
Her: Loved it. Felt alive.
Me: Sucking your boobs?
Her: Scared… then warm. Was sweating buckets.
Me: That salty taste? Fuck, perfect.
Her: Gross! Maybe again.
We stole more afternoons. Each time deeper, always clothed below the waist, always stopping short. One day, everything fell away. Naked. She knelt, took my dick in her mouth, slow, teasing, tongue swirling, eyes locked on mine. Ten minutes in, she laughed, jaw aching from my size.
I begged to taste her pussy; she wouldn’t, shy about hair, about being “clean.” I stole one quick, wet lick, her scent flooding me, before she pulled away. Another empty house, another storm. Tongues battled, spit shared like wine. I ripped her top, black bra glowing.
Mouth on lace-covered boobs, squeezing till she whimpered. I licked down her body, swirled her navel, peeled her jeans, sucked her thighs till they flushed red. She flipped on top, teased, lips ghosting mine till I groaned, then devoured me.
Nibbled ears, bit neck, kissed chest, pinched my nipples, sucked them hard. Lower stroked my dick, kissed tip to balls, then blew me again, slow, wet, perfect.
I flipped her, desperate. Licking her inner thighs, she trembled. Pushed her panties aside, tasted her slick, warm pussy for one dizzy minute. Her hips bucking, before she whispered, “Stop… I’m not ready.” I stopped.
I took her bra off, sucked her boobs for ages, her moans echoing, her body arching. Phone buzzed, she stood. I followed, pinned her to the wall, kissed her wildly. Panty dropped, we were bare, my dick sliding along her wet pussy lips, teasing, throbbing.
One mindless push, just the tip slipped in. She gasped, collapsed, tears rolling.
“Why?”
“I’m so sorry, I lost it.”
“It almost went in…”
“I swear, I didn’t mean to.”
We stood naked, trembling, hugging for fifteen minutes, skin on skin, hearts racing. Then the fire came back. I turned her over, slid my dick between her ass cheeks, no entry, just rhythm, till I came hot across her back.
She smiled and said it was okay. We cleaned up, dressed, hugged like we’d never let go, my hands tracing her tiny waist. At the door, I asked about marriage. She looked down, said no, family, future, different worlds. I nodded. She wanted friendship. I couldn’t.
Four years of raw, aching, pussy-teasing, dick-throbbing love ended with a quiet goodbye. I’m in my mid-30s, heart is broken, dick still hard for her, her taste still on my tongue. We never fucked. It was love, real, deep, respectful. Now I’m starving.
All the women here, you can email me at [email protected]. To catch up, to give feedback, and any suggestions or talk, cry, be friends. Thanks for reading the real me, no filter.