I took her camera out and I was telling her what I wanted. She stripped down to her thong and I told her to get on her knees and hold her tits for a pic, to bend over and show her ass for a pic. I took her thong off and had her lay on the bed and spread her legs and finger herself.

She eventually stumbled over to me and took my clothes off. Sat me down in a chair. She started licking up and down my shaft, looking up at the camera with her tongue all over me, posing while I took pictures.

I switched over to video mode and I took video of her stroking me and taking me as deeply as she could in her mouth. She would moan and constantly look up at the camera as she’d slowly glide her tongue up and down, from the base to the head. Back and forth.

I eventually took her by the hips and laid her down on her back over the side of her bed. She spread her legs and I held one leg with one hand and the camera with the other.

I took video as I slid in and out of her, video of her tits bouncing and her whole body jolting with each stroke.

When I was getting close, I pulled out, got up on the bed, straddled her hips and she stroked me until I came all over her chest, each spurt being filmed.

It was easily the hottest night of my life up to that point. I still have those pictures and videos. I remember waking up the next morning and looking at each other like, “We did gooooood last night…”

The summer came and passed. We were excited to go back to school and have that independence where we didn’t have our parents tracking our every move.

She moved into a one-person dorm room, so I spent nearly every night wit her. The sex was getting better. I was getting better at it.

In September, when we had just gotten back to school, it was our one-year anniversary. Not like we ever spent any time apart anyway, but we decided to spend the whole weekend in each other’s arms and not leave her dorm room.

We had never gotten drunk together before. We figured we’d do that.

So we were able to get a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of wine. And that Friday night we started drinking. Now she was, like, 5’7” and 120 lbs, so she was a lightweight. After a few drinks she was falling all over the place and I was drunk too. And we started getting really frisky. Inhibitions were gone.

We’d always talked about sometime taking sexy pictures and video of us having sex. That night turned out to be the night.

When she got to me, we hugged in the driveway for a good, long time and I asked her if she’d take a walk with me. We walked maybe two blocks, in silence. Hands in my pockets, her looking down as we walked. We got to a little park bench and took a seat. And I wasted no time.

I told her I overreacted. That I couldn’t let something so amazing go. That I loved her and that we could both work on some things to make it better. And she wasted no time. She said she’d take me back.

And that was really a turning point for us. We became awesome. We were on fire. We didn’t take each other for granted anymore.

But then I woke up one day… and wanted her back. I overreacted that night.

I’m rolling my eyes as I look back at 19-year-old Owen. I should have just kept the ties cut, moved on, and had an awesome college experience. But at that time, Stacy was all I knew. She was the only relationship I’d ever had. I felt like I needed her.

So late that night… it had to have been 2 or 3 in the morning… I sent her a text, asking if she’d come down to see me. She replied immediately. Yes. She’d come in the morning. It was, like, a one-hour drive for her to come to me from her parents’ house. But the morning came and she headed down.

I woke up and she was gone. I walked upstairs and my mom was at the kitchen counter. She was angry at me. I guess when she got up that morning, Stacy was sitting on the couch in the living room crying, and mom had to deal with her. She got her all packed up and on her way.

I explained why I ended it, but I didn’t really feel like getting into details. It was done. So just let it be done.

Now, at the age of 19, when you end a relationship that was nine months long, it is a big deal. You get to tell your friends it’s over and they ask about it and ask if you’re ok. You get to feel free again. Filled with opportunity and hope. Excitement, almost. For who may come along next.

I got to go through that all for a couple weeks. And it was pretty cool, really. But Stacy was still on my mind. I was wondering what she was up to. Was she still bed-ridden, crying about me? Is she off flirting with a bunch of other guys, acting like she doesn’t care, trying to get “revenge” in her own way? We didn’t speak once in those two weeks.

And it was. She walked down the hallway, turned to face me and very bitchily and loudly said, “Ahhh… you forgot about me.” She stood there and stared at me, while we all looked at her… all kind of frozen for a really long, awkward moment. And then she turned around and stomped back up the stairs.

I kinda looked at the guys and they took the cue, packed up their stuff, and headed out through the basement door. I said goodnight, took a big breath, and headed upstairs.

She was sitting up in bed, arms crossed. I rolled my eyes in my mind. I’d just had enough.

I told her I felt trapped and that this just wasn’t working. I don’t know. A bunch of other BS. She immediately switched gears from being angry to begging me not to end it. That she’ll change. That we can both work on stuff. “Let’s fight for us,” blahblahblah.

She was crying really hard. She knew there was nothing she could say. There was nothing more I wanted to say. I just walked out of the room. I didn’t ask her to leave. It was like 1am. I walked back downstairs and went to bed and assumed she’d be gone in the morning.

And then she came down again, and kind of quietly sat next to me as we all continued to play. It was… guy time. We wanted to swear and rip ass and have no filter. But you could tell everyone had kind of moved from R-rated to PG. It was just dampering the guy time.

So I said something about how she should head up to bed because it was late and that I’d come up to say goodnight at the end of the game we were in the middle of. She went upstairs and seemed cool enough with it.

The game ended, and then we started another. And another. Aaaand I totally forgot about Stacy. Which yes, it was my fault. But she was impeding on the friend time that I specifically told her was going to be happening that night.

Something like an hour had passed, and then I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Oh fuck. It was Stacy. I forgot about her.

One weekend, it all came to a head. It was something like a month into summer break, late June or July. I had told Stacy that it was a bad weekend to come stay with me, as I was having some guys over and we planned to hide in the basement until late in the night playing video games together. Just… being dudes.

She complained about how this was her first weekend in a long time where she didn’t have to work. That her family is driving her crazy. She said she’d come over, but when my friends showed up she’d just retire to the guest room and read and go to sleep. I knew her better than that, and knew that was total bullshit, but stupid 19-year-old Owen gave in. I let her come down to stay.

So that night the guys showed up, as planned. But she did not stay up in her room, as planned. She came down multiple times talk and hang out with us. Like ok, coming down once to say “hi” to the boys was cool. We were competing against each other in these video games and couldn’t pause the game, but all the guys were really nice and polite and answered her questions, looking away from the TV for a second to act kind of interested. She pleasantly took the hint and headed back upstairs, only to come back a half hour later because she just HAD to tell me this and that and the other thing.

Nine months into our relationship was the start of summer break. It was the first time I really noticed I was feeling trapped. Just like at school, she was always around. I think she came to my parents’ place and slept in the guest bed more days than she was at home sleeping in her own bed. Which I understood, because her family is a bunch of freaks.

But, summer was different than the school year for me. I was coming home to 3-4 really really close guy friends, all of whom were single, and guys I’d known since 5^th grade. They didn’t understand me needing to split so much time off for Stacy. It was always poorly received. And then, when I was with her, I’d be bummed that I wasn’t with them… they were probably playing poker or sitting in someone’s basement playing some 2-on-2 Halo 2 or something. And I was on my parents’ couch with Stacy. Blah.