IR Day 20 - Part 4

You take a chance and give Ingrid the not-especially romantic, but extremely authentic Florida experience of dinner at a Waffle House. Mercifully, you get through it without anyone trying to sell you meth or any chairs being thrown. Ingrid is intrigued by, if not exactly impressed with, the food. You could watch her eat waffles piled with whipped cream all night, but you have to get back.

Perfect days like this seem to fly by. Suddenly it’s almost ten. You’re in bed composing an email to your mom as Ingrid looks at social media posts from people who must be her family. You’re side by side, arms touching. The TV is the only light in the room, but neither of you are paying attention to the Fast and Furious movie that’s playing.

Ingrid puts her phone aside and leans closer to you. You’ve been trying to dial back on initiating so you don’t come off like an animal in heat. But Ingrid is hardly less horny than you are.

“Is it time?” you ask, setting your phone down with a smile. She kisses you, and her hand finds its way into your panties. Soon she’s stroking rhythmically, still kissing you. It’s a wet, hungry kiss. Normally she would be climbing into your lap at this point, but she keeps going until you whimper and pop. She squeezes firmly and milks a substantial mess onto the front of the Star Wars shirt that you were planning to sleep in. You don’t think it was her plan to give Oscar Isaac a facial.

Dazed, you pull the shirt off and toss it aside. In just your panties, you lean toward Ingrid, but she stops you. She’s never done that before.

“Huh?” you say.

Blushing, she opens her mouth, then makes a face. She grabs her phone and points at the calendar app.

“Oh,” you say. “Sorry.” That explains it. You did notice that the underwear she has on looks different from her usual. But… you don’t really care. You haven’t been together long, but you definitely know that she sleeps better if she gets off first. Will she take care of herself? Right next to you? You doubt it.

You make a show of keeping your hands to yourself and kiss her mouth, leaning in and sliding your leg between hers. You bring her body close, putting more pressure between her legs with your thigh. She gets the idea and goes with it. It’s pretty stimulating for you too, and gives you an excuse to really squeeze her butt with your hands. She moans into your mouth. Maybe this dry humping is enough to get her over the finish line, but she’s sufficiently into it that she doesn’t object to your hand taking over. She grinds her mound on the heel of your hand until she’s gasping in your arms with her damp, warm thighs squeezing your wrist.

After that, she eagerly snuggles up to you, but is snoring before you can even get comfortable. She’s pinning your arm, which will fall asleep soon. You manage to turn off the TV, plunging the room into darkness. Her hair tickles your face and you smell her lotion and the scent of her pussy. You’re warm where her body’s touching you and cold where it isn’t because your shirt is wadded up on the floor, stained with cum.

She moans and lays her arm over you, her hand coming to rest on your bare boob. You try not to laugh. It’s time to choose. Nothing is certain. You’ve been with Ingrid for only a short time, but you care about her a lot. Staying with FUTA would not guarantee that you would lose her, just like leaving FUTA would not somehow guarantee that you can be with her. This decision isn’t about Ingrid. That’s what Michelle was trying to tell you. This is about you. Do you want to be an athlete? Or an athletic reality TV star?

Commit to more FUTA?

Yes or no?