Pumping the Shy Nerd: My Raw Arcade Hookup with Nicolas

The arcade door creaks as Nicolas steps out, bag slung over his shoulder. I’ve been watching him watch me for weeks on that pinball machine. Heart pounding from the game, sweat slick on my neck, I catch him outside. Streetlights buzz. My phone vibrates in my pocket—some bullshit notification—but I ignore it. ‘Why you always staring, nerd?’ I growl, towering over his skinny frame. He stammers, eyes on his sneakers. That fragility hits me weird. Not my usual prey. ‘Not scared, huh? Let’s go to your place. I’m not shy.’ He nods, frozen. We walk. My jeans chafe my thick thighs, beer breath mixing with his clean soap smell. His building’s a dump—cracked walls, groaning elevator. I squeeze in, half the space gone. Door opens to his shoebox: books everywhere, unmade bed, dirty mugs. I flop on the mattress. It screams under my weight. ‘No booze? Pathetic.’ He digs out dusty cheap wine. I chug it, cork spitting on floor, red dribble down my chin into my stretched tee. My ponytail’s greasy, swinging. Eyes lock on him. ‘Explain the staring, book boy.’ He blushes crimson. ‘I… don’t know.’ I laugh, belly shaking. ‘Bullshit. Lie down here.’ He edges closer. I yank his sweater, pull him down. Body heat crashes. His against my curves. Sweat, motor oil, his fear-sweat perfume hits me. Urgent. Weeks of tension. No more games.

His pull’s half-off. Skinny chest exposed. I grind against him. ‘Never fucked, right?’ He whispers, ‘No.’ Grin splits my face. ‘Good boy.’ Lips smash his—wet, claiming. Tongue invades. Hand dives in jeans. Zipper rasps. Cock springs hard, throbbing. ‘Fuck, rock solid.’ Grip tight, stroke slow. He bucks, moans muffled. Skinny hips jerk. ‘Sensitive little virgin.’ Thumb circles head, pre-cum slicks my palm. Faster. He claws sheets. ‘Babu… fuck…’ I squeeze balls. ‘Cum for me, nerd.’ He explodes—hot spurts coat my fingers. Body shakes violent. I lick it off slow, eyes on his. Salty, his. ‘Liked that?’ He gasps yes. Not done. Peel his jeans full off. Naked now, hard again. My turn to own. Mouth trails neck, bites nipples red. Down belly. ‘You’re mine.’ Cock engulfed. Hot, deep throat. Gags minimal—expert. Hands lift his ass, force deeper. Slurp wet, loud. He grips my hair, ponytail yanks. ‘Babette!’ Confession slips: ‘You’re not just a fuck. Been thinking of you. Feelings.’ His eyes widen. Truth. Sucks harder, tongue swirls. Balls cupped rough. He cums again—floods my throat. I swallow every drop, lick clean. He sobs, wrecked.

The Approach

Bed quiets. Creaks settle. I wipe mouth, sit up heavy. Cum taste lingers, wine sour. He pants, eyes glassy. ‘Now, talk feelings?’ But adrenaline fades. Reality bites. This nerd? My world? No. I stand, jeans zip rough. T-shirt tugs over belly. ‘Fun, kid. See ya at arcade.’ Door bangs. Elevator whines down. Street cold. Phone vibrates again—ignore. Back to Babu. Stranger now. He stays mine in fantasy only.