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As it turned out, the majority of the chorus girls on the tour had an interest in Steve. It would have been no surprise to anyone else. It had been a complete surprise to the man himself. He’d not turned down a single one of them. Though he’d been certain they would have talked to each other about him, each successive girl proved that they had not. Not with lips, or tongues, or fingers, or hands, or even far more exciting parts. No, they proved it with their words. When, each in their own way, they asked if he was a virgin.
He didn’t like to lie. Hated it, in fact. As a result, he was terrible at it. Rather than answer their question, he would simply blush. Give them a stammer. That became more and more practiced with each new girl. He also found that he became more practiced at something else with each successive body that met his. It took him longer each time to reach his climax. He was certain at least one girl would ask, would question how he’d managed to last as long as he did. It never happened. Instead, they praised his ability to keep going. Praised themselves for being good enough to keep him from going too soon.
Eventually, all of that praise led to his desire to branch out. He met new women on what seemed like a daily basis. Where he would have never noticed before, he now couldn’t help but notice. See how they looked at him. How they smiled at him. How hair got tucked behind ears and lips got licked. The way that fingertips would brush his hand as they handed him a pen for an autograph. The way that kisses on the cheek often lingered. It was often harmless flirting that led to absolutely nothing. But, occasionally, he’d meet one who wanted to see his dressing room. Which, he learned, meant only one thing.
The first time it happened, the girl reminded him of Ginny. He supposed, later on, that was why he’d wanted to do it. Why he’d wanted her specifically. The way that she breathed her hello and looked up at him through thick lashes nearly immediately made his pants quite a bit tighter. When she’d asked if she could see backstage, see his dressing room, he’d nodded slowly. He’d offered her his arm, ever the gentleman, and escorted her back. He listened as she cooed about how big everything was. Never a fool, he noted the way she looked at him every time she said the word. The heat that pooled in his belly made him want to jerk her body against his own. Want to drive his lips against hers, claim them. His self-control wavered as they entered the confined space of his dressing room. Only when he had the door closed behind them did she drop all pretense and press herself against him.
“So hard already,” she managed to giggle and breathe all at once, which made his hips push to her, “Are you really as wholesome and pure as they say you are?”
A flush crept up his neck and colored his cheeks. Not because of all that wholesome purity everyone believed he had, no, the exact opposite. Because he’d lost nearly all of it somewhere along the way. But that flush served its purpose. That flush told her everything that words wouldn’t express. Had she pressed, had she really tried to find out the truth, he’d have told her. She never did. Somewhere, deep down, he’d known she wouldn’t. Instead, she’d licked those perfect lips again and made promises about just how good she would make him feel. Of that he had no doubt. If he had, it would have been quickly erased by the way that her hand snaked into his pants and gripped him. He bucked into it and she gave him a very “cat that ate the canary” grin. Stroked him, though it was slow and almost torturous. Murmured that she understood, that he didn’t need to last too long.
As it turned out, most of the time, he wanted to last. This, however, was not one of those times. He struggled with what little self-control he did have as she bent herself across the small vanity in the room and raised her skirt. His hand reached out, even shook a bit, as it slid across the pale flesh of her rounded backside. He watched as her legs spread slowly and he trailed fingers over her, even pressed one into her already willing body. The way she squirmed, the way she moaned, had his pants around his ankles so quickly he couldn’t have been entirely certain how they’d gotten there in the first place.
Though he was already all too aware of what to do, he allowed her to direct him. Allowed that silky voice to tell him how to grip himself, how to spread her open, just how to press until he filled her body completely. He gave an obligatory shudder at the tight heat that surrounded him and gripped her hips as firmly as he dared. He held very steady, barely breathed, until she began to work her hips back. Until she began to use her body to stroke his. His eyes raised, he watched them in the mirror. Memorized the way that her mouth fell open, moved in subtle shapes as she moaned and whimpered and even pleaded. He continued to allow her to control the tempo until his eyes on their bodies in that mirror could take no more. His grip tightened on her hips, there would be marks her the next day, but he heard no complaints.
His eyes never wavered from their reflections as he continued to thrust himself in far more sharply. He watched for the changes in her body, the way that her hand snaked between her legs. While he’d had no intention of making it a lasting encounter, he still intended to make certain she left satisfied. The tremor that walked down her spine, coupled with the way her body suddenly tightened around his, made his vision go slightly white. Before he could ask how close she was, he was buried and spilling himself with long cry. When his vision finally cleared and his breathing finally calmed, he pulled gently free of her body and smoothed her skirt down.
“Did you--”
“You bet your ass I did, sweetheart,” came the purred response that would echo in his ears just as loudly as Ginny’s final words to him had, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that I deflowered Captain America. Wouldn’t want to sully that spotless reputation.” After she’d gathered herself, she’d given him ways to keep in touch and left quickly. He tossed the details in the nearby bin and shook his head. He never went back for seconds. That wasn’t the point. Instead, he moved on. To the next town. To the next night. To the next girl.