"A LAY FOR AN A," is the saying at one fashionable college, and the coeds live up to it, using their bodies to obtain high grades. Few professors seem to be immune to the charms of these designing nymphets, who come on strong.
Both threat and prize, grades constitute one major reason for much of the promiscuity on America's college campuses today, but it is not the only reason. Young girls away from home for the first time frequently fall for a fatherly professor. Young men, free of the strictures of home often find themselves attempting to seduce teachers to gain the sexual experience they feel is waiting for them in college.
And the New Morality, with its casual attitude towards sexuality and erotica has freed many otherwise inhibited young men, women and teachers.
A BLUNT, FRANKLY SEXUAL STUDY OF THE "SCENE" TODAY.
INTRODUCTION
The so-called sex explosion on college campuses has become a general topic of much concern in various places at this time, and studies into various aspects of the phenomenon are proceeding in certain circles. The awareness of the overall condition results from the sudden burst of new enrollments on the college scene, in pari, and also from the rapid spread of the apparent sexual revolution in America today. These two factors, together with the freedom of engagement possible to the young men and women away from home, often for the first time in their lives, adds to the strong possibilities of sexual relationships occurring on or near such gathering places, the campuses of overcrowded colleges and universities.
But sex does not only occur among the students themselves. Until now that has been the primary aspect of consideration, and it was a natural one to recognize and observe. Such recognition and observation resulted from a direct carry-over of the high school observations. That is, observers had become aware of a certain degree of sexual freedom among the students in high schools, and they extrapolated their realizations to include the more wide-open possibilities of the college campus. In the process of doing so, a certain area, exclusive to the college campus as opposed to the high school "scene," was overlooked or not wholly recognized.
Few observers have been wholly aware of the extensive developments in the area of faculty-student relationships regarding sexual interests. In a high school, such contact is at a minimum for various reasons. The most obvious barrier to sexual unison of faculty to and students in a high school must always remain the factor of age. The girl of seventeen, for example, though fully developed sexually, is almost always under-age in all the states of the United States and hence offers a legal danger to even the most interested of male teachers.
But more than that, the barrier of age is more noticeable to both students and faculty at the high school level. To a girl of seventeen, a man of thirty is considered "ancient." Yet that same girl, when nineteen, may well view a man of thirty as a vital target in her sexual quest. Values and interests, in other words, change for the high school student when she or he leaves high school and enters the adult world of college responsibilities and possibilities. Gone is the mere interest in football games and pep rallies and necking with a member of the team in the back seat of a parked car on the local lovers' lane. In their place come the adult needs for sex and also, quite important to this study in part, the adult drive for status and prestige in areas unknown to the high school student.
Specifically is this so in the matter of grades. In high school, a student very rarely concerned himself with grades. Few students failed, almost everyone was assured of a diploma, and grades were something reduced in importance by comparison to the coming week's athletic contest for which everyone prepared themselves and waited with anticipation. But in college, all that is changed. Suddenly a grade has value. Suddenly a grade can make the difference between success or failure in the search for career opportunities following graduation. Suddenly, in fact, a grade can determine whether one will even graduate.
Such an undue concern with grades had been discussed elsewhere, and the entire system of grading has been brought under attack occasionally by those who would be rid of it. Yet so long as such a system of invidious comparison continues to exist, there will exist those who seek to control it by whatever means they have at hand for that control. Such a means often is sex.
This is not to say that grades are the causes of all or even most sexual relationships between faculty members and students on college campuses. Such would not be wholly true. Grades are given here as an example of the kind of pressures that cause sex sometimes to exist between professors and their students. Other factors exist too.
For instance, as said earlier, the girl in college sees the older man in a different light from the way she viewed him when she was going through her middle teen years. She very often suddenly realizes she wants an older man for the sexual experience he can offer her. So she is liable to seek him out one way or another.
The father image also enters into such relationships. A girl, away from home for the first time, may unconsciously seek to continue a relationship that existed in her home between her father and herself. This naturally often passes beyond the mere platonic stage of father-daughter relationship, and enters the natural sexual context that almost any man-woman relationship affords.
It would be wrong merely to speak of young women and older men. The reverse operates on college campuses, too. That is, young men find themselves in love with or seduced by, if not seducing, older women. A woman professor, for instance, may find herself enamored of a young male student. She may find herself suddenly exchanging grades for sexual favors. It need not always be so. But it certainly sometimes can be so.
Thus a new dimension to sexual encounter on the campus becomes obvious and necessitates consideration. To that end, research was effected in an effort to probe individually the depths of this aspect of the overall "sexual situation" at or near universities and colleges, to encounter persons directly affected by this aspect and to seek their experiences in documentary form. Towards this end, this volume may be viewed as a series of personal interviews voluntarily rendered in the strictest of privacies. It may be considered that the volunteers were urged to be most explicit, to speak their innermost feelings and to convey those feelings in whatever language they believed released their emotions most honestly.
Value derived from these interviews, carefully recorded for the fullness of revelation, would depend on the observer's own ability to view the accounts with a certain degree of sympathy and understanding and a willingness to accept others' behavior as being their own. From such a view, the observer would-likely benefit by realization of similarities in his own life's situations to those encountered by others elsewhere. This would serve to solidify the bridge of communication between individuals and to offer a common bond of experience to all.
CHAPTER ONE
Connie R. is a dark-haired girl of nineteen with bright brown eyes and a ready smile. She calls herself a typical college student, wears the fashion of her generation and group, and states that she-likes to reveal her legs. During the interview, which was conducted in an office rented near the campus where she attends a junior college, she regularly crossed and uncrossed her long and full legs, revealing her thighs to the edge of her black satin underpants, flicking a red lace satin slip occasionally and sometimes tugging at the wide band of her nylon stockings or pulling a garter belt strap.
When she wasn't doing that, she sometimes snapped open the top two or three buttons of a high-necked, tight blouse, might examine her flesh and then snap shut the buttons again or simply run her hands in and out of the blouse's opening. Her prefatory remarks, before she asked to be taped, established her belief that, as she said, "sex is here to stay." She stated that she-likes being a girl, she-likes being attractive, she-likes being admired sexually, and that she-likes to talk about all of that too.
Her recorded discussion substantiates those facts and reveals other facts as well:
I'm not going to say I started fucking Professor M., that's all I'm going to tell you about his name, so don't get nosey, at least not on this tape though I'll tell you privately if you promise you'll never tell anybody else anyway, I'm not going to say I started fucking him because I wanted grades. That's not true. You mentioned that some girls do it for that reason. Well, I know boys that do it for that reason, too. And they fuck male professors as well as women professors too for that reason. But that's not the reason I started fucking Harry. Oppps! All right, you know his name. Harry. But that's all I'll say. Just Harry M. Maybe you'll find out, but I hope you'll keep it quiet if you do.
And there's a good reason why I want it kept quiet, too. He's got a wife. That's the reason. And she's a bitch. Charlotte is her name, and she's a real shrew. No wonder he's the way he is. Oh, I don't mean he's hard-up. He's not hard-up. It's just that . . , . well...
Let me explain it to you. He teaches History. American History from 1607 till 1865. And he's a nice guy. Thirty and good-looking. A couple of years ago, I wouldn't have looked at him. In high school, I thought anybody over twenty-five belonged to the tombs. Now, though, I'm going with a guy thirty and I love it. I love his dick. I love his big balls. I love everything about him.
Well, where was I? Oh sure, I remember the first day we all went to class in September, the start of my sophomore year. My girl friend Jeanie said to me, "Look, I'm tired of being a C student. This year I'm going to snag a couple of professors and get myself some A grades."
Do you know what I'm talking about? The same thing you mentioned to me awhile ago.
Sure. It's the thing. I knew about it before you told me. We all know it. If you want to get an A, get a lay. It's a joke we pass among ourselves. That's why every girl rushes for the front row in every class on the first day of school in each new semester. We wear our shortest skirts, our tightest sweaters or blouses that are low-cut. And on that day we sometimes don't even wear bras or pants if it'll help us. And of course, we cross our legs just like I'm doing now, and let everything be seen that needs to be seen.
The profs usually eat their hearts out. We watch them stealing peeks at our tits or legs. They pretend to be interested in discussing the new term's plans of study, or to be handing out lesson sheets for us, but all the time, they're stealing looks down our blouses or up our skirts. And-pretty soon you can see them starting to sweat. And a lot of times I've seen their pricks start bulging in their trousers.
Well, I wanted a good grade from Harry, too, believe me, and I didn't hesitate, along with Jeanie, to cop one of the center seats in the front row right before his desk, to cross my legs the way I'm doing here, and to let him see plenty of thigh. If Jeanie could do it, so could I.
He looked. You bet he looked. And he started to sweat too. And afterwards, Jeanie said to me when we were heading across campus to the union for a cup of coffee before going to our next class, "He's a sitting duck. That guy's really hard-up, if you ask me."
But already then I was saying, "But, you know, he's kind of cute. I wouldn't mind going to bed with him just because he's so cute." I giggled at the thought.
"I'd take his prick," Jeanie said, "if it meant an A for me. But otherwise, I don't give a damn how cute he is. 'An A for a lay' is my motto." And she laughed harshly.
Then we started talking about how big his dick would be. I just started the talk for a joke, but Jeanie was very serious. "He has a big one, all right," she said in a whisper as we passed some boys we knew, smiling phonily to them and hurrying on before they bothered us when we were thinking of fucking a prof. "Did you see it that time he got up to go to the blackboard? It was a helluva big thing."
"No," I said, "I didn't see it. I remember you elbowing me then, but I didn't get a chance to see it. Maybe I'll get a better chance some other time." And I giggled at that thought.
Then we were in the student union building, across the lobby, smiling phonily to everybody, and finally into the cafeteria and in the line for coffee. We were almost through the line and I was getting a sweet roll to go with my coffee when we turned and saw Harry coming through the line too. "Well, I'll be damned," I whispered to Jeanie, "speak of the devil..." And I nodded to Harry as I picked up my coffee and roll and started towards a table.
"I wonder what he wants," she whispered to me, and I could swear he saw both of us as we started across the crowded room, looking for a free table somewhere. On the first day of school, it seems everybody heads for the cafeteria. The place is always packed, and you have to beg for places.
We finally found two in a booth with a boy and girl we knew. They were getting ready to leave, their friends, another couple, just having started away, and we took places there. We spoke with the couple as the boy and girl were finishing their coffee, but our eyes were really on Harry as he went through the line and started looking for a place in the crowded room. For awhile he stood near a trash can and looked all over the place. Then suddenly he saw the couple leaving our booth. "He's coming this way."
"What did you say?" the boy said, stopping as he left, thinking I had been speaking to them.
"Nothing," I said very quickly. "Bye. Good luck in your next class." And I waved quickly, as if I wanted them to get out of there fast and make room for Harry.
And then Harry was there, even while the boy and girl were just starting away, and he was saying, "Is this place taken?" And he was indicating the other side of the booth from us at the same time as a busboy was clearing away all the coffee cups and plates on the table.
"Uh-uh," I said, nervously and couldn't say anything else.
"Go ahead and take it," Jeanie said. And I could tell that she was nervous too.
Harry thanked us and set his coffee on the table and seated himself in the booth carefully. I looked at his wavy black hair and that cute little spitcurl over his forehead and his sexy green eyes and the little dimple when he smiled and I told myself, "I'd fuck him regardless of a grade. He could give me a straight F; I'd still go under him if he so much as asked me."
"Weren't you young ladies in my class last hour?" he asked, spooning sugar to his coffee and stirring it and looking at us intently.
We said we were, and he asked us how we thought we'd like it. We said we thought we'd like it a lot, and he said what grades did we hope we would get. We laughed and said we'd be happy if we got a C apiece. He looked at us, then said, that of course there was no reason why we shouldn't rate an A grade.
And that's when Jeanie, giving me a nudge with her elbow, asked him, "How would you suggest we earn an A grade, sir?" And she gave him a big smile with those words.
He blushed. So help me, he blushed. And then he looked away and coughed and said hurriedly he had no idea how anybody could make an A grade except to work for it. And then while we were talking about that, he swallowed his coffee very fast and excused himself and left the cafeteria rapidly.
"What a square!" said Jeanie, and she shook her head.
"You loused it up for us, if you ask me," I told her. I was sorry that she embarrassed Harry that way.
But she came right back and said, "Nothing's loused up. He's got the idea he wanted to get. Now he knows we can be had. Just sit still, and the brilliant young professor will make the next move, himself."
But I decided not to wait for the next move. I went back to the dorm that day, after all my other classes, and I thought about it. I felt sorry for Harry. At the same time, there must have been something in me that was afraid Jeanie would get the jump on me since she was the one that said that to Harry and somehow or other I finally got around to telling myself that I would go to him and apologize to him for what she said. Yes, the next day I would go to him and tell him.
The class met every other day, so we went to his office the next day and he wasn't there. He didn't have any office hours scheduled, and I was really hot to apologize, so I stupidly got his home phone number and gave him a ring. His wife answered, and I asked to speak to him. She asked me, in a real mean voice, who was calling, and I stupidly gave my name. Then she turned right around, repeated my name, and told me he wasn't home. I knew he was there, but I couldn't do anything, and I just hung up and went down the hall to the women's John and went inside and bawled in a stall. Now I was really fucking things up, first embarrassing him and now screwing it up with his wife.
And I was sick for the rest of the day. I couldn't study or do anything that night, and Jeanie, my roommate, asked me what was wrong. But I wouldn't tell her. And she went out on a date and left me and I felt glad.
When the phone call came for me. I felt more than glad, and went immediately to his office. He called me, you see, and said he wanted to see me at his office. I blurted that it wasn't really important, but he insisted I visit him at his office. "I'm here now," he said, "waiting for you."
I hurried across campus and went to his office building. There was only one office lighted and it was his. The halls were dimly lit and I felt suddenly afraid. Yet I went to him. He greeted me immediately, and apologized for not speaking with me when I had called his home. "I was there," he said, "and I heard my wife say your name, but it wasn't until later, when she and I had a little tiff, that I realized you had wanted to talk to me then. I asked her if that was so, because she had thrown it up to me that I was being chased by my students on the first week of school already, and she admitted you had called."
"Oh," I said, "I didn't want to come between you and your wife." I was shocked.
"Sit down," he said, indicating the only other chair in his narrow and book-filled office. Up and down his walls he had shelves loaded with books and there was hardly a place to stand, let alone sit. And when I sat, he then told me that he and his wife weren't "the best of friends. Anyway," he said, "how can I help you?"
I explained to him how I thought Jeanie had embarrassed him, and he said, point-blank, laughing at me, "You mean when she offered me her ass for an A?"
It was my turn to blush, and now he apologized. Then he said, "Look, we're both squares for blushing, don't you think? At least I've thought so since I left you so quickly in the cafeteria yesterday. After all, it happens all around us, doesn't it? Haven't you ever been tempted to trade an A for a lay?" He said it as if he knew the joke the girls passed among themselves.
I admitted that I had been tempted the previous day, and with him. He looked at me when I said that, scanned my thighs and said, "Would you do it now if I offered you an A for the semester?"
"You want to fuck me now?" I said, hearing my own words dumbly.
"I want to fuck you," he said, "yes. I've wanted to fuck you since the first minute you walked into my classroom yesterday morning. Let me fuck you now and I'll give you an A for the semester. You won't have to do a lick of work." He laughed. "Except maybe you could lick me now if you wanted to." He stood, and smoothed his trousers. I saw his huge rock immediately.
"Well, you sure are a fast worker," I said, trying to make it all a joke even while I was scared. Harry meant business, I knew, and I just didn't think it would come to that so soon.
"With a bitch wife who isn't giving me any ass," he said, "I have to be a fast worker when the opportunity arises." He circled the desk, went to the wall switch and doused the lights because the windows have no curtains or blinds, then locked the door and was behind me, reaching clown and feeling my jugs in the tight sweater I wore for the occasion.
I felt his silky fingers plucking my nipples through the sweater, and I knew the chill going through me was demanding that I get his cock in my cunt immediately. And then I was already starting off that chair, turning to hug him while he was slipping the sweater up and feeling my bare boobs. I hadn't worn a bra or pants purposely, probably really hoping that he would fuck me in his office.
So I zipped down his fly and pulled out his dick and started playing with it even while he was dropping my skirt around my ankles. Then I raised my arms and let him pull my sweater over my head. Then I went to work undressing him while he fingered my clit and kissed my tits. I was going crazy, hardly able to control myself, and I felt my ass starting to wiggle and was already throwing grinds and bumps at him and could hardly wait till he was out of his clothes.
Then he was balls-naked and we shoved our flesh together and deep-kissed while I played with his dick and he pinched my nipples and ran his finger between my legs. I was wet and ready, and I whispered immediately, asking where we could lay. "On the desk," he said. "These shitty little offices are so small, we'll have to fuck on the desk."
"How about the papers?" I asked, seeing the mounds of lesson sheets and correspondence there as he lifted me onto that desk.
"To hell with it," he said. "Kick it the hell off if it gets in your way. Just spread right now and let me climb between your legs. My cock is going crazy for your hot pussy." And he was on top of me before I knew what was happening.
Man, did he ever have a big dick! I mean, big and long and hard and wide and full. Solid like a rock. And hot? Oh, good grief was it ever hot! I thought he would come in me the minute he touched my snatch with it.
But he had beautiful control. "I jacked off at home," he whispered, "believe it or not. Before I got the guts to come down here and call you, I went into the bathroom at home and I jacked off, just thinking about you. I pretended I was in your beautiful pussy already, and I shot my load in the bathroom sink. That's why I won't come soon now. And it's better that way, because I'll be able to give you a good ride." And he shoved his long hard prong up my dark hole with a vengeance.
I wrapped my legs around his ass. "Oh, Harry," I said, calling him by his first name. "Harry," I said hotly to his ear, and kissed his earlobe and felt the tremendous force of his hot prong on the walls of my cunt. It was great. I licked his ear in gratitude.
"We can make this a permanent thing," he said, between nibbles on my tits, "if you're interested. You've already got an A for the semester. And if you're interested, I can stud you every night. I've got tremendous hots for you." And he worked his prick in a series of wild little turns that sent my cunt into an uproar. I danced my ass all around him, I was so hot.
I could hardly answer him. I just grunted and nodded and let him feel my head nod by nodding my cheek against his. I only knew that I was having difficulty breathing, and I couldn't keep my eyes open. They were being forced shut by the tension mounting in me. I kept getting tighter and tighter, and I wanted to fuck him through the ceiling. My ass was going in wild big circles, shooting crazily around and around as I tried to grab and hold his cock with my cunt forever. I wanted nothing better than to hold him in me till the end of time.
He dicked me methodically, giving me subtle little turns of his cock that sent me close to the mountaintop. He would pull his dick almost all the way out of my cunt, so that I went after it and practically begged him with my whole body to send it into me again. Then he would start the return trip, easily, smoothly, into my cunt with the most practiced expertise you ever saw. He would keep digging it into me deeper and more deeply until I thought it would go right into my belly.
And I would still be crowding him. I would want to run away from his dick, and my ass would start to retreat. But at the same time I wanted to grab that muscle and make it part of my cunt, and I would go after it. I was going crazy.
And my cunt was flowing. The juices were wild in me. Everything about my snatch was wet. It was soaked. Drenched. Flooded. My cunt hairs were absolutely wet, like the Mississippi at high tide when every bit of water floods the surrounding land. And I was sweating besides, and we were thumping each other furiously, and our hairs, all of them, were solidly soaked.
Then he whispered to me, "I'm getting ready for the come. Are you?"
"Oh, I'm ready," I wheezed. "I've been ready all the time. I've been so ready." And I started grinding my cunt at his cock harder than ever.
"Then come," he said. "Don't worry about it. Rock the shit out of this world. Rock it for everything that's in it. Rock it, baby, rock it." And he started dicking me with faster long strokes, solidly plugging my cunt, ripping my crevice with a new vengeance.
I went at him like a magnet, drawn to his cock with a fury, battering him left and right, squealing and groaning, wanting to scream, scratching his back and ass, locking my legs so tightly around his ass that I could crush it in a vise. And he speared me like I've never been speared before. Every time he sent his cock down my track, I wanted to go through the desk and at the same time shoot him to the ceiling.
And then it became impossible for me to hold on any more. I just went loose, all out of control, my ass going in sixteen different directions at once, nothing stopping, just thrown completely out of kilter. I screamed and moaned and groaned and felt the fantastic feeling in me going loose with everything that a woman possibly can have in her. And I was whimpering like a puppy, begging him to give me more and more and more.
Then I felt his wild cock's head start to throb, and I knew he was on the way to a solid come. And immediately after that, as he sank his shaft in my hole for more plunging, I felt the hot molten lava of his dick shoot into me, and my cunt walls reacted with a sudden new series of spasms, reacting to his seed in me. The beautiful feeling of hot flow hitting my cunt's roof drove me out of my mind, and I screamed joyously to high heaven as he deposited more and more of that glorious seed to my wild cunt. I shouted exultantly and told him to keep it coming into me because I had never known anything so warm and wonderful and beautiful in my life.
We jabbed each other, going away, losing our comes, releasing ourselves to normal, gradually getting down to earth again and off that crazy cloud. And I gave him less and less energy as he gave me less and less too, as we simmered down. And then we breathed deeply, and soon we were breathing more normally and laughing about the wild good fuck we had just had.
And that's when I promised him I would fuck him all the time if that's what he wanted. "I heard you awhile ago," I said, "when you asked me to make it a permanent twosome with you, but I was too far gone to answer. Now I'm giving you my answer, and it's a big damned Yes! You bet I'll fuck you, Harry. You just say the word, and I'll fuck you whenever you want. Anytime anywhere, believe me." And I kissed his ears and cheeks and forehead and eyes and nose and chin and mouth and gave him plenty of tongue when our lips met.
He said that's what he wanted to hear, and he reminded me again that I would get an A for the semester. And that's when I said, "Harry, you don't have to promise me any A grade. I don't give a damn if you flunk me. All I want is your cock. Maybe other girls want an A for a lay, but I'm not that way. I want a lay. Period." I laughed and hugged him tightly.
"Then cock it shall be," he said, "all the time. I'll give you plenty of cock, trust me. This big dick is hungering for hot tight cunt like yours. It wants to fuck forever in that sea of warm bliss. Are you ready for another turn?" He jabbed me with his dick. Amazingly, it was big again already.
I spread for him even though I really was already spread. I went wider for him. I loved his dick. "Hell yes," I said, "go ahead. Send it into me. I couldn't ask for anything better." And we started all over again.
Well, what else do you want to know? I mean, sure I fuck my professor. There's nothing unusual about that. But I don't fuck for grades. I think I might even love the guy. But I do know I like his cock more than just about anything else I can think about. Other girls might fuck for grades. But like I told Harry, all I want is a stiff big prick like his. Nothing else matters.
I wish I could tell you more. But that's all I can tell you.
CHAPTER TWO
Bobby C. is a young man of twenty who could be the male counterpart to Connie R. He is good-looking and blonde and bright eyed, very enthusiastic, and eager to enjoy life's fruits. He is a junior in college and has known much sex with the girls on his campus. He volunteered however to give information about his relationship with a young woman professor of twenty-eight, a striking redhead who recently began teaching third-year French language studies at the state university he attends. This is what he had to say about that relationship:
I suppose when a guy my age starts clicking a woman eight years older than himself it's natural that he should want to talk with someone about it. I've screwed a lot of broads, and I've talked about some of them, and a lot I haven't mentioned. For instance, just before my current situation I was putting it to a little sixteen-year-old from the high school downtown. I met her one night at a dance when she came with her sister, and we started dancing together and she started shoving her snatch at me in the middle of the dance floor, so the inevitable happened.
That is, I took her outside and we necked in my car, and I opened her dress, which zipped down the back, and undid her bra, and got my hands around her and started playing with her tits. She went nuts, and was squirming all over the place. But the minute I had my meat out and wanted to pull her drawers off, through which I had been greasing her twat with dexterous fingers, she started begging off and saying she was cherry and didn't want to fuck me because she was scared.
I said, "What the hell did you lead me on for if you were cherry? Baby, you'd better blow me, if nothing else. Because otherwise, I'll rape the shit out of you." I was that hot and bothered.
She went down on it. Clumsily. She'd done some blowing before, I could see, because she knew a few tricks, or licks, but I imagined that she'd learned her skill in order to keep from putting out to guys that she'd gotten all hot and bothered like she'd done to me. I creamed her tonsils and made her swallow it, and she almost gagged and came up crying and begged me not to make her do anything else.
I said I wouldn't, but I told her I wanted her cherry just the same. She cried about that too, but made a date with me for the next Friday night.
I dropped by her house, but her older sister who is the same age as me, said Jerri, that's the little cunt's name, couldn't go out because I was too old for her and her parents wouldn't let her. "Besides," Monica, who is Jerri's sister, said, "pick on somebody your own age." And she wiggled her tits at me and gave me a big grin.
I passed the bid because I'd dicked her already a year ago and wasn't interested in a re-run. And I went to a dance in the honky tonk section of town and picked up a stray there and dicked her behind the club after the dance. The next afternoon who should show up at my cellar room in the boarding house off campus where I live but Jerri the cherry, and she's all apologies for not being able to date me. Instead, she says, maybe I'd like to go for a swim with her in the local pool, and she unfurls a towel and reveals a blue-and-white polka dot bikini.
I passed that bid, too, but I suggested she show me what she looked like in the bikini. She looked at me suspiciously, and begged me to promise I wouldn't do anything to her if she wore it in front of me. I told her I wouldn't do a thing if she wore it in front of me, and I made up my mind that I wouldn't let her get the chance to wear it in front of me. I like to keep my word.
So I looked the other way, when she went to a far corner to undress and put on her bikini, and then I made sure I swung around before she had her bikini on and in that minute when she had her clothes off. Expert timing; trust me. I caught her when she was a little jaybird, and she screamed. But I covered her mouth with a hard hand and dragged her to the bed even as she tried to kick me and fight to be free.
But she didn't succeed, and I did succeed. I threw her on that bed and forced my knee between her legs and batted her face a couple of times with my fist to make her understand I wanted to fuck her but definitely. And while she cried, I forced her legs apart and yanked my hard cock from my trousers and fell between her thighs and sent it into her hot and tight little cherry pussy.
Have you ever tried to fuck a cherry? I've had three. She was the third. And they are the toughest narrow fucks in this world, I tell you. It's all grunt. You have to shove your dick solidly into them, and it's the biggest strain in the world. The only consolation is to know that you're the first one that's entered their snatch. Nothing else makes it worth the strain, I assure you.
For instance, a cherry can't really fuck. She doesn't know how. You've got to tell her. And when you're raping her, she's too busy crying and feeling sorry for herself to listen to your commands. If she arches her legs and raises her knees, when you tell her, it's just because she can't think of anything at the time otherwise to feel sorry for herself about, so she becomes your servile slave in order to feel sorry about that.
It's a bitch. But I fucked her just the same. I gave her my big dick for twenty solid minutes, ramming it up and down that hot tight hole. Oh, she moistened after a couple of minutes. But a cherry cunt is still tight. And she really couldn't cooperate. Oh, after awhile she started raising her ass and doing a few little twists. Sort of as a matter of reflex, don't you know? But otherwise, it was a one-sided fuck, I assure you.
Then I dropped my payload into her. I let myself ride to the end of my fuck and decided it was time to drop my payload. And I went in a series of spurts into her tight hot orifice, driving my surging cock into her narrow hole and letting out that good steam, creaming her cunt with my juices, feeling the release of sperm from my balls and up the shaft of my prick and spilling out from my prick's head, out and away. It was a beautiful feeling, I tell you. Absolutely beautiful.
Afterwards she cried. The same old shit. "Now I'm not a virgin any more," she whimpered in her self-pity. "Now I'll never be a virgin any more."
"What do you want to be a virgin for, anyway?" I said. "Nobody marries virgins. You ought to know that."
"My mother was a virgin," she whined. "That's why my father married her."
"But your brother won't marry a virgin," I said. "He doesn't want a virgin."
"Will you marry me?" she asked. "Now that I'm not a virgin, will you marry me?"
"Just because I took your cherry?" I asked. "No, thanks." And I was amused.
That set her to bawling again. She said I was crude and cruel and mean and horrible. She said it was my kind of boys that ruined the world, preying on innocent young girls like herself. She was a clown, that's for sure. I finally had to make her start sucking me off in order to shut her up.
Well, what do I talk so much about her for? She's not important. As the guy in that poem by Browning would say, "She's my last duchess." I've got a new one now, and you want to know about sex on the campus with regard to relationships between students and faculty members, so let me tell you about it.
I stink in French, in case you didn't know. I don't parley-voo worth a shit. The only reason I'm taking the damned language is because I need it for graduation; two years of it, see? And that brings up a point. How does it happen that I'm in junior French if I only need two years of the language?
Okay, let me explain a few facts of campus life as they have been occurring recently. You see, I took a year of French when I was a freshman. I almost flunked out. I managed to get a C in each semester, but I'm sure they were the lowest C grades in the history of the Modern Languages Department. As a result, I steered away from it in my sophomore year, and I only came back to it this year when I had a little more courage.
But that still doesn't explain why I took a junior year course when I should have taken the sophomore level class, does it? Bear with me, and I'll elucidate everything, maestro.
Annette is the reason. Annette is my redheaded French teacher with zee old sexee appeal. A knockout with a pair of bazooms that won't take No for an answer, an ass that was poured into her skirt, and a pair of legs that drive you insane. All of that I saw already on registration day when we were in the Quad, moving from table to table, getting our registration forms filled out.
"Who's the new cunt at the French table?" I asked Jersey who is a buddy of mine. "Is she a new prof here this year?"
"You bet your sweet ass she is," he said, giving me a big grin. "What do you think makes the line so long at the French table?"
"I hope to hell it doesn't mean the soph classes are filled," I said, and started into that line.
No sooner had I spoken than a grad student at the table got up and through the megaphone announced that all the freshman and soph classes for Miss Francois that was her name were filled, and would the students please start signing up for others being offered. A big groan naturally went up among all the males in the line.
But they signed for the other profs' courses just the same, and I kept eyeing that doll in her maroon tight sweater and looking at her giving the big red lips and white teeth in a wide smile, and flashing her dark eyes at all the people that were asking her if they couldn't get into one of her classes as she gave them all sweet little negatives. And all of a sudden I was feeling a challenge, as if I wanted to get a class with her for the mere sake of proving my manhood or something.
Then it was my turn to stand before her, and she turned on the wide good smile for me, too. But something happened. Don't ask me what it was, but there was an electric second when the wildest sudden change in her eyes and that smile came over her as she looked at me, and then she was asking me what I wanted, and was fingering my registration forms, pretending to study them. And finally she looked up at me and she said, "You may sign up for one of the other sophomore courses or you may confer with me privately after registration today and perhaps an arrangement can be made." She didn't smile when she handed me back my registration forms, but her dark eyes were hard upon me. It was like a hypnosis session, and she might have been trying to get something across to me.
I couldn't figure her out, but I knew I wasn't about to sign with anybody else. At the same time I wouldn't tell her I would see her later. I wanted to keep her on a sudden string I thought existed. So I just turned away from that table and went elsewhere to complete my registration, and I looked over my shoulder once and saw her watching me go away. It was the damndest funny look I ever saw.
That afternoon when I went back, she told me she was in a hurry, but if I was interested to talk with her, I could go with her in her car. She would talk with me while she was taking me to my boarding house where I lived. I went with her in a little red Renault, but when we went off the campus, she took the wrong turn from the one I directed her to take and then got caught in one-way traffic and became exasperated, looked hurriedly at her wristwatch and said that she would stop by her own apartment first and then take me back to my place and that we would be able to discuss everything thoroughly on the way.
But what was the first thing you think she said? Nothing to do with the course I should take, at all. No. The first thing she said to me was, "I'm new in this town, and I don't know my way around at all. It would be so nice if I could meet someone who would help me adjust myself here." And she glanced to me, then looked ahead again into the traffic.
I am no dummy, and I immediately said, "What kind of adjusting would you like?"
She didn't react at all to that question the way I thought she might. She neither laughed nor frowned. She simply said, "How old are you?"
"Twenty," I said, and remained daring, adding, "And how old are you?"
And she matter-of-factly said, "Twenty-eight. Too old for you." She sniffed and looked ahead into the traffic. Then before I could answer that, she said, "Do you have a cigarette?" And when I said I did, she told me to light it for her and give it to her. "Stick it in my mouth," she said and pursed her red lips into an O.
I did what she told me, and she dragged on it while I was still holding it. "I like to suck on things," she said. "It relieves my tension. Freud has something to say about people who like to suck on things. Have you ever read Freud?"
"What does he say?" I asked, wondering where this was taking me.
"What do you know about the anal fixation?" she said, and sucked her cigarette and blinked through its smoke at me as she spun around a corner and headed before a line of apartment buildings. "Tell me all you know about the anal fixation." She spun on two wheels screechingly into a driveway, made another two-wheeled turn and pulled into a carport behind one of the apartment buildings and started out from her side of the car. "Hurry," she said, "I haven't all day."
And she signaled that I should follow her.
I wasn't sure what she didn't have all day for, but I hurried behind her past some hibiscus and fuchsia and beside a pod and down a lane to the far end of the building and into a spacious blue-and-gold apartment with a wide mirror facing us over a white mantel. "I didn't take enough psychology," I said, apologetically. "I'm afraid I can't accommodate." I had an idea what the anal fixation was all about, but I didn't want to say it.
She nodded and hurried through her apartment and down a hall and into a wide plush white-and-gold bedroom, everything very fluffy. I followed her to its door, then stopped, feeling I was intruding. "Come in, come in," she ordered. "I haven't all day. Look, we've been all this way and you haven't told me a thing about what you want." And then she was slipping her sweater over her head.
I was stunned. I backed away, starting to leave. She angrily wanted to know what was wrong with me. She wanted to know if I had never seen a woman undress before. And she went ahead stripping, stepping from her skirt, starting to undo her garter snaps. Then she cursed in French and said she couldn't get the damned garter snaps loose and would I help her, and she offered the snap to me to undo.
My hands shook as I worked on her snap, and she told me to hurry up. "Get on your knees," she commanded. "That will steady you. I never saw such a frightened young man in my life. Have you ever had sex with a girl?"
That challenged me. I went onto my knees, angrily unsnapped her belt from her stockings and told her, though I talked to her beautiful legs which were at the same moment driving me insane just from looking at them (so that my hands shook from excitement as well as anger, perhaps now), "Yes, I've had sex with girls. Why are you so interested?"
She laughed. She tousled my hair. "You're a sweet boy," she said, shoving her belly at me. "And while you're down there, take off my stockings." She moved a leg to me.
I got off my knees angrily. I wasn't about to play the fool. "Take them off, yourself," I said. "You do your own job, okay?"
She laughed it off, then sat on the side of her fluffy white bed and worked her nylons off her legs. Sensuously she rolled them down, then kicked away a shoe, and removed one, then did the same for her other leg, kicking away the shoe too and pulling the stocking loose from her well-molded small foot so gracefully.
After that she stood, turning her back to me, her hands behind her to her bra clasp. "I hope you won't mind doing this little chore," she said, and offered me her bra band for unsnapping.
I did what she wanted, and she turned to face me, lowered the bra straps from her shoulders, bending forward as she did so, busying herself with that activity even while I was sure she knew I would stare at those beautiful breasts starting fully to appear as the bra, now loosed from those spheres of glory, began to slip away and reveal them in all their immense loveliness.
And finally she had her bra off, was throwing it to the pile of clothing now beside the bed, was breathing deeply and scratching her breasts as if they itched, and then cupped them both and turned her thumbs once lightly over her nipples, making those young bullets rise powerfully for viewing.
I was insane. I had the hugest hard-on I think I've ever known. And she still wasn't done. Now, like a consummate artist, she began rolling down her panties, gradually exposing her belly flesh, revealing gracefully the dark dip of her navel, bringing more and more soft and yet firm belly flesh into view until that point where the brilliant triangle would be reached. And then she simply stopped, her pants now a satin bikini band across her pubic beauty and the globes that comprised her ass. And that was when she looked at me, smiled so prettily and said, "Do you like me?" And she held out her arms and displayed herself.
Before I could answer, she was saying, "I think you do." And she was looking at my trousers. "Let me feel it," she said next, and came to me, reaching to touch my massive hard-on.
I was amazed. This didn't seem real. What was happening? What was this woman doing? It seemed impossible. She had brought me to her apartment and now she was stripped before me, and was asking me what I thought of her beauty.
But it was real, all right. The hand that held my cock was very real. It was solidly on my dick and it was making reality a very definite fact. And then she even had my fly open and was jerking it from my shorts. "Lovely," she was saying. "For this, I am glad I came to this town." She laughed. Then she ordered me to slip away her pants. "Roll them down," she commanded. "I want to shove my bush against this phallic wonder." And she wriggled her hips indicatively so that I would know she wanted prompt action.
I did as told and slipped down her pants and saw the pubic splendor of that marvelous red pelt coming up to thrust itself against the world. And then she was rubbing it against my cock even before I could get her pants all the way off. And her pants just dropped to her ankles and she stepped away from them, stepping so that her pussy, red and hot, went hard against my hard cock. It was devastation.
Then she undressed me. I wanted to tell her to hell with clothes. I demanded that we fuck immediately. She said I would have to wait. "I am the nude kind," she said. "When you're nude, then we'll fuck. But not before it." And she fastidiously undressed me, driving me nuts with her slow graceful removal of clothing. I was off my bat, trying to keep from coming because I was so driven by her grace.
But still, once I was finally undressed, she wouldn't fuck me. "I want to suck you first," she said. "I want to gobble your great turkey. 'Gobble-gobble,' " she said and laughed like an idiot.
But she was no idiot as she went down on her knees before me and deftly handled my cock with one hand, holding its hilt and sticking her tongue out to touch its tip. Tip to tip. Tongue's lip to prick's tip. They jostled each other.
She drove me crazy. My head had the white pearls of lub on it, and I wanted to go through the ceiling. My groin was aching and the pain of cream's build-up was starting through my balls. I was getting lovers' nuts, and if I didn't soon release the sperm in me, I would have prostate trouble, I was sure. "Please," I begged. "Let me stick my dick in your mouth and go off. Please, Annette."
"No," she said, and licked the tip of my hard red cock gently, swiftly, up and down, back and forth, giving me plenty of steam with that wild hot furious little tongue she wielded like a weapon of war. She held my prick at its hilt constantly too, always deftly, just manipulating it with a thumb and forefinger, making it do little dazzling turns as she swayed it this way and that at the same time she darted to my red knob with her hot tongue. She was an expert in every way.
My gut was aching. I felt the complete load of seed in my nuts and behind my nuts, the way it seems to build up straight to my ass-hole. And my nuts were swollen. She played with them lightly, running questing fingertips over their hairy sensitive surface, and went into my ass-hole with a finger, turning her fingertip in my bunghole teasingly and making me want to shoot everything at her. I involuntarily sent a cock's jab at her lips.
Then she took me into her mouth. She went all the way down on my shaft, very lightly, very professionally, absolutely stunningly. I saw my huge roll of meat disappear into that tight little opening, seeming like magic in its disappearance, and then saw it reappear huge and tyrannical again, red and swollen, livid with need to expel the seed that was driving its muscular hardness to insanity.
And finally I could control myself no more. I gripped her hair, and pulled her head onto my cock and shoved my pubic hairs against her face, and started jerking my ass in spasms, shoving my hard big prick into her small mouth. And I pounded her in a sheer fuck, thrusting my dick again and again at her throat. I went into her with everything I possessed. It was beautiful.
And then that hard load in my balls began to flow, would be released, would relieve me of my tight misery and flaming pain. And I sent the sperm out like an army into battle, shoved the seed into the front lines of destruction, called up all my reserves from the rear echelons, and moved everything into a great flow forward, ever forward, out, out, out and away. It was glorious. Truly great. It was the most wonderful feeling I think I ever had known.
She took it all. She accepted every particle of my magnificent come. She accepted it and swallowed it and sucked and accepted and swallowed more and more, endlessly swallowing, not stopping, just taking, loving and taking. She took it all brilliantly.
And the more she took, the more I wanted to give her. Seeing her before me, beneath me, taking and swallowing my come, I wanted to send more come at her tonsils. It stimulated me.
But she was not done either. When I finally, in a running long sweep of violent last spasmodic jerks, had rendered everything in my gut to her mouth and throat and eventually belly, she still had more to do. For next she busied herself, extracting my prick from her mouth, examining its diminishing substance, licking the last creamy particles of come from its narrowing head, laving its long fragile frame with her tongue to dry away all the seed left upon it. And she sucked off the last of the white fluid, swallowed all repeatedly, and cleaned my dick with her tongue as a cat might bathe her kitten. She stretched out her tongue in this direction and that, and cleaned away everything on my long but diminishing cock.
Yet in that very act, she increased its size. Although it would become diminished, it grew contrariwise under her soothing care. My big dick became again swollen, would again flex its muscular hardness, and was newly in search of pussy. "Now let me fuck you," I begged. "Let me have it in your cunt. I can run you for a string of comes now that you've got the top of my cream off. I'm ready to fuck for a long time. Let me send it up your vag."
She nodded. She seemed joyous. "I wanted it that way," she said. "I wanted to take the top of your cream off, lest you shoot in my hole too soon, and then increase my pleasure. I like long fucks. And I think you're the kind that can give me just what I want. So screw me now, sweetheart. Take me and screw me." And she came off the floor, turned to the bed, rested her arms upon it, spread her legs and raised her ass to me. "Take me, baby," she said. "I'm all yours."
I looked at her ass. "Don't you want to get on the bed?" I said. "Wouldn't it be better on the bed?"
"I want it this way," she said. "A Greek fuck. I want you to fuck me Greek fashion. That keeps me from going off the mountain too soon. You can play with my clit with your hand, massaging me from the front while you ream my cunt from the rear. But then I can control the agitations, and can delay my own come. Believe me, I come pretty fast sometimes. So I know what I'm doing."
"If you say so," I said, and moved against her ass and spread her legs and went up into her vag with my steal-like new hard cock. Already I felt new seed building in my swelling balls, and I was ready to ream her twat solidly for a long go.
She squealed with pleasure as I sent my long rod up into her deep crack. It was a good crack. Not too tight, like a damned cherry, and plenty wide enough for maneuverability. I noticed the difference immediately between the cunts I'd been dicking and hers. She was more handleable in that respect and I appreciated fucking an older woman for that reason. I thought of Jerri and that pissy narrow slit she had, and remembered her inexperience. By comparison, Annette was the work of art all men seek, I'm sure.
She wriggled her hot, big, solid behind against my belly and snatched and grabbed my cock with her cunt expertly. She was a mistress of the fuck and I knew I had something good before I was ten seconds in her hot wet cunt. I could feel her juices all around me and yet she was tight in the way a woman should be tight without being too tight. It was like a glove of wet warmth of my long pole, and she manipulated my cock just that way, making me want to deposit it there for an eternity, just to make my meat part of her hole and let her handle everything.
I encircled her with my arms and played with her melons, plucking her nipples and massaging them with my fingertips, then rubbing the palms of my hands over their hard surfaces, making them stand out like violent instruments of destruction. I cupped next her breasts with my hands and squeezed them gently, and then placed her big nipples between my fingers as I cupped her breasts. Then I squeezed her breasts with my hands at the same time I squeezed her nipples between my fingers. She squealed with new pleasure.
She told me next to play with her clit from in front. "Turn your finger on it a few times," she said. "Tease me with it. I like to be teased. I'll tell you when to stop." She spread her legs farther so that I could get in at her clit, and I went to work, diddling her clit with one hand while I massaged her breasts and tweaked her nipples with the other. She shivered and shook and gasped and started her ass in a series of small but violent rolls that mounted in crescendo as she sought to go all the way up to the top of the mountain without going off that top.
Meanwhile I rammed her solidly with my hard cock. Pressed tightly, belly to her ass, against her, I was able to force my big bird into her passage of paradise with powerful strokes, gunning that bird down the long smooth wet warm passageway with a perfect precision that delighted both of us. When I heard her squeal as I drove it deep within her, I knew I was doing her good.
She begged me to hold off her clit awhile, to let her climb down from the mountaintop so that she wouldn't be forced to blow herself off it in a wild need to be free of the tension that was coursing her body. I desisted. But I continued my own long sure strokes up her cunt, sending my prick into her with a nice drive that was steady and rhythmical and which gave me a definite feeling of genuine pleasure. I enjoyed it immensely, and gradually I started feeling heady, wanting the new surge of thrust from my dick into her cunt, wanting the new release of wild good white seed into her black hole of Calcutta. I wanted that wild feeling that comes when your very bowels seem to release the seed from you, just let it flow out and away and your tight brain becomes free and your whole body relaxes with the solid breath of fresh air after such violent tension. That's what I wanted.
It was then she said, "All right. Play with my button again, Bobby, give me your finger on my nub. Make me squirm and turn and shoot everything off. I know you're riding for a come. I can feel your cock's head doing little shakes in my cunt. And I want to join you for the ride. So play with my nub all the way this time, Bobby. And I'll go with you."
I immediately went after her clit. Her words were good news. I wanted nothing better than a double come, the two of us flying away together. So I worked her button with a delicate savagery that had her wildly thrusting her ass-hole at my belly, shoving her snatch and grabbing my cock, and I kept plugging her hole with my bird, stuffing it into her, making it disappear into that dark place between her legs. I went in and out of her body with a fury, shoved myself into her for all I was worth, felt the scales going up and away, knew we were heading for the take-off point together. And I loved every minute of it. Nothing in the world could be finer.
Then there was that sudden spasm that signals the beginning of the final thrust in the long ride, that little quiver of the muscles that tells you, you've reached the point of no return and that you've got to push ahead no matter what the cost may be. Once that little shake in your dick comes, whatever makes it that way, you never can return down the mountainside.
I banged her violently then. I savagely struck her hot cunt with my violent cock. I banged her for all she was worth. I sent that vicious instrument of destruction into her hot world with molten fury, searing her slash with the drive that
I knew could only bring final rest and peace and contentment to us both. I hit her again and again and again.
We went off the mountaintop together. Her ass went wild in the flight. She let out all kinds of wild little sounds in the flying-away. And I grunted a couple of times restroom as I felt that seed go out of me like it was sucked from my mil-, like it was yanked and pulled from my inner loins. And we heaved and smashed and went wild together. It was glorious.
We came apart. She turned and lay on the bed, her legs over its side. She beckoned that I should lie upon her. I did. My own feet were on the white fluff of carpet. I rested on my elbows to either side of her on the bed. She looked at me, and I looked to her. We smiled at each other. And she kissed me gently. It was marvelous.
Well, what else can be said? I'm sleeping with her. I live at her place. She made arrangements that I could take third-year French instead of sophomore crap. She helps me nightly with my lessons before we put each other to bed. There are no grades in it, at least as far as I'm concerned. I just feel it was a matter of finding a woman that was compatible to me. I might have found her anywhere else. But I found her on a college campus. And I found her because the situation was ripe for that finding. She happened to be a professor, new to the college, who wanted a steady young fuck (she's told me she had the same deal on the last campus where she taught), and I was tired, I suppose, of the poor fucks young twats were giving me. So we came together. It just happened that we came together on a campus.
CHAPTER THREE
Iris W. has a different story to tell. She is twenty-three, a very attractive blonde, and she works as a graduate assistant in the Psychology department where she is sponsored by Minerva J., a professor in her early forties who first discovered Iris W.'s academic potentialities when Iris was a sophomore. Through the years, Minerva J. has taken great interest in Iris's progress, and it was she who arranged that her star pupil should become a major in Psychology, then continue with graduate studies in that subject.
Iris W. was frank to discuss the relationship and how she has viewed it since its inception. This is her report:
I don't think there's any doubt in your mind about the kind of arrangement I have with Minerva. If there is, let me dispel it immediately, by saying this: Minerva is definitely a Lesbian. Yes, and if you want to know if we've made love a la Sappho, the answer of course is Yes. We've knocked the gong about as a pair of Lezes many a time. Do you want me to tell you about the first experience?
I was in my sophomore year, catching up on some lower division requirements and I was taking a Psych lab for the necessary credits in physical science. She was our instructor. That is, she taught the lecture half of the course, though she did not handle the lab work. That duty fell on a grad assistant like I am now. But, and this is what I'm getting to, that's exactly where I met Minerva for the first time.
Have you ever seen her? She looks like a dyke. Oh, not as crude or coarse or big as the usual stereotype. But she has all the features, otherwise. Big-boned, broad-shouldered, a certain male behavior, a tendency to take on male clothing styles, things like that. Wears her silver-black hair in a short cut and talks with a certain gruffness. We were all aware of her possibilities the first day we ever sat in on one of our lectures. In fact, Bernie, a boy I used to go with made a joke about it on one of our early days in her class. "If I was a girl," he said, "I'd give her a slice of thigh." And he winked at me.
I laughed. "Should I?" I asked.
"You'll make me jealous," he said. "Besides, she might steal you away from me."
"I'll do it anyway," I said, teasing him, and wanting some fun. So, in the long lecture hall where we were, in the third row on the rise from where she stood behind a science table and talked to us, I indiscreetly very indiscreetly indeed! raised my skirt quite high and let plenty of leg show.
It was a joke, that's my point. Just a joke. And Bernie and I got a big kick out of it, even though I distinctly remember Minerva raising her eyebrows, lingering momentarily with those deep-set gray eyes upon my flesh, and then coughing and proceeding with her lecture.
But that wasn't the end of it. Oh, no. Indeed not. She showed up at my lab session that very same afternoon. Bernie wasn't there. He had a lab for the next afternoon. I was wishing he would be with me when I saw Minerva stride into the room. She walked with man's steps, long and swift, and she looked around the narrow little lab room. The graduate assistant, a real nice guy whom we all called Joe, went to her immediately and asked if there was anything he could do.
"Nothing at all," Minerva said gruffly. "I've just come to see how the lab sessions are going. Thanks. I'll look around for myself." And with that she started up and down the rows, checking us to see how we were doing.
It was a rat's maze test where one partner to each team put his finger in a maze, his eyes closed, and he ran it up and down the corridors of the miniature maze, looking for the point of release. Every time you went up the wrong aisle, you received an electric shock from an electrode attached to the metal surfaces of that particular wall in the maze. It was an example of the rat's experience in his maze as he sought the cheese at the end of it, an experiment we had read about in our Psych manuals.
Minerva arrived beside my table, where I worked with a girl named Yvonne, during the time I had my eyes closed and was working my finger along the corridors of the maze. I sensed that she was beside me before I even knew she was there. Do you know what I mean? Call it ESP or whatever you want, I knew Minerva was watching me, and I couldn't help thinking she was there because of that incident in the lecture hall that very morning.
When I finally had received a number of electric shocks as a result of my nervousness and inability to concentrate on the experiment because of Minerva's presence, Minerva herself ordered the electrode cut off. "Open your eyes," she commanded me. I did, looked up into hers, and felt strangely afraid as I gazed at her. "There's a limit to such punishments," she said, and nodded and left our table.
Then she went to the graduate assistant again, said something to him and departed from the room. After the lab session, as I was leaving, he called me aside till everyone else had gone. "Minerva wants to see you," he said with a sly smile.
"Oh? Where?" I asked, and I felt a strange terror in me.
"In her office. She's right down the hall. Have fun." He waved me away. Then, almost as an afterthought perhaps, as I was leaving the lab room, he called, "You could make it a career, you know."
I ignored him and went to Minerva's office. She wasn't there, but her secretary, a bright-eyed little girl whom I recognized as a freshman who was the star pupil of another Psych professor, gave me a sealed envelope. "She left this for you," she said, with a smile. "Who knows what's in the crackerjack box." And she wrinkled her nose at me.
I left the office before opening the envelope, and inside was a note inviting me to visit her home that evening for a "personal talk." Nothing else was there. Just that. And I had a terrible fear of what that could mean.
Yet I was intrigued, and I told Bernie about it when we met that evening at the cafeteria for dinner. "Uh-oh," he said, half-joking and yet rather serious, "anything can happen now."
"What for instance?" I said. "You surely don't think I'll go Lez, do you?"
He shrugged. We went through the line, gathering goodies on our trays, then found a booth by a window and talked while we watched the campus street traffic pass. "Who knows?" he said. "Everybody thinks they're heterosexual until they've tried it the other way. Then so many of them find out they're not. You just never know."
"Well, I think I'm heterosexual," I said, "even if you don't think I am. Or what have we been doing together in your car every couple of nights for the last six months?"
He shrugged again. "We'll see," he said. "Meanwhile, are you going to her place tonight?"
I was angry at his accusation that I might be ready to go Lez. And that's why I suppose I said, really rather defiantly, "Yes. As a matter-of-fact, I am. I intend very much to visit dear Minerva tonight." And I said her name with that adjective prefixed in a form of contempt both for Bernie and for Minerva.
But I was shaking when I arrived at her place. All the way up the hill where she lived, driving Bernie's car (which he lent me despite his anger at my going to her), I kept seeing signs of the House of Usher. You know, Poe's thing. I kept imagining that Minerva was the dead sister, coming back from the grave. It was frightening. And the fact that a wind had come up and the trees were blowing rather eerily, didn't help matters much.
Yet I went there. Why? Did I already then know what my goal would be? Was I already then unconsciously plotting a career for myself? Had I then already in mind the way I would climb to the summit? Maybe. Perhaps.
Certainly that topic entered our conversation early. We were in her parlor, something rather Usherish too in dark greens and browns and blues, and she sat massively before me in a great old chair beside a table and lamp that made her something surely from Poe, and she said to me, as if speaking from the shadows, "Of course, I'm sure you know you have much talent. I've been watching your work closely, and you have the potential for many fine things, Iris.
"Thank you," I said, yet wondered how she could know my potential when the semester was so young that she hadn't really seen anything at all except that slice of thigh I had shown her rather lewdly that very morning.
"I think there's a place for young women in Psychology today," she said, sipping straight Scotch from a tumbler which she held like a man. "If you're interested, I think I could help you." She sniffed and looked at me evenly.
I said, "Well, of course I am, but I'm so ... inexperienced." And I strung that out for bait to see where it would take me.
"Naturally," she said, "that's why you need someone older to help you." She continued to gaze upon me, then urged that I drink my own Scotch. "It'll do you good," she said. "It will relax you." And she watched me while I sipped my Scotch.
It burned going down, and I already was a little dizzy from it. I had protested that I wanted soda with it when she poured for both of us, but she only had said, "Nonsense," and had given it to me straight. Beggars can't be choosers, and so forth, so I had tried to drink it. And I knew I was becoming drunk.
Perhaps that's why I started seeing her double very early in the evening and by the time she came beside me, sometime after my second tumblerful, I wasn't sure whether it was her or three of her. All I know is that she was smoothing back my hair, telling me how attractive she thought I was and how very much she wished she had blonde hair instead of the color hers was. And then it was beddy-bye.
Somehow, and please don't ask me how, I ended up on a wide four-poster and I was in the raw and she was in the raw too and she was saying to me, "Shall I lick you or fuck you?" And she was kissing my earlobes and neck and shoulders and breasts and nipples and belly and hips, and I was going insane, drunkenly insane with a sudden wild hotness that was coursing my flesh, making me shiver and shudder, making me want to do whatever was necessary to relieve the agony and the ecstasy that was bubbling inside my torrid body.
I chose to be fucked, I remember that. Perhaps I was telling myself in my drunken mind that I was with Bernie and that this was all him and me together and not a pair of women at all. So somehow I managed to say I wanted to be fucked. And then I remember seeing her, or three or four of her, going to a closet and bringing back a huge leather prick and strapping it on herself, binding her thighs and belly with straps and organizing the massive thing in front of her pussy like a huge cock. And then she was coming onto the bed, and I was spreading my legs and I was holding out my arms and I was drunkenly saying, "Oh my lover, how I do welcome you," and then I was adjusting myself beneath her, and she was tipping my eunt with the head of that immense leather cock.
Soon, drunk or not drunk, I knew I was feeling wild juices in my cunt and I was pulling her into me, pulling that big leather prick up my cunt, shoving my cunt down on it, trying to encompass the entire thing, trying to grab all of it and hold it forever. "Oooh, sweetheart," I heard myself drunkenly saying, "my ever-loving sweetheart." And I pulled at her shoulders, clutched her to me, rolled my belly at her belly, and ground my cunt on that immense dildo. I loved its feel, loved everything about it. "Oooh, I've never had anything so big," I said, and wriggled on that fine cock.
"You can have it all the time, Iris darling." sin-whispered hoarsely to me, and I could hear her breath quicken even as I knew my own breath became shorter. "It's yours, if you're interested. And I can do many wonderful things for your career, too. I can help you as only a woman can help another woman. If you're interested, precious Iris, I'm yours to command." She licked my earlobe and then went down to kiss my nipples while she continued to dick me hard with that great leather force.
I writhed and turned and loved every minute of it. I felt myself mounting the scales of passion, going up and up and up. She continued expertly to fuck me with that leather wonder, and except that it wasn't hot like a man's dick and I knew it wouldn't splash juices in my cunt, it was just as good as any male's fucking that I'd ever had, and it was a bigger instrument than any I'd known on a boy besides. I enjoyed it thoroughly.
Was that when I decided, in my drunken stupor, to start seeing Minerva regularly? Perhaps. I know I went into a wild come and simply went crazy from the rushing feeling that thrust itself all over my body and which made me realize there are more ways for a woman to get her sex kicks than with a man. And I told Bernie essentially that the next time we were fucking each other in the back of his car. "Besides," I said, "I happen to like it on a bed, and we never have a bed to do it on, what with both of us living in dorms."
"You made it with her, huh?" he said, and jabbed my cunt with his dick. I was realizing, too, how much smaller and more insignificant his weapon seemed than the great dick Minerva had slipped into me.
"Yes," I said flatly. "She screwed me with a leather dildo. It was fab. I have to admit it."
"You're a bitch," he said, and plugged my hole with his rock. "You're a real bitch."
"I don't think so," I said. "I'll go on laying you if you want me to. It's just that I know a good thing when I see it. Look, Bernie, I'm not the brightest girl in the world, studies-wise, and that Lez wants to put me through college. She's hot to have me become a Psych major, and she's guaranteeing me a diploma. Hell, how can I refuse?"
"You're a bitch," he repeated, and stuck his dick into me as far as it would go. But I realized it didn't go as far as that leather dildo. No, he was far short of the mark. And suddenly I sensed, I suppose, that most men wouldn't be able to fill my long cunt the way a good dildo could.
Maybe that's why I said flatly then to him, "I'm going Lez if it means a degree, Bernie. You may as well know it. I'm going to fuck Minerva every time she wants fucking if it means getting a degree."
"Suit yourself," he said, "but I think it's going to mean more than just fucking her."
How right he was! Already the next time I spent a night, at Minerva's and by the way, she arranged with the dorm to get me overnight passes to stay at her place she was saying to me when we'd hopped into bed (and I was pretending to be high on Scotch again, though I knew definitely I wasn't so high that time at all), "have you ever licked a girl, sweetheart?" And she nibbled my pussy briefly, then looked to me for an answer.
I shook my head. I'd thought about it, but never got around to it. "How do you mean?" I asked.
"Oh, you'll love it," she said as sweetly as she could. "But first let me show you with your own. Spread, honey, and I'll show you." And she started parting my thighs.
For a big woman, almost a man in nature, she was so gentle. You'd be surprised. She worked my legs apart so softly that I wanted to come just from her gentle touches to my thighs. She caressed their insides near my cunt and I was going wild, already wiggling on the bed to her touch.
And then she had her head between my legs, and I only saw the black-silver thatch, and my own pussy hairs might have been extended into a kind of beard. And suddenly I felt a quivering hot tipping at my slit, and I contracted my legs almost instinctively and gripped her head between them. She looked up at me and smiled a funny pussycat grin, and then she turned on the bed, her own snatch near my face, and she spread my legs more, and I helped her, believe me! And then she settled down, gripping my ass with her big hands, to a powerful yet subtle series of nibbles at my vag's lips, occasionally darting her tongue in and out my hot crack.
"Oh, Min," I cried, "you're wonderful. You're so grand. Please eat me faster. Eat me faster, Min. Please." And I started shoving my snatch at her in a small fury. It felt so good. She was divine.
She worked on me deftly, not paying any attention to my beggings. She continued a certain rhythm that drove me insane. She kept it at that same slow but excellent speed, and I was the one who was starting to hump faster and faster, as if my quick humping was designed to make up for the quick work I was begging her to give my clit and bun.
I could feel her hot tongue up my slit. It seemed to go up there forever, and then it worked its way around my cunt walls as if it were a little worm inside my hole. It tickled me and yet thrilled me in a brutally sexual and exciting way. I began crushing Min's head with my legs, locking my thighs tightly on her head, trying to lock her into my cunt. I held her hair at the same time, pulled at her hair and ran my hands through it maddeningly. I was going wholly insane.
But all the while she worked me deftly, never losing her cool, never going with me in my direction, just teasing and tempting me, making me go crazy with juice and readiness to come. And suddenly I began banging my cunt at her mouth, and I was breathless, so tremendously tense, and I was screeching through clenched teeth, "Min, I'm coming. Min, I'm coming. I'm coming. Do you hear me, Min? I'm coming!" And I was rocking the bed in wanton wildness.
She brought me all the way down the line, and never changed her pace. She had me clawing her scalp, locking my legs as tightly upon her as I could, driving my cunt against her mouth in livid fury, grinding my belly and ass in a series of disastrous circling turns, giving her everything under the sun in my enormous need for final fulfillment, and she just sucked me off beautifully, so very beautifully.
I broke everything out of me. I snapped like an alarm clock too tightly wound, and my bells rang from here to hell and back. I gave her everything in me, and kept plunging my cunt at her mouth, releasing all the pent-up energy that had been locked inside me. I gave her everything that was possible to give her, and gradually, finally, released my all at her mouth. And then I breathed more easily, and gradually swelled my lungs and sustained myself alive again, and began to be conscious again. It was marvelous, so very grand.
Then she came up beside me. "Was it as good for you," she asked with a sweet smile, "as it was for me?" And she kissed my lips lightly.
"Oh, you bet," I gasped. "It was the greatest ever. I never knew a come like that."
"You mean he never gave you that kind of orgasm?" She meant Bernie, of course.
"Oh no," I said. "Never in a lifetime. I don't think any man could give me that." In a way, I meant those words to flatter her. But at the same time, I was realizing they were probably true.
And I repeated them. "I don't think any man could give me that." And I actually kissed her thick brows, first one and then the other.
She smiled pleased. She tipped her tongue to my lips. It was wet and hot, and I realized, as I tipped my own tongue to hers, that I was tasting my own cunt juices. And I wanted suddenly to taste my own cunt, and I licked at her tongue greedily. I took her tongue into my mouth too and I sucked it quickly and long.
"Are you ready to give me what I gave you?" she whispered hoarsely to my ear. When I nodded, she kissed my lobe. Then she slowly turned on the bed, and placed her snatch at my face. And she licked my pussy once and then seemed to settle into a position that would be comfortable to her for my eating her cunt.
And that was when I realized I was facing a woman's muff for the first time. Yes, I was about to eat a woman. I saw her big black bush in front of me, close-up as if magnified a hundred times in size, and I saw the slit between the hairs where the red line of her cunt revealed itself. And I knew my job was to eat that red line, to insert my tongue to it, to kiss it and suck it and taste its juices. My job was to suck on her clit just as she had sucked on mine. I had a task to perform.
Well, let me tell you that I wasn't all too afraid. After all, I had blown Bernie. I suppose; every boy wants that done to him. Sometimes I think boys don't know it but they really like blowing more than fucking, at least when it's done to them. And since I like to have my cunt lapped more than to be fucked, and I have a strong suspicion most women are the same once they know what a good cunt-licking feels like. I think maybe we'd all be better off if we stayed with our own sex. Maybe women understand women better, and men understand men better, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, I could lick a cunt just as well as blow a dick. So I went down on Min's twat. Or rather Min's twat went down on me. She straddled me at first, so it was sort of a case of my raising my head to eat her and her lowering her cunt to be eaten. But it doesn't matter. Soon she settled into a more comfortable position, both of us lying on our sides, both resting our head against one of the others' thighs while we locked our other thigh against the others head. Min was coming down on my muff for seconds. She loved the stuff, I guess.
And I'll admit that I loved hers too. That's right. Though I can't say for sure I was overpowered with desire to eat her snatch that particular night, yet I did like the feeling of slipping my tongue between her cunt's hot lips, feeling my tongue become its own little worm and start crawling into her vulva, going into and out from that hot red slit and licking the moist hairs all around it. Wet, not just moist: because Min was pretty wet. And I guess I was, too, because once I even heard her slurping me. So I tried to soak up her juices with my suction action, trying to swallow her hair even while I swallowed her juices, in that way seeking to dry her, though knowing I never could dry her that way at all.
I loved her pussy. I have to tell you that. Though, as I have just said, I'm not sure I loved it so much that night as now I know I do, yet I'm sure I already loved it somewhat then. Min has a beautiful pussy. It's so full and black, so bushy and curly, so fluffy and soft. I love to lick her cunt hairs. I tip them with my tongue, and I pull at them with my lips, seeking to distend each curl of her lovely black big furry bush. I enjoy every minute I'm on her cunt.
She taught me how to play with her clit that night too. Occasionally she would pause in her own activities on my cunt, which by the way were driving me wild again, and she would say things like, "Now, go around it with your tongue, darling. Sweeten it with a curl of your tongue, dear. That's nice. Now tip it gently with your tongue's tip. Ah, that's wonderful, sweetheart." She was a most excellent teacher.
I licked her clit with much feeling. It was a big one, believe me. It was a solid inch-and-a-half when erect, at least. Although I've been told that women can go as high as four and five inches in the size of their clits when erect, an inch-and-a-half still seems plenty for me, and I worked it almost as I worked Bernie's prick, blowing it and sucking it. She loved every minute I spent on that beautiful clit.
Naturally we started to go wild with our joys, started becoming uninhibited in our small gyrations. I couldn't control my lickings once Min went onto my own snatch with her rhythmical little dabs and dashes. And for the first time Min lost her own cool as I increased my thrusts at her vagina. She started humping my face with her snatch, and soon we were both pounding each others' mouth with our cunts. We were going crazy, shoving and shoving, unable to stop. And then it was the same thing for me all over again. I went up the cliff, and played around on its edge and rushed for the big fall.
But this time she fell with me. And oh how she fell! She savagely struck me with her cunt. She beat my lips pulpishly with her cunt. She locked my head in the tightest vise I think ever could be invented. And she clutched my ass and tried to control it with another vise. It was unbelievable. I loved every second of it.
Afterwards, coming down from the high rise, getting back to life's low level again, we bit lightly each others' cunt lips, licked our juices away, tried quietly and easily to suck each others' hair dry. And it was so pleasant just to hold her ass and rest my cheek against one of her thighs, to raise one of my own thighs as she rested her head against my other thigh, to see her other thigh rise, and to talk to each other as we rested between each others' legs so contentedly. It was grand.
I told Bernie about it, too. By that time we were seeing less of each other. He had found himself another girl, and I was just as glad. I had switched my major to Psychology, and I was making arrangements, with Min's help, to stop living on the campus too. I was on my way to becoming a full-time resident at Min's place. And I suppose that's why I told Bernie that I was pretty sure I would never find anything so pleasurable as the kind of experience I was knowing with Minerva.
He wanted to fuck me that night, just for old times' sake, and we were in the back seat of his car, and he had my pants off and was rolling his middle finger on my clit. I'll admit it was making me hot, but I really wasn't hot for him exactly. I wanted to have my orgasm, but it didn't necessarily have to be with him. And I suppose he sensed it too, because he said, "Well, why don't I drive you back to Minerva's place? She can do you more good than I can." And he climbed over the front seat, leaving me still in the rear, and started the motor and we went away from the park where we had been.
I didn't mind. I told Min when I arrived at her place that night she knew I was still seeing Bernie sometimes but she had said, "Don't worry, you'll get over that" what had happened. And I said I was hot. "He wanted to lay me," I told her. "But I didn't really care if it was him or not."
"But you would like to feel a dick, wouldn't you, sweetheart?" she said, hugging me to her big breasts.
"I suppose so," I said. "I think your dildo is better than any man's dick, that's definite."
"Of course," she said. And she went to her closet while I began hurriedly stripping, I feeling hot just from the thought of that dildo in my twat.
She came back with it, lay it on the bed while she quickly undressed and then, both of us naked, our clothes in heaps on the bedroom floor, we embraced, pressing our bodies tightly together, and I felt her hot big tits against mine and loved their feeling.
For a moment, we held each others' tits, and we rubbed our nipples against each others' and our nipples became harder than hard, and we laughed at the good feeling. Then she kissed me tightly on my mouth, and I took her tongue and gave her my own. We licked tongues awhile, and finally I broke away and said, "Min, I'm ready. Don't wait any longer. My cunt is so hot, it's breaking out with a wild flood. Fuck me with the dildo now, Min. Fuck me with the dildo."
That was when she said, "But what about me, sweetheart?" And she looked at me with that pussycat grin she sometimes wore. "Would you like to please me first?"
"I'll lick you," I said. "If that's what you want, I'll lick you." I wanted badly to do anything necessary in order to feel that prick in my hole.
"Oh no, not that," she said. "Let's fuck each other with the dildo. You fuck me first and then I'll fuck you." And she handed me the leather dick.
I had never worn it before. Isn't it strange that I never even had thought of wearing it before? I suppose I simply always thought of myself as a girl and never a man. But then she was helping strap it around my legs and belly, and I was looking down at it and was laughing and was saying, "So now I'm a man too," and was swinging that big leather dick in front of me.
"Of course you're a man, my dear," she said, and swung the dick too. "That's the beauty of being a woman. Contrary to Frued's penis-envy theory, a woman really doesn't need a penis at all. She can have one anytime she wants one. I Is just a matter of strapping it on. Meanwhile, we have slits to take the penis we put on us." And with that she went onto the bed, and spread her legs and beckoned me with her fingers. She smiled lightly. "Come to me, lover," she whispered hoarsely. "Come and let me feel your nice big prick."
I went on top of her. I thought of Bernie topping me, and now I was topping Min. I imagined that Bernie felt the way I felt, powerful with something to stick up a woman's cunt. So that was how men felt. A woman lay under them, and she waited and hoped it would be sufficiently hard and big to satisfy her, and the man was the master as he went upon her. Now I was going the same way onto Minerva, and she didn't have to worry if my prick would be big and hard enough to satisfy her at all. We both knew it would be!
Then I played at her cunt lips with the head of my leather cock. I ran it around in the entrance, tickling her clit, making her wiggle her ass, making her beg me to enter her. And we laughed together. "Beg me for my dick," I said, making it a joke. "Beg me to stick my prick in your cunt."
"Oh please, sweetheart," she said, going along with the joke, "Let me feel your big dick inside me." And suddenly we knew again how free we were from ever needing a man. We had a man hanging in that bedroom closet anytime we needed him.
I shoved my leather cock into her hot hole. That was something I wished I could know: the feeling of her hole on my cock. I knew the warmth and wetness of her cunt whenever I licked it, whenever I sucked it or stuck my tongue up it. And I knew how hot and moist it was whenever I played with my finger up her cunt. But I couldn't know the good feeling a man might know when he put a real dick up her hot twat. I could only imagine it.
Yet she reacted to my dick just as if she surely would react to a man's cock in her cunt. In fact, she probably reacted more so. For never forget, it was a big thing. It definitely was larger than most male organs. And I shoved it all the way into her. "Oooh," she moaned. "I can feel it on the roof of my cunt. It's touching the roof, dear. Turn it and play up there. I want you to feel it on the roof of my cunt."
I did what she told me, wriggling my body in such a way that it made the dildo wriggle up inside her hole, and she loved it. She shook all over and grinned at me, and clutched my shoulders and told me it was grand. Then she arched her legs, wrapped them around my waist and said it felt even better. 'TU make my cunt very short," she said, "and then you can hurt me with it. Hurt me with your cock, sweetheart." And she unlocked her legs from around my waist, arched her knees more and pressed her shins against my arms and almost wrapped her legs around my neck. "That makes my cunt very short," she said. "Now shove your big cock into me with all your might. I want it to hurt me."
I did what she said, and she suddenly screamed. I hadn't known I had hurt her so badly. Yet she begged to be hurt again. I withdrew my dildo almost to the lips of her cunt, then shoved it with all my might into her again. She screamed a second time. "Oh," she gasped, "it's entering my uterus. I just know it's entering my uterus." And she seemed genuinely happy amid her pain that I was so far into her. "Do it again and again," she said. "Don't stop. Keep hitting me with your wonderful cock." And she clutched me tighter as she seemed to prepare herself for another banging.
I sent my cock into her again and again exactly as she wanted it given to her, and she turned around and around on it, screaming and yet begging for more, and I just kept banging her with that leather dildo until she began a sudden rush and I knew she was coming. And then, perhaps excited by what was happening to her, I began hitting her cunt with a quicker and even harder thrust. And she went absolutely insane from my banging her that way.
Finally she just let everything out of her that was in her, and she gasped and sighed and grinned and almost swooned. "Ooooh," she said, gasping, "I never had it so good in my life. Oh, you dear. Oh you dear dear dear." And she lavished me with kisses, so happy was she then.
Well, she has taken care of me across these last three years. I was a sophomore when it all started. I got a degree in Psychology out of it. And now I'm a graduate assistant, handling lab sessions, and soon I'll have a Master's degree from it. The college I attend doesn't have a Ph. D. program in Psychology, and I've been thinking of going elsewhere for that. Minerva naturally is concerned. Suddenly lately she's started urging me to consider remaining as an instructor in the department, telling me I can always go somewhere later to get my terminal degree.
And would you believe this? I'm really tempted to stay. You see, though it is true I have never stopped thinking or" the academic value that our relationship has had, and I'm sure I entered into it for that purpose, yet I must confess that I also would miss Min dreadfully if I were to leave her. In fact, it's a reason why I've suggested that she quit her post and accompany me wherever I go for the final degree. But if she doesn't go, as she has indicated she won't, I suppose I might not go either. I suppose I could settle down to an instructorship at the college and forget about further aspirations. After all, I never was the brightest student in the world, and I'm just liable not to make it as a Ph.D. candidate elsewhere if I did go.
So what does this all prove? I don't know. It proves, I suppose, that a student and professor can start having sex for the benefits of the grades the student receives in return for the sex he or she gives the professor. But it's just as-likely that, though taking those grades when they're offered, the student can become hooked on the professor's particular sexual offering. At least this seems to be what happened in my case. If it was true that Min was the only Lesbian in the relationship when we started, I have to confess that there are two Lesbians in it now.
CHAPTER FOUR
Geraldine F., Vangie D., and Penny U. are close friends who requested to be interviewed together. They were at the time of their group interview all twenty years of age and were in their third year of college and had been together since their entrance as freshman to the large state university they attended.
Physically they were varied, and they claimed the variations helped them "get along better." Geraldine F., who went by the nickname of Deena, was a tall blonde, somewhat willowy, and wore her hair piled high in a series of upswept curls. Vangie D. was of medium height and had red hair which she usually wore in a pageboy cut. Penny U. was the smallest of the three girls and her hair was black and she wore it long and combed it straight. Their eye colors were different too, Deena being blue-eyed with a trace of gray, Vangie possessed green eyes which sparkled, and Penny's eyes were hazel with a predominance of brown. Physically, otherwise, the most striking impression was made by Penny whose breasts were quite large, although all three girls were amply endowed.
They all also wore the latest fashions for young women their age and said they were proud to display their legs well above their knees, stating that they were aware of the beauty of their legs, and they also tended to wear extremely tight and low-cut blouses or sweaters, and stated candidly that they were given to displaying their figures with or without clothes whenever they "got the chance."
They were avid volunteers for the interview and stated they believed their experiences were unique and offered fresh insights to the matter of faculty-student sex relationships on college campuses today.
This is their report:
Geraldine F. (called Deena subsequently): I think what makes our experiences unique is that we've worked together since we arrived here almost three years ago, scared little freshies but determined to "make it."
You see, we didn't know each other in our high school years, and we came up here alone, found ourselves together, and realized that we all had essentially the same idea or ideas.
Not that our ideas are any different from any other girl's ideas here. After all, we're a hip generation, and we know the score. From the time we were kids, we knew about naked girls and the effect they had on men. After all, we belong to the girlie mag generation, don't forget.
Anyway, from the time we were little kids, we saw our daddies sneak magazines full of naked women into the house, ogle them in the bathroom or in their dens and get all hot and bothered about them.
We might not have known they were getting hot and bothered when we were very young, but as the years passed we began to realize the effect of a naked tit on a man of any age. And we all therefore probably aspired to the same ambitions, to use our tits and, if necessary, our pussies too, to get what we wanted. Because if men got hot and bothered about naked titties in magazines, we figured, pretty much independently of each other, they would get more hot and bothered with naked titties in the flesh.
I know in my own case, I already wanted to pose for one of the men's magazines when I was just fourteen or fifteen. I wanted to take off my clothes and get with it and get the profit from my tits and ass that I was sure was in them. I actually posed for a photographer when I was sixteen. He also fucked me. So I had an idea what it was all about.
I used to get things by accidentally on purpose letting my old man steal peeks at my tits and pussy when I'd be in the bathroom or my own room with the door open just when he happened to be passing. I teased the shit out of him, and then asked him for money left and right. He never refused.
So it was natural that we should get together, I suppose, when we came up here to the university. I mean, we met in the first week, and we started talking, and we saw right away what we had in common. So we made arrangements with the dorm mother to put us all up in the same room.
There were various reasons we got the room together. Not just to work things out for our careers in the university. We also wanted our sex kicks together. We go down on each other every once in awhile for the hell of it. When we don't get enough dick, for instance, then we blow each others afterwards. It keeps us tuned.
It's part of the scene, don't you see? We swing loose. If we feel like making a chain, we do it anytime, and we blow each other off before we go somewhere.
like if we've got a date lined up, and we think it's going to be strictly squaresville with the minimum action, then one of us will suggest we hold a pre-fuck session and grab our comes while we can.
And believe me when I tell you that some of our dates can be squaresville all the way. You'd be surprised what some of those turd professors want or don't want. We ended up with a creep last week that only wanted to look at our tits all night long. He didn't even want to jerk off. We like guys that at least jerk off while looking at us. Sometimes they cream our bellies or tits, just spraying their come all over the place. But that turd didn't want to do anything except stare at our naked flesh.
Oh actually, he wanted to talk, too, but about the esthetic aspects of the female form. Dig that crazy chatter! We told him we'd just as soon discuss the esthetic aspects of a good fuck. But he said he wouldn't think of such a thing. I mean, he was a real square, all the way!
But a lot of times we get action. So maybe I ought to tell you exactly what we do. Or change that, we ought to tell you how we line up the stiffs or not-so-stiffs. It's simple. We give them plenty of thigh in their classrooms or anywhere else we see them, and then one day we happen to stall after class and ask him if he knows where we can get a job modeling. We say there are three of us, and we all need the money and that we've heard modeling pays something.
"What kind of modeling?" the crumb always asks, getting big eyes and a fruity leer.
"Well, gee," we say, "probably any kind. What kind do you think we could get?"
He looks us up and down then, and we know he's been remembering all the times he's almost seen up our ass-hole, almost but not quite and that's what makes the desire grow and then he says, "Would you be interested in nude modeling?" And he coughs discreetly and sometimes even gets a little red.
"Nude modeling?" we say like the words have just been invented. "Well, gee, we guess so. Is there much money in it? And could we do it together? We're kind of shy." And we blink our eyes big and look down at the floor.
"Well, I think so," the fruit says. "I think I could line something up for you. Give me a day, and I'll let you know."
Of course it always ends up the same way. The guy tells us the next time we see him that he couldn't line anything up for us, but if we're interested, and strictly to help us out (because he knows how tough it is to work our way through college), he'll let us model for him either in his office or somewhere else.
So we set a date with him, and then prepare for the next step, which is bringing our handy-dandy motion picture camera along.
More of which we'll tell you about later, but for now, let's just say the date is set and we either play with each other and lap our cunts to pass the time or line up another mark while we're at it. In any case, we show where he asks us to show, which can run the gamut of places. One guy rented an art studio for the showing. He even brought an easel and brush and palette along with him for the phony hell of it. Another rented an apartment for a whole month just for one evening's show. Others usually rent cheap rooms in fleabag hotels on Skid Row. A few have taken us to their homes when their wives were out. One took us to a park after dark and looked at us by flashlight while he played with himself. And several have seen us in their offices, sometimes covering bare windows with newspapers to keep the fun inside. They're a weird bunch, believe me.
I'll tell you about one professor whom we'll just call Percy B. and let it go at that. He was a sleek dark stud with wild curly hair and a square jaw and he looked like the meanest fuck in town. But when you talked to him, he had a squeaky voice and he was downright shy. Maybe that's why we wanted to fuck him.
We're tempted sometimes. After all, we're a roving wolf pack, and when we see an easy prey, it gives us the hots. Anyway, we made arrangements with him to model for him and the guy invited us to his games room. Yeah, he has a place all to himself on the outskirts of town, and he's got a room loaded with stuff like dartboards and ping-pong tables and a pool table, the works.
But he greeted us in a suit like he was going out for the night. "It's rather chilly," he even said, when we told him he ought to take off his jacket and make himself comfortable in his own house. But the rascal wanted us to take off our clothes regardless of the chill. He had big eyes for our bodies.
Well, it really wasn't chilly anyway. He was just scared we would get him undressed and make him do something with his meat. In fact, I even said to him, "Professor, why don't you take off your clothes and join us?"
He gave us the chilly routine again, and busily sipped a drink and watched us get out of our things. We teased the hell out of him, getting undressed very slowly, making him crawl for our flesh. We helped each other get out of our clothes, too. like, for instance, each of us unsnapped the others' bra. And that drove him nuts because we delayed the action, almost doing the unsnapping in slow motion. We could see his hard coming up in his pants, and we were giggling among ourselves.
"What's taking you so long?" he finally demanded. "Good grief, am I paying you for all this?"
Well, that cheap bastard. "Yes, you're paying for it," we told him. "Our time started from the minute we walked into this place. And if you don't like it, you can pay us for what you've used already, and we'll get the hell out."
He bitched that he hadn't used anything yet, and then he went back to sipping his drink.
That was when I flat out said to him, holding my loosened bra in front of my jugs, "Professor, would you like your money's worth?"
He didn't know what we meant, and just looked at us. But I went to him then, still holding my bra in front of me, and then exploded my tits right in his face where he was seated by the pool table. "Like these right in your face, Professor?" And I shoved my naked tits right at him.
The jerks always almost fall over backwards, trying to get away form those tremendous tits that hit them right between the eyes. And the jerks get the damndest crazy expression on their faces. It's wild, for sure.
Except I have to give old Percey credit. He backed away, but not all the way, and he Came back damned quick, and gave me a couple of solid licks. It surprised hell out of me.
I said, "Hey, what goes?" Usually the jerks back off and stay off for an hour or so before they start making the scene with big dicks. But Percey was licking tits early.
And nicely too. I could see right away that he knew his business. And I watched the girls start shivering, too.
It really got to me when he gave me those licks. We're so used to stringing those farts along, that it came as a real surprise. In fact, it took me a minute to recover and then I shoved the tit he was sucking on smack into his mouth. "Give me plenty more of what you're doing, Percey," I said. "Suck them all the way." And I started dropping my drawers, so he could play with my cooz.
You see, a guy like that makes our business worthwhile.. We always liked to get fucked solidly anyway, but we never get enough such fucks. So when it looks like they're coming on early, we cream our cunts with expectation.
And believe me, I was creaming mine. In fact, I whispered to him, "Stick your finger up my vag, honey. I want to feel something up there."
And he did. The sonofabitch surprised hell out of us. I no sooner had my drawers down from my pussy, not even off yet, and he was sending his navigating finger up my snatch. I had a helluva time getting off my drawers because I spread for him and that made the drawers, which were already to my knees, hang tight on me. And there I was, trying to shove down my drawers at the same time I was shaking from his good finger on my clit.
And that's when he really gave us a mouthful. He said, "So you want to fuck, huh?" And he leered at all of us. "Well, I think I can take care of you." And he zipped down his fly in a single movement, and unfurled the greatest cock I'd ever seen. We wanted to play The Star-Spangled Banner, it was so beautiful.
And of course we gave up thinking he was shy. Percey B. had one helluva big purseful of ripe cock.
And he swung it with a vengeance too. He wagged his cock at me at the same time he was off that chair and was shoving me around and then he was lifting me onto that pool table, yanking my pants off me and spreading me on the green felt. And he was climbing on top of me and getting ready with his cock to go into me.
Which was when we got out the motion picture camera.
He saw it immediately. "What the fuck goes?" he demanded.
"Just that," I said, grabbing his cock and pulling it into me even while he was looking over his shoulder at Deena coming at us for a close-up. "This big fuck goes on film." And I locked my legs around his ass and started pounding him with my pussy.
He tried to get loose. But it didn't work. I had him good, and the girls were rolling the film on him, shooting him up and down his body and catching his cock going into me.
"It's blackmail," he shouted. "It's blackmail. You bitches are trying to frame me, aren't you? You lousy bitches are trying to frame me."
I started undressing him even while he was fucking me, and I said, "Sure, we want to frame you. With a cock like yours, we'd love to frame you. We could think of nothing better than to frame you." And I fucked him hard.
The others helped undress him, too, pulling away his shoes and socks and trousers. "And to keep the blackmail," I told him, "we'll want your dick whenever we're ready for it. Anytime, anywhere, anyway." And I played with his balls from behind him when I ripped away his shorts.
It works that way too, see, if you're following me. We get our free fucks by blackmailing them. Naturally, everyone isn't worth a free lay. But those who are, we get that way. We make them fuck us afterwards when we want it.
Because we have piles and piles of film on every idiot who ever has paid us to pose for them. We use the blackmail however we want it. Sometimes it's strictly for grades. We say, "Take care of us on grades, and we'll leave you alone. You don't have to worry about anybody else seeing this film. Just take care of us on our grades."
You see, blackmail works easy on guys that want their crummy little professor jobs. And they even pledge themselves not to tell anybody else, naturally. So it always keeps us "innocent," see?
Well, let's amend that last statement. It always kept us innocent in the past.
Until Percey came along.
And then the others came along, too. In fact, they came along before we knew what was happening.
Well, the truth was, Percey wanted a rerun. He said he liked his performance, not having seen himself on film at all (though he looked damned fine on film, and we all got the hots all over again, and that's maybe why we gave him the rerun), and he wanted more of the same. "Besides," he said, talking to us after class one day and proving he wasn't very shy at all, "if I don't see you girls in my games room this Saturday night, I might tell some people on Monday morning about your interesting activities. You see, I'm not terribly interested in keeping my job anyway."
"Well, what the hell," we told each other on the way to our next class, "he's a good screw. Let's head his way Saturday night."
And we did. Only to find that six other studs were waiting for us, just like Percey. All waiting and ready to fuck.
And what surprised us were that some of them were marks we had set for later picking, guys that we thought were fat and creepy, little guys we didn't think would give us any trouble at all. But man, you should have seen the dicks they mounted!
And we saw those mean cocks right away. You see, we were no sooner into that games room, than those little sonsofbitches came through a side door, balls naked, swinging their hard cocks at us. We couldn't believe our eyes.
I guess we knew we had a justice coming to us. We'd been getting away with murder. And there's only so much a lot of guys will take. They might seem mousy, guys like that, but they've got cocks like lions; and they reach a point where they don't take shit from any broad any more, I guess.
All I know is that I never saw such big dicks before. They came at us with fire in their eyes. "So you're the cunts that Percey told us about, huh?" one of them said, and he took me and grabbed my tits and gave me a hard suck. I tried to break away from him, but when he lapped my nips, I gave up. It was too damned good. I just shoved my tits into his mouth and begged him to suck them forever.
The little bastard that got me, threw me against a dartboard and held me while two of the other guys started heaving darts at me. I pissed. Its the truth. I actually pissed. The pee ran down my legs. I would've shit too if I hadn't had a bowel movement before leaving the dorm.
And did they ever laugh when they saw me piss myself! They thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Meanwhile, what do you think three others were doing to Vangie? They had her on that pool table, two of them holding her down while the other shot a cue ball at her vag and kept hollering, "Into the side; pocket nil the far cushion." That damned cue ball hurt like hell every time it hit her vag. It was awful.
But that was nothing compared to what Percey and all of them did to me when they left the other two girls. They laid me on the ping pong table and started gang banging my cunt. I thought I'd die. I screamed and screamed and thought I'd dir.
But do you know something? Maybe it made us hotter or something, but we really wanted to screw those guys. The worse they treated us, the more we wanted to screw them.
I think that was because it was the first time that we got our comeuppance. Until then we always were in charge. We moved professors around the way we damned pleased. Suddenly they were moving us around. And what made it worse or maybe, better, definitely made us hotter was the fact that it was being done by the kind of guys who, on first glance, you'd never think would do things like they were doing. Plus the fact that their hards never went down. All the time they were punishing us, we could see those huge hards waiting for us. We knew we would have those ripe cocks in our cunts, and I guess that's what kept us taking the punishment. It was as if we expected a reward in the future.
I think Percey explained it best when he said, "You think college professors are different from other guys, don't you? A lot of them are. But a helluva lot are like us, average guys who don't intend to take any shit from any broad anywhere. You cunts have been getting away with murder long enough. You think because your generation is hot on sex that no other generation has ever tasted it. Well, we've got news for you." And they suddenly all came at us with their steel cocks.
That was when they decided to fuck us one at a time. In other words, all seven guys would take one girl before moving on to the next. It was awful, but I was pretty sure only the first girl would have to take all seven because I was pretty sure too that those guys couldn't take three fucks in a row. I just didn't believe it.
But they had news for us. They took all of us, seven guys in a row on each of us. They creamed our vags, then went onto the next. And when they finished with that one, they took the third. It was hard to believe, but then they had something very believably hard. Their cocks never softened. Penny was first and Deena was second and I was third, and I was starting to get afraid they wouldn't have hards by the time it was my turn. Isn't that something? At first, when they ail lined up on Penny, I was afraid of being fucked by seven guys in a row. But after I saw their terrific cock action with the others, I was afraid for a different reason, afraid they wouldn't have big enough cocks for me.
But they had big enough dicks for all of us. And by the time they were done, we were almost hoping they might take us on again. They were terrific, for sure.
Then they got us to blow them. Each of them wanted a blow-job after they'd fucked us all one time around. Imagine that! We'd thought they'd be dead-tired. But they were ready to be blowed. And we went down on their big cocks and loved it. Sore as I was from those seven dicks in my cunt, I wanted to blow all seven of those fabulous hards.
And we got a chance to blow them all too. It was amazing, and the damndest thing I ever saw, but they stood us each to a blow-job apiece on all of them. We hit all of them one time with our mouths, and it was great. You'll never know what it is to take seven dicks in a row, one after the other, and to know they're all great. You feel those magnificent hards going down your very throat, and you want to swallow every bit of them.
And then when they splash your tonsils! Wow, there's nothing like it! It just comes at you hot and heavy, and you can't get enough of it. You feel that good stuff hit the back of your throat, and you swallow it all the way. It's just like cream. Exactly like cream. And it's great.
And all the time that damned Percey just laughed his head off. He thought it was the funniest thing he had ever seen.
I guess that's why we planned to rape him.
That's right. We planned the minute we left there that we were going back the next night and rape Percey when he was alone.
Let me tell about this.
Penny: And we did, too. The next night we climbed through a cellar window and got into his house and found him in his bedroom, looking at some girlie mags. "Interested in the real thing?" we said, already naked for him. We'd undressed downstairs before going to his room
We didn't give him a chance to answer. We just dragged him downstairs to the games room and then put him on the pool table for a change. And then we strapped him to the table with some rope we'd brought along, and he looked like Gulliver there on that pool table, his legs spread and his arms wide. And then we went to work, blowing him.
Deena: We all took nibbles on his dick. One after the other, we took nibbles on his dick. He wanted to come. He was turning his ass on that table like crazy, and wanted badly to come. But every time it looked like he would come, we'd stop and let him go crazy, fucking air, desperately wanting at least to be able to whack himself off.
Then we started inserting ourselves onto his dong. We would climb onto the table, lie on top of him and tease him with our cunts. He kept shoving his prick at us, desperately trying to get into our vags, wanting to cream us with his come. We would put our twats on his prong ever so gradually, and he would thump us with his whang, and beg us to take him all the way into our snatches.
But we would always back away. At the same time, we would tickle his ass-hole. One would be going up and down teasingly with cunt or tongue on his dick, and the others would be playing with his balls and ass-hole.
And then we began chalking the cue tip on a stick, and he begged us not to do what he knew we'd do next.
"Why not?" we asked him as one of us would insert his cock to our cunt. For instance, I was on him for a ride whenever Deena started working the cue stick up his ass-hole the first time. He was begging Deena to keep it out of his hole, and at the same time he was shoving his dick harder into my cunt. It was driving me crazy at the same time it was working on him. I wanted to stay on top of him.
But we made him lick Vangie's cunt while Deena played up his ass with the cue stick. We were going nut.--.
And then I started fucking myself with a cue stick because the very thought of it was driving me crazy. There I was, trying to stuff a cue stick up his ass and I was working another stick up my own vag, standing beside him at that pool table, and squirming around like crazy.
And all the while, he was eating cunt, me with my snatch on his cock, and Vangie was teasing his mouth with her cunt. We were losing our minds, believe me.
Finally, I guess we couldn't take it any more. And we unloosed him from that table and let him fuck us. He dove at us, and we all grabbed for his dong, and we came up fighting to take it first. Vangie was the lucky one, and he creamed her twat, standing up, because' they both were so hot, they couldn't lie down before they connected, and they just went at each other like a pair of ass-holes hopping through hoops. Oh, did they ever fuck!
And it was wild. He just surged his prime cock up her cunt, and she went through the roof with joy. Come flowed like a river and she humped him for everything he had in him. He held her on his cock, she straddled his waist with her legs, and wrapped her arms around his neck, and they fucked standing up. It was totally insane.
Then he took us all. Vangie next and then me, and everything about his solid cock was great. We licked it and fucked it and sucked it and took it up our holes and in our mouths and never got enough of it. We kept coming back for more.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jamey was what is known on the Coast as a "Beach Athlete." He was handsome of face and figure, and he was robust. From a glance at him one would assume that he was "all man." That he was as masculine as the next man. He was the coach of the swimming team at a local college. And Jamey possessed or was possessed by a single stroke of evil. He detested young boys!
At an early age he had become what is commonly referred to as a "book worm." That is, he had had an insatiable appetite for learning; so much so that he neglected all athletic activities.
While other boys were playing baseball and other sports, Jamey studied. He delved into the deepest forms of history and anthropology. He studied architecture and relative subjects. He eventually had a nervous breakdown, and the family doctor advised his parents that he must, from then on, pay attention to sports. And so he did. It took a few years, but he built up a fine physique for himself. All trace of his former puny self was gone, but something had left its mark on his mind; a mark he could not erase. During his book-worm and puny years he had been the subject of ridicule by thoughtless boys his own age. They had poked fun at him, calling him "skinny."
"The girlless one," and other taunting names. At that time he had been unable to strike back. Had he called them names they would have beaten him to a pulp, and no puny boy can afford to indulge in fisticuffs; and so he had grown into a man filled with bitterness for young boys. Jamey was thirty-two now, and he sought younger men for his homosexual activities. Whenever a young homosexual flirted with him, he would wait for the chance to beat him up unmercifully. It aroused his passion to see them suffer, and at the same time it gave him a sense of superiority.
After an initial class one semester Jamey encountered Rexy. Rexy was eighteen, and robust. He appeared to have no feminine qualities whatever; and he was an ardent admirer of physical perfection such as Jamey displayed. Therefore, it seemed inevitable, once they had met in class that Jamey and Rexy would become associated. Rexy, because of his admiration for the older one's body; Jamey, because he nursed a strong desire to punish such a good-looking young man.
They met in the pool, with the water waist high. It happened when Rexy, standing near Jamey, replied, "Coach you sure got a fine pair of shoulders." The youngster's blue and cherry-laden eyes sparkled with appreciation. His bushy red hair was dripping with the water, and there was a generous smile upon his face.
Hearing the address, Jamey turned. At first he scowled, for he had already judged the speaker to be some years his junior. Then his search for revenge crossed his mind and, anticipating another victim, he forced a smile. "You're not badly built yourself," he answered in a genial tone of voice.
Together, at Jamey's suggestion, they raced across the pool with graceful strokes. After they had swum together for a period of twenty minutes they headed for the poolside. Breathing heavily for exertion they fell onto the bench and waited for pounding hearts to quiet down. Then Rexy stared at his newly made acquaintance and said, "Call me Rexy. What's your tag?"
"Jamey."
They shook hands and perhaps Rexy did not get the significance of the powerful grip of the man, overly emphasized as though he would like to crush the bones in his hand.
They chatted for nearly an hour. Then Rexy left to stroll to the vending machine in the locker room. He came back with candy and soft drinks, and Jamey showed mild appreciation. But that did not bother Rexy for he liked his new coach, and seemed ready to overlook slight indifferences. They chatted again and finally Rexy suggested that Jamey be his guest that evening.
Jamey frowned at him. "You're not very careful about picking up with people," he suggested, frowning with a touch of contempt.
Rexy laughed. "I can take care of myself and you are my coach."
"Then we'll go to my place," Jamey said. "I rent a small cottage a few blocks away from the school."
"You live alone?"
"Yeah. Any objection?"
Rexy chuckled. "Of course not." His eyes were sparkling mischievously as he added, "You're a little on the cranky side. Whassa matter, Coach your wife turn you down?"
"No wife. Women are a bore. That is, most of them are."
"What then do you do for fun?"
"Anything that strikes me."
"You mean you go in for loving in all varieties?"
"I said anything that strikes me. Whatever I imagine."
Jamey stared at the youngster, wondering whether he was a homosexual. If not, he would make him one by force. He had decided to be brutal with Rexy. It would arouse his passion, and once again he would be punishing the boys who had tormented him in his childhood by taunting him about his puny physique, and the fact that he preferred books to exercise.
Once at the cottage, they showered together and Jamey noticed that Rexy cast several glances at his privates. They were equally well built and seemed pleased with each other. After they had dried on large bath towels Rexy suggested that they stretch out on the bed together and sleep off the exhaustion of this swim. Jamey nodded agreeably, but when he was on the bed face down he peeked occasionally to see if Rexy was preparing to fondle him. The youngster was resting face up, his eyes on the ceiling, and apparently giving no heed to the nude body alongside of him. That is, that was the situation during the first few minutes on the bed. Then, Rexy's cherry blue eyes came alight with heavy desire. They glittered hopefully while he propped himself on one elbow and faced his companion. "Beautiful, beautiful!" he exclaimed as he surveyed Jamey's body.
"Of course I have a beautiful body," Jamey replied. "I worked like hell to make it that way just as you did. For a kid only eighteen, you are very well developed."
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me. You did the work."
Rexy chuckled a little again. "You're a funny guy, coach."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Your tone of voice as though you're sore at the world."
Jamey grunted with disdain. "Not the whole world only punks like you."
"Punks? What have they done to you?"
"I was puny one time a book worm. The dirty little bastards on the school yard used to poke fun at me. Call me insulting names."
"But you're a grown man now. Surely you don't let an awkward adolescent experience embitter you."
"But I do. I hate punks like you."
Rexy said, "You must be kidding. If you hated punks so much you wouldn't have invited me here to your cottage."
Jamey's eyes narrowed menacingly. "Maybe I did that so's I'd have a punk to punish to make up for what the dirty little bastards on the schoolyard did to me."
"Naw, Coach. You're not that small. You couldn't be."
Rexy seemed totally unafraid; he seemed not to take the older man's hints seriously.
There was a tenseness in the air as Jamey continued to stare hard at his guest, wondering is he a homo? He decided to ask.
"Rexy are you a homo?"
The young man grinned teasingly. "What do you think?"
"I don't know. It isn't always easy to tell."
"I was wondering the same about you."
"We're laying on the bed together nude."
"That doesn't mean anything. Men aren't as squeamishly modest as dames. I've known men who were far from being homos, to do the same thing."
Jamey rolled over on his side, exposing his penis and testicles so that Rexy could get a full view of them. "Does that tempt you, Rexy?" He saw the lust creep into Rexy's eyes, and the boy drew in a deep breath and exhaled falteringly. Suddenly Rexy's right hand slithered toward him.
And now he had the fingers on the penis and began fondling it gently.
Jamey got an erection. "That feels good," he said.
The boy asked falteringly, "You're-you're not mad at me."
"Why should I be."
"Most men would be."
"No, Rexy keep it up. It really feels good."
Jamey moved his left hand toward the boy. Then he began fondling his penis and testicles.
The boy groaned. "Thank heavens," he said softly. "I was hoping you'd be this way. You have such a lovely body I've had a yen to just kiss it all over."
"Why don't you?"
"You you won't mind, Jamey?"
"No. I'd like it."
Rexy needed no additional persuasion. He slid down in the bed and then commenced tonguing his mate's breasts. Then he ran his tongue up and down along the stomach and finally he made a dive for the erected penis. Taking it in his mouth he groaned with hungry satisfaction and began sucking ruggedly. Jamey rolled over on his back and allowed the boy to have his way. When he had experienced a climax, he waited while the boy ran to the bathroom which adjoined the bedroom, and then returned with a satisfied smile wreathing his face.
Rexy said, "You were wonderful, Coach. I I loved it."
"I loved it," Jamey said rather coolly, for once again his adolescent persecution had clouded his brain, and now all he could think of was to punish this punk.
Rexy said, "We must do something else. What would you prefer, Coach?"
Jamey scowled at him. "The ass."
Rexy suddenly turned ashen. "Oh, no! Not that!"
"Why not?" Jamey's tone of voice was cold.
"I've never had that, and I'm small back there. It might hurt-"
Jamey sat up like he had been struck from behind, for this was what he had wanted to hear. He had been wondering what would hurt Rexy the most. "So you're small," he said with a note of contempt. "And it would hurt?"
"Yes, Coach. I'm sure it would. Please think of something else. What I did to you I'd like that."
"No," Jamey said sharply. "I'm not in the mood for that. I think I'm going to screw your lousy little ass."
"No-Please don't-"
The whine in the boy's voice inspired Jamey. That's just what he wanted a punk begging for mercy. He rolled the boy over on his face roughly, with both hands. Then he leaped upon him. His erection had grown stone-hard because of the boy's fear, and he rammed it violently into place.
Rexy screamed. "Please, No Couch, it's terrible!"
Jamey pushed deeper, and then hit his stroke. He cupped his right hand over the boy's mouth to halt the screaming and, with his left hand, he pounded the back of Rexy's head.
"Don't tell me what to do, you dirty little punk," Jamey growled. "Don't you ever tell me what I can't do!"
He knew the boy was really suffering. It was not just fear of something he had not undergone before. No, it was genuine suffering for the blood had commenced to trickle out. Jamey felt it against his penis, and he grinned his triumph. "You're bleeding, punk," he rasped between his teeth. "Good! I hope you suffer plenty, you dirty little sonofabitch! That pays for some of the misery they gave me on the school yard."
Through the heavily cupped hand over his mouth, Rexy stammered, "Wasn't meI wasn't one of them-"
"Shut up, punk! Shut up and take what you've got coming."
Jamey kept up the operation for a long time; even after he had experienced a climax he continued because he wanted to hurt the boy as much as he could. Maybe even injure him permanently. Lust for revenge was whirling through Jamey's mind. His blood churned rapidly through his veins over the very thought that once again he was avenging the great hurt the punks on the schoolyard had inflicted upon him. It was true that Rexy had not been one of them, but he was a punk. That's all that was necessary.
Finally tiring of his revenge, and with his passion satiated, Jamey left the bleeding body and went to the bathroom. While he bathed himself he peeked into the bedroom to see if Rexy was about to leap off the bed, and make his escape. But the boy only lay there face down, sobbing heavily. Jamey saw the blood on the bed-covering and took a towel and covered it. When he rolled Rexy's body over on its side in order to place the towel under him, Rexy sobbed, "You're cruel. Coach you're a bastard."
"Shut up, punk. I'm only half through with you."
Rexy gasped. "Oh, God no! Not again. I I couldn't stand the pain."
"Nobody worried about my pain when I was a kid."
"But it wasn't me, Coach. I wasn't one of those dirty little kids."
"You'll do in their place, Rexy."
"But that's unfair."
"Who cares? There's nothing fair in all the world."
"Coach I think you're crazy. I've met up with a lunatic."
"I'm as sane as you, punk. And a whole lot smarter."
"I I wanna get out of here. You won't stop me."
"I told you I wasn't through with you yet."
"But you've got to be. I'm suffering something terrible. My ass feels like there's lightning and thunder in it."
Jamey sneered, "Now ain't that just too damned bad."
"Don't you care that I'm suffering? Haven't you got a heart?"
"I care that you're suffering, Rexy. I love it. That's how I want you to be."
"You're plain crazy. I know it. I'm getting out of here."
"No you're not. Not till I'm through with you, Rexy."
"If you force me to stay that's kidnapping."
"Nuts!"
"It's true. The law will get you."
"If you breathe one word of this to the law, I'll hunt you down and kill you."
"You wouldn't, Coach!"
"Yes, I would. I'd love to kill a punk. I've told you how I hate your kind."
"But, I'm not a punk."
"Yes, you are, Rexy. A lousy, dirty little punk."
A sudden wave of sadism swept over Jamey. He grabbed the boy roughly and yanked him off the bed. Standing him on his feet, Jamey's eyes blazed with fury. "Punk, punk, punk!" he yelled.
He smashed a tight right fist into the boy's face, sending him reeling backwards. Rexy banged against the wail, and screamed with pain.
Jamey leaped toward him. Then, with both fists, he pummeled the boy unmercifully.
Fright clouded Rexy's eyes for a brief moment, then something seemed to snap in place in his mind: his blue eyes glittered with the thought of reprisal, and he struck out with his right. As his fist landed on Jamey's face he hollered, "You goddam sadist! You think you're gonna beat me up well, I'm no sissy!"
He struck again, and again.
Jamey was furious. To be struck at all by a punk was disgusting. To be hurt by a punk's fist was infuriating.
"I'll kill you," he stormed, and made a mad rush forward.
Rexy ducked the close contact. And as he ducked he brought his right fist against the man's testicles. He heard a scream. Then he saw Jamey's body crumple to the floor. He was out. He had fainted.
"The lousy sonofabitch," Rexy sobbed. He raced to get into his clothes, whimpering over the excruciating pain in his rear. Dressed finally, he ran out of the cottage.
When Jamey recovered, his first reaction was one of violent anger, but as he laid on the bed, his hands massaging his groin gently, he began to fear the consequences of his action. He had not previously attacked one of his students, although the temptation had frequently been there, and he was afraid that Rexy would approach the Dean or the head of the Physical Education Department, which would naturally mean the end of his teaching career.
He called the school and obtained Rexy's number from Admissions, and tried to reach the boy by telephone, but was unable to do so. This naturally increased his anxiety.
A few hours after Rexy's departure, around ten o'clock that night. Jamey heard a knock at the door. Answering the knock took some courage, as he was afraid that it might be a school official or the law. Opening it, he saw Rexy standing in front of him. A surge of relief flooded through Jamey, and he invited Rexy in. It was then that he noticed that the boy was not alone. There were two other people with him, a boy of seventeen or so and a girl the same age. Jamey started to close the door, but Rexy shoved it completely open, damming Jamey against the wall of the entry hall.
"You mother-fucker, we've come to take care of you," Rexy announced with a hard glint in his eyes. "And Coach, you aren't ever going to screw again."
Jamey was stiff with fear, and he hacked into the living room. Then a new surge of anger flooded him, and he swung out . Rexy, trying to catch the young man suddenly. Rexy had been prepared for just such a move, and he dodged the blow. At the same time his friend moved around behind Jamey and grabbed the coach's arms and neck in a tight nelson. Unable to move, and almost unable to breathe. Jamey could only attempt a kick. The girl had moved forward and before Jamey could get into position to launch a kick, she had his ankles tightly held. Rexy then pulled from his waist a belt and a length of rope, with which he tied first Jamey's legs and then his hands. The girl dropped her panties, and stuffed them into Jamey's mouth.
Trussed up like this, they threw Jamey to the floor and Rexy planted a kick solidly in Jamey's groin, laughing as he did so.
"Hey, Jack, look at that. The big, bad queer doesn't like to have a man play with his nuts."
Jack laughed at this, and Jamey knew then that the strange boy was definitely a sadist. There was a wild gleam in his eyes that spoke of madness. The girl was giggling softly as the boys began to work Jamey over, kicking him in the groin, the face and the buttocks.
"Move over here, Lois," Jack commanded, indicating a position directly over Jamey's upturned, pained face. "Put some medicine, on his face. He needs it."
The girl lifted her dress and squatted halfway toward Jamey's face. As Jamey turned his head, she began to urinate on him, the urine stinging the cuts and bruises, and running into Jamey's eyes, though they were as tightly shut as possible;. When the girl finished, the boys laughed, and each in turn urinated on Jamey.
Finished with this "punishment," the boys had Lois strip, and lay with her buttocks on Jamey's late, and then each boy in turn had intercourse with her. As each reached a climax, they would pull out so that the semen shot onto Jamey's face.
Not satisfied with this brutality, the boys began to sodomize Jamey, taking their time, and being as rough with him as he had been with
Rexy. Reaching the maximum number of climaxes of which they were capable, they then rammed a broom handle into Jamey's anus, and pulling it out made him smell his own excrement. After several hours of torture, the boys shoved the handle once more into Jamey's ass, then lit several cigarettes, stubbing them out on his genital area and scarring his face, burning into it the word "Cock-sucker."
They then left the coach on the floor, still tied, and in agonizing pain.
Jamey's cleaning woman found him late the next morning arid telephoned the police and the hospital. Unable to truthfully explain his beating, Jamey told a story of a group of punks, unknown, who had beaten and tortured him.
The college authorities hearing of this, they conducted their own inquiry, and learning from several sources of James's perversion, he was asked to resign. Rather than face total public disgrace. Jamey accepted their offer, and at this writing, is working for a private club teaching swimming, lie is a deeply embittered man, and although plastic surgery removed the obscene "Tattoo" from his forehead, he still feels stigmatized by his experience.
He does not expect to be cured.
CHAPTER SIX
Phyllis C. teaches English at another large university. She is thirty-two, an attractive brunette who dresses modishly but, at first appearance, displays no sensuality which might attract anyone's attention. Rather she is quite reserved in her mannerisms and behavior and might well pass undetected in any large gathering except insofar as her natural charms would attract observation.
Yet she revealed herself to be rather aware of the sexual revolution on American campuses in this time, and spoke freely about her knowledge of that phenomenon. She revealed also the interest of some of her female colleagues in the phenomenon and she sought to elucidate her experiences in order to provide possible insights to the developing situation across the nation. This was her report:
I ought to mention first that we have a large number of engineers in our university. In fact, we're rather well-known for the products of our engineering schools. As a result, our English classes are often filled with them. This means two things: first, the men outnumber the women in such classes disproportionately; and secondly, we don't really get much English teaching done because, as you probably know, engineers are not the most interested students in matters not pertaining to their own specialities.
As a result, we have turned more to discussion of whatever gives our boys the chance to express themselves articulately, thus to learn better English practically. Belle B. and Karen K. are my partners in a project we developed at the university in our freshman sections to teach the boys better grammar and punctuation and things like that.
Can you guess what I'm talking about? Well, let me tell you. We decided to let them write on whatever they wanted most to write about.
"Can that be anything?" one boy asked. He's a dimple-cheeked darling named Larry.
"Anything," I told him. "You can write on anything."
"And who reads what we write?" Larry wanted to know.
Well, that explains the other part of our project. We trade the papers anonymously among ourselves, so that one of the other girls read one of our papers, and we read one of hers. The idea is to read it objectively, not guess whose it is by the handwriting or other clues we recognize after a time with any student's work. No names are on the papers, and they're handled by code numbers which are sealed in envelopes, and all that. I won't go into the procedure of protection, because in reality nothing really is anonymous if you don't want it to be.
Anyway, you guessed what happened next, I'm sure. Yes, we got an interesting paper which Karen, who is a very cute young thing, just out of graduate school and hardly more than twenty-five, a striking towhead, caught in our grab-bag procedure. Her eyes must have popped when she read it the first time, because those pretty brown orbs were still popping when she came into the office that Belle and I share on the second floor of our English building on the campus.
Belle, I should mention, is the oldest of us three, just turned forty, but you never would think so. She's slim and lovely and her strawberry blonde hair is for real and goes beautifully with her cat's eyes which sometimes look blue and sometimes green.
Anyway, Karen came in and she said, "Want to hear something very unusual?" She was holding a theme.
You never know what to expect from an engineering class, so we were all willing to listen of course. And she began:
(I'll try to find it here in my handbag. It's a classic. Here it is:)
"To whom it may concern: I am a cherry. Yes. It is sadly true. I, a poor freshman in a great school known for its engineering prowess, am at seventeen-and-a-half a cherry. Everybody talks about the sex revolution in America. I came to college because I heard there was a sex explosion on college campuses everywhere in the land. I am now in the middle of my first semester. And yet I am a cherry. In other words, I have never yet been fucked.
"Why is this so? I am sure I would like cunt if I were given a chance to have some. Many times I play with myself and I think about cunt. I think upon some pretty girl student or maybe even some pretty lady teacher, and I pretend I am undressing her, and I take out my prick, and it is very big, and I play with my prick and think of myself screwing that pretty girl student or pretty lady teacher. And I think of all my good come going into a nice cunt. I then come all over my hand and my hand becomes very sticky and I become very bad for I realize that some nice cunt has been denied a wonderful pleasure.
"What is this thing called a sex revolution on campus? If a real sex revolution existed on this campus, the teachers would be thinking of the welfare of their students. The faculty would hold discussions about ways to improve the sexual welfare of their charges. The college would become a wonderful place where no lonely freshman boy would go without cunt whenever he wanted some. Until that day is reached, no
I rue sex revolution can be said to exist on this particular campus.
"Do I have proposals about how to change the present situation'. " Yes. Besides those I have noted in passing the paragraph just above this one, I would suggest that professors sit down with their students and confer with them privately. I think there should be conferences in which the professor asks the student if he's getting enough sex to satisfy him. I think the professor should take pains to arrange sex for the student if he is not getting enough sex. This might mean drastic measures on a campus such as this where the ratio of men to women is so great. It might entail a certain measure of personal sacrifice on the part of the professors. But if it's for the betterment of their students' welfare, they should he willing to make such sacrifices.
"I realize this all sounds very radical. I realize it is all most difficult to accept from a mere seventeen-year-old freshman, especially when he has never fucked in his life. But if this is the time of the sex resolution, then such a suggestion coming from such a person should be accepted with the respect that is due to an individual who wants very much to be part of the general trend.
"That is all I have to say." That was the end of the paper.
"Wow!" I said. "Who wrote that?"
'I'll be damned if I know," Karen said, handing me the theme when I reached for it. "I think it's from someone in your class, though, I. It was among the papers that you gave me, I'm pretty sure."
"Well, it certainly bears looking into," Belle said, and shook her head, smiling quietly at the whole thing.
I thought I recognized the handwriting. It looked like Larry's. "Do you know the redheaded boy in my afternoon class on Tuesdays and Thursdays?" I said to them. "The one with the dimples?" When they nodded, I said, "I think it's his." And I waved the theme.
"I don't know how to grade it," Karen said, and shook her head. She laughed. "If I give him an A, he'll think we're asking for ass." That's a Joke at our school too, you see. "An A is for Ass." Supposedly if we give a boy an A, we want his ass. Of course the boys are the ones who spread that around. And they have all kinds of variations on it. For instance, a B is for boobs, a C for cunt (naturally), a D for dick, and an F guess what an F is for? The definitions all amount to the same thing, no matter what grade you give them. But the A is the one they especially think you mean something with.
That's because engineers don't make the best English students in the world, and few A grades nallv are given out. And, unfortunately, or fortunately (depending on how you want to look at it), the truth is that sometimes A grades in English really do mean Ass.
Let us face a fact. I am an unmarried woman, and I happen to teach in a university predominantly male in enrollment. I have stopped thinking about marriage, mainly because I haven't really found a potential husband; or rather, with so much cock around, who really wants to stay put with just one cock among so many?
Belle's the same way. She's been around, and she knows what the score is. And Karen even laid a boy in her first month on the job. So we had our ideas as we heard that theme being read, I'm sure. In fact, that's why I said, "Well, why not give him an A for ass?" And I looked directly at my two colleagues. "Why not give him an A for ass for all three of us?"
Karen wrinkled her nose, giggling as she realized what I meant. "And?" she said.
"And," said Belle, pulling a cigarette from a pack on her desk, and offering us smokes too, "we'll take his cherry." To me she said, as I drew a cigarette off, "What did you say his name was?"
So we decided to call Larry in for a conference. I returned the papers to everyone without saying a word to anybody, telling them all that their themes were very fine and that it was very nice to read them, and letting it go at that. I didn't look at any theme as I handed them out, calling them by identification number, setting them on a long table and letting the students come up at their anonymous leisure to sort them out so that they wouldn't know whose was whose.
But after class I called Larry aside and told him I'd appreciate talking with him about his English work. He blushed immediately, but agreed he would come with me to my office. He didn't know, of course, that Belle and Karen were waiting there for him. And when he saw them, having followed me down the corridor from my classroom, he was somewhat shaken. We assured him that it was strictly a routine group conference, the kind (we said) we often gave new freshmen, and that he had nothing to fear. We told him to take a seat, and we sat around him, looking at him very intently.
Karen led off by asking him how he liked the campus. He said it was "all right.'" And then she asked him point-blank if it satisfied him sexually. He blinked. "Sexually?" he said, apparently stunned by her forthrightness.
That was when Belle said. "We believe in being frank with our students. Anything you say in here will never leave this room. Then she looked at him very intently, leaned forward, and said, "Are you getting it?"
He flushed. He went entirely crimson. He broke into a coughing fit. He was overcome. He doubled up and kept coughing as if he'd never stop. Belle and Karen and I exchanged winks and enjoyed the whole thing. We knew exactly what we were doing: if Larry had wanted to embarrass us with that English theme, we were embarrassing him, but good.
When he finally came up for air, it was my turn to wield the knife. And I said, oh so matter-of-factly, "Larry, have you fucked since you arrived on the campus". """
He flew into another coughing fit, going newly crimson. We winked among ourselves again. We knew it was always a surprise the first time a young boy came up against his women professors talking that way. Although he surely had heard rumors of sex possibilities with women professors on the campus or why else would he take such a chance with a theme such as he had written? yet he had difficulty facing the fact that his professors were human, too. This is one of the things about the, so-called generation gap: the younger generation simply doesn't think older people like to fuck, too. And they also think they're the only ones in the country who can talk frankly about sex. Well, we have news for them.
And we were giving that news to Larry. Gradually he learned to accept it. Slowly, as we proceeded along that track, he was able to stop blushing and able to speak somewhat openly (though he was still rather shaky) about sex. Then we made; the proposal to him. It was I who said simply to him, after we had talked about sex for fifteen or twenty minutes, "Larry, would you like to fuck us?"
He almost went into another coughing fit, but he was able to control himself sufficiently to nod his head vigorously and say that he would like very much to screw us. "If you're willing," he even said, "I'll try to satisfy you." His sincerity made us laugh. But his modesty intrigued us.
Belle was the one who said, "I think we're willing. In fact, we'd like very much to fuck you. We think it would be a real pleasure for all of us. When do you want to start?"
Perhaps he thought we hadn't been serious, and that it all was talk. But when Belle said that, he actually gulped. "Start?" he said, like a dummy.
"Would you like to begin this afternoon?" I asked, checking my watch. It was only twenty to four, and there was a whole long night ahead of us.
"Well, I. . . "
"Come on," Karen said, and squeezed his hand. "Let's all gel out to Belle's place. She has a beautiful home in the country."
He protested that his friends would miss him at evening meal, and then he worried about a test he said he had for the next day, and after that he came up with half a dozen other excuses. But all the while we escorted him to Belle's Cadillac, and we started for her place in the country.
We all sat together in the front seat. It was a terrible, squeeze, but we did, and on the way out, we all played with his pecker. I was the one to take it out, and at first he tried to fight me. But I said, "Don't be ridiculous. If we're going to screw, there's no reason in the world why we shouldn't see the weapon that will wound us all." We women all laughed about that, and I took out his dick and began playing with it.
Really, it was a beautiful thing. I've seen a lot of good penises in my time, but his was a genuine delight. It was so firm, and so solid, and so enormous in size. It was something to make you gasp. I simply loved to feel it. I gripped it with one hand and then added my other for pure joy. And still there was plenty of cock left over.
"How could you possibly not have had sex since you came on this campus with that?" asked Belle to his other side, reaching a hand from the steering wheel to tweak its head while I held his shaft with both my hands.
"There ain't many girls," he said modestly and tried to withdraw that beautiful instrument.
"Not ain't," corrected Karen, coming from my other side to reach past me for a feel of its knob when Belle was done her own feel. "Aren't. There aren't many girls."
"Forgive him," Belle said, and laughed. "With a thing like that, he doesn't have to speak correct English." And she touched its knob again even while Karen and I both held it now.
"I never thought it would be like this." Larry said rather forlornly, looking straight ahead.
"You would be surprised what goes on inside colleges," I whispered, licking his earlobe and making him shiver. "If you think the sex revolution is something that just started yesterday, you're wrong. It might be suddenly bursting all around us, but don't forget that people have been fucking for quite a long time or else how did we all gel here?"
"But," Karen told him. "it's true that the sex revolution has stimulated us all to be more honest about our needs and desires. For instance, my own time in college as a student is so recent that I'm sun; my behavior now as a faculty member has been influenced greatly by the. wide-open sex attitudes that were already developing as I finished my own education in I In-last few years.
"Well," Belle said, "I've liked sex all my life.
The only difference now is that I don't have to hide that liking behind closed doors as much. And of course, that's a very good thing. When people get out in the open and say they like to fuck, everybody is better off."
Larry nodded to all that we said, and I played with his balls and I knew that he wasn't really thinking of a thing that we said. Our playing with him was the main thing, and nothing else really mattered. He loved the way Karen now was jerking him off while I fondled his nuts, and while, every once in awhile, Belle took time out to pinch his cock's knob. That's all Larry was thinking about.
Then we arrived at Belle's place, and we started getting undressed the minute we got inside the house. "That's another thing," I said. "More people are going bare ass, at least indoors, these days than ever before. People are finding out that clothes aren't important." And we all began taking turns undressing Larry who, electrified by the whole thing, was standing in the parlor like a dummy, his dick at full mast outside his trousers as we undressed him.
Belle laughed at him. She pulled her dress over her head and waved it at him, then dropped it to a sofa that faced an open picture window to a high-walled garden outside. We all threw our clothes in heaps around us and soon were just in bras and pants. "Give me a hand with my bra, Karen," I said, turning my back to her while I finished removing Larry's shirt. And when she unsnapped my bra, I just shook it loose, hunching my shoulders and letting its straps fafl away so that it dropped right off me in front of Larry. His pale blue eyes went wide, and he gulped. I swelled my breasts in front of him and asked him if they were what he expected.
Then we were all out of our clothes and we took turns teasing him by slowly removing his shorts, kneeling all around him while he looked down at us in wonderment while we moved his shorts down his legs an inch at a time. And finally, in a sudden sweep, we dropped those shorts completely and then all started playing with his cock and balls. Probably involuntarily, he began shoving his dick at us in a dry fuck.
Then we stood and took him by the hand and walked him to the bedroom and told him to lie on Belle's wide soft bed. The sheets were pallid blue pastel and he looked so delight fid against them. We went all around him, and nipped at his nipples.
Did you know that men react to having their nipples kissed, too? It's well known that women go crazy when their nipples are kissed. But few people realize that men have a similar erogenous zone there, and that men react rather strongly to pressure on their nipples. A good wife would lick her husband's nipples the same as he licks hers. In fact, a good mistress or any woman who wants to make a man happy would do something like that. Interestingly, the only persons who usually know such a little fact of love are homosexual men. Is it any wonder that many men often go to other men for their sexual pleasures? Sometimes I think we women are so stupid. We take so much for granted, not realizing that it is our duty as bedpartners to make our men happy even as they would make us happy.
-Likewise, it's very pleasurable to kiss up the ass. Again this is something that isn't widely known. Too often, contrariwise, people think of the ass as something dirty. Because shit comes out the ass, they think it is something that should not be kissed. But there is nothing dirty about any part of the body. And the ass-hole of his partner should be loved in its own way, too. That was why each of us took turns kissing Larry's ass-hole. We spread his cheeks and licked it with our tongues and kissed it tenderly.
Naturally we did the same to his dick. And here again, careful study teaches the ardent lover how exactly to kiss a dick. It is not enough just to gobble it. We make jokes about gobbling it, and it is fun to gobble it, it is true. But more should be done than mere gobbling. A good dick deserves special treatment.
For instance, when kissing the head of a dick, you never should just kiss it flatly. On the contrary, you should aim at its very tip, the tenderest spot of a prick. Try to tip your tongue into the slit, the very tip of your tongue gently, oh so softly, into the center of the tiny slit from which will emerge those precious juices which you love so well.
Now the head of the dick and its treatment also varies according to whether or not its possessor is circumcised. For instance, a circumcised dick will be minus the foreskin which often has great value for tactile impressions. An uncircumcised man, for instance, will feel very pleasurable feelings in that foreskin directly at the entrance to the knob itself. If you handle him right, and kiss the lovely foreskin exactly at that point of departure, you soon can have him eating out of your cunt, if that's what you wish. And, with the circumcised man, you work on the tip of the knob, as said.
But that is not all, of course, to sucking a good cock. It helps also to lave the entire shaft of that wonderful phallic emblem. To lave means to wash, and you wash a cock with your tongue the way a cat bathes her kittens; you go all around and up and down, licking that splendid big item before you. With perfect artistry, you can make it resound to the trumpetry of your swollen and excited tongue. You can have that wonderful dick throbbing to enter your cunt immediately.
Then don't forget the balls. It is to be assumed you will have played with his balls throughout the trumpeting of your tongue to his powering cock. You wash the surface of those giant pellets with the flat of your tongue, too. Go up and down them, laving them gently, so softly. And while you're at it you pinch a tiny curl here and there with your lips pressed together, biting his flesh gently and plucking at the hair. It stimulates him greatly and he'll love you dearly for your kind consideration in all things.
Lick that stretch of hairy flesh that runs from behind his balls to his ass-hole, too. Go up and down and around behind his balls while you're there. He'll love it. And then return to nibbling at his cock's head.
Oh yes, and while you're in the area, you kiss the insides of his thighs directly near his genitals. Every woman knows she loves that when a man does it to her thighs there. But how many women know that men love exactly the same thing? On the other hand, how many men even know they would love it for how many men have been lucky enough to have a woman do that to them? Again, those few men who have experienced such pleasure have experienced it from other men.
Well, let me not get carried away on a discourse on the art of loving a man. Let me just say that Belle and Karen and I, experienced women that we are and wanting to love a man the way he should be loved, loved Larry exactly that way.
And of course we had him panting and swinging his cock about and desperately trying to get into us all. "Oh, no," we said. "There's more to come." And of course we meant that in more ways than one.
One such way was to introduce him to loving a woman. We lay crosswise in Belle's wide bed, and we urged him to move from one to another in the practicing of that particular art. First of all, we would have him kiss our earlobes. (And I should pause here to say that essentially the same things can be practiced upon a man with equal results as those which are here described to bring pleasure to a woman.) We had him blow hot and cool air upon our ears, to penetrate them in darting swift movements with his tongue's hot small tip.
Then we would have him kiss and lick the sides of the neck of each of us, starting with an earlobe and working down to the shoulder, then moving on a straight line along the shoulder, kissing and nibbling and licking. After that we moved him down the center of our bodies, having him kiss and nibble and lick his way between our breasts, gradually circling them and going onto their globular surfaces with his lips and tongue until he reached those wonderful wide dark or light circles which are our aureoles; and finally we brought him to our nipples where he was instructed not merely to kiss and lick and nibble but also to suck, to suck full hard and draw the entire nipple and aureole into his taking mouth, to suck and distend and suck again.
Then, in our agony and wondrous good pleasure, fighting to hold him from our cunts for we would have him into us immediately even as he would enter us, we sent him with his questing tongue down our bodies again, starting between our breasts and passing along the plain of our midriffs until he reached our waists, from which we had him fan out right and left like a scout seeking enemy marauders, and he was then to kiss left and right until he came upon our fleshy hips where he was to nibble and grasp that soft and full flesh and to knead it between his lips, to suck, to lave, and to knead it.
Finally we would turn about, spread our legs again, and let him kiss our thighs up and down and then settle to the insides nearest the patch of pleasure which was his final destiny. And we would writhe and turn from the ecstasy he provided us.
Then it was the cunts' turn, the pussies' moment, and he kissed our pussies as we instructed him, starting in the patch of triangle and moving down. It was too much! We wanted his meat. We pulled his hot young body onto the bed, and spread ourselves for him, telling him to do anything, everything we commanded.
We wanted him as much as he wanted us, and we then urged him to be more rapid and we danced our snatches nimbly and fleetingly and ever increasingly excitedly to his marvelous meat. And so we became more intense with our pleasure, more quick with our strides of cunt and cock, more swift and rapid and forceful and energetic and gasping and narrowing and squinting and breathing so shortly, so needfully, so pressuredly until that moment, while locked tightly in arch-throbbing powerful singular all-encompassing Fuck, we destroyed each other in our momentum of abandon. We brought upon our naked loins the sulliment of final surrender to primal exhaustion, the parting out of energy as the fuck ends in released joy, subsiding, subsiding, slowly subsiding until there is only the sudden intake of air and the giddy laughter and heady final feeling of genuine release known and accepted and loved blessedly.
He was surprised that we could be such good teachers. And he was grateful. He came back several times and we taught him all the little gestures of the good and fulfilling love act. And we showed him that there were the many sides, the many faces, of love; and that ours was but one, a gentle face, an exhilarated face in soft repose, sanguine and eternal against the backdrop of the millennia; and that despite our words, seemingly crude yet forthright and forceful, the energy of the ages pressed forward erotically for ultimate comfort.
Well, why do I tell you these things? Perhaps I want to show you that there are all sides to the act of love. I want perhaps to show you that we all carry within us those diverse facets, seemingly incongruous aspects. We took him for a lark. He submitted that theme to us, piqued our curiosity, and we decided to fuck him as a kind of pleasing punishment for his brashness and daring. And yet in the process, we wanted to teach him, give him that which in fact he requested in that theme, show him that more exists to education than mere classroom discussion and exercise by rote.
In a sense then we have forwarded the sex revolution in our era, done so in a small way private to ourselves, established a bond between ourselves and this student unacknowledged in the open path of life and yet known privately to us the participants so clearly, so indelibly, so infinitely and endlessly. If the sex revolution existing on the campuses today is to have any validity, it must come, at least we believe, in the manner we have tried and found pleasurable. And yet who are we to say it can't come in other ways? Each of us chooses our path. This which I have just described, is my path.
AN AFTERWORD
The college campus in this period of history perhaps more than ever represents a microcosm, a smaller and perhaps somewhat more refined edition of the larger world of society as one knows it. In that society, with its rapid flux of today, one finds various evidences of changing sexual values, of new and different means to and forms of sexual relationships. So it is, on the college campus in this period of history. The microcosm reflects the cosmos.
There is the case of the young girl who, perhaps seeking a grade, yet seeks the sexual satisfaction which she believes an older man can offer; and the older man, wanting his own satisfaction, would give a grade as a kindness.
Conversely a young man is sought by an older woman. She wants his youth together with his experience. She has had a similar relationship elsewhere, and she believes it satisfied her need for sexual fulfillment. The young man, on the other hand, finds little sexual enjoyment in the inexperienced offerings of his female contemporaries and wants a woman of more years who can provide the experienced love which he seeks. It is the college campus which makes it possible for them to meet and blend, even as with the older man and the younger woman it was so. The circumstances of academic proximity offer the establishment of the link that leads to their sexual release and enjoyment, as they understand it to be.
By the same token, another student, perhaps aware of her relative incapacity in academic pursuits yet possessed of strong career ambitions. may form a liaison with an older woman sexually which changes her entire approach to the most intimate of human experiences, accepting that change with equanimity, holding it more dear to her finally than those ambitions which originally drove her into such a relationship.
The college, with its interest in cross-cultural studies may also foster a cross-cultural relationship in sex. The far-flung pursuits followed my members of a university may lead one into the byways of primitive lands and produce as fruit the relationship of a man to a woman, both with different cultural backgrounds: and the same campus may compound that arrangement by adding the further component part of still another party to that relationship.
So too may emerge the unbridled passions of a relatively unusual means of sexual satisfaction, a violent arrangement encouraged by the frustrations and tensions brought upon a personality perhaps not wholly compatible to that particular environment resulting in satisfaction gained by sadistic means.
On the other hand, a father image might be, sought, once again a younger woman with an older man but with specific desires for such psychological satisfaction unrelated in this instant to a grade or academic reward. And that relationship in turn, involved with the interest of the campus community, may result in a series of group engagements where one of the partners possesses a symbolic value for the others in the group practices while the other partner serves as the link to those others in their search for such a symbol.
The group principle may be seen to operate in a wholly different constellation of actions when individuals behave predatorily towards others in the microcosm, and retaliatory measures then are adopted, within the sexual framework, by opposition forces, as it were. Yet resultant from such predalion and retaliation may be found a certain exultant pleasure ostensibly derived by all participants to the acts of predation and retaliation.
Finally an example of further group activated action was identified in the case of members of one "side" who would initiate a young member of the other "side" in an effort to make the learning situation, as viewed by such activating members, wholistic, hence inclusive of personal sex education as well as academic endeavors apparently in an effort to fulfill the trend of the times.
