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Many years ago, I was at the University for the start of my third year, and I found myself at a mixer. That was one of those casual events with a DJ and vinyl records and a dance floor, where people arrived solo and tried to meet new friends. Across the room I saw a cute girl standing all alone. She was a petite brunette, and that seemed promising. We made eye contact, she smiled, I approached her, and soon we were dancing together.
Her name was Joyce. At first the music was fast rock & roll, which meant that we could only chat briefly between songs. I didn’t have any interest in dancing with anyone else that night, and apparently neither did she. As the evening wore on, the DJ inserted more and more slow music, and the quieter music and closer physical proximity meant we could talk while we were dancing.
Joyce told me she was 19 and had just arrived at the University as a transfer student for her second year. Her parents had pressured her to switch from a small Boston-area college to this much larger Midwestern university that they themselves had attended. She had a cute round face with a ready smile, short brown hair, and expressive brown eyes. We connected comfortably, both verbally and physically
During the slow dances, Joyce’s arms wrapped around my neck and my arms hugged around her back. Her face rested against my shoulder, our bodies pressed together, and chatty Joyce opened up to me in a surprisingly candid way. She told me about her recent college experiences and her anxieties about transferring to a larger, presumably more academically difficult school.
I mostly just listened to her. My mind was also occupied by the feel of her petite body in my arms, her small breasts against my chest, and a delicate floral scent floating from her hair into my nose. As you can imagine, I struggled to control my erection that kept threatening to be noticeable to her. I didn’t want to embarrass myself or to startle her.
Joyce eventually talked about her boyfriend — “Ex-boyfriend,” she corrected herself — whom she’d met one weekend in Boston, and a month later she had traveled to the University of New Hampshire to spend the weekend with him. “That’s where I lost my virginity,” she told me, matter-of-factly. “We didn’t leave his room all weekend. We went through a lot of rubbers.” She giggled. I pondered how many was “a lot.”
Now she had my full attention. My penis stood at attention, too. Joyce was nothing like my previous girlfriends, who were either virgins or close to it, and who were hesitant or anxious or shy about sex to one degree or another. And now here was Joyce, dancing physically close with someone she’d met less than two hours earlier, calmly chit-chatting details about her one-partner sex life with her breasts glued to my chest and her belly pressed unmistakenly against the lump of my erection.
Near the end of the evening, Joyce asked me one more intriguing question. “Do you know where I can get a prescription for BC pills?”
Initially I was confused. That term was new to me. “Ummm, ‘BC pills’?” I asked.
Joyce chuckled. “Birth control pills. You’ve heard about them, right?”
Now I was embarrassed and was sure I was blushing. “Of course I know about them. You should make an appointment at the Student Health Service. I’m told they freely give out prescriptions for the pill to any co-ed who asks for them.”
My interest in Joyce was definitely piqued. Not only did she have a past that included a positive attitude about her past sexual activity, however brief, and not only was she expressing a clear intention to have sexual activity in the future, and not only would that activity probably be bareback, which was my own past experience, but here she was giving me a broad hint that her future sexual activity may well include me!
At the end of the evening, I walked Joyce to her dorm. She’d arrived at school too late to find an apartment. She lived in an all-female dorm with a sternly glaring house mother in the lobby, so all we could manage was a long kiss, an exchange of phone numbers, and a promise to get together Really Soon.
Over the following few weeks Joyce and I occasionally saw each other. We had a few study dates in the library, and a few more times we randomly encountered each other on campus and chatted. Once she visited the apartment that I shared with my three roommates — four guys in two bedrooms. ığdır escort All in all, Joyce and I didn’t have privacy for more than a few minutes of heavy making out.
The conversation we had at the mixer about sex never repeated itself, and I didn’t raise the subject. I just rolled with it and decided to let things progress at her pace.
And progress it did. Late one morning Joyce telephoned me at my apartment. We had a brief chat, then she got to the point. “Remember that prescription I wanted?” Well sure I remembered. “I got them,” she continued. “Been on them for a month. What do you say we give them a test drive?”
Do chickens have beaks? I told her that my roommates would be in class until just before dinner, and Joyce replied she’d be there within an hour.
I masturbated to take my edge off and give me some hope of not embarrassing myself by coming too quickly with Joyce. Less than an hour later she was at my apartment door, and five minutes after that we were making out on my bed.
I peeled off her clothing, rather eagerly as I recall, and quickly shucked off my own clothes, and then proceeded for a full tour of her body. First was her busy mouth and tongue. Her lush red lipstick. Her sensitive neck. Her firm B-cup breasts topped by perky pink nipples, proudly stiff. Freckles too numerous to count. A ticklish tummy. A round bubble ass, smooth legs, rich red toenails. And a lovely thatch of dark brown pubic hair. It was uncommon in those days for a woman to shave her muff.
“Can I taste you?” I asked, and she rolled onto her back and my mouth dove in, savoring her mild fuck-me scent and musky taste and exploring every succulent nook and cranny and fold and ridge, every one of her Pretty Little Pink Parts.
At least they were pink at first. Her juices were soon flowing profusely, and her thin inner labia swelled thicker and more crimson, splitting wide to expose her small clitoris that peeked out and begged for attention. All the while Joyce moaned and groaned and squirmed, and my hands held her hips that were undulating in rhythm with what my mouth was doing to her vulva.
“Do you like to do that?” she whispered to the top of my head amidst her nonverbal noises. I hummed a positive response. “Oh oh just like that,” she murmured, “Lick my pussy. Do you like how I taste?” I was too busy to do anything but give her another approving hum. My flat tongue swiped repeatedly upward, finishing on her clitoris with swirling circles that got progressively firmer as her arousal ratcheted higher and higher.
My goal was to try to get her to climax — ladies first! — before I got inside her and lasted who knows how long. Neither of my first two intimate girlfriends had been orgasmic, despite my best enthusiastic and diligent, albeit inexperienced, efforts. Girlfriend
had only been occasionally orgasmic, though usually only from oral. I was hoping Joyce would be less inhibited.
Joyce’s noises signaled she was getting close. I accelerated my swipes and suddenly she interrupted my efforts with an upward tug of my head. “C’mere,” she told me, “I want you inside me.” That was the point of the test drive, wasn’t it? Who was I to object?
I slid up her body until I was on top of her, supporting myself on my forearms, my hips nestled between her thighs. My erection was hard as a proverbial rock. Joyce’s knees raised and her legs embraced mine, her heels tucking in just above my knees. Her breaths were quick and shallow, her face flushed and her forehead damp. We stared at each other’s face as my rigid shaft found her cleft, and I stroked up and down between her slick labia, bathing my flesh in her juices.
Hands-free, I centered my cockhead on her entrance, tentatively testing. Joyce growled “Don’t tease. Go in.” I nudged my hips forward. Her opening had a distinct finger-width circle of muscle that resisted my cockhead’s gentle push for a fraction of a second, then popped inside. She gasped and began to pant and wiggle beneath me. That only got me harder. “Deeper,” she extorted me, “Go deeper.”
I was more than willing to do just that. I penetrated into her silky grasp, inch by inch, feeling the muscle ring guarding her entrance gripping deliciously around my shaft as I sunk into her creamy heat. I was exhilarated by her vagina’s smooth snugness, sinking in deeper and deeper, until my cockhead nestled buried into ısparta escort its upper reaches. Her vagina was shorter than my previous lovers, and it made me feel like I had a monster cock.
I looked down to the sight of my shaft splitting her chubby labia and disappearing inside the magic of her vagina. My cock gave an involuntary pulse, and her kegels responded with subtle nibble of awareness of its presence. “Oh my God, you are hard,” she murmured, maneuvering her hips to adjust herself around my stiffness. “I feel so full.” I was overwhelmed with pleasure sensations. Joyce’s legs now hooked together just above my ass, her arms wrapping around my shoulders, she held me tight.
I began to give her my cock with languid full-length strokes, and our eyes continued to be glued to each other. Joyce’s vagina was only the fourth my penis had encountered, and as I recall hers felt more muscular, perhaps because of the size and grip of her kegels, or perhaps just because her whole body felt more muscular, more athletic. And her slickness was amazing. She was dripping wet.
Joyce became progressively more verbal in between her quick breaths. “Do you like to fuck me?” she asked, staring at my face with wide open eyes.. “Do you like my pussy?”
“You feel incredible,” I managed to respond.
“You’re the third guy I’ve been with,” she told me, nodding her head each time I thrust inside her. “And the first guy…” She paused, then continued, “without a condom.”
“I’m honored. I’m happy you’re on the pill.”
Joyce’s eyes closed, and she exhaled a louder groaning moan. “Oh God I feel you all the way up inside me.”
“Does that hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m just not used to it. Don’t stop.”
We were now doing that primal dance. She met my steady in-and-outs with her own rocking hips. We both moaned and gasped and panted quick breaths, murmured and whispered sweet nothings. “That’s it, Don’t stop,” she grunted. Her eyes were now opened wide. Her mouth open in an ‘O’. I wasn’t about to stop if I could help it.
The biggest revelation to me, the biggest delight of this first fuck, was how Joyce’s arousal steadily increased. My previous lovers would reach a plateau and just get stuck there. But for Joyce there was no plateau. Missionary position gives me control over the pacing, and I used that to play with her arousal — play with mine, too — gradually increasing the tempo and firmness of my thrusts, notching up faster and faster, and pressing, thumping harder, and enjoying how her excitement just kept rising.
The more aroused Joyce got, the more verbal she got. “Go harder,” she urged, her hands on my butt trying to guide the rhythm she wanted. “That’s it. Push.” I did. “Hard!” I did. At the end of every instroke I pressed even more firmly, and Joyce’s gasps signaled her approval. “That’s it. That’s it.”
Joyce’s belly began to quiver, and I decided it was time to try to get her over the top if I could before I exploded. “Push push push!” she grunted, I accelerated my thrusts one more notch, trying to stroke the upper side of my shaft against her inflamed pussy lips and clit as I bottomed out with hard thumps.
And that did the trick. Joyce’s head arched back, digging into the mattress, her face scrunching up frozen in an agony of pure pleasure, and for the first time in my life I experienced the exquisite masculine thrill of fucking my partner to an orgasm. Our mutual orgasms arrived with an explosive rush. Was mine first, or was hers? I don’t remember.
I jammed my shaft as deep as I could manage and emptied my hot, white semen in pulse after long pulse. Joyce exhaled a loud guttural cry, her eyes clenched tightly shut, and hyperventilated for a second or two, then held her breath again and rose to another peak. “Feel me,” I grunted, “Feel what you do to me.”
When our orgasms tapered off, I kept my cock buried to the hilt and managed little circular swirls of the base of my shaft, stretching her opening. Joyce’s eyes refocused on my face. “Oh wow,” she breathed, then gave me a puzzled look. “Did you come?” She rocked her hips. “You’re still really hard.”
“I came,” I told her. “You didn’t notice?”
Joyce laughed. “I was preoccupied. It seems like you came.” She wriggled her hips, then added with a little laugh, “I feel really goopy now. I guess that’s from you.”
Her eyes closed kadirli escort again, and she continued, “I have to tell you… you lasted longer than the other guys. This is the first time I’ve come from fucking. And the first guy to come inside me.” I decided to not admit that I’d given myself an assist by masturbating before she arrived at my apartment. If I hadn’t, I probably would have reached my climax long before hers.
“What do you think about that?” I asked her.
“I think I love it.” Joyce paused a moment, then added, “It feels different. Not just feeling of your skin instead of a rubber. But feeling your cock… you know, twitch when you shoot, and knowing that you’re shooting your stuff way up inside me. Not into a rubber. And knowing that my pussy causes all that.” She gazed at my face. “Does that make any sense?”
“Yes. When I’m inside you, I can feel everything along the whole length of my erection. Your smooth, silky pussy.” My deflating cock twitched involuntarily. “Your warmth. Your juices. And when I come, I feel… I guess ‘masculine’ is the closest description.”
Joyce responded, “It makes me feel really female. Really sexy.” When my soft cock finally slipped out of her, I kept my body hovered above her, then sat back on my heels. Looking down, her pussy was an open red gash, glistening with our joined juices and very noticeably leaking white fluid.
Joyce bit down on her lower lip and reached a hand between her legs, dipping into the juices, spreading them around her labia and her clitoris. I glanced at her face. Her eyes were closed. Her face had a dreamy expression. “So creamy. Geez. You come a lot.”
“You got me turned on,” I replied.
She brought her fingers back up to her mouth and tasted the soup mix. “Interesting,” she said, then after a moment, “When are your roommates coming home?”
“I’m not sure.” I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Probably too soon to go again. I don’t want us to feel rushed.”
“Okay.” She nudged my chest with her hands. “Let me get up. I need to go to the bathroom.” I dropped my body to the side, and Joyce rolled out of bed, cupping her hand between her legs and walking into the hall and out of sight. When she returned to the bedroom, she tumbled into bed on top of me and we rolled around for a minute, kissing and laughing.
Joyce and I went on like that for a couple of months. Once a week or so we’d wind up in bed together, going down on each other and fucking like rabbits. Most of the time it was in my bed, although a couple of times we managed an approved afternoon “study date” in her one-person dorm room, where she tried really hard to climax silently. In my bed she was noisier, more active, and more uninhibited.
We tried different positions, of course, but mostly she and I both preferred missionary. “I love lying there and feeling fucked and having you fill me up,” she told me. Sometimes she’d climax first and that would trigger mine, sometimes mine would trigger hers. But she always climaxed at least once, and I always left her oozing our mix of semen and lubrication.
It all came to an end one cold December day during finals. I suggested she come over for a quick tension release. When she showed up and we began to play around, she told me her period had just started and she felt it would be too messy. My brain did quick arithmetic. It wasn’t even three weeks since the start of her previous period. When I asked her about the irregularity — the pill should have made her cycle like clockwork – her response was evasive.
I kept pressing her, and she finally confessed that she’d only taken the pill for the first month we’d been fucking. The pill had made her feel nauseous, so she’d stopped taking it. Of course, that meant we’d been doing it bareback for two months without contraception. She’d been halfheartedly using the Rhythm Method to avoid intercourse when she thought she was ovulating, but her periods were irregular and she was never sure about the timing.
I panicked and didn’t take the news well. I didn’t want a pregnant girlfriend midway through college, and I was annoyed at her unilateral, secret decision to stop taking the pill. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“Because,” she replied, “I loved feeling you come inside me. I loved feeling your come leaking out for the rest of the day.” And she told me she hated school and wouldn’t mind getting pregnant. It was all too much for me. Whatever trust we shared was gone. The magic had disappeared.
Joyce and I went our separate ways at Christmas Break. She never returned to school in January, and I never heard from her again. At least I never got her pregnant.
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