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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: colleges.txt (MF, 1st, college)
Authors name: Carol (cobillard@hotmail.com)
Story title : Sex in the College: Our Party, Our Shower
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your
consideration.
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Sex in the College: Our Party, Our Shower (MF, 1st,
college)
By Carol (cobillard@hotmail.com)
***
It have always thought that my attractiveness wouldn't
and won't last forever, but that I should enjoy it for
today, use sex for my pleasure but also think of my
long-term advantage. Sex is my currency; it would be
cheapened and debased by careless disregard of its
value and its potential.
I want a better life, and I always thinking of the
title of Dr. Laura Schlessinger's book: "Beauty Fades,
Dumb Is Forever". Maybe sex doesn't have to fade, but
desirability does. By that time a woman must find her
place, her life, her fortune -- as well as her body and
its potential.
For me, it was always, it always has been, above all I
and not the boy who has made sex decisions, from the
meeting to the orgasm, although the boy may not realize
it. Coming from a background where sex was so open and
so encouraged, I also got a proper sex education. No
boy was going to push me to have sex I didn't feel like
having, and I wasn't going to tolerate a boy I didn't
like hanging around.
That was true when I was a teenie-bopper (as my Mom
always do often called me, which sort of dates her) and
it's true today. Sure I liked, and I like today, to
arouse every boy and every man: but he has to know his
place. I will make the first move, but so subtly that
he can take the credit. If he missteps, if he doesn't
respect the protocol, I will already will have thought
out my escape. My Mom and her sect taught me, and I
appreciate what they taught me: but I have broken away
from both to build my own philosophy.
For me, today, sex can be a route to advancement; but
it's the main road, just a shortcut to speed up, or to
enjoy more, the excursion to the main goal. It won't be
key to my own success, just oil in the lock. It won't
be the sole basis for planning my life, but it has to
be there always, and I will use it when I can and want.
I value my independence as much as I want My Man and me
to depend on each other. I will want a family, and
that means standards; I want a more traditional family
life than I had, which only shows that human beings are
not true to seed...
I worked hard to finish college and nobody can take
that away from me. Besides, I have to pay back my
loans now. I'm ready to take on Sex in the City,
because I'm about to start first real job -- in the
Capital City.
I'm self assured, self-confident. Why shouldn't I be
the one to provoke the chat that will bring on the
offer ... that I can accept or reject at my whim? Sex
is one of my currencies, but sex, if it is to have any
value to me or to my boy of the moment or my man of the
year, or for that matter to a lifetime relationship,
has to go with intellect. And money. I don't want to be
poor.
My mother gave up a chance of financial advancement for
religion, for a sect. Well, Berg has gone to his
oblivion. Only some of what he preached is pertinent to
me. I credit him for that, for his insight into sex
(although pedophilia is no longer as popular as it once
was, and I say that advisedly; of course pedophilia is
more relative than the law or, seemingly, society knows
how to define it).
This is 2002, not 1980. And certainly not 1960. But
sex with an adolescent, in the USA anyway, is ipso
facto safe sex, at least in my community. From a
scientific point of view, propaganda and the politics
of sex and of gender aside, sex among adolescents who
feel and are ready is both inherently safe and safe
from the law. Romeo's Juliet was 13. (I looked that up
so I know it's right: http://www.online-
literature.com/shakespeare/romeo_and_juliet)
99% of the time when a boy approached me, the answer
was "no". (I asked one of those creeps, a dirty old man
now, who's always asking girls and women to bed first
thing if it didn't destroy his psyche to be told "no"
999 out of 1000 tries. He said no, he'd rather focus on
that 1000th woman.) And that was after he'd been
stopped by a highway patrolwoman and gotten a session
of sexual intercourse instead of a speeding ticket.
For him that was the proof that his strategy works; he
could have been a successful telemarketer instead of
what he was, which I won't reveal here. For me the
answer is "no" unless I have cleverly and subtly
provoked or initiated the approach. Well, maybe not so
subtly.
This is a newsgroup about sex stories, so I'm not going
to write at length about mind games or marital
strategy. But of course a girl has those in mind too.
And, long term, especially the latter. Sex will fade,
but not a bright mind nor, if the robber barons of Wall
Street can be kept at bay, the money. But everything up
till now has been for fun and practice. Now that I'm
out of college, everything will be for fun and ...
profit. Hey, not profit the day but profit by the life.
I want a career and I want a family in the fullness of
time.
I may write about Sex in the City when I get some Sex
in the City. For today I shall write about Sex in the
College. This is an extract from the diary that I've
kept for ten years, edited a bit, and selected for
relevance (i.e., these are the sexy parts).
I eventually went away to college, at great expense I
might add, after two years attending a local commuter
college: 'cause I'm smart and motivated and got good
grades and a scholarship. Besides a piece of paper and
some mental shrapnel I now have the debts to prove it.
For my two years away, I lived in a co-ed dorm with
some cool guys and gals, and never mind the memorable
and unmemorable creeps and nonentities. The New York
Times recently had an article on the danger of dating
people from the same building, and compared it to dorm
living:
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/07/25/garden/25DATE.html
And so it is.
But mixed dorm living can be fun. At the time of this
story I had my eye on one or two boys, and the
challenge was to make them have their eyes on me, and
when I would be out of sight to make them want to have
their eyes on me. Among my group there was always lots
of banter, and innuendo and double entendre. I write
about a party, one in particular of many parties.
We were always having parties to celebrate this or that
or nothing at all. I don't remember what justified this
particular party, I didn't write it down, but it's the
one I remember best, for obvious reasons which you will
now know. There was good music, good fun, good teasing;
maybe the reason was that, or just to depressurize our
minds from study and exams.
The party was over, a good success. Most of the guys
had gone to bed.
A few of us were cleaning up the mess; it was an early
morning hour. The Boy (well, one of the boys, My
Target of the moment) was there among the cleaner-
uppers. With just a few of us left. I said, "We've
cleaned up the place, why don't we clean up ourselves
... let's all shower". I didn't add the word
"together", but they'd, boys and girls, just been
invited (however illicitly) to the girls' shower and
they knew it.
So six of us cleaners got our stuff and headed for the
shower. The rest must have gone somewhere else. And
now, just now, I was to be in my special element. Would
I put on a show? Would that get me my Target's
attention for as long as I wanted it, whether an hour,
a day, a week, a semester, but no longer than I wanted?
(For him to tarry beyond the time he was wanted would
make of him ... a stalker.)
I suppose the proper Naturist protocol is to ignore
nudity. I can't do that: I flaunt myself (but oh so
subtly) and I expect those who have beauty to flaunt
it, and those who don't to flaunt something else, wit
or money or culture or taste, which may be just as good
or better. Or may not be, because if you're sexy it
doesn't exclude having those other things too. My
breasts are my signature, along with my personality.
We were in the shower room. Without any formality,
anything said, I was naked. I have no inhibitions about
nudity, why should I? I shucked my robe, laid it down
with my towel on the bench and stood there, breasts in
the air, smile on my face, pussy not exactly throbbing
but at least expectant, a state of mind actually.
I looked at the others. The two girls weren't so
uninhibited, indeed they were self-conscious. They
stood there puzzled, self-debating, caught between
Victorian inhibition and modern freedom. Frozen, maybe
doubtful. So it was left to the boys to disrobe next,
which they did, in a modest sort of way, turned away
from the girls. One said he'd get the water set "so you
won't get scalded". He didn't know what else to say or
do. The rest of us followed. The boys' penises jangled;
breasts tingled. I watched and proceeded.
We started to shower, each alone despite the group,
nobody paying attention to another. I had the
impression that if I didn't move soon the shower would
be over and the event would not be memorable. I wanted
it to be memorable. So I asked my Target if he would
suds my back. Of course he would. Then it was his turn
to be sudsed.
I took my liquid soap and lathered his back,
studiously, slowly, thoroughly and with promise. And
standing behind him, I started to lather his chest. I
got my body close to his, right up to his, and my
breasts were pressed against his back. As I squeezed
against him I could feel him tense up. Others were
watching.
The air was sexy. My hands went lower, sudsed his
stomach, strayed lower, felt his public hair, glanced
his genitals ... he was getting an erection. I thought
he might be embarrassed: the others were looking, this
was become my show. It was an accident, so I made it
seem. But he hadn't protested, I could go on. I flicked
his penis playfully. He didn't know how to respond, but
seemed not unpleased. His penis moved nervously. He
tensed, sex entered his mind. Hormones were doing their
job. I made my move.
I said that since I'd broken the ice I might as well
finish the job. I grasped his balls with my sudsed
hands, and I washed them. I moved on to his penis:
watching it and feeling it was making my heart pound. I
moved around in front of him pulled him into the stream
of water.
Then suddenly I was on my knees and his penis was in my
mouth and he can scarcely have known how it came about.
The happening wasn't as spontaneous as it was made to
appear. I knew what I was doing. I had been studying
boys this way since the age of 11. I had seen my Mom in
action forever.
The other couples were aroused too, and transfixed, but
I was scarcely paying attention to them. I had a job to
do; I had felt I was giving My Boy his First -- but if
not it was going to be his Best -- blow job ever. For
the next few minutes I would own his penis. And, with
luck, thereafter I would own Him for as long as I cared
to.
I moved slightly, just out of the stream of water, and
pulled My Boy with me. It was not too brightly lit, but
as I took his very erect penis out of my mouth to
inspect it again, I could see the other couples
staring, one of the other boys had a huge erection and
the other's penis was moving upwards. I toyed with his
glans, looked My Boy in the eyes.
He smiled with gratification and anticipation; he was
breathless. The girls were taking the cue. They were in
stages of embrace with their boys. This was proving to
be a great party, better than anyone had expected. The
party poopers were asleep, only the Beautiful People
were here. This was ancient Rome, or was it Greece?
Anyway it was licenscious. I was loving it.
My Boy's penis was dancing about, he was still tense,
his hands stroking my hair. I arose and kissed him and
he began to fondle me, first my breasts, running his
index finger around my proud nipples, then his hands
all over my breasts, and then down my back to my
buttocks.
He hadn't wanted me to stop, but he was now having to
justify his pleasure. But the anticipation had be
pleasure too, for him and for me. He squeezed me close,
then looked at me. Was I going to finish the job? What
did I expect of him? I pulled my shoulders back to show
my breasts to their best advantage, to invite him to
love me.
My Boy moved to my face my front. My vagina was waiting
for him. I leaned back a bit, bowed my legs a bit, and
invited his reach. He rubbed my clitoris, made me feel
good ... warmed me while the water streamed on behind
us. His penis was there next to me, persistent and
inviting, keeping me excited.
The other couples were active too. Finished washing,
one had moved out of the shower into the bathroom area,
had spread a towel on the tile floor ... penis was in
vagina, they were having fun.
The third couple, it seemed, were waiting for lessons
from us.
I smiled at My Boy. Moved my hand to his penis, dropped
once more to my knees. There was a drop or two of pre-
cum oozing out. I wanted it. His shiny wet penis was
at home in my mouth again. My tongue was feeling up,
around, over and under his glans. The other still-
showering couple was watching me. I was grasping My
Boy's testicles with one hand, fondling them just so
lightly. They were moving in response to his heartbeat,
or was it mine?
My mouth continued its work: tongue and lips. Penis in
and out of my mouth: out from time to time so I could
admire my handiwork. My Boy was panting His penis was
throbbing; I could feel his testicles, his pulse, his
excitement. The time had come: his semen was ready for
me and I should be set to welcome it.
I knew I was being watched by the other couple and I
craved that attention. I slowed down a bit: the head of
My Boy's penis seemed to swell. I could feel his
urethra opening, the tip of his penis widening, and the
stream of semen suddenly spurted across my tongue,
bounced off the roof of my mouth.
I thought of the million sperm, bits of My Boy, I
thought of it as his gift to me and I was happy. The
stream kept on coming in its spurts as I kept on
massaging that penis to thank it. I swallowed
repeatedly, quickly, to keep up.
I continued to lick that penis with my tongue while
moving my head up and down ever more slowly, trying to
catch everything and yet opening my mouth just enough
so a trickle of the excess flowed out of the corners of
my mouth. Down the penis, across the scrotum. The
others could see: the promised ejaculation had taken
place, and I could be seen to be loving it. Only a
little of that fluid was wasted.
The dribbled, glistening semen was my trophy. To show,
to prove to all who cared to watch, that My Boy has had
his pleasure, and that I have had my own reward for my
work. More important was that My Boy was respectful and
loving, testifying to worth and personal to my skill,
to his pleasure and mine.
Everybody could see that I loved that penis and its
product. I didn't want the moment to end. And I knew
the drill: if I could react quickly, if my boy was
Potent I could yet have penis in vagina and we could be
complete and coupled.
I looked -- I think lovingly -- at My Boy and I lay
down, my back on the cold floor, and I pulled at his
hand. I feared his penis was softening: I didn't want
that. I looked him in the eyes, caressed his body.
Success: renewed erection. Penis would be in vagina. My
Boy kissed me appreciatively, with one hand of his and
one hand of mine his penis worked its way inside me.
His free hand then moved to my left breast, my hand
caressed his balls.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see the other
couple from the shower. I don't close my eyes at
exciting times. I wasn't thinking of a New Hat or of
England, but of a Good Time Being Had By All. The other
girl had seen my handiwork and was doing her best with
Mouth and Tongue on her beau's Fine Penis. I could not
spare more than a glance; she scarcely needed my help
or advice. Her Boy was Well Pleased.
I wanted to have an Orgasm but it began to seem
unlikely. My Boy had softened again, and pulled away,
embarrassed. I smiled, took his hand, drew it to my
crotch.
He responded with more than I would have asked. Not
fingers, but tongue. He was inspecting my Vagina, then
running fingers around its pink. Then, without my
asking -- or could he sense what I wanted? -- his
tongue was bringing me to climax. My clitoris was
quivering, I was trembling, I was ecstatic.
I am not Meg Ryan and I do not scream. But my pleasure
was no secret. A boy, a man, who does not work hard at
his partner's race to orgasm, does not deserve
attention. The trick for a girl is to deduce a man's
personality in that regard in advance, not to have to
wait to find out at one's disappointment. I was happy
and satisfied.
We stood up and toweled each other off. My Boy played
with my breasts one last time; I fondled his penis and
his balls appreciatively. One couple had left, the
other were finishing up their pleasure. If they had
taken a lesson from me, so much the better. But I still
had My Boy's undivided attention and I thought I'd like
to have him around a bit longer.
In fact we stayed together for some months, drifted
apart after awhile in imperceptible stages until the
relationship ended by default. Another stepping-stone
to life: happiness involves stages, sometimes mistakes.
But like any speculation, love and sex relate to what
you don't know even more than what you do know; your
universe is limited to your reach. One doesn't regret
an orgasm.
I still have My Boy's picture in my class yearbook. I
have the memory of that first donation of semen, which
I like to think was his First. He has a bit of my love
still, and a bit of my experience. What more can he or
I ask?
Carol
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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