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Lucian

Age when it happend: 18
Where it happened: in VW bug
Langauge: English
Sex: Female
Rating: 10
Category: Straight

Being a guy and not having had sex before you’re 18 was sad. It was 1978 and I had gone off to school at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville which is a typical college town kind of place with a lot of farmland (then) around it. I was sooo hoping my college life would be a complete change from my frustrated nerdish high school years. I found myself amongst a bunch of jocks in my dorm, even my roommate. He was a fucking (really) chick magnet. Everything I wasn’t, he was. Couldn’t really count the number of times I was awakened by the groaning of bedsprings. Talk about depressing! I was so mortified, I pretended to be asleep. Even more depressing was knowing what a dweeb I was. Anyway, my self image, aside from intellectual pursuits, was totally in the toilet. What I wouldn’t give to have some coolness points to keep the dormmates from ranking on me.

I had been in my high school band. (Got the picture?) I had lots of female friends most likely because I was totally unthreatening and had a reputation for being amusing. The only cool thing about band was it was one of the few classes that had all 4 grades, Freshmen to Seniors, in it. Well, at the end of the year when we were all going around getting our yearbooks signed, Denise Roberts wrote that if I were ever at UVa, I should look her up. Why? She was really cute and smart and funny, well-adjusted, a year ahead of me and totally out of my league as far as I could tell. Lithe and kinda small, with short brown hair in that Dorothy Hammil (sp?) wedge cut, big brown eyes, enticing long lashes, full lips, big smile. Oh! Out on the practice field in little jean shorts and an Indian-print camisole-like top, playing the clarinet. Sigh. Tan thighs marching around the football field. I stared at what she wrote about a million times.

Spring of my Freshman (1st year they say at UVa). I’m walking across the “grounds” (they don’t say campus either) and she’s headed in my direction. My first inclination was to hope she wouldn’t see me. Or worse, she would see me and avoid having to talk to me or notice my existence. Not only does she see me, she heads in my direction. Whoa. Um, what to stammer, er, say? She does all the talking. Hey, so you’re here too? We did the usual drill: have you seen… how’s… whatcha taking? Where ya living? All 1st year-people had to live in dorms, but after that most people lived off campus (ok “grounds.”) She says, I’m living in the big clapboard house on _____, why dontcha come over some time. I down trying to keep from losing consciousness and mumbled, “Ok, sure, how ’bout Friday?” “Great. I’ve got class until 4:30, but anytime after 5.”

Speeding up: 3 days of total anxiety, bewilderment, wondering if this was some kind of trick. A little voice kept saying, “Whaddya got lose, loser? Just go!” I went.

Exactly at 5 standing outside, walking around the block, plotting how best to look totally casual. Ha! Stand on the porch trying to look through the yellowed shades, into the house. Finally knock. (from upstairs) “Come on in, it’s open!” Dark, bare wooden floor, mangy furniture, a Frisbee on the lamp, bikes leaning against the stairs leading up. “Come on up!” I go up. Hallway of doors with one open. “In here.” Follow the sound and light. Her room. Cool. Threepenny Opera poster. Real furniture. An old bed, real high off the ground, by the window. She’s sorta lounging. She’s smoking some grass (yeah we called it that then) from a little pipe, propped on one elbow (I can see down her shirt!), a copy of the New Yorker in front of her with a bunch of seeds in the fold.

“Hey. Gladja could make it. Here.” I take a drag or two. “Wanna go on a picnic?” Ok. Here it comes. Some “picnic” on the “Lawn” where any sort of intimacy would include half the student population. Great. Toss the Frisbee and return to my little corner of Hell afterwards. “We can drive out to ____. I know some people who live on a farm. It’s even got a lake. Really a pond, but it’s sooo cool.” Alright! Someone with a car! 1st year-people couldn’t have a car. She’s got a car. She wants to go someplace. With me. Why? I wittily reply, “Sure.” It’s a warm Spring evening, it doesn’t get dark till late and I’m actually getting off grounds to a place with a pond with Denise Roberts!

We drive throught the totally idyllic countryside, take a couple of obscure turns down totally clichT little dirt roads, one more curve, up a hill, down a hill and we’re there. The whole time, the radio’s on loud, her lemon yellow VW bug is roaring and we’re bouncing along taking little hits and trying to sing along. I don’t even have to think of what to say or do and I’m totally grateful. Finally, a crappy weatherbeaten little house, a sort of track where some car must’ve gotten stuck in the mud once, a little patch of overgrown weeds and a pond with a little dock surrounded by cattails. Heaven. The only thing we got for the “picnic” was beer (drinking age was 18 then). Even though I was a nerd, I had smoked before (mostly at parties so I could forget who I was) and drunk beers with my friends in my parents’basement while endlessly listening to Neil Young’s “Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere” LP.

I’m buzzed. And Denise? She’s buoyant, bouncy and totally into it. “Let’s go swimming.” Uh, in that? I don’t have a bathing suit. Is anyone around? What does this mean? Jeeze, the asshole in me is trying to sabotage all this coolness. I grab another beer. “Ok.” We walk down to the dock, I’m just standing there watching the breeze bend the cattails in a perfect arc. Nice. She’s taking off her shirt. Excellent. Slides off one sneaker then the other with the opposite foot. Then her shorts. Hmm, no panties. I’m standing five feet away and stall by saying, “Who lives here?” “Oh some people I know but they won’t be back until Monday. Little voice: go on, loser! Whatcha waiting for! Get undressed already, jump in, DO SOMETHING!

Best part: we’re naked and laughing and the water’s surprisingly cool and the sun feels great and her skin glistens and I’m wondering just how familiar I’m supposed to be. She’s floating on her back, eyes closed, curve of her breasts above the water, nipples pointing firmly upward. Oh man! I swim underwater under her and come up beside her. “Nice.” “Hmmmm,” she says. I lay my head on her stomach, eyes closed, waiting for her reaction. None. Just then, the grass, the alcohol, the sun, the water all make the scene slow down. A gentle sloshing of water and we embrace. I’ve never been in an embrace with a woman in water before. I am so glad I’m alive just now. We kiss. And we don’t say anything. I’ve never been so un-talkative in my whole life. Yes! There is a God! We sorta swim around, I try to photograph the whole thing in my mind’s eye knowing this might be the most perfect moment in my entire life no matter how long I live but I also want to know what’s next. I still wonder when she’s gonna tell me what this is all about. Then again, I don’t really want to know.

It’s starting to get dark, we’ve been in the water nearly an hour and we lie down at the edge and let the sun dry us. I’m deliriously drinking in the curves of her smooth skin, the miraculously white triangles around her breasts and mons. I’m wishing I were better looking. No! just relax. Don’t think so much! She turns to me, lying on her side and we kiss and I let my hand trace the wonder of her leg, her nicely curved hip, the indent at her waist, the pool of her belly, the ribs, circle her nipple, the space between her breasts and my hand reaches around the nape of her neck and I pull her towards me and we kiss slowly, only our lips meeting. She’s kissing back and I can taste the pond water, slightly sweet. It’s dark now. A little too dark. Then a couple of big fat raindrops. More. A downpour. We remain motionless. It’s raining hard now and then there’s thunder and she shudders. It feels good but she looks spooked. Then another big crack of thunder and almost immediately we see lightening, really close. “If this keeps up we’ll never get the car out of here,” she says getting up. I’m thinking, “Kill me now and I’ll have died a happy man.”

We grab our clothes and shoes, she puts on her shorts and shirt, so do I and we run for the car. “We gotta get at least to the top of the hill.” We’re in the car and it’s really gushing down. She’s right. The car track is filling up fast and the wheels spin and the cars swings left and right, but Denise manages to navigate precariously up to a little knoll. She turns off the engine and opens a beer. It’s hot in the car and we’re a little damp and she opens the glove compartment and takes out the little pipe and a baggy. We smoke and drink in the little VW, opening the windows just enough to let in a little air. By now I’m totally wasted and totally in love. Between our bodies and the warm, humid evening, the car’s like a sauna and the windows are fogged. I’m agitated and tired and horny and I’m hoping Denise is too.

Now: I reach for the button at the top of her shorts. She breathes audibly. I reach down the front of her shorts. I’ve never done this. We’re sitting in the front seat of her VW. There’s a gear shift between us. She puts down the pipe. She places one hand on the steering wheel and the other squarely on my bulge. I’m doing a crappy job of maneuvering my fingers toward her opening. I’m rubbing her mons with the flat of my hand, my fingers occasionally sliding through her pussy and I think she doesn’t seem to mind. Meanwhile I’m adoring her grabbing my dick through my shorts. Soon I’m lunging across the car trying to get my left arm around her to pull her to me. The steering wheel, the gear shift, everyting’s conspiring against me. She reclines the seat. Much better. I’m on top of her and we’re writhing away and I’m licking her neck and kissing her all the while running my hands under shirt. Next the shirts come off and we’re a tangle of limbs trying to remove our clothes without getting out of the car. Weird.

Back in our respective seats, naked again, she looks at me, leans down to my lap, grabs my dick and licks the tip of it and looks up at me. Now I recline my seat too and she’s giving me head and I’m caressing her wondering what else I should do. I’ve never had anyone do anything remotely like this before and while I had masterbated since I was 14, this was remarkable. The feeling was exquisite, but I wasn’t really getting that hard. Guess I was too wasted. Um. A little worried. I really wanted this to somehow include actual fucking, but how to get there? I try to remember all the stuff I’d read in my sister’s Nancy Friday books about what women did to reach orgasm. I really wanted to show my appreciation for all she’d done and God knows when was I going to have another chance.

I reach over to my left and slide my hand between her buttocks and down–there. My middle finger, moist from our sweat and slowly in and out. I hear her breathing and she raises her head, licks her lips and… Oh, hmmm. I need her to move over to my side. I lean back on the seat and pull her to me so she’s facing me, sitting on my lap, facing me. My dick is under her and I slide her sorta back and forth and it feels sooo good. She seems to like this too and bites my ear. Now I can grab her ass and our sweat is lubricating the whole deal. Excellent. Somehow, though, I’m aware that I’m devoting a lot of mental energy to all this maneuvering. She’s too close and the space is too cramped for me to observe and I’m cognizant of wanting this all to be like some porno movie where the sex is earth shattering for both of us. I learn that I can finger her ass and push my dick up lengthwise along her pussy, the result appearing to be most satisfactory to Denise. If I had only learned the stuff about the clitoris then, I’d have done a better job. The truth was, I knew I was as the Dead Kennedys said, “Too drunk to fuck.” We tried anyway and semi-hard me, the constricted space, and my incompetence made the actual fucking comparitively lame. I rather liked (and still do like) the foreplay stuff much more. Once we were fucking, it was too much stimulation. The sensation of her vaginal muscles around my dick, the soggy sucking sound of our juices were making it like all those things I’d heard about where guys resort to thinking about baseball to keep from cumming. I would’ve rather just let go, but it was so uncool to shoot my wad so quickly and without a hint that she was even close to anything like a an orgasm. This went on until we were both tired of it. And neither of us came.

We sat there a while, drank a warm beer and drove naked in the dark back to her house. I was still fucked up and had a massive headache. Must’ve been somewhere around 2 or 3 in the morning. She said something about having friends coming down for the weekend and I knew (or at least I thought I knew) that I had somehow failed and was being banished from the possibility of the cool, high off the ground, bed. I actually said a weak thanks and that I really needed to get back to the dorm, (which was nearly on the other side of the campus) and walked away. And while I saw her from afar a few times after that, I never talked to her again or went back to her house. And I never found out what that whole scene meant to her.

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