Where it happened: College newspaper office
Langauge: English
Sex: Male
Rating: 10
Category: Straight
It was more than half a century ago, but as it says at the top of this page, You Never Forget.
I was on the staff of our college newspaper, where I wrote a column titled “Behind the Screen,” in which I more or less humorously commened on events on the campus, passed along items of gossip I had overheard and the like. My identity as writer was kept secret. In fact, there were really three of us who alternated on the column so no one person could be identified.
This was a small campus, fewer than 2,000 students, so everyone more or less knew everyone else, or at least everyone knew who the important students were.
In those days we had a term for a girl who did not like to neck or pet — what kids call today “making out,” or has some other term replaced that? Anyway, the term was “Norge,” for a popular refrigerator of the time.
I had the clever idea of naming in the column an “All-American” Norge team, using designations like “Dead End,” “Don’t Tackle,” “On Guard,” “Off Center,” “Walks Back” and “Slaps Back.” I named two Walks backs and two slaps backs. Football was simpler in those days and didn’t have the complicated position titles of today.
I checked with colleagues and got the names of eleven girls to put into those categories, these being fairly popular girls, but reserved about letting boys touch or feel too much.
One of my picks, for “Dead End” was a girl named Bubbles. That wasn’t her real name but everybody called her that, and it fit because she had a bubbly, happy personality and guys I talked to said she was fun to be with on a date, but did not allow any liberties.
(I myself had no personal experience with any of these girls. I did not date, being much too shy, although I covered up my shyness with a comic personality. And I was, indeed, a virgin.)
Well, the day after my column came out, Bubbles burst into the newspaper office and went right to the little private office that I had for myself to protect my privacy.
She came in, I was sitting there in a chair that could lean way back, she said, “Dead end, huh? Well, what about this?” and she fastened a big, damp kiss on me.
Then she said, “So you think I’m a Norge, huh? Well, try this, Mister Behind the Screen,” and she kissed me again, this time getting her tongue into my mouth.
Then she was on top of me, with the chair leaning way back, and I found myself responding to her tongue. I’d never French kissed before, but I found it a great experience.
After we’d explored the insides of each other’s mouths she sat up a bit, said, “And what about these?” and she pulled her blouse and brasiere off and grabbed my hands and put them on her breasts.
I was still somewhat shaken by her bold approach, but I responded by feeling her breasts, pinching the nipples, then kissing and sucking on them. She said, “So, you do know how to handle a girl. Now let’s see if you have the tools to do the whole job,” and she reached down and unzipped my pants, then unbuttoned my shorts and took my penis out — and it was beginning to swell under her ministrations.
She said, “A-HAH! They told me the reason you never dated girls was because you couldn’t get it up, but I see they were wrong.”
Then she began stroking it, then took it in her mouth and sucked until it was rigid as a rock, then said, “Now to settle once and for all who is a Norge and who can’t get it up.”
She stood up, took off her skirt and panties, got back down on me so my penis was right under her vagina. Then she lowered herself down so my penis entered her and she said “Now let’s go for a little ride,” and she began riding me, with my penis going in and out. She was singing “Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross,” and said, “Do you suppose that’s what that old nursery rhyme has been about all this time?”
She went on, up and down, and I was rising to meet her and feeling the greatest pleasure of my 19 years to that time. Then she said, “Oh boy, I’m coming,” and she came with a great orgasm just as I came too, pouring my semen into her.
Then we lay there together for a moment, holding each other, then she said, “Are there any questions now about who is a Dead End?”
I said, “Not with me, honey, not with me.”
Then we talked for a while in a friendly way, and she explained that in high school she had given her virginity to a boy she thought she loved, and when she went off to college she promised to be true to him, while he stayed home and worked on his dad’s farm.
So she had allowed no liberties with boys on dates in college, but now she was beginning to wonder if Caleb (her lover) was being true to her. Oh, and she and he had arranged for her to have a diaphragm put in before they started having sex.
Then she got up and put her clothes back on and said, “So now you need a new dead end for your team.” She thought a minute, then said, “But don’t put anything in your column about this. I’ll just remain a Norge for a while longer.”
She went out, and said to a couple of girl reporters who were in the main office, “Just having a little intellectual debate with old what’s-his-name,” and went on out.
And that was the start of a wonderful loving relationship with Bubbles that ended when I got drafted. She joined the WACS and later married Caleb, who had become a First Sergeant.
So I lost touch with her, but she’ll always be there in my memory.
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