Learning By Doing It

'Hi. I'm Susie,' the lady with the pink hair said. 'And I'd like to talk to you about learning styles.'

It was towards the end of my last year at secondary school. And I think that 'Susie' was actually Dr Someone-or-other-Someone-or-other, a Senior Lecturer in Educational Psychology (or something like that) at one of the universities. Although I couldn't swear to that. She was introduced to us by 'Friar' Tuck, our Head of Biology. Old Friar had one of those voices that made everything sound like 'Blah, blah, blah'. The moment that he started talking, my brain just wandered off for a quiet snooze.

When my brain woke up again, Dr Susie was explaining that we all learn in slightly different ways. Some of us learn primarily by listening; some of us learn primarily by looking; and some of us learn primarily by doing. Apparently, people who learn by doing are known as kinaesthetic learners. That's what Dr Susie reckoned anyway.

I must say that my first reaction was: So why did you wait until we were almost ready to leave school before telling us this? Why didn't you tell us on Day One?

Dr Susie had some simple multi-choice 'tests' to help us work out our own preferred learning style. It turned out that most of my classmates were visual learners. They preferred to learn by looking, by watching demonstrations, and by reading. Another smaller group were audio learners. They preferred to learn by listening. And just two of us - Dave Pulaski and me - preferred to learn by doing.

This triggered my second question: Why had we spent most of the past 13 years having someone talking at us from the front of the class? For most of us, that didn't make any sense at all. It certainly didn't make any sense for people like Dave and me.

And why so many books? I could understand the idea of a few story books. I quite like a good story. But instructional books? Text books? No wonder I could read one from cover to cover and still be none the wiser.

The more that I thought about it, the more Dr Susie's stuff made sense. A year or so earlier, I had taken out a book from the library. It was called 'A Guide to the Limited-Slip Differential'. (At the time, I was toying with the idea of a career in high-performance mechanical engineering.) But, as far as I was concerned, the book might just as well have been called 'Blah, Blah, Blah'.

Then I got a holiday job at Ted's Transmission Services. And once I got my hands on a limited-slip differential - in all its pieces - it suddenly made sense. I guess it wasn't really the book's fault. It was just the matter of my preferred learning style.

And then there was the sex book that my mother gave me.

'You might want to read this,' she said. 'Not right now. Obviously. But when you have a spare moment or two. And if you have any questions ...' Actually, now that I come to think about it, she didn't say what I was to do if I had any questions. Not that it mattered much. Like the limited-slip diff book, the sex book might just as well have been called 'Blah, Blah, Blah'. There were lots of words, lots of pictures and diagrams that looked as if they had been drawn by a not very talented six-year-old, and ... well ... that was about it. To be honest, I'm not sure that it taught me anything at all.

And then, suddenly, school was behind me and I was at university. And that's where I met Fiona.

Like me, Fiona was studying for a Bachelor's in Environmental Sciences. And, like me, she had finagled a part-time job as a lab technician. I guess that, in addition to the pocket money, she must have liked the hands-on nature of the job as much as I did.

One night, about six weeks into the first semester, when we had finished up for the day, I asked her if she would like to go to the pub for a swift half. To my surprise, she said yes; yes she would. I'm not putting myself down or anything, but I really couldn't believe my luck. Fiona was a real looker. A

real

looker.

We went to The King's Head and, even though it was autumn, it was quite a warm evening. More like summer really. And our first pint hardly touched the sides. 'Another?' I suggested.

Fiona frowned and looked at her near-empty glass. 'Mmm ... maybe I really will have a half this time,' she said. And she sort of laughed. 'I don't want to end up legless, do I?'

I got a half of lager for Fiona and another pint of bitter for me, and then we sat and sipped and chatted for half an hour or so. And then Fiona said: 'So ... do you want to come back to mine? Or shall I come to yours?'

At first, I wasn't quite sure what she meant. And I think that I probably frowned. I think that I do that sometimes.

'I'm assuming that you want to do it,' she said.

Do it? And then I realised what she was saying. At least I

thought

that I realised what she was saying. 'Oh. Yes. Do it. Well ... yes, we could. If you want to,' I said. 'You know. Up to you really.'

'You don't have to,' she said. 'But I thought that you might want to.'

I looked at my watch. I'm not sure why. 'Yeah. OK,' I said. 'Umm ... perhaps your place then. My flatmates ... You know. You never know what they're ...'

Fiona smiled and drank the last few drops of her lager. 'Come on then.'

Fiona's flat was really nice. It wasn't at all 'studenty'. It was like a proper grown-up's house. And it was tidy. 'Do you want some coffee or something?' she asked. 'Or shall we just ...?'

'Yeah. No. Maybe just ...'

'OK. My room's through here,' she said. And I followed her into a small bedroom that was also surprisingly tidy. It was certainly much tidier than any of the bedrooms in my flat.

'This is nice,' I said.

Fiona smiled. 'How do you want to do this? Do you want me to take my clothes off?'

'Umm ... don't know. Up to you, I suppose. What do you want to do?'

And then I think that she must have twigged. 'Have you ever actually done it before?' she asked.

'Umm ... well ... umm ... you know ... not really,' I said.

'Not really?'

'Not really. No. But it's OK. I sort of know what to do. I've seen a few porno clips. Well ... I guess everyone has, haven't they? You know. And my mother gave me a book.'

'A book?'

'Yeah. I think that she meant well. But, frankly, I didn't find it very helpful. I don't think that books are my preferred learning style. I think I'm a kinaesthetic learner,' I said.

Fiona nodded and smiled. 'Hands on.'

'Apparently,' I said.

'Well, put your hand on this,' she said, and she pulled up her skirt and pulled down the front of her knickers.

It was a lot warmer and softer than I had expected. And the little covering of hair was slightly springy, a bit like one of those patches of lawn that you sometimes find near beaches. 'Nice,' I said. 'Yeah. Nice.'

And then Fiona kissed me. I would like to say: 'And then we kissed.' But, no, it was definitely Fiona who kissed me. But it felt very nice. Very nice indeed.

'How is your cock?' she said. 'Is it getting hard?'

'It often gets hard,' I said. 'Well ... hard

ish

anyway. To be honest, I'm not exactly sure how hard it's supposed to get. I'm still learning. You know.'

'Fortunately, I'm also a kinaesthetic learner,' she said, smiling. And she put her hand down the front of my trousers. 'Oh, yes. That's coming along nicely. I think that maybe we should take your trousers off.'

'Yeah? If you think so,' I said. 'Although I think that I should warn you that I'm not very big.'

Mother's book hadn't made any mention of size - as far as I could recall. But I knew that the chaps in the porno clips all seemed to be at least nine inches in the downstairs department. I thought that I was probably closer to six inches. Maybe a tad more. But not a great deal more. Certainly not nine inches, that's for sure.

Fiona lowered my trousers and my cock sprung out. 'Not very big?' she said. 'Huh! This will be quite big enough for me, thank you. I certainly don't want anything bigger than that inside me. What do you think I am? The Channel Tunnel?'

And then she took my cock in her mouth. Bloody hell! That was something which no book or talk from the front of the class could ever prepare you for.

'Is that OK?' she said, after a minute or so.

'Yes. Very nice,' I said. 'In fact ... well ... brilliant.'

'You know that you could reciprocate,' she said.

'Reciprocate?'

'Yeah. You could do me while I do you. You know ... sixty-nine?' And she pushed me back onto the bed, and lay beside me with her head next to my cock and my head next to her ... gosh ... what should I call it? Mother's book said vulva. But that seemed a bit formal. And pussy seemed a bit wimpy. Maybe cunt was the word that I was looking for.

I must confess that, even with everything right in front of my nose - quite literally right in front of my nose - I still wasn't quite sure what to do. I had seen one or two porn clips but, other than showing that the giver's head went between the receiver's thighs, the clips didn't have a lot of instructional value. And, if the book that my mother had given me had offered any useful tips, I must have missed them. So, in the absence of any real knowledge, I just stuck my tongue out. And right then and there, Fiona made a sound like someone enjoying a particularly nice mouthful of food.

Given that, from the outside at least, her cunt seemed to be quite soft, I was a bit surprised that the tip of my tongue hit something that seemed almost hard. It felt as if she had a small cock hidden in there. And when I say small, I mean

small

. Probably not even as big as the tip of my little finger. But very lickable. Oh, yes.

Very

lickable.

And 'Oh, yes' was what Fiona said too - in between mouthfuls of my cock.

Actually, exploring Fiona's juicy cunt that first time was not only educational, it also helped to distract me from what she was doing to my cock. Not completely. But partly. And just as well. Because every time that I allowed my mind to drift back to my cock, I suddenly felt that I was on the verge of going over the edge.

Mind you, I also had to be careful not to think too much about her beautiful, warm, luscious cunt, with its slick valley and soft, fleshy sides, and the tiny hard cock at one end and the warm mine shaft-like vagina at the other. Talk about a delicate balancing act.

And then I couldn't balance any longer.

I think that I tried to say something, but all that came out were some scrambled sounds.

'Well ... I think we've just about got that bit sussed,' Fiona said. 'Perhaps one or two opportunities for improvement. But nothing that a bit of practice won't fix. And when it comes to doing it, I get the feeling that practice might be half of the fun.'

I could see what she meant. Learning by doing sure as hell beat reading a text book.

'Look, why don't we take a bit of a break,' Fiona said, 'and then, if you're feeling up for it, we can have a go at a full-on fuck. What do you think?'

'Sounds pretty good to me,' I said.