The Tale of the All-America Virgin

Author's Note: It has been so long ago, nearly six months from the publication date of chapter three, since I wrote The All-America Virgin and its two sequels. I recently did a detailed read of the three submissions to catch up, during which I discovered I simply did not like most everything about where I was going with the stories.

After taking time to reconsider it all and incubate my newly-found opinions, I decided to risk it by beginning again with this offering, The Tale of the All-America Virgin. The Tale borrows from the best of the three earlier submissions, adds more hot sex, and applies a fresh touch as the story steers toward what could be a happy ending for the 19 year old handsome All-America Travis Rook and the sexy chubby girl, the 28 year old Edie Coltan.

Also, I give credit where credit is definitely due; Robert Lund's fine performance of "99 Words for Boobs," helped me get beyond knockers and big 'uns with key circa 1975 descriptive words for Edie's firm round tits.

Enjoy! And, thank you for reading.

******

It's three am in a November early Saturday morning. I'm in my high school buddies' apartment in Morgantown, West Virginia, lying in bed, naked with a naked woman named Edie Coltan. I'm not asleep. She is, snoozing calmly under a blanket with her breasts exposed. Now, Edie's breasts are not just any run of the mill boobs. No. I'm talking about large enticing knockers. Bingo-bongos. Inner tubes. Traffic stoppers. Consequently, a sizable stiff dick extends from between my legs, even though I should be resting after all that fucking.

Especially after all that fucking.

But, hey, I'm nineteen. I can pop a boner at any minute now.

I think I know where Edie's taking her love and fascination for me. We've been friends, fuck friends, that is, for all of eight hours now. We haven't even seen daylight together, yet she's decided to take the week off from her job as an engineer at PPG's offices in downtown Pittsburgh to ride the bus with me back to Penn tomorrow.

This could be challenging, with regard to my Ivy League education. I study almost all the time, leaving little room for entertaining an oversexed woman.

This could be nice, with regard to steady hot sex with an oversexed woman. I can already see her lying nude on a king-size bed in a suite at the Philadelphia Hotel Intercontinental, her massive barrels springing straight up, her fingers occasionally massaging her clit, keeping her hot slot at simmer so we can fuck immediately upon my arrival after I leave the library.

Excellent situation.

It does not get much better than that.

Ya think?!

I know exactly where Edie's going with all this, or perhaps I know where I want her to go with all this. But, more importantly, I'm certainly cajoled by her attraction to me. One third of a day later and Edie has my standing invitation to visit me in The City of Brotherly Love and sign me up as her live-action fuck toy.

Oh, yes.

My Penn teammates think I have A Huge Problem. My Huge Problem is as such: We're concerned for you, Travis. Here you are, my man, you're a good-looking guy. You're bright, you're cool, and you're the Ivy League's best football player, and you're not getting any pussy?

Dude, it's just pussy. I can't believe you're not getting any pussy.

You're not getting any tail? Any lubu? Any cunt action?

The Wild Thang? You doing The Wild Thang with a coed? Any coed?

A member of faculty? How about your gorgeous freshman comp professor who moved on to Dartmouth? She liked you. A lot. You ever tap that?

Did you get a piece of ass from that sexy tough secretary with your Philosophy Department? You should. You're missing out.

Sex?

You mean you're not laying any pipe?

You're not getting any, Travis. We are.

How can that be?

Did you fuck her? they ask about any coed with whom they see me chatting.

You oughta fuck her, my friends say about the hot-to-trot philosophy grad assistant whom they think would take me up on it.

My answer is as always, No. I'm still a virgin. Sorry.

What's wrong, man?

Nothing, man.

I'll get into that later.

My teammates will meet Edie tomorrow and might see her as The Solution To My Huge Problem. She's an interesting woman, a few years my senior yet still youthful, with deep brown eyes punctuating a classic French visage resting atop a body of average height that can be described as a bit chubby.

A bit chubby?

Well, hell, I'll say it; Edie is a chubby girl. A pretty chubby girl, though. She's pleasingly plump, which is a shopworn alliteration and an even worse description of a chubby girl especially if you're trying to be nice.

However, she is chubby.

I give her an eight one on the ten scale, with Cybill Shepherd as the quintessential ten.

Edie would be an eight eight, but her belly jiggles when she's about to come, which is kind of cute.

Oh, fuck it. The come jiggle is indeed cute, Travis. So, she gets that promotion to eight eight because she's big and bold and a beauty and she has large firm jugs.

I favor her, and the boys from Penn football may eventually see it my way. Edie's big ass is muscular and fun to hold onto while she's on top fucking me. And, tits? Her extra-large bundt cakes are as firm as her butt as they gloriously pop out and bounce all around my face.

So, Ted the quarterback, and Robert the wide receiver, and Mike the defensive tackle, and the other seventy-so college football men with whom I proudly wear the red and blue just don't know it yet, but My Huge Problem evaporated in the heat of Room 335 at the William Penn Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh.

And, it felt damned good.

Edie is to my right. We're in the spare room of my high school buddies Donald's and Ronald's apartment, and they've vacated the premises for the night. That's a good thing since it gave Edie and me a chance to fuck each other blind, which must have worked for her because she is sleeping deep and hard.

"Deep" and "Hard" are two concepts with which my new lover and I are familiar. We fucked yesterday evening, first at six pm for eight point eight seconds, then at six oh three pm for a couple of minutes, and finally at six fifteen pm for...well, a long time. And, according to Edie, our fucking was, no matter the duration, always deep and hard.

Deep and hard.

Edie would always come first, especially during our first fuck. In the six oh three fuck she came first, second, and fourth. At six fifteen and beyond I was able to give her time to let several orgasms roll because I had ejaculated fairly quickly the first two times we had sex, which by the way is actually three times since I had the opportunity to stroke it off on the bus from Philadelphia.

You cannot leave my cock and me alone for five hours and expect us to behave.

The Philadelphia-Pittsburgh weekend express leaves Philly's Hotel Intercontinental Fridays at noon and arrives five hours later at the Steel City's William Penn Hotel. From there, I planned to hitchhike to Morgantown. Sticking my thumb out, of course, was not necessary after I met Edie, who had planned a trip to West Virginia University to see her sister..

She offered me a ride, figuring it was only fair after I gave her three.

We checked out of our sex crib at the swank William Penn Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh and prepared to head for WVU. Edie knew me well enough in a carnal fashion, so she trusted me and had little to worry her when I clicked the seat belt buckle on the front passenger seat in her boss Dodge Challenger.

I, on the other hand, had lots to worry me as I saw my life pass before my eyes when the Dodge Challenger crested Laboratory, Pennsylvania hill on Interstate 79 south at high velocity. Feeling as if I had peed my denims, I soon surmised the leak didn't come from my bladder but originated from my prostate. In other words, Edie's skillful driving at 100 miles per fucking hour made me come a little.

"Did I make you come a little?" she asked.

"Well, yes," I said.

"Well, it's my experience that at one ten you would have blown a full load." I could see a smile illuminated by the dashboard lights.

I'm sure she's right.

Once we were on campus, Edie and I sat in the darkness of her Dodge Challenger. I easily summoned a hard-on and placed it into a spare sock from my backpack, suggesting she should make out with me and give me a handjob for the ages.

Damn. It was. She stroked me slow enough to drive me berserk as she just smiled into my eyes.

"You're completely out of control right now, All-America," Edie said as the stroking continued at a relaxed, yet maddening pace. "Just don't worry. Your cock is in an expert's hand. Of course, it's totally up to me to decide exactly when you will come. It could be in a minute, or tomorrow. But, I won't make you wait that long. I'll just make you think I would."

That did it. My foot couldn't have filled up my sock like my fourth orgasm with Edie.

What a new thrill that was. No one has ever given me a handjob. But, I never look back; as it turned out, it was great to wait for her.

At the Towers dormitories I met her younger sister Joan with the smart set and her sister's sorority sisters of the really nice eighteen year old perky variety. They didn't bother me. Edie's are extra large and taut. I know that as I've had plenty of time to inspect and caress them. She noticed rather soon I have a genuine interest in her tits, so she informed me of her statistics. The numbers are proportional as Edie possesses a large firm round ass, a waist with a cute pooch of fat on it, and, according to her admission, she's 38 inches around her top end and needs a couple of G-cups and a four-clasp wide back strap to reign those things in.

I am impressed. Not only are Edie's fine tits ultra large, they are unusually firm, as firm as her ass, so firm they hold themselves in place with no bra and no sags.

In my No-Fucking Life, I have seen in person two naked racks, both large, both nice, both on gorgeous women, yet both too soft to keep from drooping. It's difficult to stop looking at Edie's headlights. There is enough moonbeam pouring in the window to allow me a clear peek at the 38Gs holding their own. Despite the sex act we had on this borrowed bed...or, really, we fucked deep and hard, I'm staring at Edie's monuments and silently stroking my hard cock slowly with my left hand. Surprisingly, I come big and fast and long as the spasms detonate in my brain, keeping the orgasm going and going.

"Fuck! Ohh, fuck! Whoa! Jeeeez. I hiii. Hoo, whoa," I hiss as silently as possible.

Women are beautiful when they come. Guys? We guys make the weirdest noises and the strangest faces when we have an orgasm.

So, I had a great come, and she didn't stir.

That's seven.

Officially six with Edie.

Now, for more of my No-Fucking Life. Until moments before six pm yesterday, I was pure as the driven snow. Before, a week in my No-Fucking Life consisted of a) Monday, during which I felt up the two amazing sets of floatation devices on two gorgeous Penn coeds while I at their requests stroked my cock and came in quarts on said floatation devices, and b) Thursday, the day of my solitary strokes of my cock with quarts of my come in my face while thinking of the following Monday when I would be feeling up and coming all over said gorgeous Penn coeds.

This No-Fucking Life of a nineteen year old such as I sounds so sad and sorry-ass. A sorry-ass college man who can't get any pussy during the free love 1970s and has to jack off on a regular basis should be ridiculed and scoffed. Well, first, it's only twice weekly, not twice daily, like I did on my eighteenth birthday and everyday afterwards until I showed up at Penn. And, secondly, yet more importantly, a wise old physician once told me to always take matters in my own hands and avoid inadvertently becoming a father.

I recall how my 18 year old high school teammates with 18 year old girlfriends used to sweat it out whenever the girlfriends' periods were late. I could feel it with my friends; every tick of the clock was an eternity.

All of the girls were eventually regular, but the eighteen year old young man angst is at its worst when your woman doesn't bleed.

I thanked the doctor profusely, then went home to beat off a time or two. Masturbating reminded me that, though I would definitely look very silly if I were ever caught whacking off by a teammate, my happiness doesn't hang on a woman's menstruation cycle.

Just as Jackson Browne sings, Looks like it's me and you again tonight, Rosie.

That is until Edie performed a swan dive into my life, like the heavy-breasted brown-eyed brunette passion machine she is.

And...on The Pill.

To my relief, she told me about her birth control after the first fuck that lasted eight point eight seconds.

Like a tornado.

Touching down.

God bless The Pill.

Back to the sex story. Something drew me into the lobby bar. You gotta be 21 years of age to buy a beer in the Keystone Commonwealth, but I had to find out what was in there, whatever it was.

I walked in to discover...not much, except a bar, tables and chairs, a couple dozen beer taps, a crusty old bartender and a television set hanging from the wall over the bottles of liquor and spirits.

Soon after I arrived, five women descended on the lobby bar. They were older, loud, more mature, not grannies, but looking like they had their shit together, looking perhaps like pretty members of college faculty. Each lent me a glance. Females glance, eyes to the left and right. Men gawk, which I attempted not to do as they glanced and smiled and exchanged whispers, grinned, and glanced again.

I turned back to the television just as the beginning of the sports report was being announced by the anchor of the KDKA-TV 5:00 pm news.

That's when Edie triple-jumped into my sexually barren existence.

Dark hair. Dark eyes.

French eyes.

The French eyes always get me.

Despite my virginity, I could always appreciate a woman's French eyes and rounded features even though I had no real idea what to do with any of them. French eyes. Rounded fanny. Rounded globes. I guess I was gawking too long at the woman's rounded fanny and globes and not long enough at the French eyes. Things began to stir in the crotch section of my Levi's. That's 29 waist 32 inseam Levi's for those keeping score at home.

"Excuse me, preppy? Up here," the woman said.

"Oh. My apologies," I said into her French eyes.

"No problem. I'm Edie," she said to me, breaking my tit trance.

"I'm Travis. Nice to meet you, uh, Edie. Sorry for staring...at your...uh...

I felt my face turn crimson. Apparently, it certainly did as Edie issued a smirk of satisfaction. She was surely thinking she had just caught another young lecher mesmerized by her bouncing Buddhas.

I really must learn to mix a little debonair in my sauce.

As if on cue, Tom Golden, KDKA-TV sportscaster, came to my rescue, announcing that four college football players from Pennsylvania colleges were named to the Time Magazine 1975 All-America team.

My attention turned away from Edie's intercontinental ballistic missiles back to the television. For weeks I had thought I might have a chance to be named to an All-America team. I'm a kick returner, punt returner, I back, and safety, the combination better known by the college football crowd as the all-purpose back, plying my all-purpose talents for the University of Pennsylvania varsity team. I played well enough in my first outing to turn some football expert heads early, scoring seven touchdowns five different ways in the opening upset win against tenth-ranked Boston College. Then, I preceded to score thirty five more touchdowns in only eight more games to close out the 1975 campaign and a perfect Ivy League season.

How did I score forty two touchdowns and not bust my cherry?

Because my hand felt good enough and was most convenient?

Sorry. That's the best, most accurate answer I have in my arsenal of excuses for why I enjoy beating off.

Tom Golden announced my name - All America Travis Rook of Penn - and displayed my head shot as well as some action tape of a long run. Edie gasped and vaulted into my chest without looking or asking permission. The tits felt marvelous. In no time, I achieved the fully erected erection, albeit stuck in my Levi's with a couple of sharp bends. She thrusted what I'm sure is her mean love slot into my knotted knots and kept it there.

Please refrain from blowing a load from your dick, Travis Rook, All-America stud said to himself.

"I've never hugged a college football All-America, much less known one!" Edie exclaimed. Her twat, taint and all, laid more heavily on the torqued rod. Fortunately, I was too stymied and too in awe of the situation to come, even if I wanted to.

Her eyebrows arched as she was grinning and grinding.

"Congratulations, Big Boy," she said into my eyes, sultry on high, a kiss full on the lips, a tongue batting around my uvula.

Holy fuck!

Edie had flattered me to the core.

And, that just about did it. But, as dumb luck would have it, one of the older ladies, the blonde with the loooong legs, deftly stepped in between Edie and me and took the opportunity to drape her arms around my neck.

The irony of Leggy's quick move was the double shock she delivered to my contorted cock, a double shock that kept my come from splattering up and down my Levi's. You'd think the extra two-woman attention would release the large volume of buildup this nineteen year old Ivy League sophomore had been storing since central Pennsylvania.

I guess I'm shy.

"Oh, Ivy Leaguer and All-America athlete!" Leggy exclaimed. "I want to bear our love child! Please! Take me upstairs and make me yours!"

With fervor and much more forcefulness, Edie jutted her substantial body back to its rightful place. She separated Leggy and me in one fell swoop, facing her nemesis, establishing her position while my ever-hard dick was placed through her corduroys squarely into the crack of her big, hard ass.

Triple shock.

It was breasts versus legs, and top-heavy won early. "Look, sister," Edie said, "if anyone in this bar is going to make love with my Trevor tonight, she will be me, so, well, you can take your blonde-from-a-bottle and your fake titties and march them back over to the gaggle of geese you came from. Like, now, bitch!"

It's Travis, but if Edie's talking about making love, she can call me Trevor, or Whoever.

She and I mutually decided the tavern offered nothing else to either of us, so we walked. The 'fatass' catcalls from the geese, all of whom were way skinnier than Edie and obviously judged my eight eight to be a six eight, were abusive. Yet, my new girlfriend remained steadfast and proud as she led us through the gaggle, into the lobby of the William Penn, and out the doors.

And, this is where it all happened. Of course. This point in our relationship, total duration of ten minutes, is where Edie turned to me and saw I was still with her. I eschewed the carrot-lunching fashion models to remain with her, that I chose to be with her because I wanted to be with her. I'm sure still being there after I had a few chances to head for the exit brought out the amorous side of her heart.

And, you know what? I'm pretty fucking amorous, as well.

Such the sucker I am.

I at times would lie in bed alone in the dark and think of what the end-game would be like during the minutes before it was an air-tight, lockdown certainty I was going to get laid for the first time. Well, I never thought I'd meet her during happy hour in Pittsburgh, and I never thought she'd be stacked with a couple of gallon-sized honey jars and I especially gave it a zero chance the First Woman would have been with me as it was being announced on a nearby television set I was named an All-America.