Too Young Too Soon No Chance

I've explored this theme before: first love and where it leads or doesn't lead. I'm convinced that in most cases it ends, as it should for all sorts of good reasons.

My first love in college was a striking brunette who, I was firmly convinced, would someday be my wife. We parted during our sophomore year. Geography was a factor but there were other issues involving two young people "finding" themselves.

I had a chance to chat with and even meet with her several times when we were in our forties. We had spouses and children and lives of our own. She was still a stunningly beautiful woman. During a very brief period we exchanged emails, chatted on the phone, exchanged pictures of our families---even introduced each other to our respective spouses and went out to dinner as a foursome. It was all above board. There was no hanky-panky.

We quickly realized that most of the things that each of us valued as mature adults---our career choices, politics, world views, geographic preferences, and basic values---were not remotely in synch. It would have been absolutely impossible for us to have found any common ground on which to build a reasonable friendship---let alone a stable marriage.

She has chosen to live virtually her entire adult life in a house a block away from the one in which she grew up. She transferred to a university close to home after her sophomore year because she missed her family and friends. I have never even visited the place I grew up since leaving decades ago and have lived all over the country and the world thanks to the military and a corporation---by choice. She and I got absolute closure twenty-five years later which was good for all involved.

Still, the idea of two young people who once thought they had found their soul mate, separating for whatever reason and then finding each other again years later has a great deal of allure for me as the subject of fictional prose. I've dealt with the concept before in

Too Young for True Love

and

Going Home.

I decided to go back to the well one more time.

Those previous works were somewhat idyllic. It would probably be more realistic to assume that the two people had changed---grown up---and would have to get to know each other all over again. One would hope there would still be that spark of attraction which would give them the reason to try, but also, realistically some struggle.

A final caveat: many people in this story have very successful lives and make a lot of money. If that offends you please look elsewhere for entertainment. I forgot another point: no ass fucking and just a little stroke right at the beginning.

"What are you doing down there?" she whispered.

He really wasn't sure.

Exploring, getting the lay of the land, figuring out the anatomy? Trying to decide if he was going to 'go all the way', hoping that if he did, the cheap rubber from the gas station wouldn't break? There wasn't a lot of room in the back seat of his ancient Galaxy. This was only the second time in his eighteen years he'd ever been in that back seat with a completely naked girl. Same girl, two nights running.

Damn she had a hot friggin' body! Playboy perfect tits, hard, full bubble butt...cute!

Also, he was pretty sure, dumber than a stump. She had to be dumb. This was their second back seat foray together. The first time they had crawled into the back fully clothed and she'd been naked in under fifteen minutes. This time he had suggested that she just strip in the first place since she was going to end up that way in short order. She'd calmly replied, "okay," and quickly removed her blouse, shorts and panties. She wasn't wearing a bra---absolutely didn't need one.

Like him, she had just graduated from high school and was working a summer job prior to whatever the next stage in life would be. He was a lifeguard at the resort pool, she worked in housekeeping; she was a maid. She came to the pool on her day off during the period reserved for employees. It was a pretty short period; none of the guests at the resort had any interest in mingling with the help.

Most of the employees were female and young. There were a few guys working as busboys, in grounds maintenance and in low level kitchen duties. He was among a very small handful with more elite status: life guards, tennis instructors and the like. He'd chosen her for two main reasons: she was fucking hot in that little bathing suit and after talking to her for a few minutes he was pretty sure she'd fuck. He hoped so since he sure as hell never had, even though he hadn't let on to her that he had no more idea what he was doing then she did.

He was a lot more scared then he let on. Scared that he'd knock her up; scared that he'd screw up.

***

What the hell is he doing down there? Is he going to fuck me or not?

She had tried to come across as experienced and confident. She desperately wanted to get laid. The first guy she had ever gotten in a back seat with had chickened out when he found out she'd never done it before. He got all mushy and, in retrospect, kind of sweet about it, but in the end, he wouldn't fuck her.

Damn! What's a girl got to do to get laid in this town?

Now this one was apparently having second thoughts. Had he figured out that she was a virgin? She was sure he wasn't remotely; that's why she had chosen him.... Well, he also had a hot fucking bod and was beyond cute. She wanted the first time to be with a boy who knew what he was doing. She absolutely could not head off for college still a virgin.

***

He'd had a finger in a teen twat a couple of times. He'd never gotten a hand job but had endured one attempted blowjob. That hadn't been great. The girl in question had choked and gagged---and cried afterwards, not to mention leaving wounds on his dick from her teeth. He remembered that stupid, 'facts of life' chat he'd had with his dad: 'son, never sleep with a woman that you wouldn't marry and if she lets you sleep with her you wouldn't want to marry her.' What a crock of shit!

There was no way in hell he'd marry this girl. Hell, marriage was something way out there in the future. She worked as a maid, for Christ's sake; not even sharp enough to get a job in the dining room or one of the shops where the smart babes worked. No, he'd picked her because she came across as an easy fuck...well, there was also that amazing fucking body and those perfect tits. No, he'd get married someday---to some sweet college co-ed from a nice family. Not some tramp who worked as a friggin' maid.

He so desperately wanted to get laid. He was sick and tired of being a virgin; he was absolutely convinced that he was the only one with whom he had graduated from high school who had never gotten a piece of tail.

Fuck! Damn, just roll the fucking rubber on and stick it in her. What's the worst thing that could happen?

You could cum before you even get inside her. She'd tell all the other little hotties what a loser you are. Something could go wrong; the rubber could break. You could knock her up and then---oh fuck! Shotgun wedding time. No scholarship to State. A job at a sawmill. Living in some broken down shack with a half a dozen grubby little rug rats and a fat, pregnant wife who couldn't cook and never cleaned up the broken down shack.

He moved up and kissed her. His fingers began to explore her juicy little hole. Her breathing increased and her hips began to undulate. Sooner than he had expected, she came. They kissed again; he fondled those amazing, hard, perfect titties. Her hand fell to his cock. Wordlessly they reposition. She spit on her hand and his raging hard on.

Maybe she'd suck him off? Nope, no such luck. She was going to jerk him off. Pretty damned well, he had to say. It didn't take that long. Two hands now and---oh, yessss!

Thank God she'd caught most of it on her hands.

He wordlessly handed her his underwear to wipe off his spunk. They kissed again. They held each other. He was careful not to get his deflating cock near her pussy. He didn't believe that old 'a girl can get pregnant in a swimming pool' adage but he didn't want to take any chance of anything leaking in there.

***

Well, that was kind of fun.

He had very talented fingers.... much better than that other boy. Damn good kisser. She had faked it then. . . didn't have to this time. This certainly wasn't the era of candid discussion between eighteen year-olds of the opposite sex. She wondered why he hadn't fucked her but sure as hell wasn't going to ask. She knew she excited him. Her hygiene wasn't an issue; she had made all of the appropriate preparations---even flossed and gargled...and douched. She'd trimmed her pussy hair.

Fuck! Or, in this case, no fuck.

He didn't ask her out again over the two weeks before the resort would close for the winter. He hadn't avoided her or ignored her. He always said hi; they'd chatted a few times about nothing at all. They'd never really gone on a date---just a short trip to the local lovers' lane to park---twice. She realized she couldn't remember his last name---didn't even know where he was from or where---or even if---he was going to college.

Fuck it! She'd never see him again.

*** Oh, well, he thought to himself as he shoved the last of his meager possessions in the trunk of his old Ford.

I'm certain to be the only virgin freshman at the gigantic state university three hours away

. Maybe his fortunes would improve there. Thirty thousand students and more than half of them girls. He had visited the campus in the middle of the state as part of a group with the guidance counselor back in high school.

Jesus, it was big!

Really big for a kid who had gone to a consolidated junior-senior high school with barely 1,500 students.

He had a scholarship. He'd had good enough SATs and high school grades to get a scholarship to a private, prestige school but then he discovered that those schools had all sorts of expenses that weren't part of the official tally. Getting a full scholarship to State wasn't really that difficult. His parents were of modest means and in addition to his academic performance, he had some athletic ability. Fortunately the terms of his scholarship did not mandate his participation in sports. He'd have to see; he wanted to do well academically. College sports programs could take up a lot of time.

The acceptance paperwork from the university had contained some sort of numerical code indicating his admission status. He had called the admissions office but they had not been willing or able to tell him what the number meant. He was pretty close with his guidance counselor. He asked him one day prior to graduation what it meant. He had not had to look it up before answering.

"Are you sure you really want to know, Dennis?" Dennis had nodded.

"Okay, you're a big boy, you can deal with it. You're not the first student from here with that code by a long shot. Hell, it's more the norm than the exception. This is a small, very rural school system in a designated poverty region. As a result, that code indicates that you may have some difficulty adjusting to the environment at a huge, modern, nationally respected state university. In spite of the fact that our graduates do as well or better---statistically far better---than the average freshman at State, I still see that damn code all too often, particularly with kids from farms as opposed to the small towns."

"So, I'm some sort of freak who is expected to fail?"

"Oh, it's not that bad. Look, it just means that you're going to receive 'special handling.' That includes early registration and an assigned faculty advisor or 'baby sitter' looking over your shoulder. You'll be provided tutors from day one before they have any idea if you can do college work. You'll live in a special dorm---nicer than the regular ones---which includes a fulltime, live in, resident advisor who is a significant cut above the typical RA.

"Your professors will give you extra attention which isn't such a bad thing. You won't be shoved into any eight hundred student lecture halls---you'll be assigned to smaller classes with a far more favorable ratio. You actually have more ability to tailor your degree program than regular students get. You get a chance to take some fascinating seminars with top professors---for full credit---that regular admissions aren't offered.

"You'll get your hand patted by some well meaning assistant dean, who will frequently give you one of those irritating 'oh, you poor boy' looks. You're essentially a social experiment. Ten years ago, almost no one who graduated from here ever went to any college, let alone State. A few went on to technical school; most just went back to the farm. That's changed dramatically in the last decade---those eggheads at State just haven't figured it out."

"How do I get my status changed?"

"You don't and you sure as hell don't want to let on that you know. Dennis, you're one of the brightest kids to have ever graduated from this school. Now you're going to be in 'special ed.' Four years from now when you graduate Summa, they'll all pat themselves on the back at how well their little social experiment worked. Do you want my advice?"

"Sure. "

"Milk it for all it's worth. Enjoy the perks. You'll end up with a better education than 95% of the entering freshman class. You'll have contact regularly with professors in a one-on-one environment that regular students don't get. Smile and act humble. Dennis, you're more than capable of doing Ivy League level college work. In this program you're going to have the opportunity to get that quality of education at a state school. Don't blow it off or fail to take advantage of every opportunity offered. I don't need to be telling you this; I know you well enough to know what you are capable of. Someday down the road I'll buy you a beer and we'll laugh about it. Just go with the flow and enjoy yourself. "

*** As he watched the regular registration cluster-fuck a week after his own 'special' registration, he was damn glad he hadn't had to endure it. Ten thousand students representing the freshman class, half of whom wouldn't be back for a sophomore year, milling around an over-filled fieldhouse. There were too many students and not enough dorm space. The local rental economy couldn't handle the overflow. Dorm rooms were doubled up. Trailers were brought in. Cots were being set up in a gym.

He chuckled as he returned to his own dorm room which was modestly but more than adequately furnished and had art on the walls and curtains on the windows. He eyed the moderately high-end portable stereo which was provided by the university...KLH or something like that. Next to it stood a stack of albums including an assortment of jazz and classical. Broaden the poor farm boy's horizons. He had to laugh. Like any eighteen year old, he liked rock and roll but his mother had introduced him to Beethoven and Mozart as a child and his father to jazz a few years later.

There was a brand new typewriter on his expansive desk even though he had already been assigned someone to type his papers. He had visited the library and been shown his assigned study area. He had a student assistance job, not bussing tables in a dining hall but working in the chemistry lab. He had a special meal ticket which granted access to a private eatery that ensured he would receive 'balanced nutrition.' He had actually been introduced to all of his first semester professors. He'd had to attend special classes in food and nutrition, college dating protocols and appropriate attire. He'd even been provided funds to buy clothing at a special store which ensured that he would 'fit in.'

He'd had a couple of small battles. His advisor thought geology might be a better choice for him than the very rigorous University Chemistry intended for freshmen anticipating a major in the sciences. They had tried to shuffle him into a 'comparative lit' course rather than a more traditional and more arduous English literature course. They'd attempted to dissuade him from taking calculus, suggesting some technical math course which was little more than a rehash of ninth and tenth grade algebra.

The final indignity had been the suggestion that he take Spanish, not the German he preferred, since Spanish was an easier language and he had in fact taken it in high school. He had taken it in high school because it was one of two choices along side French. His parents would have disowned him if he had taken French; they hated the French. His grandparents had been first generation German immigrants. His father and mother still spoke fluent German. English is essentially a Germanic language. He had always found German to be an absurdly easier language to learn---certainly easier than Spanish.

In the end, he's been firm but polite in each case. Evidently there was some unwritten rule that they could suggest and even 'push' but in the end they could not tell him what he could and couldn't take as long as the course was available as part of the normal freshman curriculum. Each time some well meaning member of the university staff capitulated, furious scribbling would ensue on what he assumed was his secret personal record.

What had really surprised him was the lack of a roommate. He had assumed that a roommate would be viewed as some sort of mandatory socialization process. Then again, since all of the kids in this special dorm were 'special ed', maybe someone figured it would be counter-productive to house two poor, dumb-ass farm kids together. Who knew? He wasn't going to argue. He preferred the privacy.

There were girls everywhere---hot girls...cute girls...'take home to meet yo mamma' girls. There were also girls in the same special program he was in but he'd yet to meet any of them. Maybe the faculty was afraid that if they met, they'd fuck and just produce another generation of dumb ass yokels.

Can't have that kind of inbreeding

. He'd even had to attend a class on sex education. Condoms were available at no cost with no embarrassment. Evidently birth control pills were available for the women.

The women's dorm was adjacent to his dorm separated at its short end by a small common area. There was to be some sort of social in the next few days but as he understood it, the special boys and girls wouldn't attend the same social.

Got to isolate those poor underprivileged kids from the evil influences of their own kind of the opposite sex.

Based on rural American child birth rates, they'd certainly be unable to resist mating and creating a new generation of lowest tier citizens. . .

couldn't let that happen.

At first, the constant attention from assistant deans, RAs, professors, professor's assistants, librarians, nutritionists, student health personnel, advisors, counselors---even friggin' shrinks---was an irritating imposition. He'd endured little lectures on the evils of alcohol. He assumed they all believed that all farm kids started drinking moonshine at an early age from the family still. Perhaps the most irritating was the weekly hour with some junior psychologist at the student health center. Her mission seemed to be to help him understand healthy male-female relationships so that he wouldn't end up going back home at the first break and marrying his cousin or whatever.

He sure as hell wouldn't have minded exploring her womanly treasures; she was hot and filled out that little white lab coat perfectly. She'd ask him patronizing questions about how he was 'assimilating,' whether or not he had made any female friends, if he had a girl friend back home. She would then drop her eyes and speak very softly about the potential risks of unprotected sex, premarital sex, oral sex or any kind of sex---including 'excessive' masturbation.