Candy Is Dandy But...

Candy Is Dandy, But...

This is a late Valentine's Day gift to my readers, based on a story that never really happened to me at college. Hey, a guy can dream, though! Please rate this story and leave a comment when you're done reading. Reader's comments are really the only pay we authors get. Thank you, and enjoy!

It was a long time ago, and I was at college. I was a working class kid from New Jersey, and wondering what the hell I was doing on an Ivy League campus. Everybody around me seemed to be richer, better dressed, and more experienced - in everything. I never seemed to get their jokes, or their cultural references. Worse, I was a history major, certainly doomed to spend the rest of my life working in a low-paying teaching job.

Nicole was the queen of my dorm. Blonde, athletic, outgoing, bright, and incredibly self-assured, she was a business management major in Wharton. She was also blue-blood Kentucky royalty, as her family owned one of the largest independent distilleries in the state. They dabbled in horses, but liquor was their lifeblood.

I never would have had the courage to ask her out, but we were thrown together working on an American History project. I have no idea why she was taking the class - probably to fulfill some liberal arts requirement - but in this one area she was in my wheelhouse.

After our first couple of meetings to plan how we were going to get our work done, it was obvious to me that she was just as serious about it as I was. She certainly didn't treat the course as a liberal arts throw-away, and her research and writing skills were at least as good as mine.

Frankly, most of the Wharton students I encountered in my courses looked at me like I was a joke, and then assumed that I'd just do all the work and let them share the grade. Nicole was different right from the start. She was cordial, warm, worked her ass off, and treated me like an equal partner.

During the long hours we spent working together, we got to know each other better. We talked about our families, how we grew up, and what we wanted to do after graduation. One thing she never mentioned, though, was a boyfriend, girlfriend, or any type of significant other. That gave me some hope, at least.

When we got our paper back - an A+ - I worked up my courage and suggested a celebratory drink.

She considered for several moments, looking at me speculatively, before replying, "Where d'ya want to go?" in that sweet drawl of hers.

"O'Hara's," I said, naming an upscale saloon on the edge of campus. I'd given this plenty of thought, and I had a definite plan in mind.

"Not bad," she said, nodding, but still looking at me appraisingly. "If you'd suggested Doc Watson's, I'd a turned you down flat." Doc's was a campus dive famous for cheap beer and cockroaches.

"No way," I replied, smiling and lowering my voice conspiratorially. "You're too classy for that. Besides, there's a special drink at O'Hara's I want your opinion on."

"Okay," she said, also smiling. "I'm free tonight. Knock on my door at 10:00." Then she turned and walked away. There was no question of whether or not tonight was good for me. She knew I'd be there.

Nicole had one of the large, expensive suites on the top floor of our dorm. I knocked at exactly 10:00, but she still made me wait a bit. When she finally opened the door, smiling that 10,000 watt smile of hers, I suddenly didn't mind the wait at all.

She was wearing nice boots, tight jeans that made it very hard not to stare at her ass, and some sort of satiny top that clung to her just right. She was ready to go, so we walked across campus talking and laughing.

It was a weeknight, and O'Hara's wasn't too busy. We got a table in the back, and when the waitress appeared I ordered us two Bosco Bears. Nicole looked at me quizzically, and when two drinks that looked like frothy hot chocolates were delivered her face fell.

"I can't believe you ordered me a fucking candy drink," she said, looking at me disdainfully.

"I know you've got gourmet taste when it comes to liquor," I said quickly, holding up my hands to placate her, "but trust me! These things are crazy good!"

With that, I raised my glass, saluted her, and drank. She pouted at me for a few moments, then at her glass, and finally grabbed it in resignation and took a sip. Her pretty blue eyes flew open in astonishment, and she took another, longer sip. Then a third, which she swirled around her mouth for a bit, clearly loving it.

"I know, right?" I asked, happily.

"I've never tasted anything like it!" she exclaimed excitedly. "What's in it?"

"I have no idea, and they won't give out the recipe. All I know is that it contains Bosco chocolate syrup, from back home in Jersey."

"I mean...wow!" she said. "There's also a chocolate liqueur of some kind...and a dash of Kaluha." She took another drink, her smile changing into a look of concentration. She swirled for quite a while, and swallowed. "I'd expect vodka or rum, but this is gin-based - I can taste the botanicals. And, I think...yes, brandy! But there's more..."

We spent the next two hours analyzing three more Bosco Bears each before she suggested we head back. When the check arrived, I immediately pulled out my thin and worn little wallet, paid the tab, and included a generous tip. My father had taught me two things when I first started dating. One was that the man always pays for the first date, no matter how it goes. The other is that you always treat your server well and take care of them, not only because they deserve it, but also because most women notice.

When I stood and offered her my hand to help her up, Nicole smiled demurely and took it. She kept her hand in mine as we walked out into the night and wove our uncertain way back to the dorm. When we got to her door she thanked me for a wonderful time and for introducing her to the best drink she'd had in a long time. Then she tilted her head up, giving me permission to kiss her. It was the most amazing kiss I'd ever had in my young life, our tongues swirling, both of us tasting like Bosco chocolate and booze. Then she opened her door and invited me in.

As soon as we were in the door, she warned me not to get any ideas, since she was a good girl and never took off her pants on the first date. I'll admit that I was disappointed. I mean, it was college, we'd had fun and a few drinks, and she'd invited me in... Still, I put on a smile and told her she was the boss, which seemed to delight her to no end.

She took me on a tour of her apartment, which was spotless (I later found out that her parents paid for a cleaning service), then asked if I'd like some wine. Wine, and not cheap beer! I clearly was in a different world.

Of course I agreed, because what harm could more alcohol do? She opened a bottle of white, poured us each a glass, then led me to the couch. We spent a few minutes talking and laughing about things that were going on around campus, in our lives, and in the world. Just an extension of the great conversation we'd been holding down at O'Hara's.

She was sitting very close to me, our hips almost bumping, but I didn't get the message. Finally, she looked at me and said, "Just because we aren't going all the way, doesn't mean I don't want to start the trip." Then she took my glass, put it down on the coffee table next to hers, and climbed into my lap.

I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close so that I could feel her breasts pressing into my chest, and kissed her. We kept kissing and kissing for what seemed like forever, and I was as happy as I'd ever been in my life. She seemed like maybe the sexiest woman I'd ever known, and we were pressing up against each other and making out furiously. I was harder than I ever remember being, and I know she could feel it against her thigh.

I eventually got my hands around her ass, squeezing and pulling her close, while we took turns kissing each other's faces and necks and ears. She was breathing hard, and then panting, and it seemed like the best make-out session I'd ever experienced was going to go on and on forever. Then, suddenly, she slid out of my lap and onto the floor.

At first I thought she'd simply had way too much to drink. She'd landed on her knees between my legs, though, in perfect position for something I hadn't even dared to hope for, and she quickly began tugging at my belt and zipper. For a moment I was too stunned to react, but then I enthusiastically began helping her and soon my jeans and boxers were around my ankles.

"God," she drawled, running her hands up and down my pole, "you sure grow 'em big in Jersey." Then she ducked her head and took me into her mouth.

She may have been a 'good girl', but she sure knew how to suck cock. She bobbed her head enthusiastically, sucking hard on the tip on each upstroke, and worked my shaft with her hands in perfect rhythm. I put my hands on her head, but she shook them off and kept working tirelessly. The girl was on a mission, and it didn't take too long before she got what she wanted.

I groaned, trying to hold back, and tapped her shoulder. "Cumming!" I announced, but she just grinned up at me and kept bobbing. A moment later I came in her mouth, surrendering to that impossible feeling when somebody else is in charge of your orgasm, and you have almost nothing to do but just sit back and let it happen.

She kept bobbing her head and licking the underside until she was sure she had gotten every drop, then she sat back on her heels, smiled with her cheeks bulging, and swallowed.

"Wow!" she said while I lay there and panted. "You sure must take care of yourself, because that was the second-best thing I've had in my mouth all night." Then she grinned, took a drink of her wine, swirled, and swallowed again.

I was laying back with my eyes closed, when she pulled herself up onto the couch and said, "Hey, Romeo, don't go noddin' off on me. I took care of you, now it's your turn." When I opened my eyes, her blouse had magically disappeared and she was unclasping her bra.

This may sound ridiculous, because this woman had just given me the best head of my life, but when her bra fell away and I saw her breasts for the first time, I felt even closer to her, even more intimate. It was like we were the only two people on earth. The moment was absolutely magic.

I've told you she was petite and athletic, and her breasts were not too large - I'd guess a B cup. They were firm, pointed, and tipped by outrageously puffy areolas. It almost looked like she had ping-pong balls on the ends of her breasts.

"You are...the sexiest woman I've ever seen in my life." It wasn't hyperbole. It wasn't a line. It was the only thing I could think of to say, and apparently it was the right thing. I think I just assumed that somebody that attractive and self-confident would know how pretty she was, but maybe we all need as much reassurance as we can get.

"Good answer," she breathed huskily, and brought her fingers up to her breasts. "They're very sensitive," she continued, showing me just how erect her nipples could get. Then she crawled up onto the couch, took my hands and brought them to her chest, and showed me exactly what felt good to her.

It was my turn to slide to the floor while she lay down on the couch. She methodically showed me just what touch to use, how much pressure, to turn her on the most. Then she reached out and put a hand behind my head and pulled my mouth to her nipple.

I knelt there, crouched over her, suckling on one breast while teasing the other with my fingertips, listening to her pant and moan. She was thrusting her chest up at me, as if she were trying to get an entire breast into my mouth, and I began to wonder whether or not she could actually cum just from having her nipples played with.

I had my answer a moment later when I heard her zipper rasp as she tugged it down. Her hands were frantically working at her jeans, trying to undo them. I paused long enough to grin down at her.

"I meant what I said," she practically growled, "these ain't commin' off." Then she continued, in a pleading tone, "But I need it so bad right now. I need you so bad!"

With that, she pulled one of my hands away from her breast and guided it down, over her belly, and under her jeans, which she had unbuttoned and unzipped and pulled down slightly past her hips. My fingertips went under the waistband of her panties, finding them totally soaked, and she kept guiding me lower until I felt her bush.

I turned my head to look, and caught a glimpse of light blonde pubic hair. She guided my fingertips further down, between her lips, directly to her clit. Then, her hand covering mine, she showed me just how to swirl, just how much pressure to use, just how to make her cum. With her other hand she pulled my mouth back to her nipple and said, "Don't stop. Please, don't stop. Just like that. I need you so bad."

So, I didn't stop. I kept swirling my fingertips around her hard little clit, licking and sucking on her stiff nipple, and even rubbing the other nipple with the fingers of the arm I had crooked under her neck. She pressed her face into my neck, urging me on, her moans getting more and more desperate, until she gasped and came, her entire body shuddering. It was the longest and most impressive orgasm I'd ever seen, mine included.

That was 30 years ago. Nicole is now a senior VP in her family business, and I'm a professor of American History at the University of Louisville. We have four amazing children, and every year we toast our anniversary with Bosco Bears.

When we graduated, she bought O'Hara's just to get the recipe.