For many reasons, I've looked back on a past relationship that still troubles me years later. I wish I could go back in time, give my younger self a good smack and say what the fuck are you thinking. In order to understand it you have to know a little bit about me first.
I grew up in a small shit down in the Midwest. There were probably 700 students in the whole school system. I don't think I met anyone new in my town after fifth grade. Everybody knew everybody and as we entered high school, it was very easy to talk to girls in the school. Once we became sexually aware, it was not difficult to find someone to hook up with.
Early in high school, most of my close friends talked about the great adventures they were going to accomplish when they graduated. Only three of us came close as we graduated. Two of my friends were joining the service and I was headed off to university.
And what a culture shock, going from a town where I knew everybody to a campus with over 10,000 students and I knew no one. There were at least twice as many students on campus as people in my town. I had a hard time adjusting. Guys were simple, I got along with my two roommates although they were very different than me. There were some guys in my IT classes who I would visit the cafΓ© with. Girls seemed unapproachable.
My roommates and I headed over to a frat party one of the first Friday nights on campus. With strong urging from my roommates, I headed over to a pretty girl sitting on the couch. She kind of ignored me which I should have taken as hint, but I didn't. I asked her how she was doing, and she still ignored me. The music was loud, and I assumed she didn't hear me so I said it again. She turned to me and said something which I didn't hear so I said "what." She put her mouth against my ear and shouted, "Shut the fuck up." A half dozen people turned and stared at me, and my roommates were giggling. I was mortified and walked out.
That was the beginning and end of my sex life in college because that's when the stuttering started. Whether it was talking to the girl at the coffee shop or one of my classmates, I developed the worst case of stuttering. I couldn't talk to anybody without stuttering. My mom picked up on it my next call home and I hardly stuttered when talking to her. My mom is an expert on the Spanish Inquisition, so I was not able to get off the phone until I gave her the whole story which was even more embarrassing. She made me go see a campus counselor where I had to tell the whole story again. She, and it had to be a "she," said it will pass in time. Thanks. She did suggest that I try and keep things short with one-word answers. The more complicated the sentence the more likely I would get stuck and start stuttering.
That did help. I could go into the coffee shop and say "large" and walk out with my coffee. On a good day I could tell her "Thank you."
I had hoped things would get better when I got out of school. My first job was as a contractor supporting a computer upgrade in Florida. All the other contractors were from Southeast Asia, and I had great difficulty understanding them. That along with my stuttering made it difficult to establish any friendships. The job was easy enough and gave me great IT experience. I found a cheap efficiency which would let me bank most of my per diem. The efficiency was in what may have been and early version of an extended stay inn. My room had a queen size bed, tiny kitchenette and a bathroom with the world's smallest shower.
What would have been the front desk now contained keyed mailboxes and that's where I met Candy. On my way home from work I stopped to check my mail and there was a woman bent over at the waste in a short denim skirt with just a bit of pink panties visible. I realized she was looking back at me and smiled, she stood up turned to face me and I saw the most beautiful woman ever. Long blond hair in curls, a white spaghetti string top showing off her matching pink bra that was barely containing her tits. Not that her tits were huge, they were just too big for the bra. There was part of a red tattoo peeking out too. And did I mention she was beautiful.
She held out her hand and said, "Hi, I'm Candy. I think I'm your neighbor in 1c."
"Mike," I said keeping it short. "1d."
"Well, it was good to meet you, Mike. By the way, what do you do?"
"IT," I said but got stuck on the T and hurried off to my room and then realizing I forgot to check my mail.
That became almost a daily occurrence. I would walk into the lobby on my way home from work and Candy would be checking her mail on the way out. Sometimes she would have on denim shorts instead of a skirt and there was always a good inch of ass cheeks sticking out. Her tops were always spaghetti straps, usually white with a brightly colored bra clearly visible and those beautiful tits ready to burst free. A few times I saw enough of her panties to know they matched her bra.
Candy was always supper friendly, greeting me with that beautiful smile. Very touchy, always touching my arm or shoulder as we passed in the narrow hallways. I always tried to keep my end of the conversation short but would end up getting stuck on a word and head to my room.
A couple of months later, there was a knock on my door on a Friday afternoon. It was Candy, asking me for a ride to work because she could not get an Uber in time. I tried to say "sure," but it sure didn't sound anything like that. I was going to be in my car with the most beautiful woman in the world. As I started up my jeep, she asked how long I have been stuttering. College, I said. Fortunately, I had the doors off, the wind made it a little difficult to carry on a conversation and it also blew up the front of her skirt.
Following her directions, we pulled up in front of a high-class strip joint. With many struggles, I managed to ask her if she would need a ride home. That would be great she said, I get off at two but if you come earlier, I'll make sure you get a free drink from the bar.
Around one, I entered the "adult entertainment center" after paying a hefty cover and there was an almost naked Candy on stage. She was hanging upside down, swinging around a pole, holding on with her legs while she played with her tits. The tattoo on her breast was a heart with a dagger piercing it. As she swung around, we made eye contact, and she gave me a wink. I couldn't wait to get home so I could jerk off. There was a large crowd of men gathered around the stage trying to stuff money into her g-string. Others were just throwing it on the stage, and I watched her tits bounce back and forth. She turned her backside to the audience as she continued to pick up money and we watched that g-string disappear into heaven.