With much appreciation to
LarryInSeattle
and his editorial toolkit.
* *** *
She had dated Kevin, my best friend in college, when they were in high school. They had broken up before he graduated, but this past year she had made the five-hour drive from her college several times to visit him over the weekend and party with other folks they both knew. She always slept in his dorm room on her visits.
"Krysten is pretty hot, man," he confided more than once when we'd talked about the women we had been with. At that point I hadn't met her, but I had heard plenty.
"So she was one of those sexy, slutty girls back in high school?" I asked, invoking the standard high school guy's fantasy.
"No, dude, we never did it in high school. We just made out and, ya know, did a little feeling and stuff."
"You can't tell me that's all you've been doing in your dorm room when she visited you twice this past semester," I countered.
"I didn't say that," he laughed. "Sometime since we broke up and that first visit, she had her cherry popped and I think she's making up for lost time."
"The sex is pretty hot, eh?"
He made a silly, devilish face. "It usually is—if you do it right!" He continued, "When she visits she wants it a lot. That last Saturday night we did it twice and I was exhausted and dozed off. She woke me up an hour later, trying to make me hard again."
"And, you being the gentleman, obviously gave in to her desires," I said.
"Nah," Kevin replied. "We had done it that afternoon before we went out and then two more times before bed. I was done for the night. But, man, she woke me up again a couple of hours later, stroking my cock again!"
"So...then you gave it to her again?"
"Nah, man, I probably offended her or something—she can be touchy like that—but I rolled over and went back to sleep. I was too tired to function."
My sex-addled 20-year-old mind absorbed what he'd said and processed it for several weeks after that. I hadn't had much sexual expertise in those days. Most of my experience had come from one-night stands and involved goodly amounts of alcohol. What I learned about myself from the eighteen one-nighters and brief flings I'd managed to have with women—despite the fact that I had no "game" and was as far from a "smooth operator" like Kevin as you could get—was that I was noticeably above the average in terms of the size of my equipment and, especially, in terms of stamina. When I was with a woman who stirred my fires, I could just keep getting hard. I can still remember numerous times in my youth when I screwed a woman three, four, or even five times in a night and would get another hard-on, but be too tired to move. To be fair, the woman was usually too tired to move much at that point either.
Never even having laid eyes on her, I wondered if this Krysten's appetite for sex might match my own.
I met her about a month later at a cookout. She was visiting Kevin and he brought her along. I liked her. She was smart. She was awkward when she tried to be funny, which made what she said funnier than her delivery warranted—and I found it charming. Her hair was a golden blonde and her hand, when I shook it, was tiny and very soft. I certainly noted her large breasts and the big, round bubble of her ass that dominated her short frame. It jutted outward from her wide, chubby hips in a way I've since heard described as 'swaybacked.' Her ass turned me on. The strongest memory I have of that afternoon, however, is of her eyes, her absolutely huge, crazily-blue eyes. She wore too much mascara, sure, but her eyes were so expressive and so dominated her face that they were her best feature, by far.
Her personality was a bit mercurial, perhaps slightly manic. She smiled a lot—maybe a little too much, but she was meeting lots of strangers. And she seemed to be having a lot of fun at the cookout. She said she hated beer, but it was the only alcohol we had and she drank more than a few. She was plump and curvy and vivacious, and I knew I wanted to sleep with her.
As we headed into finals week that semester, Kevin started getting signals from Wanda, a gorgeous brunette he'd been putting the moves on for a several weeks. Krysten, her semester over, had announced she was moving to our college town and would arrive on the Friday of finals week. Kevin was worried about being put into an awkward situation by having too much of a good thing and I jokingly offered to take one of the lovely ladies off of his hands.
Then I got a little more serious, "Really, man, how serious are things between you and Krysten?"
He knew what I was asking and smiled. "We don't have a commitment like that. We're just friends who like to fuck when we get together. I haven't told her that I'm hoping to be with Wanda—I dearly want wicked little Wanda in my bed—but I don't think Krysten will mind, but sometimes she gets...I don't know...offended at things. If you wind up with her at any point, try not to piss her off."
My code of honor, such as it was, was satisfied. Kevin, who needed time to study that Friday night for his last exam on Saturday morning, helped arrange to have Krysten join a group of mutual friends I was going out with that night.
I walked from my dorm to the bar. Krysten arrived with, of all people, Wanda, who had needed a ride. Krysten and I almost immediately formed our own little world of two and tuned out much of the rest of our group as we flirted and bought each other drinks. At one point, she sat on my knee and put her small, warm hand on my thigh. My excitement rose.
"Let's go play in the fountains," she suggested, referring to the elaborate public fountains downtown that college students often frequented in warm weather. She told Wanda on our way out the door that we wouldn't be gone long, promising to stop back by when we were done at the fountains to give her a ride home if she still needed it.
Suffice it to say that we got soaking wet playing in the fountains. We had only intended to roll up our jeans and put in our feet, but things happened. We wound up making out as we stood in a fountain that couldn't be seen from the street. I pawed her breast and she suddenly pulled me tighter. Our wet clothes held the chill of the night air, but I was feeling warm all over.
"Let's go back to my room," I told her, trying to sound suave and forceful.
"But I told Wanda I'd give her a ride..."
"To hell with Wanda," I shot back and I grabbed her big, firm ass and squeezed it as I kissed her hard again. Her ass more than filled my large hands and I kneaded the flesh as best I could through her wet jeans.
"Okay!" she said, Wanda easily forgotten. (I found out later that Krysten also knew Wanda from high school and hadn't really liked her.)
In her car, I felt her up through her wet clothes as she drove us back to my dorm room. Once inside, I kissed her some more before we helped each other out of our wet things. I had my first look at her body then. She was a little chubby, with wide, soft hips and fleshy thighs. The word that came to mind for her breasts was "boobs". They were large and pendulous; her nipples pointed not quite at the ground—but, oh, those nipples. Her areolae were medium brown and one nipple protruded fatly from its areola nearly two-thirds of an inch. Her other was an "innie" and I actually had to stop myself from shouting "Popeye!" and ruining the lusty mood. (I'm not lying when I say my social skills in intimate moments left something to be desired.)
