The story grew from kernels of truth lying fallow in my memory for many years. As they sprouted, a work of complete fiction evolved. Any similarities to real people are accidental and unintentional.
*****
Kate has her first good orgasm
My name is Kate, and I was 23 years old when these events unfolded 35 years ago. Without exaggeration, I can assure you that people considered me extremely attractive. Photos from the time depict a young woman, 5'8" tall, with a slender 115-pound frame, firm a/b-cup breasts, brunette hair, and a model-pretty face. Genetics were kind to me, as I never set foot in a gym, or did anything special to maintain my physique.
Not to brag, just to illustrate: My sister Lucy, three years my elder, modelled and acted in New York City. After years of work, she won a small recurring role on a soap opera. Proud of her success, she invited me to the set to watch. Lucy introduced me to the director, who looked me over and, without even a "hello," exclaimed "where were you when we were casting for Lucy's part?" Lucy shot me a daggered look, and never invited me to the set again.
Once, when I was 19 and walking up the street, a guy came toward me on a bicycle. His eyes locked on me, and his head swiveled as he rode by. Right into an intersection where he was hit by a car. They took him away in an ambulance.
Yes, an extremely attractive young woman.
At the age of 23, I was neither very sexual, nor very sexually experienced. In many ways, I suppose the word "prude" applied. Of course, I knew my effect on men, and, if I'm honest, I admit that I liked it. After all, they'd been looking at me for over ten years. I rarely wore a bra, often dressed in short skirts and tight shorts, and didn't mind when people stared. OK, I
wanted
men to look. But it was more about the attention and, I suppose, it felt like a kind of power; not a sexual thing for me at all.
In fact, sex just wasn't that important, and I wondered why everyone made such a fuss about it. It wasn't much on my mind. I had a difficult time reaching orgasm, even when masturbating. I didn't have masturbation fantasies and it was a relatively rare activity for me. I didn't mental energy on it.
Of course, I dated a little in high school. Looks and IQ represented my two most important criteria in a boyfriend. My mom always said, "looks turn heads, but brains pay bills."
I lost my virginity after my senior year to Nick, my then-boyfriend and, arguably, the best-looking guy in our class. We stayed together through our first two years of college, not far from home in the Midwest. I never orgasmed with him, and we weren't particularly sexually active.
We didn't talk about sex, or during sex. There was no oral activity, and we never moved out of the missionary position. I masturbated myself to orgasm occasionally, and that pretty much defined the extend of my sex life with Nick. It just wasn't a sexy relationship. Which was fine with me.
One day I found Nick in his dorm room with another girl in his bed. Objectively, she was nowhere near as attractive as I am. Nick and I broke up. It didn't hurt as much as one would think. In retrospect, I think I dated Nick because people expected me to have a good-looking boyfriend. I conformed to the social norm, but I didn't really care for him. I certainly didn't love him.
My next relationship was with Peter. He was an engineer, kind of a nerd, but very good looking in an all-american way. I had my first partner orgasm with him; I could come when he licked me, something he did about once a month. But never from intercourse. For me, our sex life was kind of blah. I didn't enjoy giving oral, and only did it when I absolutely had to. He was quiet when we made love. He would finish and then, sometimes, lick me until I came.
We did it about once a week, maybe a little less, which seemed fine to me. I guess I'd say we were well matched in the sex drive department. Continuing the trend from my relationship with Nick, we didn't talk about sex or our fantasies. But we did plan a life together.
After we graduated, he took a job in Boston, and I moved to the east coast with him. A handsome man, with no bad habits, and a promising career seemed like a good catch. My family had always struggled financially, and I liked the security that Peter offered. I thought we would get married. I found a position as an assistant manager in a chain retail store, a job that I hated, but it had upward potential and gave me a good discount on clothes.
Our sex life dropped off after the move. Peter worked long hours, and intimacy went from infrequent to practically non-existent. As we'd never been that active, I didn't think much of it. I didn't miss it, I suppose. Our combined incomes allowed me to buy nice clothes and quality makeup, decorate the apartment, and purchase a new car. I felt content.
About three months after the move, Peter broke up with me. He had started dating another engineer from work. Feeling stupid, I learned he had lied about those late nights at the office. He said that, while I was beautiful, I was "a cold fish" in bed. It hurt. I mean, I knew I was pretty, wasn't that enough? I'd never thought that much about my performance in bed. And certainly never conceived that someone would leave me because of it, particularly for a less attractive woman.
Since Peter had leased the place, I had to relocate. I felt unmoored, having moved to an unfamiliar area with no friends, for a relationship that no longer existed and a car payment I could barely afford. I began to party a bit, a way to fill the void and suppress my fear.
I found a shared housing situation for myself. I got the master with a private bath in a four-bedroom home. My roommates were Mary, Steve, and Jim. We were all about the same age.
Mary was the first person I ever really knew from the south. She had a deep accent, which sometimes I struggled to understand. Mary was average looking, with a flat-nosed, square face, dirty blonde hair, big soft breasts, and a stocky build. She would have been on the edge of OK looking if she lost 15 pounds, but she didn't really care to do it. Not a head turner.
High-school educated and of average intelligence, she worked in a medical office, at a low-stress job. Very sexual, Mary always had a crude comment or joke and talked freely about sex in general, and her sexual experiences in particular. To hear her, she had bedded quite a few men. We were friendly, but not really friends. Not my type.
Steve was tall and lanky and, unfortunately, had a badly acne-scarred face. He seemed relatively quiet and travelled a lot for work. A nice guy, he was self-conscious about his looks. He didn't take the same interest in me that most men did, which I thought was a little strange. But safe. I didn't pay much attention to him as he was unattractive and seemed of average intelligence. Sounds cold, but it's true.
Jim turned out to be an ass of the first order. I will acknowledge that, objectively, he was extremely sexy, with a totally ripped body, a classically handsome face, and an air of confidence. He was probably 6'1" and 200 pounds of solidly defined muscle. He worked at a gym, and as a print model, mostly for bathing suits, underwear, and t-shirts. Things that his body went well with.
Jim was always walking around the house without his shirt and wearing shorts that emphasized his obvious bulge. I wondered whether he stuffed something in there to make it appear huge, because none of my boyfriends looked anything like that. Mary loved it.
As I soon learned, Jim's bedroom was a revolving door of conquests. Busty girls from his gym, I guess. Most left in the middle of the night, but occasionally one stayed for a starry-eyed breakfast. Some wore wedding rings. They almost always came back for more, until Jim tired of them. He was busy with them at least four or five nights a week. I couldn't imagine wanting that much sex. I was glad my bedroom was at the other end of the house, so I didn't have to hear it.
Jim began flirting with me immediately after I moved in. It was largely unsophisticated comments, kind of like high school. I ignored him. While his body was undeniably hot, he had a room-temperature IQ, pursued women for sport, and clearly considered himself god's gift in the bedroom. Yuk.
Perhaps because I ignored him, he began overtly staring at me in a way that told me he was having sexual thoughts. In truth, I liked the fact that he wanted me and I knew that, unlike his parade of chesty bimbos, he would never have me. Sometimes I would tease my nipples hard before I went into a room with him, just to make him think about my breasts. It was that power thing again, I guess.
Our house was not far from an ivy-league university. After a couple of months, I began dating a senior from the school. Reasonably bright, Brad was also a hockey player. Tall, with an athlete's body and a good-enough face. He lived in a rental home with four other guys, and his bedroom was on the second floor. Right underneath his space was Mark's room. I walked past it every time I went up to see my hockey player.
Brad could get hard just looking at me, which I loved. I didn't even have to touch him. Unfortunately, he had a severe premature ejaculation problem. He rarely lasted more than 30 seconds, sometimes he had trouble making it to ten. Which, in a way, was OK...because his bed squeaked incredibly. It annoyed me to no end.
I didn't orgasm with Brad. He couldn't even get me to come from oral. It was really a rebound relationship that I knew was going nowhere. He was hot enough, intelligent enough to carry on a conversation, and he liked to party; and so did I.
One evening, on my way to Brad's room, I heard clearly sexual moans as I walked toward the stairs. Mark's door was ajar, exposing a slice of his room. That wedge included his bed. Mark had placed his mattress on the floor, and a slender, small-breasted blonde girl on her back, with her eyes closed and her legs spread, occupied it. Mark had his head between her legs, licking her. She was writhing and moaning and had her hands on the back of Mark's head. I could hear her talking to him - telling him how good it felt and how he was "the best cunt licker she had ever had."
I could see Mark's hard cock, so stiff it pointed straight up - parallel to his belly. I had never seen a dick that hard before. The tip was even with his belly button. In retrospect, I now know that all my previous boyfriends had been on the smaller side in that department. Mark was, perhaps a little longer than them, but not by much. He was my height, with a slim build, but obviously worked out as his body was extremely well-defined.
I was mesmerized, and I couldn't help myself from stopping and watching. This pre-dated internet porn, and I had never seen another couple in a state of intimacy.
Mark teased her and licked her, and they talked. Dirty, sexy talk like I'd never heard before.
