When I arrived at university I was not just a virgin, I had never even so much as orgasmed as a result of the sexual manipulation of a girl. I had had nothing. Zip all. De nada. Zilch. Sure I had daydreamed about girls that I knew (so much) and pored over porn mags (again, so much).
My fantasies had become quite developed and I had garnered an interest in vampy women with long dark hair in red lipstick wearing classic little black dresses, heels, stockings and exciting black lingerie. I particularly liked the thought of a woman stood up and bending over at the waist to reveal her pussy whilst looking back and smiling seductively.
I had time on my hands and a very vivid and detailed imagination. However as for actually claiming the prize, I hadn't even experienced so much as a handjob off the girl next door.
I'd furtively made out with a couple of girls. In my last month of sixth form, after an hour or so of increasingly desperate kissing, one lass called Louise had briefly stroked my cock through my jeans whilst I unsubtly mauled at her tiny tits over the top of her summer dress. Just as I thought it might lead to more the front door of her house had slammed to and her father's voice called up from the hallway. Cock-blocked.
I'm certain most eighteen year olds have suffered this frustration but in the moment I took this very personally indeed! We kissed a couple more times on dates but the relationship was going nowhere and we split without even so much as our hands making contact with naked pussy or cock.
Put simply I was the shy kid from a small town who had attended an all-boys school. Until the summer before university I'd never really had the confidence or opportunity to hang out with girls. I was about six foot in height and had a lean, if not muscular body, with sea-grey eyes and short sandy coloured hair. I wasn't particularly bad looking, but I just didn't know that girls would find me attractive then because I barely ever met any. In short, I was a total wanker.
I remember walking the streets of my new city a few days before university started and considering my sexual frustration. Everywhere I looked I saw hot girls, beautiful women, sexy minxes. It was a college town with two universities and a city centre that drew in folk from miles around to party and perhaps get laid. The possibilities were tantalisingly endless, yet confusing, and as a fairly naïve eighteen year old with virtually no sexual experience there was a slight terror and inability to know how I could enact the raging desires and lust within me.
On that first morning I went for a long walk amongst the myriad streets, lanes and alleys. I got comprehensively lost in my new city and was starting to enjoy the sensation of exploring at random in the maze of brick buildings and concrete shopping centres. Amongst all of the tight-bodied teens and confidant-looking twenty somethings strutting down the street in the last of the summer warmth, I spotted an older woman. Perhaps she was only in her mid-thirties, but I'd never lusted over an older woman before. Her short muddy-blonde hair caught my attention, as did her smart business suit, but it was the generous expanse of thigh on display wrapped up in black tights (or dare I hope - stockings?) that gripped my attention. Her black stiletto heels caused a perfect elongation of the calves and enabled that confrontational, yet so tempting, feminine wiggle to her rounded arse clad in her tight, tweed miniskirt.
I was instantly hard. I stopped walking. My head snapped round to follow her walk down the street opposite me. My body coursed with the adrenaline of lust. I made an instant promise to myself that I would jump at the very first opportunity to end up in the sack with a woman. Any woman. Especially if she looked like the woman that I was currently openly leering at.
All I could do that day was return home, fantasise about the blonde that I had espied in minute detail and once again pull on my cock until I produced a dollop of jism onto my tummy back at my digs.
**************
My frustration was somewhat relieved by the appearance of Laura in my life. I met her on my first evening in the student union bar. It was a dimly lit place. Badly in need of redecoration with scuffed walls and peeling paint. The jookbox was about five years out of date and the booze hopelessly watered down. However it was here that everyone went. And it was cheap. We were fresh out of sixth form, in need of new friends and hopeful of the potential to cop off with somebody. Anybody.
In truth I barely spoke to Laura that night. We talked briefly as part of a very large group of freshers. The usual questions. Where we were from, what A Levels we had taken, what course we were taking, where we were living. The endlessly banal round of Week One conversation.
Internally, however, the question was always one of sexual hope. The trouble was that I had set my sights on another girl. Hannah was cuter than Laura. Hannah was smarter than Laura. Hannah had a tighter body than Laura. Hannah was more confident than Laura. Hannah was two years older than Laura. Hannah had had boyfriends and, in a moment of revelation that caused a burst of electricity through my entire self, Hannah confided that she had slept with as many as eleven guys. This was surely my opportunity? Was it fuck. Hannah was charming, gregarious, friendly, flirty, experienced and was like that with everyone she met that night. She was out of my league.
Laura was quiet. Laura didn't drink. Laura was dressed casually. Laura didn't flirt. However on our second night at the university, during another night in the bar answering and asking the same questions, Laura smiled at me. I'd already given up on Hannah. Hannah was too cool. Hannah would never look at me that way. I needed to be realistic. I was a virgin with zero sexual experience. I needed someone more like me. In fact after that second night I don't think I ever saw Hannah again. But Laura had smiled at me.
A large group of us were on the dancefloor. It was the mid-nineties. Britpop was at its height. Cool Britannia was in. The place was heaving with student bodies gyrating, writhing, flailing and bouncing. There were guys with Gallagher haircuts and parka jackets everywhere. Bullseye tee-shirts abounded.
There were so many different styles as well. The platform heels and micro-dresses inspired by the Spice Girls were popular. Those girls were always surrounded by groups of lads hoping to get lucky. And lots did. Then there were the alternative girls, in their ripped up fishnets and brightly coloured dyed hair, who relished the DJ playing Suede and L7. They were also popular with the guys as goth girls automatically had a reputation for deviancy in the bedroom.
Laura wasn't any of those girls. She was a pretty girl-next-door. I saw her long, straight mousey-brown hair. A curvy size 12-14 figure. Deck shoes, boot-cut blue jeans and a strappy vest top. The latter did show off a nice cleavage and I did like the look of her. Her smile ensured that.
There were lights flashing everywhere as the music pounded. A state of euphoria had been achieved throughout the bar either through the endorphin rush of dancing, a huge amount of booze or both. Inhibitions were being lost and couples everywhere were making out. It was so warm. Sweaty young bodies pushed up against each other. I could see one girl, whose name I recalled was Elizabeth, wearing a pale gold micro-dress grinding her arse right up against the groin of a guy she had just met, his hands openly feeling up her tits as she gyrated against him.
Laura smiled at me. She was just two feet away from me on the dancefloor. And then she was in my arms. It happened so unbelievably fast, but there she was. Her left thigh was planted between mine and her jeans were pressed right up against my crotch. I was instantly hard as I could also feel her soft, yielding round boobs pushed right up against my chest and her light brown hair was buried in the crook of my neck as her face turned towards mine.
She was only half-smiling now, her lips slightly parted and the pupils of her eyes dilated in the flashing dancefloor lights. I hesitated only for a second. My lips pressed onto hers, our mouths opened and tongues met in a rushing and swirling dance of arousal. Our hands eagerly grasped at each other's torsos and we stood amidst the confusion of the dancefloor lost in a long moment of first year lust.
