Bruce

The year was 1972. It was the sexual revolution all over America. On college campuses, sex was everywhere. There was no fear of disease because anything could be cured with a painful shot and a supply of antibiotics. People passed each other, eyes met, and they went home together.

Jane's housemates were no different. A few had steady boyfriends, but mostly it was a constant parade of new males, different ones each night. Jane spent her nights listening to the pounding of the headboards up and down the hall, hearing the moans and cries of delights from her friends. And she slept alone.

For all her feigned worldliness, she was an innocent. At nearly 22, she was an anomaly. She had never had sex, had barely been kissed. She wanted to learn, but didn't know who could teach her.

Jane had not exactly saved herself, but she had never found anyone who made her want to get naked and do the intimate things all her housemates talked about. She couldn't imagine feeling comfortable enough, confident enough, to sit around, exposed, touching and actually doing the acts they all seemed to favor.

So, she waited. Finally, she saw a man who might to be the one to teach her. He was older, all of 31. Bruce had been in the service, and exuded an air of knowledge and skill. At first, they passed each other, frequently but casually, around campus and hanging out at the Student Center. Then, they began spending time together. He took it slow, just being with her, walking alongside her to various campus events. He talked about his family and his aspirations. He seemed nice. And he didn't rush her.

Eventually, he asked her to a movie or to the neighborhood hang-out for some fries. It was very low-key. He didn't even try to hold her hand for several dates. Jane was given all the time she needed to feel comfortable with him. When he finally, tentatively, kissed her, Jane liked it. Slowly, he brought her along. While holding her hand, he might gently press against her breast with his arm or pull her close beside him as they walked.

Sensing that this might be the person to initiate her, Jane made the lonely trip to the campus doctor, endured the humiliating exam and received, as her prize, a 6-month supply of birth control pills. She began taking them that very night, wanting to be ready for Bruce and the wondrousness of sex.

One day, he took her to his apartment. His roommate had gone home for Spring Break and he was alone there. They sat on the couch, watching an old Western on TV, making fun of the actors. Bruce had decided that humor worked best with her and maintained a running commentary which made her giggle. Then he offered her a backrub. He said he gave his sisters backrubs all the time and they really enjoyed them. It sounded safe enough.

He turned Jane on the couch and knelt behind her, rubbing her shoulders through her dress. He slowly lowered the zipper, to get better access to her tight muscles. Then he kissed her neck, his soft lips sliding along her tense flesh.

Jane wanted to be overwhelmed with desire, blinded by lust and need. Instead she felt nothing, wondering if this was IT, and wondering why she didn't feel more.

Bruce led her to the bedroom, with the two twin beds, one of them messy and unmade. As he sat on the edge of the bed, he pulled her between his thighs, holding her around her hips, pressing his cheek to her tummy. She sucked in her breath, wanting to seem desirable to him, never realizing it didn't make a difference, he was going to get anything he could.

It was 1972. Nice young ladies wore bras and panty girdles, stockings and slips. And Jane was a nice young lady. She stood there, with all the clothing separating them and wondered how one went about getting naked and into the bed. Her friends didn't tell her that; they spoke of rapture, desire and difficulty breathing, of wanting someone so much the clothes just melted away. Jane waited for that to happen. Her mind remained stubbornly analytical. She noticed Bruce had thinning hair as she stood in front of him, towering over his sitting form. She thought his hands felt warm, damp...doughy. When he looked up, when she bent down, when they kissed; she couldn't help thinking that it wasn't very pleasurable at all, that he seemed to be suffocating her. Still, she stood there, waiting and hoping that ecstasy would overwhelm her.

It didn't. Instead, Bruce moved back slightly on the bed, sitting in the midst of the dirty sheets, and watched her. She wasn't sure what to do or how to do it. Apparently, this was the part where she was supposed to get naked, rush into his arms and give herself to him. Suddenly, she was unsure that he was the one to teach her. As she stood there, arms hanging loosely at her sides, she had an overwhelming desire to walk away, to just leave this uncomfortable situation.

Bruce finally grew tired of waiting for her. With a plaintive sigh, he stood and began removing his clothes, hoping to incite her lust. He unbuttoned his loud plaid sports shirt. He undid his fancy leather belt and unzipped his very blue jeans. Finally, he was in his white underwear. His body was a pasty white, puffy, doughy. He had no body hair that she could see, giving him a decidedly slick appearance. His belly spilled over the waist of his underwear, his legs were stick thin. Jane's unruly mind kept telling her it was not his best look; he was better-looking covered up. God, she wanted to leave. She wanted to politely say that she had made a mistake, that she wasn't ready. But no one had prepared her for the graceful exit. She stood there, frozen in time, unable to make any moves, even the one that would save her. While she was still wondering what to do, Bruce made the move designed to win her. He removed the last of his clothes. Now, Jane was sure she wanted to run. It was her first glimpse of a man's cock and she was not impressed.

Bruce reclined on the bed again. His body was unappetizing. She knew that she could never want him, never feel comfortable lying against him. Still, Jane remained there, willing something to happen, hoping he would take control and ignite desire within her.

Then Bruce did the only thing he knew to do; he caressed his cock. It wasn't erect, it just hung limply there, against his hairless thighs, the only bit of color on his body. Jane had an overwhelming urge to laugh at the entire situation. Suddenly, she was removed from it, as if viewing it from behind a two-way mirror.

Jane watched as the naked guy stretched out on the unmade bed, his body pale, his hand busily stroking a cock that seemed happier asleep. She saw the girl, the very frightened girl, standing there, fully-clothed in layers that required lots of time to remove. If this had been a movie, the audience would have been laughing or booing. But it wasn't a movie, it was her life. Her sad little life. Then she remembered why she was here. She wanted to learn. She wanted to be a woman and Bruce was the only means available to her for that transformation.

Taking a deep breath, Jane began to reverse the morning's process. Unzip the dress and let it drop. Pull the proper white slip over her head. Stand there, mortified, in bra, girdle and hose. Sit down beside Bruce and unhook the stockings, trying to pull them off sexily, a la Mrs. Robinson, but looking clumsy and catching one stocking and creating a run in it. Standing again, rolling the panty girdle down, feeling all the flesh expand as it attained freedom. Now, Jane stood before him in her very serviceable white cotton bra and panties. Surely he would help her now. If he would just stand with her, kiss her, touch her gently and help her now, she could possibly get through this with some grace.

Of course, he didn't. He remained there, amidst the pillows and wrinkled sheets, stroking his cock, which seemed a little more alert, and waited. He still hadn't said anything, hadn't spoken her name, just watched as she fumbled through her initiation all alone. Jane wondered about the etiquette of it, should she remove the bra first, or the panties. She wished she had asked more questions, listened closer to her friends as they described various seductions. But then, she wasn't entirely sure this would even qualify as a seduction, and she felt enormously cheated.

She opted for removing the bra first. She reached behind and unclasped it, letting it drop down her arms and join her other clothes on the floor. Her nipples distended as the cool air hit them, and Bruce leered at them. He licked his lips in anticipation. Jane moved another step closer to the bed, hoping to drop the panties and jump under covers. She eyed the sheets, planning just how to grab them and shield herself.

With one swift motion, she had the panties off and was in the bed, safely under the top sheet. What she hadn't counted on was being skin to skin with Bruce. His body felt like his hands, soft and slightly damp. She recoiled, but there was really nowhere to go, unless she planned to leave the bed and she couldn't do that without being naked and exposed to his vision.

Bruce leaned over her, kissed her once, his mouth soft and sloppy. Roughly, his hands were suddenly everywhere on her body. All his previous gentleness and patience seemed to have disappeared as he grabbed and clutched at her. His mouth opened over her nipple and he pulled it into his mouth, his teeth bruising her tender flesh. He swung over her, his body blocking her vision of anything else. He moved between her legs, pushing her thighs far apart. It hurt and it was embarrassing, to be so exposed. The sheet had disappeared and she felt the cool air hitting her body everywhere. Still, he didn't speak.

Jane could feel something hard against her inner thigh, something wet and hot. Then Bruce shifted and, without warning, she felt something tearing her apart. She cried out, not in passion or delight, but with pain unlike any she had ever known. Bruce was nearly growling with concentration, his eyes closed, his mouth a slash. He moved into her, over and over, causing the pain to escalate to nearly unbearable heights. His hands were planted beside her, his hairless chest hovering over her face, nearly suffocating her. She closed her eyes and prayed this would be over soon, sure that this was the worst experience in her young life.

Suddenly, he stiffened and howled loudly. Then she felt him jerking inside her, his entire body a mass of quivering flesh. She stared at him, sure that he was dying and wondering how she would ever get out from under him. Jane began to panic, and wanted nothing more than to claw his pale flesh, get him away from her.

Then he sighed deeply and settled on her, his entire body damp and heavy against her. Jane's mind was whirling, wondering. She vaguely remembered her friends telling her that the 'afterglow' was wonderful, that it was their favorite part. Fervently, Jane prayed they had moved to the afterglow phase and that now they would cuddle and talk sweetly and things would improve.

Bruce lifted his heavy head from her chest. "Now," thought Jane, "now he will say nice things and make it all right." Instead, Bruce looked at her and announced that she wasn't the innocent girl she made herself out to be. He said he had been a medic in the army and he could tell she wasn't a virgin at all.

Jane's first thought was what the hell being an army medic had to do with anything. Then she just wanted to cry when she realized there was to be no afterglow either. She ached and burned and was so embarrassed that she just wanted to die. Bruce went on to make more proclamations, then pulled himself from between her legs, saying he was going to shower.

Jane was so grateful to be spared having to be naked in front of him again. She sat up, the pain between her legs seeming to double. She shakily stood, reaching for her underwear. The bedsheets were heavily stained with blood and she wanted to laugh. She quickly dressed, leaving off the girdle and hose, and left the bedroom. As she stuffed her underthings into her purse, she could hear the shower running, hear Bruce singing happily and loudly off-key. She never wanted to see him again.

She let herself out of the apartment and began the walk home. It wasn't a long walk by college standards; she and her friends walked everywhere. It was long because she felt that everyone who past her on the street knew what she had done, what she was.

When she arrived to the safety of her room, she gathered fresh clothes and went to the communal shower. Only then did she allow herself to cry.