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My name is...well name's not important. Call me Ishmael-nah, just kidding. You can call me Nick. But I'm not writing this to tell you about me. I'm writing this to tell you about my girls. These are the girls I've known, the girls I've loved.
I'm a lucky man. I have a good life. I'm a musician. I've worked tours, studios, jingles, composing, songwriting, engineering and producing. My job is incredibly fun and I've made pretty good money at it. No, I'm not famous. Don't even ask. You wouldn't recognize my name if I told you.
I've had the chance to see some amazing places and meet some amazing women along the way. I'm going to tell you about some of them-not all, but some. Over the years I've slept with about three hundred women. I'm not bragging or anything, I'm just trying to make a point. My point is that the stories here are based on those girls. Some of the stories are combinations of more than one girls' tale, but that's only to keep me from writing hundreds of stories. What you're about to read is based on true events.
Whether you believe them or not doesn't make any difference to me. I got to live them so that's all I need. Now I'm an old married guy, middle age is slipping by and I'm just reminiscing about the girls I've known in my life. Don't get me wrong. I may not be chasing after girls anymore but I'm still a lucky man. I've spent over twenty years now with the same girl and I love it. I've never been happier and I've never been unfaithful. But every now and then I stop to remember...
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There was something exotic about her. I never could put my finger on it no matter how hard I tried. Maybe my memories are idealized because she was my first, but I don't think so. I think it is because she was so rebellious.
It was the spring of 1970 when I met Ronnie in Freshman English. There I was a college freshman and still a virgin. Jumping ahead a few grades had been tough. I'd had some oral action and felt up a few girls but I wanted to get laid. Something always came up that kept me from closing the deal. It's not that I was repulsive or anything. A lot of girls told me that I was good-looking, but I was shy. I didn't have the self-confidence to go for it.
At thirteen I hit 5' 10", by sixteen I was 6' tall. I was thin and fit without even trying. Lots of time on a bike as a kid gave me well-defined, strong legs (and a pretty nice ass-or so I've been told).
I played guitar and sang in a bunch of bands. Was in the sax section of a soul band, and I played sax and flute in school band. (Yeah-I was a band fag-at least that's what the jocks called me) Once I started singing and playing guitar that pretty much labeled me as a musician in junior high and it stuck.
I filled my leisure time playing tennis, golf, and studying martial arts. I wasn't very competitive. Though I played well, I used to piss off my opponents because I didn't like to keep score. I didn't care about it. If I was playing well, it felt good. A career as a pro golfer was discussed at some length, but I never took them seriously. I was the kid who played barefoot or in sandals with bell-bottoms or shorts and a Dylan t-shirt on. That and long hair pretty much guaranteed I wouldn't fit in at the Country Club. They tolerated me because I could play, but there was nobody to hang out with there.
My eyes are hazel, I weigh about 175 pounds and my hair is light brown. My hair is wavy and hangs in curls about half way down my back, just like it did when I was a kid. My background is a mix of seven different nationalities with Scandinavian and Cherokee being the most prominent. I modeled some when I was really young, so I guess I must look okay. I was above average scholastically and I have an IQ in the top 2% of the country. When I started college I was totaled focused on school. A couple of years of partying had bored me, so I shifted my priorities and studied rigorously instead.
Ronnie (short for Veronica) was a cute little bundle of energy looking for the next cause to join or rebellion to lead. I was the quiet guy that everyone thought was a mellow old soul. That façade kept them from seeing I was too shy to be loud or outspoken.
We were assigned a project together for class, so I was forced to talk to her. It wasn't hard because she did most of the talking. The first day we worked together she told me about her family. She was a Pentecostal preacher's kid and lived with her younger brother in a travel trailer parked at her aunt's house in town. Her dad was assigned to a new church in the middle of the semester, so her brother was going to finish his sophomore year at the local high school before he joined his mom and dad. Ronnie was supposed to keep him out of trouble. Since they had the trailer for revivals the two of them set up house for a few months. It wasn't fancy, but I loved that trailer. It was the perfect spot for the two of us. Ronnie was just barely five feet tall, with dark brown eyes, olive complexion and straight, coal black hair that hung to just below her knees. On her small frame the curves of her body deliciously voluptuous.
"Give me a ride home," she said after class one day. As usual I couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question.
"Sure. I guess I can."
The smile she flashed back at my response was mischievous, "Cool, my little brother is gone for the weekend to a tent revival with my aunt and uncle." Looking down, I saw her breasts bulging out of her tank top as she held my hand and rubbed against my arms. Her nipples were sticking out making beautiful little tents in her shirt, and I could feel myself start to get hard. "Let's get something to eat on the way and we can study and make a night of it. Unless you need to get home or something....", she added.
"No, that sounds great. I'd like to."
She leaned over to grab her stuff and her hair parted to give me a view of the curve of her butt in a tiny pair of cutoffs. A quick stop for burgers-and we were on our way. We ate half on the way to her trailer and the other half sat on the coffee table and got cold while we made out on the sofa.
It was our usual routine. We'd work on our project, start holding hands or leaning into each other while we read, and eventually we'd be making out. With her little brother's interruptions and her aunt and uncle living just across the driveway it had never gotten any farther, but tonight would be different. By the time I'd slipped my hands up to feel her nipples grow hard against my hand, my dick was so hard it hurt.