Student and Teacher

Brad began showing up about twice a week to Iris's house. Pretty soon he was being invited to dinner on those nights, spending the rest of the evening studying or watching movies and then taking his place in Iris's bed while Damon retired discreetly to another bedroom. The idea of actually spending a night with a woman he had just been intimate with had been an unattainable fantasy of his for years, and he couldn't quite believe that it had so suddenly and effortlessly become a reality. His own devotion to Iris quickly came close to matching Damon's, and he had no hesitation in proclaiming his love for the older woman. Iris accepted his words sympathetically without immediately returning them, feeling that Brad wasn't truly in control of his feelings and was probably under the influence of his new circumstances.

It's just the sex talking.

But the inevitable soon occurred. Before Thanksgiving, Brad had moved out of his own rooming house and into Iris's place.

Iris went to extra lengths to make a fancy Thanksgiving meal for her two young men, since this was the first time she had

ever

made a meal like this for anyone: up to now, she had always trudged on over to her sister's house, alone and often isolated among the several couples who also congregated there. Her sister, Beulah, didn't immediately question Iris's claim that she was just making the dinner "for some students of mine," although she did wonder why Iris was going to so much effort for mere undergraduates.

The strange thing—or perhaps it wasn't so strange after all—was that Iris found herself confiding certain intimate details to Brad more readily than she did to Damon. Perhaps she felt that Brad, given his own relative inexperience with the opposite sex, could empathize with her on that very point. Brad had unwittingly raised the subject when, after another vigorous session that resulted in four orgasms for him and a few more than that for her, he said breathlessly:

"Gee, Iris, you just seem to know everything there is to know about . . . guys."

Iris, out of breath herself, said, "I hardly think so."

"A smart, beautiful girl—I mean, woman—like you? You must have had tons of men."

Iris raised her eyebrows at that. "Are you suggesting that I've—"

That I've slept around?

Brad immediately grasped the horrible implications of his words. "Oh, God! I didn't mean that! It's just that . . . you seem pretty experienced."

She laughed bitterly. "You'd be wrong about that." After a pause: "Your friend Damon taught me a lot of things before you showed up here."

"Did he?"

"Yes, he did."

"But . . ." Brad stopped in confusion. "You weren't, like . . ." He couldn't articulate the inconceivable thought.

"I wasn't what?"

"You weren't a

virgin,

were you?" he whispered.

"No, I wasn't a virgin. But I was close."

"I just don't see . . . I mean, so many guys must have wanted you—probably back in high school. Maybe even in

junior

high."

Iris, who had taken a position on Brad's chest, fell silent. As with Damon, she teased the hairs on his chest pensively.

"Did I say something I shouldn't have?" Brad said, mortally afraid of wounding or insulting his beloved.

"No, dear," she said at last. "I—I didn't have any romances in high school, let alone junior high. And there were a couple of reasons for that. My sister, Beulah—she's four years older than me, and I have to say she was a little . . . wild." She let that word sink into Brad's consciousness.

"You mean . . .?" he began, unable to finish.

"Yeah.

She

had a bad habit of sleeping around in high school, although you'd never know it now. She's settled down with a husband and a daughter, and she actually comes across as a bit of a prude. But back then, well . . . Anyway, I guess I recoiled at her behavior and vowed that I'd never become like her in

that

regard.

"So I just devoted myself to my studies in high school, hoping to get into a good college. I also felt the need to get away from this town and my family. I was lucky to get into Villanova. But when I got there, I felt so terrified of failure that I didn't do much but hit the books. I felt that my high school really didn't prepare me for the level of work that a real college required, and so I went to class, went to the library, and that was about it. I don't think I went on a single date during my freshman and sophomore years. In my junior year I relented a little and went out with some guys a few times—but somehow I'd gotten so shy and withdrawn that I wouldn't let them do anything to me. In fact, I think I got a reputation for being an 'ice queen,' or something like that. All the other girls I knew were happy to go to bed with any presentable male, but that only reminded me of what my sister had done, and I stayed away from anything like that.

"Well, by senior year I had at least become confident that I'd done pretty well academically. I'd already decided to pursue higher education—get a master's, maybe a Ph.D., and end up a teacher or professor. But I figured that I'd earned a little R&R.

"So early in that final year of my undergraduate life I went to a frat party."

"

You

went to a frat party?" Brad said incredulously. "I find that hard to picture."

"Yeah, me too—but I went. I guess I really needed to chill out a bit. But I didn't know exactly how to do that—and anyway, the party seemed to be nothing more than a bunch of crazy kids drinking too much alcohol and guys fondling girls on a makeshift dance floor and the girls perfectly happy to be fondled. I saw some couples drift upstairs, where the bedrooms were, and I could imagine what was going on there.

"So I was just about ready to leave, thinking I'd made a huge mistake, when I saw this guy sitting in a corner all by himself.

"He was on the football team. I kind of recognized him—had actually seen him on TV. I think he was a running back."

"Oh, yeah? So he wasn't exactly huge?"

"No, he wasn't a behemoth. I wouldn't have wanted anything to do with someone like that." She stopped abruptly, seeing Brad's crestfallen expression. "I don't mean you, dear—you're a sweetheart and I think the world of you. Most of the football players on the team struck me as pretty doltish, but this guy seemed to be lost in thought. And I was surprised that no one else was talking to him, since I assumed most athletes on campus were always surrounded by a bevy of ready and willing females."

She paused significantly. "Did I mention he was African American?"

Brad's interest was now really piqued. "Oh, yeah?" he said with a grin.

"Yes. His name was Daunte—I've forgotten his last name. I have to tell you, there was something about his face that was so angelic and actually

beautiful—

it could have been sculpted by some Renaissance artist. Tender brown eyes, shapely nose, exquisite Cupid's-bow lips, high cheekbones. I mean, he was just—"

"Hey, you're making me jealous," Brad said sourly.

She laughed at that. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to. But he really struck me as someone special—and interesting. So I sat down next to him and started a conversation.

"Daunte seemed startled that anyone would even want to talk to him. I don't know why he felt that way. I don't think his race had anything to do with it; other black guys were very popular on campus. But he seemed gratified that a woman would seek him out—and I suppose I was reasonably attractive at the time, so that helped."

"I bet you were!" Brad said enthusiastically.

"Well, anyway, we just talked and talked, off in that little corner of the room. It was as if nothing else existed. We told a lot about our pasts, and, given our varying circumstances, we found we had a lot in common in terms of our attitudes and feelings. He was also shy and also afraid of failure—he probably wouldn't have gotten into Villanova except for his athletic scholarship, and he sometimes struggled with classwork. He was quiet and soft-spoken and unassuming, and I really took to him.

"In fact, I did more than that. After more than an hour of really intense talk, I felt—"

"Felt what?" Brad asked, although he dimly sensed what Iris was trying to say.

"I felt," she said, her voice falling to a whisper, "that I had to sleep with him."

He just nodded, staring at her with intensity and concern.

"I guess I made my intentions clear when, just when Daunte was in the middle of saying something, I bent over, took his face in both of my hands, and kissed him.

"His lips were so soft and velvety that I would have been happy just spending the whole evening—and night and morning—with my lips pressed against his. But I pulled away after about a half-minute, which is a huge amount of time for a kiss to go on. His mouth fell open a little, and there was a strange light in his eyes—as there probably was in mine.

"Without a word he stood up, took my hand in his, and led me up the stairs. I figured he had a bedroom in the house, and as he led me into it and closed the door carefully, he turned toward me and just stood there for a few moments. There must have been a look of agonized longing on my face; I know I felt a tingling all over my body, and I even felt a little dizzy. He took me in his arms and held me—not hard, and not with any attempt to fondle me. He just held me.

"The feel of his strong, muscular body against mine was exhilarating, and I couldn't help draping my arms around his neck as he bent down to kiss me again. He was a little under six feet tall, and so we fit pretty well. I felt my heart pounding and my breath getting more ragged, and I instinctively pressed my whole body against his. Only after several minutes had passed like this did he extend a hand down from the small of my back to my bottom.

"That feeling—the first time a man had touched me in one of my 'private' parts, even though it was just my butt and I still had all my clothes on—struck me as a moment of titanic significance. I let out a groan from deep in my throat and held myself even closer to him than before. That encouraged him to slip a hand under the hem of my knee-length skirt and touch my panties. Seconds later he whipped the panties down my thighs and held his hand right on my bare bottom.

"I thought I would pass out from the sensation. I probably sounded like a cat in heat as I plastered his face with kisses and also scrabbled at his belt to get it unbuckled. I could feel his erection against my belly even through the heavy jeans he was wearing.

"But then he pulled away from me and held me at hands' length. I was stunned at his action, wondering if I had made some incredible blunder and he wanted to call the whole thing off.

"But he simply said, 'Let's do this right.'

"I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but he let me go and began taking his clothes off one piece at a time—shoes, socks, T-shirt, pants, and then finally his underwear. I was struck by how he felt the need to bare his own body before he stripped me, but I watched him with increasing fascination as he revealed more of that exquisite deep brown frame to my gaze. When he finally stood entirely naked in front of me, I saw his organ quiver with anticipation.

"It was, as I now think back on it, not quite as large as Damon's—and certainly not as large as yours, Brad! But it seemed huge enough to me at the time, and I felt shaky and apprehensive. Omigod, was I really ready for this? Really ready to have that big thing go deep into my most secret spot? Well, I figured it was too late to stop now.

"He then approached me and began undressing me as carefully and unhurriedly as he had undressed himself. Blouse, skirt, bra, and panties all came off, and I was flattered that he actually licked his lips as he looked over my entire figure. Then he once again took me in his arms, and that first feel of my naked flesh against a man's was so transcendent that I thought I had died and gone to heaven. But I knew this was just the beginning, and I wondered if I could really go through what I knew was still to come without simply fainting away.

"He led me gently to the bed and encouraged me to lie down on my back. I was hoping he wasn't just going to go right into me without any preliminaries, and I soon saw that he wasn't. He first paid rapt attention to my breasts, lying on top of me with his head between them; he squeezed and licked and kissed them without cessation, and when he sucked on each nipple with those tender lips of his I thought I would expire. There was a river of fluid pouring out of me, and when he slid down to my sex I felt mortified at how shamelessly wet I had become. But that didn't bother him in the least, and he pasted his lips against my labia and licked up all my juices while at time sticking his tongue deep into me and also nuzzling on my clitoris, while his hands had seized my bottom and were giving them a good squeeze.

"I think he was surprised how quickly I came.

"I saw him looking up, startled, when I started bucking my hips and letting out shrill squeals of pleasure, pounding the bed with my fists as this first orgasm—the first, I should say, that a man had induced in me—washed shudderingly over me. He smiled at his apparent skill, not realizing that it was my own inexperience that had caused this paroxysm.

"You have to realize, of course, that he hadn't the slightest clue that I was a virgin. How could I be, after I had so boldly made it clear to him that I wanted him to do whatever he wanted to me?

"And so, when he slid back up my body and got into position, looking down at me with a curiously solemn expression, he took no great care in entering me. Anyway, I was so wet that he slid in easily—up to a point.

"When he encountered that obstacle a few inches in, his eyes widened in amazement and he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

"But there was no way I wanted him to stop. I didn't know what I would feel, but I knew that I was finally ready to be deflowered, and that this was the man whom I wanted to do it. So, again without shame, I cried, 'Oh, God, Daunte, please go on!'

"I guess he probably would have gone on anyway, but my words encouraged him. He plunged forward energetically and tore through that silly membrane. I felt a shooting pain from the depths of my being, and the mere size of his organ in me was stretching me beyond what I expected. I had already wrapped my arms around him, and I now clung to him as if he were a huge bit of driftwood in the midst of a wide ocean. I know I was crying and sobbing and even shrieking as he continued to plow into me, now apparently not caring how much he hurt me but merely seeking to probe me as deeply as he could. Time utterly lost meaning for me, as I felt myself in a state of suspended animation: the only reality was his increasingly painful thrusts as his hands clutched my breasts, back, and bottom.

"Then a deep and animalistic groan emerged from his throat as he shot an immense quantity of his seed into me. My agony was already reaching apocalyptic levels, and I was hoping desperately that he would pull out of me so that I could somehow heal my broken body; but he remained plugged fast into me. Finally, in the midst of my racking sobs, I managed to whisper into his ear:

"'Daunte, please . . . please come out.'

"He did so grudgingly, since he seemed to like the sensation of filling me. But he not only withdrew but also stood up clumsily. I saw him gazing down at me, an unreadable expression on his face, as I fell into a fetal position to deal with the pain radiating out from my pussy.

"Then he turned and left the room."

Brad, who had been listening with awe and fascination to Iris's tale, now jerked back in amazement.

"Left the room?"

"Yes—and it was

his

room, remember. Maybe he just wanted to clean up: I watched in dismay as he stumbled out the door, and noticed how streaks of incredibly bright red were covering his organ. I guess he had no problem venturing out into the corridor naked, and presently I heard another door—probably a bathroom—shut hard.

"I assumed that he'd return in due course of time, but he didn't. He never came back. As the minutes passed, I finally realized that I needed to take care of myself. Certainly,

I

wasn't going to go out into that corridor naked, even though there was a lot more blood covering the inside of my thighs than there had been on his shaft. I rolled over painfully on the bed, noticed a box of Kleenex on the nightstand, took some out, and mopped myself up as best I could. Some of the blood had already dried on my skin, and I also noticed his emission seeping thickly out of me. I slipped to the floor on my hands and knees, and had to use a nearby desk to get to my feet. Then I put my clothes back on and walked out of the frat house.

"After I trudged back to my boarding-house I gave myself a scalding shower, noticing with a shudder how little streaks of blood went down the drain. The whole experience had been—strange. I was startled at how painful it had been: my sister, Beulah, had never given me the slightest indication that it would be like that. Maybe it's different for different girls. But I also felt ashamed, humiliated, abused, and cheap. I had, of course, wanted it, and I wouldn't accuse Daunte of taking advantage of me; but I was just not emotionally prepared for what had happened.

"To this day I don't know why Daunte got so freaked out that I was a virgin. Hadn't he had any virgins before, maybe back in high school? He was certainly experienced at the business. But there it was. I made fleeting attempts to get in touch with him, but he refused all contact with me. Maybe he had a girlfriend already—although, if that were the case, you'd think she'd have been at that party. Anyway, I never ended up having a relationship with him—or even seeing him again except when he appeared in a football game on TV.

"And that," Iris concluded ruefully, "was the last time I was with a man."

For a moment Brad wasn't sure he had heard her correctly.

"What?"

he exploded. "That's the only time you ever"—his voice descended to a whisper—"had sex?"

"Yes."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-one."

"And you're now—?"

"Thirty-two."

"Once?"

he cried. "Just once?"

She smiled indulgently at him. "It's not as peculiar as it sounds. I was pretty traumatized after that encounter with Daunte, so I wasn't very keen on 'hooking up' (isn't that what you call it nowadays?) with a guy. Anyway, I was already resolved to go to graduate school, so I wanted to make sure my grades held up. The rest of senior year, I worked pretty hard in all my classes, and I graduated

summa cum laude.

"I chose Bryn Mawr not because it was an all-women's school but because it had some really good specialists in the areas of history I was interested in. Plenty of the Bryn Mawr girls would have relationships with the boys at nearby Haverford College, but I wasn't one of them. You gotta realize, Brad, that graduate school is

really hard!

It's so much harder than being an undergraduate. You just don't feel as if you have a moment to yourself, what with studying, being a T.A., and all sorts of other stuff. I got my Ph.D. in four years, and then immediately started teaching at a little college in Pennsylvania—and

that

took a lot of work, in terms of preparing for the classes I was assigned, and then teaching them, and so on.

"But I got kind of homesick, and when I saw this opening at Westminster I jumped at it. That was just about the time my parents decided to retire to Florida, so I moved back into this house and I've been here ever since. I guess I just got used to being alone: if that's the only kind of life you know, you really don't mind it."

"You mean," Brad said plangently, "you didn't even go on dates with guys in all those eleven years?"