First story, comments welcome...more to follow
Let me start by telling you that I have never thought of myself as a prejudice person. After all, prejudice is an unfounded hatred of another race or religion. And yes, I hated blacks, but my hatred wasn’t unfounded. I had reason. I grew up in rural Alabama, the oldest daughter of a well heeled family. Although the unemployment rate in my home town was around 10%, the unemployment rate for blacks was always around 40%. There was always work available, they were just too damn lazy or too damn ignorant to do it.
I worked hard through high school to better myself and earn a chance to leave this small town life. There were numerous distractions, but somehow I managed to achieve a full scholarship in gymnastics from UCLA. I was free from my parents overbearing attitude, and able to begin a life of my own. As you might expect, there was a pretty significant culture shock when I arrived in Los Angles, but I managed to adjust well enough. It was in my Junior year that I met Brad, a preppie jock frat boy that stole my heart, and my virginity.
Sex, let me talk a minute about sex. I liked sex from the first time I was with Brad. It wasn’t great, I didn’t come, I didn’t see stars or anything, but I liked it. Brad was gentle and caring and understanding and I felt really good when I felt him stiffen and the growing wetness between my legs told me that he had come. We were pretty experimental, or at least I thought we were. He would go down on me as often as I’d let him, and I really enjoyed the feeling of power I had over him when I sucked on his cock.
Yes, I’m a prissy little southern girl and you wouldn’t catch me once using words like cock, or cunt in a public venue. But in private I practiced my language so that I could swear with the best. It turned Brad on when I asked him if I could suck his cock, or I’d say I was really horny and just wanted him to fuck me. It didn’t really matter if he fucked me, or went down on me, he didn’t usually give me an orgasm. It wasn’t that I was frigid or anything, I could make myself come with my finger or a vibrator just about anytime I wanted. It was just that both my libido and the sensitivity of my clit were geared down kinda low. It took patience and persistence. I didn’t mind not coming when we make love, or had sex, or fucked. As a matter of fact I preferred it that way. I didn’t ever want my pleasure to get in the way with the way I felt inside, giving pleasure to another.
I stepped out on Brad a few times during my senior year. It’s college and I wasn’t going to get married to the man who copped my cherry without tasting some other fruit myself. I’m not real big, maybe 5 feet 2 and 100 lbs soaking wet. I’m tight and firm and keep myself in gymnastics shape. My boobs got too big my Junior year to be as successful in gymnastics as I’d hoped, but I was able to hold onto my scholarship.
Now don’t go out and think I’ve got this huge chest either. 34 B/C max, depending on the time of the month. But gymnastics is hard on the adult body, really a sport for teenagers. Squash your boobs on the unevens and land spread eagle on a balance beam and you’ll understand. But back to stepping out on Brad.
Chris was my first. And no, I’m not going to go through them all because there were more than I’d like to admit. During what I called my slutty March I bedded no less than a dozen different guys. None more than once or twice. I mention Chris because he was the first guy to make me come. It wasn’t his wonderful dick or fucking technique or anything of that nature. He was a bit longer than Brad, although thinner. He had me laying flat on my back, my legs over his shoulders and we were in a “L” like position. He licked his finger and began massaging my clit with his thumb. Took me by surprise.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m want to watch you come.”
