Wow!

Wow! Chapter 1: Our town of 3,100 rednecks.

Things were different back then. The most thrilling part of any date was running the drag in a boys 68 GTO convertible with five or six of us jammed into the car. Of course, cars were bigger then. Sterling Padering had a 67 Mustang GT. The most we ever got in there was five, and that was only because Heather, the slut of our group didn't mind sitting on a guy's—any guy's lap.

The drag was two miles long. It started at the water tower and went down Main Street for a mile. At the traffic light, we turned right down Route 66 for a mile to the Dairy Maid. Then we turned around and retraced our journey—over and over, for hours. Of course, gas was like nineteen cents a gallon, and you could drive for days on that, even in a beefed up muscle car.

It was a custom, if there weren't stags in the car, to venture out to our version of Lover's Lane for an hour or so of making out before going home. Those make out sessions were usually very mild by today's standards. A whole lot of kissing and, if the guy was lucky, a little second base action. I only let one boy get that far with me, and that was only after a dozen visits to Lover's Lane with him.

"Rim Lane" was just a little cow path off "Lover's Lane." It was just a sandy path with brush on both sides. It got its name from the condoms left hanging on the bushes. After time had eroded them, there was nothing left of them but the thick rims at the top, hence, "Rim Lane." I'd never gone there.

So, now that you know how things were when I was young, perhaps you can better appreciate how blown away I was when I moved to Dallas after college. I was no longer a virgin, but I was still that same small town girl.

* * *

Wow! Chapter 2: Volly

I was thirty two when Volly got hired on at Douglas and Douglas, the advertising firm I'd worked for since graduating. They had expanded into Europe and needed those with an understanding of the language and culture of their native land. Her real name, I learned almost a year later, was Walberger Lefeld. She was a first generation immigrant from Germany, and since Germans pronounce Ws like Vs, her nickname in German was spelled "Wolly"—in English, "Volly".

Volly was not a super model. Her hair was too straight, her face too plain, her hips too wide, and her breasts way too large for her body. Still, she was sexy in the way she carried herself. She was confident and bold—two qualities I lacked.

Volly and I became good friends, and she kept me constantly laughing with her broken English and her German ways. Germans used a different structure with verbs at the end of a sentence. There were startling differences in our customs too. On more than one occasion, after parking our car and heading inside to a movie or restaurant, if someone was ahead of us walking, she would say, "run!" and she would drag me along to get ahead of the next person. Americans are too polite to do something like that.

She would curse at the woman who had a crying baby in a movie. Germans would not think of taking a newborn to a movie, or just about anywhere else for that matter. She was appalled by houses on the same street being different shapes and colors, explaining that the city should require all homes in a neighborhood to be identical, "more uniform, and more appealing to the eye."

When it came to nudity and sex, she laughed at our Puritan values. "Sex, sex is. Life sex is. No sex, life no is. Nudity, nudity is. Why Americans so ashamed of bodies are?"

One time in a club, she spotted a hot guy walking in the door with his friend. She jumped up and almost ran over to him. They talked only briefly before she returned to our table. "What was that all about?" I asked her.

"He cute is, no? I first in line dance want. He will not . . . how say, need hit me. He knows dance answer yes is."

I laughed till my eyes watered. "Hit on you, Volly. You don't want him to hit you. You want him to hit on you . . . to flirt with you."

"Flirt? No, I he sex with us has."

"You mean with you—not us. You want him to have sex with you."

She shrugged, "You no sex with him want, okay. I him myself take."

"Take him for myself." I corrected her.

She looked puzzled, "You don't I sex too can have?"

I gave up, "Never mind. If he asks you, just say yes and then shut the hell up."

"Yes, I shut fuck up can, and sex with him get."

I had to laugh, her English was improving.

The guy did ask her to dance after awhile, and her answer still sends me into a fit of laughter every time I remember it. She answered him, "Yes, dance first, sex after dance."

* * *

One evening over Chinese take out at my apartment; Volly said to me, "G, you quiet seem. What my friend wrong with?"

"I need a man, Volly. I haven't had a date in so long, it's killing me."

"Your fault. You shy are. You no let men know you sex need."

"I'm beginning to think you are right, and trust me; I'd gladly do that if a man walked through the door right now. I really need a man's tongue and cock right now. I need to cum so bad . . ."

"I don't have big dick cock you for, but I tongue for you have. You cum from tongue can if want. I you cum make. You I cum you make?"

Wow! It didn't take a linguist expert to understand what she just offered to do. I'm sure my eyes shot open and I could feel my face blush. "Thank you, but no. I'll manage."

She shrugged, "Okay, cum from fingers make. Not bad cum with fingers. Tongue better organism make."

I giggled and almost corrected her, but then decided not to go there.

* * *

The following week, Dale, a male friend from work told me he'd been invited to go skiing on Lake Texoma, a very large lake on the Texas, Oklahoma line just north of Dallas. Jimmy Houston, the famous TV fisherman from Oklahoma calls it "the lake Okies built for Texans to fish in."

Dale continued, "Kyle asked me if I knew any women to invite, and I thought you might like to join us."

"There's going to be two of you, right?" I asked him.

"Yes, if you have a girlfriend to bring along, that would be great."

"I have someone in mind. I'll ask her."

Volly, at least after I looked up waterskiing in the encyclopedia and showed her a picture, said she never had, but she would love going on a boat. She'd never been on a boat.

So, the two of us ended up on the boat of a guy we didn't know, with one of our coworkers. I was wearing my bikini, and showing off a good portion of my 34Cs. Volly, strangely enough, was wearing shorts and a tube top that was being stretched to the point of ripping from having to contain her huge breasts.

Since neither of us knew how to ski, we watched the guys take turns while we enjoyed the mid-morning sun. Kyle, the owner of the boat, let us steer it some, with him hugging us from behind, his hands ready to take the wheel on a second's notice.

While the guys were taking a break and we were just drifting in the middle of the huge lake, Volly started stripping off her clothes. She wasn't wearing a bra—which we already knew, and we quickly found out she wasn't wearing panties either.

"I now swim. Boys, G tongue and big dick cock for organism needs." And she dove over the side of the boat into the water.

I found myself sitting there, my jaw agape, my body chilled, Goosebumps popping up over every square inch of my skin, staring at two guys who were both trying to decide if they'd just heard what they thought they had. All of a sudden, my bikini was way too small.

Finally, I managed, "Sometimes, her jokes get lost in the translation."

It seemed, after a few more awkward seconds, that my explanation was accepted, and the two guys turned their attention back to making adjustments to the brackets holding the sky ropes.

After only a few minutes, Volly hauled herself back into the boat, and just lay back taking in the hot Texas sun, as if her total nudity was the most natural thing in the world.

When one of the guys started the boat again, and the skiing was back to where it had been, Volly turned to me, her face inches from mine, "You them not like? They no big dick cock and tongue for my G?"

"No" I tried to explain, "It's not that easy in America. We need dating and romance. We move a bit slower than in Germany."

"Big time waste. You big dick cock and tongue need, you them tell. They you give. I sure."

* * *

Somehow, I managed to get us back to my apartment without those two guys raping one or both of us. Although, that thought wasn't totally displeasing. I was in need, after all.

When we were inside, each sipping from our Screwdrivers, Volly asked me, "You them not like. They could organisms for you make."

"Walburger Lefeld, for Christ's sake, it's orgasms—not organisms—orgasms. If you're going to talk about them, at least get it right—orgasms."

She studied me for several seconds before saying, "You angry not are. You 'orgasm' need. Come, I you 'orgasm' give."

The next thing I knew, I was naked on my bed with Volly crawling between my legs, pushing them apart. "We love not make . Only orgasm make." And then she put her mouth on me and I was launched into another dimension.

* * *

We did not "orgasm" make. We "orgasms" made. And when we had, she said in her wonderful blunt way, "Now you orgasms have. I go." And she was gone.

* * *

Wow!" Chapter 3: "How could you?"

We were in a coffee shop, Volly and I. I lowered my voice and asked her, "Walberger Lefeld, how could you do that to me?"

Her expression seemed sincerely unnerved. She didn't have a clue what I was talking about.

"What you did when we got back from the lake Saturday—how could you do that to me?"

"The 'orgasms' you liked not?"

Ever since being corrected, she gave extra care to say "orgasms" instead of "organisms".

"Yes—no—yes—I mean, of course they were wonderful, but you just got up and left like it was nothing."

"We lovers not. You orgasms needed. I your friend am. I friendship give."

I let her words soak in. Somehow I managed to see the world through her eyes for a few brief seconds. A friend in need . . . and so on. She was just bolder about it than anyone I'd ever known—or was likely to ever know.

And then something lit up in her. She seemed to come to some sort of understanding of what I was trying to tell her. Her eyes brightened. Her face brightened. Her whole body seemed to lift and come alive. She smiled at me, "I more than a friend to you am. You more than orgasms with me need. I love that would. I the same way feel. We not sex—we love make will."

Our waiter, who had just approached our table in time to catch the last of Voley's words, looked at me, questioning.

I just shrugged, "It's a European thing."

* * *

Thinking back on that first evening in my apartment, how could anyone be pissed about having orgasms—three of them? It was just the way she'd left. I didn't have the chance to even thank her. It was like, "Thank you for shopping at Wal-Mart, have a nice post coital afterglow". We could have at least cuddled for a few seconds. Of course, the "cum and go" had been my experience with men too—minus the orgasms for me.

I stared at her. She was trying to read my mind. To her, eating me out to multiple orgasms was nothing, "Here, Ma'am, I think you dropped this." To me—to a small town girl who'd just gotten her pussy eaten by her best friend—her best female friend, it was a little more . . . complicated than that. No, it was a lot more complicated than that—a minefield of body exploding land mines more complicated than that—ten Hiroshima bombs more complicated than that. "Ma'am, would you like razor blades in your soup?" more complicated.

"Volly, women just don't do something like that to their friends—their female friends."

She looked confused, "No? Not even when friend orgasms need? Not even when it hurts me not—and her need go away makes?"

I had no answer for that. "Anyway, thank you. I just wish you hadn't left so quickly, that's all."

She smiled at me. "I your true friend am then. You, my love needed—not just orgasms needed—you me needed."

Gawd! Was I prepared to go there? Was I about to tell my best friend that I needed her for more than our friendship, close as it was—that after she'd given me the ultimate gift of friendship, I still wanted more from her?

"Volly, will you stay with me tonight—no orgasms, no anything but us—friends—just being together?"

"That, my honor would be."

* * *

We'd been cuddling in my bed for almost two hours when she asked me, "No orgasms in future us for?"

"I was hoping to just cuddle with you and feel you next to me."

"I also, but now I orgasm need. Your body mine to orgasm calls."

"Fingers or more?"

"Fingers now sure—tongue better. My girlfriend you are. Your tongue me better for."

I kissed my German lover for the first time. I'm sure she felt my need because she whispered to me, "Your kisses I love."

I'm not sure how long we kissed or at what point I began kneading her abundant breasts or slowly tweaking her taut nipples, but I did those things—and I did them without hesitation, remorse, or regret. I was totally at peace with what I was doing with my friend—my new lover.

When I felt her need grow, I positioned myself, and again, without hesitation, I tasted her sweet sex. It wasn't fast or needy. She didn't cum in my mouth within seconds, but her need grew steadily, her body arching against me more urgently with each passing minute, and then she quivered and shook, and erupted. I was in heaven. I had given her what she had given me—once. I had more work to do. All I could think was "WOW!"

* * *

The End