I
SEX EDUCATION (6 CREDITS)
My name's Ursula. I'm the local librarian, and a pillar of the community by day. No glamour girl for sure. The glasses I've always worn haven’t done much for my average looks, but my social life really hasn’t suffered. I’ll be 34 in May, and for the past twenty years I've enjoyed the rapt attention of several older men, who frankly were eager to play with my C-cup breasts. My husband Carl is ga-ga about them and my legs, which are large and shapely--especially my thighs. When our daughter is elsewhere, he likes me to wear nothing about the house except one of his T-shirts. If friends or salespeople drop by, I'm trained to say, "Excuse my attire. We're being casual today." He's encouraged me to swim nude when invited to the pool of our next-door neighbors. It's done wonders for our sex life.
Before Carl, I had six sexual partners. My neighbor Roger was my romantic first—polite and passionate. We really didn’t do much except in my dreams, but I lost him for sure later when he became the steady friend of a senior, Lianne Parker, who had the biggest breasts in sschool.
My own senior year I saw a good deal of Ron, four years older than I, who ironically had dated Lianne for a time. He was a mechanic's assistant at our gas station and took a great interest in how my car was running. He was awfully good with his hands. On our dates, I made it a point to be braless because he was such an aggressive lover, always having condoms with him. And I let him fuck me whenever he wanted to, even though I knew he went out with other girls. He was more a sex partner than a lover; but, for some reason, I enjoyed his control.
At my small coed college, I was less attracted to my classmates than to the handsome lab assistant in my biology course--Paul, who was then twenty-five. He had opened many more books than vaginas, and I gathered he'd never "gone all the way." At the start of our relationship I was instructing the instructor. Our seminar took place in his single room in the dormitory of which he was the proctor. There we could be completely naked and make unhurried love. Paul's lovely big cock--a seven-incher like Ron's--was so responsive to my hand play, and he himself so controlled and intelligent, that I wanted to feel him bare in me if he could pull out in time. Paul said it was called coitus interruptus and that he'd be willing to try it. That ultimate closeness I savored, and I resolved that the man I loved should always fuck me bare.
Perhaps it was sad that my adolescent quest for sex had been without love. It had been educational, however; I felt pangs of passion with Roger, Ron's use of my body taught me about rough sex; and with Paul I practiced the ways of tenderness and intimacy--imagining throughout that he was the man I loved.
The man I loved was 150 miles away, twelve years my senior, and married to another woman. Besides being very sexy, he was terribly nice, and he loved me. I was truly in love with Mr. Carl Gillett, my high school history teacher. New to the school my senior year, he was also my tennis coach. I wanted so much to please him both on the courts and in class. Our physical contact was understandably restrained, but eyes and body language can communicate affectionate regard. Several times, the coach massaged my hamstrings, which I told him tightened up in practice. I was thrilled to see the outline of his hardening penis while he worked over both my bare legs. Then in November we had a wonderful long kiss and tasted each other. At the winter prom, which he and his wife chaperoned, during two dance numbers I felt his hardness against me.
In class my body language included a seemingly inadvertent parting of my bare knees to lure his vision. As part of my spring wardrobe I bought two shirts that were not see-through exactly, but their light silken material could permit the viewer to see the darker shade of my nipples. So beneath those shirts I decided not to wear bras, which also mask the contours of my firm breasts, which come to lengthy points that naturally rise outward. I knew this choice of attire would be obvious to everyone in school, but few would be offended. Knowing that both guys and girls found my tits attractive, I've adopted styles that display their prominence and jiggle. I get pleasure, even now, sixteen years later, from looks of appreciation.
On my braless days Carl's gaze was markedly warm and moist. I was rewarded as twice we had secret dates, during which Carl played with my bare tits to our exquisite pleasure. We did not talk about a serious future for us as a couple; nonetheless the letters I received at college told of his rich wife's disenchantment with his "dead end career"--which to him was full of challenge and reward. In return, I owed him the truth of my pleasures of sexual intimacy with Paul, whereupon his response was blessedly encouraging and supportive. "I want you to know," he wrote, "that my love for you is even strengthened to know that your passionate nature is being fulfilled with a good lover during this period when we are apart. I know that active sex is important for you; and I find it very arousing to think about you and Paul."
It was so nice to make love to Paul freely out from under a cloud of infidelity. He was my beloved's surrogate, one whom I could trust to withdraw in a timely fashion. While I truly loved fucking him bare, I also sympathized with the interruptions that he so sweetly endured for me. When I told him as much, the young biologist proclaimed that, if I wanted to accommodate his ejaculations within my vagina, it would be safe a week before my period, and also a week after. "I'm assuming your regularity. It's known as the rhythm method of birth control," he added.
"Oh, yes, Paul, I want you to come in my pussy when it's safe." It was my virgin Paul who became my first complete lover. When we calculated I was ovulating, we abstained with a few days at either end. Paul had been my innocent tyro in the beginning, but he studied hard and with experience became my mentor.
During my first three college years I was corresponding with Carl, who made two visits to see me--but not to fuck me--at a country motel. But we did everything else, enjoying the discovery of our previously withheld secrets. Carl's was unbelievably beautiful: semi-circumcised, eight inches tall, and nice and fat. Physically we both yearned to fuck, but Carl said it would be sweeter and more prudent after his divorce was final. Even in our psychological states, our sex was the greatest. On his first visit he introduced me to oral sex. My three orgasms were fantastic. Then I jerked him off. He loved my pumping his foreskin all the way down and up again; and when he came, the spurts were like no young guy's. They just kept coming, pelting and decorating my breasts.
At the point of his next visit, late sophomore year, I, at age twenty, had never sucked a boy's cock; but, once having seen and played with Carl's, I wanted him to fuck my mouth, if not my pussy. I jerked and teased him and then began sucking-- tracing the contours of his bulging glans with my tongue. It was great, at last, to experience his involuntary pumping and to swallow most of his ejaculate-- so perfect that it was Carl's!
As I’ve meant to convey, Carl was morally on the up-and-up. Actually the fooling around we had done while I was in high school, he said, had gone beyond the limits that he ordinarily set for himself. An aspect of Carl's honesty was his openness about his interest in my affair with Paul. As he was anxious to meet Paul, we all went out to dinner, and the guys liked each other very much. Paul had known about Carl practically from the beginning. He said it was very arousing to hear about my earlier experiences. And, of course, Carl was ever interested in our doings up at college. The two men eventually were satisfied for one to be my northern lover and the other, my southern lover.
