I think it's probably safe to say that most people have at least two distinct sexual memories; losing their virginity, and the best sex they ever experience. For a variety of reasons, the two events are usually distinct and separate.
Most people recall losing their virginity with fondness for obvious reasons, but will admit the awkwardness of the first time encounter, based usually on the lack of experience on the part of one or both participants.
For this reason, a number of people also have a third distinct sexual memory; the first time they had a memorable sexual experience.
Mine occurred my freshman year in college.
I lived in the dorm at a school that was on the verge of liberalizing its male/female dorm segregation guidelines, but at the time still had separation of the sexes firmly in place. I had an advantage over a number of other freshmen, in that I had been able to test out of almost an entire semester's worth of hours in English Literature, American History and had also received credit for an intro to math course.
Because I had tested out of freshman level American History, and was leaning toward a major in history, I was able to enroll in a couple of courses normally reserved for sophomores. To this day, I have no idea what I did, but somehow, I managed to catch the attention of Mrs. Bethany, one of the administrative assistants who worked in the history department. One Monday, when I was leaving the department after discussing potential ideas for my degree plan, she asked if she could speak to me for a few minutes.
Mrs. Bethany, Sandra, was in her early 40s, but she certainly didn't look it. Her hair was what people often call "dirty dishwater blonde," and just to look at her, it was obvious she worked hard to take care of herself. Like most academic professionals, she was very smartly dressed; on this particular day wearing a light blue skirt with matching jacket, a white blouse and navy blue heels. There was a sparkle in her blue eyes that perfectly accented her smile as she engaged me in conversation. She had a daughter, named Denise, who was a sophomore in high school, and struggling with world history. Otherwise known as Western Civilization, it was a class I was making quick work of at the moment, and she wanted to know if I would be willing to tutor Denise. I told Mrs. Bethany that I'd never tutored anyone before, but that I'd be glad to give it a shot. She smiled again and invited me to come over the next evening to meet Denise and have dinner with them.
I made the mistake of telling my roommate, Jon, about the offer I'd received in front of our resident assistant, or RA. Kerry was a sophomore majoring in business. He knew who Mrs. Bethany was, and he told me to watch out for myself. Kerry said she'd been married up until the previous spring semester, when she'd caught her husband cheating on her with one of his graduate students. They'd divorced and he'd moved to teach at another school four states away.
My roommate gave me grief about it, too, telling me that she didn't really want me to tutor her daughter, she wanted to seduce me. I told him he was imagining things and buried my nose in the books, trying to study for the quiz I knew I had coming the next day.
THE NEXT morning, I aced the quiz. On my way to the stairs, headed for the library, I passed by Mrs. Bethany, confirming what time she wanted me to come over that night. She looked up at me, smiled and told me to be there at six p.m. sharp.
That afternoon, several guys from my floor went to the gym and played basketball, working up a good sweat. Now I had a good excuse for taking a shower before going to Mrs. Bethany's house, just in case my roommate was right. But he couldn't be right. That sort of thing only happened in the movies, right? And then there was the fact that my luck had never been that good. My male ego told me that Mrs. Bethany having the "hots" for me would be exceptionally good luck.
I arrived promptly at six p.m.; a couple of minutes prior actually. She met me at the front door, smiling. She had changed from her outfit that she'd been wearing that morning into shorts, covered at the moment by an apron, and a sleeveless shirt. As she led the way into her home, I watched her hips and backside as they moved in the delightful way a woman moves and I noticed the beautiful definition of her legs, normally concealed for the most part by her conservative skirts. My observation merely confirmed something I'd already decided; Mrs. Bethany was indeed attractive.
We walked past the table into the kitchen, where dinner was almost ready. She told me Denise had her ear glued to the phone and would be out in a minute, then asked me what I wanted to drink. I opted for a glass of tea.
The first time I called her Mrs. Bethany, she stopped me and told me to call her Sandy. She understood the need to keep things formal and professional at the university, but wanted things to be more relaxed between us away from the campus. She was trying to bridge the gap between the facts that I was a student and that I was an adult, and I wasn't sure exactly how to respond to that beyond merely seeing where it led.
Denise finally made her appearance at the kitchen entrance, and Sandy introduced us. Denise had brunette hair, green eyes, and was somewhat on the skinny side, but nonetheless with the curves on her body that gets a girl noticed by young men. What was most noticeably different between her and her mother was her lack of an upbeat personality. She acted frustrated at having to interact, and I got the distinct impression that she considered me to be an intrusion.
After dinner, Denise and I sat down to discuss her world history class. She protested that her mom was really making a big deal out of nothing; she was having no more trouble than anyone else in her class. We talked for awhile about the unit she was currently studying, and despite her protests against assistance, I was able to clarify a few points for her. Half an hour into our discussion, the phone rang and she jumped on it, answering it and then going into another room to take the call.
Sandy had been in the kitchen sitting at the table while Denise and I studied, and came into the living room when Denise left the room for her phone call. Sandy went after Denise, leaned into the doorway, exchanging comments and then walking back into the living room.
"I'm sorry," she said, throwing herself down into a chair and sighing. "Her dad is on the phone, and he's just causing all sorts of problems for her right now. She thinks she wants to go live with him, but I don't think that's a good idea."
"Any particular reason?" I asked.
"There's this boy that she likes," Sandy said. "And I don't like him. He's a freshman at the local community college and he's just not right for her. I was hoping that meeting you might distract her in another direction. Wait... before I make this an even bigger mess than it already is, do you have a girlfriend?"
I was a little confused. "No, I don't have a girlfriend, but I'm the same age he is," I said. "What makes me different from him?"
"I can just tell there's a difference between the two of you, and if she's going to date someone in college, I'd like it to be someone I know I can trust," she said. "What I'm really afraid of is that she's going to push the issue about moving to live with her dad, and that I'll eventually lose that fight. Her dad will let her get away with anything."
Sandy got up to go check on Denise, and when she saw that Denise was off the phone, she closed the door so they could talk privately.
Their conversation escalated into an argument, and I could hear their voices getting louder. I really only heard two comments clearly; Sandy telling her daughter to lose the attitude, and Denise telling her mother that if she thought I was such a wonderful young man, maybe she should go out with me. I wanted a hole to crawl into, and if it wouldn't have been rude to do so, I'd have left while they were still arguing. Sandy finally came back into the living room.
