It was summertime and the campus was dead. I was in the English graduate program at the University of ______________, and nearly everyone had gone to wherever they go. I was trying to finish my degree as fast as possible because I was 29 years old and I wanted to get on with my life. Don't get me wrong, I liked being a student, but I didn't want to be one forever. So, during summer school I was hanging out with three other students—practically the only people left, at least for a couple of weeks.
We were at the apartment of Janet, a 45 year old woman who, having gotten divorced and sent a kid off to another college was getting a master's degree so she could teach. Sitting on the floor was Katie, a big girl in her mid-twenties. She was taller than I was and built solid—not fat or even heavy, but you didn't want to mess with her. On one end of the couch was Wendy—super slut. Now these people were my friends—sort of--, so I don't mean to be unkind, but that's exactly what she was. She had a gorgeous body—everything in the right place, a pretty face, long light brown hair and no morals whatsoever. It was a rare evening when she didn't flash her panties at someone—or someones. I think she was a nymphomaniac. She had slept with a lot of guys and every time her name was mentioned—and it got mentioned a lot—all the guys laughed. We called her a "slush puppy". I don't know where that term came from, but if ever there was one, she was it. We're all sitting around after a sharing a couple of pizzas, just shooting the breeze and watching TV in a rather desultory way when Wendy says,"I'm going down to the Loft."
The Loft was a restaurant and bar where all the graduate students hung out as well as a mix of professors, undergrads, and locals. Really popular place, though in the summer it was pretty quiet.
"Ill go with her," said Katie—"you wanna come?"
"I'm gonna stay here," Janet said. "I've got beer here without the smoke and noise."
"What about you Billy?"
"I'll stay and keep Janet company—she's right about the smoke and noise."
"OK, see you later—or maybe tomorrow", said Wendy. She bent over to pick up her purse and let me have a good look at her tits.
I knew Wendy and it would be tomorrow if there was anything at the bar wearing pants. A minute later Janet and I heard a car drive away.
"She makes me so mad I could spit," said Janet. Coming from her, this was a strong statement.
"Why," I asked.
"Because she's so –so bouncy and flouncy and flaunts everything she's got all over town. She picks up men like they're shells on the beach. Me, I can't even find a nice quiet guy to make out with. I'm way past being able to do anything like that."
"Well, guys treat her like a shell on the beach--- she's everybody's one night lay."
"Yeah, I know," sighed Janet. "Still, it would be nice if someone paid attention to me."
Janet was a nice person, but definitely nothing that you would look twice at. She was rather short, with short brown going gray hair. She was getting a little pudgy—not quite a spare tire around her waist, but almost. Her upper arms were "mom's arms"—a little flabby. She did have nice looking legs, and she was always dressed neatly and attractively—but modestly. Like tonight—she had on a red dress that came down to her knees, tan pantyhose, and she had kicked off her flat heeled loafers. Like a said, a good person, but not someone to get excited about.
Except that this was a dead summer and I was into doing crazy things after my exams.
"Well I'm a nice guy and I'll make out with you," I heard my self saying.
"What? Are you serious? I didn't mean it like that."
"Well how did you mean it then?"
"I don't know," she said, a bit confused.
"Look," I said, "you're a n adult. You've got no husband or kids to worry about. Plus, you know me and you know you can trust me—I'm not some guy in a bar that Wendy would pick up."
I could see her thinking. "Well, OK then," she said. She must have been a bit crazy after exams too.
I didn't know what I was getting into, but there was no backing out now. I went to sit close to heron the couch. We both looked at each other for a minute, unsure of how to start.
"Let's take this slow," I said, "let me have your hands. She held out her hands and I took them in mine. They were nice hands, not too bony, —soft and well taken care of. I slowly lifted one of them and kissed the back of it. "How's that—too fast for you?" I deliberately kept my tone light and humorous.
She giggled and said,"yeah, slow is good."
I had all the time in the world and I used it. I kissed her hands lightly—each finger, the backs, the palms and several minutes later I began using my tongue ever so lightly between her fingers. I was sure I was turning her on, but she was just sitting silently with her eyes closed.
I progressed to her wrists, again kissing then licking them gently. I went on like this, working my way up her arm until I reached the sleeve of her dress which I pushed up as far as it would go, but it was tight and I couldn't get it too far up. Still, I could tell I was arousing her as kissed and licked her upper arm because she was still sitting with her eyes closed, but her breathing was starting to become more rapid. "Anytime you want me to stop, just say so," I told her. She just shook her head slowly from side to side.
I decided the time had come progress to a more sensitive area. I changed my position and started breathing on her neck and in her ears. I ran my hands through her hair and kissed the back of her neck. I nibbled her ear lobes, licked the side of her cheek, kissed and nibbled and licked the back of her neck. I gently lifted her chin and began kissing her throat and the underside of her chin.
My aunt, who had taken me to bed for the first time in my life when I was 17 had told me that women like to be kissed gently on their throat and under their chin and at the back of their neck. She said that at least for her, there was a direct link between the back of her neck and her pussy. She told me that kissing and caressing her there made her pussy get wet and open up (a fact which I can attest to .) I wanted to see if the same was true of Janet because I had decided not to stop at making out with Janet. I wanted to see if I could fuck her. And judging from the way she was responding to my kisses, she was thinking the same way. She had slid down a little on the sofa, and her feet were on the floor—not really far apart, but farther apart than when I had started kissing her. That meant her knees were wider apart, and that meant I could easily slide my hand all the way up her leg to her cleft. But that would come later.