This tale of Melissa's fall from grace consists of four short parts
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Gene and I lived a good life in Crawfordsville, Indiana. It's a small town, around 30 miles west of Indianapolis, with around 16,000 souls. Median family income is $50,000. For comparison, for the US as a whole it's $62,000. Money goes farther in Crawfordsville than it does in Chicago, for example. Still, it's not an especially prosperous place.
Crawfordsville is the home of Wabash College, a private school that has only male students, one of the last such schools in the country. Housing is cheap, and we had bought a cute, small house, so that we were prepared for the day when we had kids. I was off birth control, so I expected and hoped to become pregnant in the near future.
Our house had an entry hall, a kitchen off to the side, a main room, a small dining room, and two bedrooms, with a nice, large bathroom in between the two bedrooms. I rise early in the mornings. Usually it's still dark out when I get up. It always is in the winter. I get up and go to the kitchen to make breakfast. Gene sleeps through my morning routine.
I like to make breakfast in the nude. It makes me feel sexy. Even though nobody can see me, I enjoy fantasizing that they can. There's a moment when I walk naked from the bedroom to the kitchen that I'm exposed to the street via a window, but it's the early morning, circa 6AM, and with our lights out there's really no reason for any of our neighbors to look. There's just enough ambient light from the streetlight near our window.
The neighbors who could, in theory, look at my naked body live in the house next door. It's a house that is rented by a group of students who, at times, are a bit loud. They all sleep late, and the idea that one of my students might see me naked, even if the reality would be horrific, turns me on.
Once I'm in the kitchen I wash the dishes from supper the previous night, put the kettle on for coffee, take out a yogurt and maybe a hard-boiled egg, and then I return to the bedroom to put on a robe, and I eat breakfast in the main room. The kitchen is too small to eat breakfast in it, unless one eats standing up at the counter. Sometimes I actually do eat breakfast that way.
When I'm feeling particularly nasty, and once I'm seated at the breakfast table, I let my robe gap a bit, showing off my boobs to whomever might care to look. I try to make it look as if I don't know that I'm exposing myself. I wonder if anyone believes a woman could ever be that unaware?
I once caught a student staring at me, checking out my boobs, trying to see my nipples. I pretended I didn't see him and let my robe part just a little more, teasing him mercilessly. He never did see a nipple, but he came excruciatingly close. There's a mirror which, just by chance you understand, lets me watch the peeper without revealing to him that I'm watching. With optics, it's all about the angles. I became nice and wet as I saw his pants bulge a little - you know where. I finished my breakfast, left the table, returned to bed, lay next to my sleeping husband and fingered myself to a climax.
It was a Saturday morning about a month later when my lovely, normal life began to change. Gene's best friend Philip came by early in the morning. I had forgotten; they were heading up to a lake for some fishing. "In the winter?" I had asked. "Yes," I'd been told, with no elaboration. It made no sense, since they could not take out a boat on a partially frozen lake. I know, however, that lots of Midwest fishermen are totally nuts, so I did not dwell on it. I now wish that I had.
Gene got out of bed quickly and answered the door. Philip came in and I was trapped. I knew Philip would smell the coffee and head to the kitchen, and I was naked, with no way out that would not run smack dab into Philip. I quickly donned an apron. My front was covered, sort of, but my backside was still nude. My boobs were not completely hidden either, but at least my nipples and areolas were tucked away behind the top of the apron.
Philip indeed followed the smell of coffee right to the kitchen, while Gene brushed his teeth, shaved, showered, and got dressed, and there I was in all of my glory, covered only in my apron. Philip figured out the situation in a split second, and I was blushing furiously.
"Uh, Philip..." I began but Philip surprised me completely by kissing me! I tried to protest and to push him away but his hands wrapped around my back. He removed my apron in an amazingly fast and smooth use of his hands, and then he stepped back to take in the view of my naked body while I blushed furiously, covering my lady bits with my arms and hands.
"I...I..." I began, but I did not know what to say, and then Philip pulled my hands together, holding them away from my body. He began to caress my breasts! This was so inappropriate! Philip was our friend, married to Mary, and probably my husband Gene's best friend.
"No, Philip," I whispered and I removed his hands. Inexplicably, I was turned on, and this became obvious to Philip when his hands next went to my snatch, and three fingers slipped inside me effortlessly, I was so very wet. I groaned with arousal, and closed my eyes.
Philip's fingers began to pump in and out and I just stood there like a zombie, my back against the kitchen counter, moaning softly. I could hear the shower running as in only minutes Philip drove me to a climax. It was a new personal record for fast orgasms. I slowly sank to the floor. After the orgasm my legs were like rubber.
The next thing I knew, Philip was on top of me with his cock out and poking around, near my warm, wet entrance. I don't remember spreading my legs, but nevertheless they were spread, and spread wide. I surprised even myself when I offered only token resistance, squirming just a bit to avoid his cock entering me, and pathetically pushing with my two hands at Philip's sexy, hairy chest as he got into position. If Gene had not called out from the bedroom saying he was almost ready, I'm sure Philip would have gotten his cock inside me, and I would have been his to do with as he pleased.
This sort of thing had happened to me before. One time in college I was making out with a guy, Ray Richmond was his name. I had met him only the same evening, and before I realized what was happening he had my skirt up, my panties off, and he had me so aroused that I became completely passive and let him enter me and then beautifully fuck me until I climaxed. After I came, he continued to fuck me wonderfully until he had cum, too. I never saw Ray again. He never called me, he never texted me, nor emailed me, nothing. He ghosted me.
After that incident I went on the pill. I generalized, and if that happened repeatedly, sooner or later I would be pregnant. Not good.
I also went to one of the university's free shrinks they offer to troubled students. I explained how I had seemingly entered a trance (I actually told him I became a zombie) and that I gave the man total submission. In retrospect it both freaked me out that I had behaved that way, but I loved it too. I had not even been attracted to the guy! I kept replaying my first ever fuck in my mind, masturbating like a woman possessed, even if at the time I seemed to myself to be more of a witness to it than a participant.
The doctor, a man, told me I was young and inexperienced about sex, and stuff happens.
"No, it doesn't. I've spoken to other girls, and none of them enter a trance and find it impossible to resist," I said.
"Your reaction is not uncommon. Don't worry, it will pass. Just remember, you can always just say no," he said.
"What are you, Nancy Reagan?" I asked.
"What?" he said, and then he got it, and he chuckled. The First Lady Nancy Reagan had waged a "Just Say No," campaign to end, or at least to reduce, teenage sex and the unwanted pregnancies that often come with it. Just say no? Yeah, right.
"I should be able to make out with a guy and still be able successfully to resist sex. I couldn't do that. Something's wrong," I said.
"How many times has this happened to you?" he asked. I actually saw a little stirring in his pants, the dirty old man! I found a reason to lean forward for a few seconds, to give him a look down my blouse. I might as well torment the jerk, right? I can be evil that way.
"Once, but it will happen again, I just know it," I said, as I watched the doctor trying to suppress a laugh.
The idiot doctor prescribed Prozac. I also extracted from him a prescription for birth control pills. The Prozac gave me a lot of nervous energy but it did not really solve the problem! At least with the pills, pregnancy was off the table.
I found out how far Prozac came from solving my problem on my very next date. This new guy was nice, good looking, and gracious, but he was sexually aggressive when we went back to my dorm room. He had me naked in minutes, and we kissed as he felt me up. He too fingered me, and once again I went into this passive, submissive state, and soon we were humping like wild animals. My roommates heard my moans, and so did the girls living directly above us. It was kind of embarrassing. Once again, I had put out for a guy on my very first date with him. I never heard from him again, either.
Why didn't the men want to date me again? What had I done wrong? Was I bad in bed? Was I so ugly that they were embarrassed to be seen with me? Was I so trivial a person that while I was good enough for a quick fuck, for them to get their rocks off and add another girl as a conquest, perhaps I was not scintillating enough for a relationship? Or were the men just jerks?
Still, given I had put out, I would have thought their sex drives were strong enough to want at least one repeat performance? After all, they must have known I was ready to do anything: blowjobs, anal, or good old vaginal sex in any position they wanted. I just couldn't figure it out!
