DrJay4u1967 50M
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6/5/2006 7:34 pm

We met at a private religious college. When I first saw her it was one of those things that guys are relatively familiar with: “Wow, she’s really pretty, and nice, and frankly hot. But she’s way out of my league.” So when I saw her, I noticed her beauty but really didn’t give her a second thought. I had dated a couple of girls at the college, and had been out with a thin, pretty, and smart redhead just a couple of days before I started going out with the woman who would eventually become my wife. But I was just coming out of a pretty poor relationship and was a bit gun-shy. My religious conversion, in fact, had been brought about by my breakup with a girl, Edna, to whom I was engaged to be married. So I was more than wary as I went off to this religious college and though I really wanted to find a future wife, I was more interested in avoiding additional hurt and frustration than I was in having another girlfriend.
But I was a soccer player and she, Vicki, was a cheerleader. She was blonde ‒ neon blonde, and had the most beautiful porcelain skin I had ever seen. As I think of it, she was the only blonde that I had ever dated up to that point. I was really more partial to the redheads and brunettes ‒ maybe because I didn’t appreciate the seemingly cutthroat competition for blondes. But she was an amazing girl. Even as a relatively tiny freshman, Vicki had 32B breasts and the roundest, fattest ass that you could imagine on a girl her size. She bragged often throughout our marriage that her mother had said that she had a “ghetto butt,” and if that can possibly be a positive evaluation, it is certain that she did have such a butt. Because the girls at this religious school were required to wear skirts, it was also pretty difficult not to notice that she had one of the nicest pair of legs I had ever seen. She was simple and unsophisticated, having led an overly-sheltered life foisted upon her by her highly-religious parents, and the most rebellious things she had ever done was to sneak out and go to the drive-in one night (with other girls yet ‒ this was only rebellious because movie-going was strictly forbidden by this religious sect) and she once had a glass of wine at a wedding in which she was a maid of honor. She had a square jaw, a pretty face, and smallish teeth that were almost always exposed in a bright smile.
And she was a virgin, it would turn out. In fact, the best I can determine, she had hardly dated at all through high school. While she claimed to have “dated” the most popular guy in school for a year or so, I was always embarrassed when she would tell this story because it was pretty obvious that he didn’t think highly of her. As she told it, he dated her in secret, with a series of injunctions that she was never to tell anyone that the two of them were involved. While I thought she was quite pretty, this was obviously the kind of “dating” that goes on in a high school context in which the guy figures the girl is too ugly for anyone to know that they are dating.
But before I knew most of this, I knew that I could barely take my eyes off of her as I ran up and down the soccer field and saw her cheering on the sidelines. Not that I was obsessed with her or anything ‒ there was actually another very pretty cheerleader who was a dirty-blonde, well-built gal in the Air Force that I figured was more my speed. She was a couple of years older than the rest of us, and I never even got to date her. But she and Vicki were always on my radar ‒ she because I thought I had a chance, and Vicki because I thought I didn’t.
But strangely enough, Vicki started showing up wherever I was. She’d wait for me outside the cafeteria and we would take meals together. She’d run up behind me as I was walking from one class to another and talk and smile as I hurriedly attempted to make class on time. At an end-of-the-year party for the soccer team, she made a special show of serving me first and ended up spilling coke all over me. At the religious school, any touching between the sexes was strictly forbidden on campus, but she made a point of gently, but firmly, wiping up all of the coke that she had spilled in my lap. As cheap thrills goes, it was a classic example of beggars not being choosers.
The two of us eventually became so joined at the hip that people began to refer to us as Jay-Vicki. “Here comes Jay-Vicki.” “Hi Jay-Vicki.” “Jay-Vicki, you want to go to the snack shop with us?” While we went out to all of the area and campus social events, at some point we went through the whole intellectual process of deciding that we were “dating.” Relatively soon after that, she used the “L” word ‒ uh, no, not “lesbian,” the pre-90s “L” word: “love” ‒ which weirded me out to no end and produced an extensive lecture on my part as to why I couldn’t quite be in love again because of what I had been through with Edna. But of course, probably less than a month later I used the “L” word with her as well and things were on.
I was hardly a virgin myself. I had experienced the full compliment of sexual pleasures that can be had between two people with Edna. Oral, anal, missionary, doggy-style, while watching porn ‒ you name it, we had done it. There was even a drive-in theater outside my hometown that showed only porn movies while she and I were dating, and on a couple of occasions we had gone there together and had sex in the car while the movie was playing. Once she had stripped completely naked and started giving me a blow job ‒ I was 19 and she was 21 at the time ‒ and people had begun to get out of their cars and come over to our car to watch. It was amazing ‒ I had this incredibly hot chick blowing me in public while Traci Lords was fucking on the drive-in screen and both men and women were surrounding our car, slipping off their pants, and masturbating to our live sex acts. But frankly, my only real sexual experience prior to Vicki had been Edna, who as I said, I was engaged to. There had been the requisite amount of exploration, consensual touching, strip poker, and even heavy petting on dates prior to Edna, but with Edna I went all the way in almost every possible way ‒ and it was outrageous.
Lots of times it was also multitudinous. It wasn’t highly unusual for us to have sex three times in a single day. Once I recall that she came over to my house after I came home from school, we fucked in my bed (mom was never home), then we went and took a shower together, then came back to my bedroom, where she dropped to her knees and blew me till I exploded all over her face and tits. Then we went to the neighborhood pizza place where she sat across from me and teased me with her bare foot while we ate, then we went dancing and drinking, and finally wound up back at my house to watch a porn movie on the VCR while banging her doggy-style. We both exploded, her multiple times, and fell asleep in each other’s arms on my bed. Good thing mom seldom asked questions. I certainly loved Edna, but even in retrospect what stands out most in my mind about our relationship was the exceedingly hot sex.
That relationship ended, as all of my serious relationships to this point have, because Edna couldn’t confine her slutting to the bedroom with me alone. But that part of the story gets a little complex….
But after the “L” word escaped, religious school or not, things started to get interesting. She played coy, and she studiously avoided doing anything anywhere that anyone could “find out,” but she asked all kinds of sexual questions and was obviously interested in learning. But she got increasingly aggressive in both her desire to talk about my prior sexual history and in her demands for various forms of (usually pretty tame) sexual experimentation. For instance, while in a public bookstore, she was wearing a low-cut sweater that showed off her freshman cleavage and begged me to escort her over to a row of books where nobody was standing and insert my hands into her sweater, massaging her breasts.
As I rubbed her breasts, slipping my hands first into the sweater and then behind the lacy bra, I gently grabbed the meaty part of the tit and then slid my palms down to her nipples. Having found her nipples, I dragged my index finger and thumb over her aureoles and gently grabbed the nipples, massaging and rolling them between my fingers. She inhaled quickly, deeply, and quietly, her eyes rolled back and her lids shut, and her mouth dropped open in a slight “Ohhhhhhhhhhh.” Instinctively, both her hands retracted to her own chest and while I rubbed her nipples within her bra, she massaged the meaty outside portion of her breasts through the sweater. The whole exchange lasted only a few seconds, but for the remainder of the day she walked around touching her breasts and talking about how she had never been so wet before.
We, like probably all horny but religious kids who are in a serious relationship, often considered religious prohibitions on extramarital sex. We went through the whole discussion of whether sex could reasonably be denied to a couple who eventually gets married, since the Bible’s prohibitions, whatever they meant, were obviously intended to prevent adultery. If we eventually got married, then it logically seemed that premarital sex couldn’t be “adultery,” but after considering it, we decided that wasn’t really a winning argument. After all, what if we didn’t get married for some reason ‒ like a breakup or (God forbid) death? So we then tried to determine what exactly was “sex,” anticipating Bill Clinton’s argument by 10 years or more. Initially, we determined that heavy petting and oral sex wasn’t really sex, and decided to try it out. Or rather, she decided to try it out on me….
My mom came down for a visit and we decided to go off campus for dinner and shopping with her. My mom also had a friend from my hometown who had ended up living a few miles from the college that Vicki and I attended, so we decided to go and see the friend. She was manifestly my mom’s friend, so after the required pleasantries, Vicki and I decided to go for a walk in the woods behind the friend’s house. As we penetrated ever deeper into the woods, we progressed from baby kissing with little pecks, to French kissing, to full-fledged tongue-devouring making out, to groping and dry humping. Eventually we came to a slight clearing and she kneeled down and began unfastening my belt and pants while gazing warmly into my eyes. Pulling down my underwear slightly to remove my cock, she sloppily attempted to swallow it and then clumsily began pumping it with her lips, somewhat roughly, back and forth. Recognizing this as the result of her inexperience (I knew she had never given a blow job before), I gently placed my hands on her head and neck and alternately caressed her while guiding her head as to its speed and depth.
“Slower, more tongue,” I moaned.
She began flicking the head of my cock with her tongue, then seemed to realize that she could swallow my dick and then extend her tongue, flicking it along the bottom of the base of the shaft and occasionally flicking the balls. The pressure began to well up in my balls, waves of ecstasy swept over me, and I began to feel the precum fluid leaking from the tip of my penis.
On getting the first taste of my love-juice, she was transformed into a cocksucking slut and began hungrily devouring my cock. Though still completely dressed in a blue dress and short heels, she slipped one hand under her dress and into her panties and began stroking her clit with amazing speed and force. At the same time her other hand shot up and began to hold and squeeze my nuts ‒ again a little too hard at first (due to her inexperience) ‒ but after a couple of whispered admonitions her caresses of my balls began to be gentle and ticklish while she continued to slobber and suck on my cock.
“Oh, God!” She moaned, her hand inside her own panties brusquely rotating across and around her clit. “Oh, God!” Then her eyes rolled back and her mouth descended on my cock once more.
One hand steadying her on the ground, one hand rotating around her clit, and her mouth now rhythmically, mechanically, amateurishly simply bobbing up and down on my cock, baby grunts and groans occasionally spilling forth from her throat, I stood above her and absolutely admired the perspective. Being from a religious school, the significance of her being on her knees before me, genuflecting before my dick, was not lost on me. Freud spoke of penis envy. But this was dick worship. And it was the most exciting moment of my life to that point ‒ at least the most exciting sexual moment.
Her face turned bright red under her wildly-flopping mop of blonde hair. Momentarily she stopped breathing, then began a tense moan: “Mmmmmmmmmm!” Her hips bucked while she continued to finger herself, then she began to loudly groan, “Ohhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhh! Mmmmmmmmmm! Yes!” As I looked down into her face and saw the sweat beading up on her lips while she alternately moaned, gasped, and sucked, I felt the warmth boiling begin in my balls and knew it would be mere moments.
“Jack it! Jack me off!” I demanded.
The masturbating hand, now fully wet from completion of its mission, ascended out of her panties and grasped my cock at the base while her mouth still rhythmically massaged the head of my dick. Her hand began to gently move back and forth from the base up ‒ the hand slid because of the still-wetness from her pussy juices. It was all too much, and as I felt the combination of rhythmic hand jacking me, pussy juice lubricating me, and mouth and tongue slobbering up and down over my head, the pressure exploded and cum juice splattered over her upper lip, onto her chin, and into her mouth.
She pulled every last drop out of me. My hips contracted, my face grimaced, and sweat poured from my own face. It was phenomenal. All the stresses and repressions of religious school came spurting out in that single wad of cum that literally plastered her face and soaked her tongue. Hungrily, she swallowed all of it. It was phenomenal.
But I noticed ‒ or thought I noticed ‒ a rather odd thing. I had exploded with such incredible force that all of my cum had coated her mouth and face ‒ she had literally none on that masturbating hand of hers. Yet when I had cum all over her, she did not attempt to clean herself or even to lick my cum off of her. Rather, she removed her hand, still apparently wet with cunt juice, from my cock, and began to lick her own juices off of her hand. A look of incredible passion passed over her face and she gently groaned again. Only when she saw the look of surprise on my face did she begin to wipe the male cum off her face and to lick it off of her fingers.
It was one of the singularly most amazing sexual experiences of my life, even to this day. Later, after we were married, she would maintain that she couldn’t give me blow jobs because she “didn’t know how.” Once more before we were married she gave me a blow job, and while not as exciting as this one, it was great. On the odd occasion our petting would get a bit too heavy and we would both wind up naked and I would end up sucking her tits or feeling her wet pussy, but we never went “all the way.”
In fact, on the night before our wedding, we were moving boxes of our stuff into what would be our first home ‒ a rented trailer a few miles from home ‒ and she insisted that she had to have a bath. She had been on the pill for two months just to make sure there would be no surprises after the honeymoon. She drew her bath while I kept on moving boxes and attempting to unpack. After maybe fifteen minutes, she began to call me: “Honey! Come here a minute!”
I entered the bathroom and saw her there, completely naked in the bathtub, her porcelain skin framed with a thin coating of bubbles as she slowly and sensually drew a sponge across her body. “Make love to me,” she said.
“I can’t. We’ll be married tomorrow,” I said.
“I’m on the pill. You can fuck me now. Nobody will ever know.”
I turned around and walked out, knowing it would be better to experience sex consecrated by the holy rite of matrimony. However, it would be one of the last times that she willingly and aggressively pursued sex.
Or, at least, pursued sex with me….

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