5 comments/ 38926 views/ 8 favorites College Try By: Sandman8314 Most of this tale is true, drawn from several sources. Some of it is fiction. Some of it is pure fantasy. I cannot divulge the names of my sources. ----§§---- "Damn, Frank, you got a date with Barbara. That's the girl I wanted to go out with. The girl with the pointed arm." "Well, Hell, Ralph. I didn't know you wanted her. It's just a date. We're only going to the movies." Ralph was my roommate in my first dorm room in my first month at college. He was a drummer in the marching band, and I marched with the baritone saxophone. I had meet Barbara one evening when Ralph and I were having supper in the Student Union Building, known as the SUB. Shy as I was—and I was painfully shy with girls—I somehow managed to work up the nerve to ask her out for a date. In fact it was Ralph who introduced me to her. She came over to our table. "Hi, Ralph. How're you doing?" "Fine. How're you?" "Great, I'm good. Can I sit down?" I butted in, "Sure, have a seat." I stood up and pulled out a chair for her. In those days, boys did things like that for girls. Men did it for women. "Why, thank you, Sir. Old time Southern manners." "My mama raised me right," I said. Ralph was just a bit flustered. "Oh, Barbara, this is my roommate Frank. He's in the band too." She leaned forward with her elbows on the table. Her elbows seemed to come to sharp points. I suppose that's what Ralph meant by talking about her "pointed arm." Her smile was infectious. "Another band boy." "I'm not a boy, I'm a baritone saxophone." "That's cute." Her ash-blond curls bounced as she giggled. Ralph turned red in the face. I should have seen that there was something between them, but at barely eighteen I was socially inept. A day or two later I ran into Barbara again and managed to ask her out. I picked her up at the door of the women's dorm, which was barred to boys. We could go into the foyer and sit together with a girl for conversation or maybe a bit of surreptitious hand-holding, but we could go no farther. The interior was forbidden territory to males of any age. Even a girl's father had to get special permission to carry his daughter' luggage up to her room. Once, months later, I carried Linda's suitcases upstairs. The floor monitor, a lovely blonde, walked in front of us, calling out, "Man on three. Man on the floor." A couple of girls peeped out their doors, open just a tiny crack, but the hall was empty. Barbara and I walked six blocks down the hill to the town's only movie house. We shared a big fifty-cent tub of popcorn. After the movie I took her to the malt shop for sandwiches and Dr Peppers. When I walked her back to the girls' dorm, her roommate was just coming back with her date, and the four of us sat in the foyer for a chat. "Frank, this is my roommate Linda," said Barbara. Linda was slim, elegant, and beautiful. Her hair was shoulder length and deep auburn, with sea-green eyes. She was wearing a white blouse, a royal blue skirt, and saddle Oxfords with white Bobby socks. The girl fairly radiated poise and presence. From my first look at her, I was hooked. It took me about one day to overcome my shyness enough to ask Linda for a date. Our first date was of course a Friday night movie with popcorn and Dr Peppers. We held hands on the way back, and took the long way back to the girls' dorm. We sat together on a bench in the visiting room until the dorm mother called curfew and herded all the boys out. But we managed a furtive kiss. From then on Linda and I were a couple. And I was heels-over-head in love with that girl. We went to the movies every Friday night; we went on picnics; we went for out for moonlight walks; we hid behind the shrubbery for hot groping and kissing—what in those days were called "make-out sessions." One moonlit night we were in our usual mode, with our hands all over each other and our lips tingling from a good quarter-hour of wet, passionate kissing. Linda sat up and drew away from me. "Wait a second," she said. "Don't say anything. Just sit still." Slowly she began to unbutton her blouse, one button at a time with long, long pauses in between. The snow white blouse was luminescent under the light of a full Harvest moon. I was dumbstruck, speechless. I couldn't breathe. As she undid each button she watched my face. After the third button she paused even longer. "Oh, Frank," she whispered, "watching you watch me like that, I feel like a real woman!" She lay back on the grass and extended her arms over her head. Her shining white blouse was half open halfway down toward her waist. She was wearing the same blue skirt she had worn the first night I saw her. It looked black in the moonlight. It seemed to cover undreamt-of adventure. I rose to my knees and reached for her. "Oh, Linda, Linda. You're . . . ." "Hush!" She laid one finger lightly on my lips. "Sit still. Wait, and watch." She lay back again on the grass and undid one more button, opening her blouse even further. Now I could see the cups of her brassiere. They were edged with intricate white lace. There was a tiny white bow at the center, seeming to hold the cups together. I was transfixed. I was inflamed. I was burning. I had never known this depth of desire. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. "Li -- Lin-- Lin . . . ." "Sh!" Her mouth showed a mysterious half-smile. I had a ragingly painful erection and, without looking, she knew it. She was leading me inch by inch. She was triumphant, secure, and glorying in the knowledge of her irresistible female power over me, over all men. At that moment she could have had my guts for garters, and she knew that too. Slowly she undid the last button and opened her blouse wide. The tiny white bow between her breasts twinkled at me. She lay there for a long moment, drinking in my adoration, knowing her female power. Then she sat up, reached behind her, undid the clasp, and tossed her bra aside. She lay back on the grass again, covering her breasts with her hands. She smiled again and moved her hands aside, opening her breasts to me. Except for the blue skirt, so dark in the moonlight, she was all ivory and alabaster. She looked like Venus floating on the waves. Her breasts, those perpetual emblems of femininity, were free and exposed to the night air, to the moon, and to me. They were full, gently rounded, not overly large. Her areolas were contracted, crinkled from the cool night air, and her nipples stood up erect and stiff. They jutted out, almost as large as the ball of my thumb. "They're yours," she said. "Aahhggg," I answered. I had never seen a woman's breasts before, not since I was weaned at the age of one. She took my hands and placed them on her breasts. "Love my tits," she murmured. "Show me how much you love them." "Oh, God, Linda. I never saw anything so beautiful." "You think I'm beautiful?" "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen." I think my heart forgot to beat for a minute or more. "Show me. Love my tits." I began to stroke her breasts, tracing the outer curve with my palms, massaging them gently, then dragging my fingers roughly across her areolas and finally taking the nipples between my thumbs and fingers. I gave her left nipple a tentative pinch. "Ah!" she said. "That's good. Do that again. Both of 'em." I pinched both nipples and rolled them between my thumbs and forefingers. "Ahh! Oooohh! That's better. Now kiss my nipples. Suck on them. Make love to my tits." "Oh, yes!" I breathed, and filled my mouth with female flesh. I massaged and kneaded those delectable breasts. I sucked each nipple deep into my mouth and scraped them with my teeth. I licked her nipples, her areolas, her breasts, and the V of her cleavage. I took one of her nipples in my mouth and sucked it hard and deep as I massaged her other breast with one hand. She shivered and trembled "Ohhhh, Frank. That was beautiful." She pushed me up and off her and reached for her bra. My tool was hard and throbbing in my jeans. "But Linda," I stammered, "I . . . ." "Oh, Frank, you'd better take me back to the dorm right now, before it's too late." I think that night set the tone for us, an unspoken agreement that we would wait until we were married to have sex. In those days that was expected; it was the norm. But until then hugging, kissing, petting, and making out was also the norm, and was also the expected thing. We got back to her dorm about a minute before the midnight curfew. Barbara was waiting at the door. "I didn't think you were going to make it," she said. "You've got to be more careful. Listen, you two are . . . oh." She had seen the look on Linda's face. Either that, or there was some invisible female telegraph that broadcast to every girl—every human female—within sight, or maybe on the whole college campus. Barbara started her sentence again, "You two better be careful." She shot me an intense, indecipherable look. "You hear me, Frank? I don't want to have to take a stick to you. Stop it, you two! Linda, you get inside, now!" That sharp "Stop it" put a halt to our lingering goodnight kiss, and Barbara literally dragged her roommate into the dormitory. The invisible female telegraph must have worked, for by the next day all the girls that I saw on campus were giving me knowing looks and mysterious smiles. Linda told me that a boy I knew in my dorm, Bobby Durst, had asked her for a date. She said no, but he wouldn't take that for an answer. "He said, 'Well, Frank got what he wanted from you.' I said, 'No, damn you, Bill Durst, he did not!' I wanted to slap his face but I didn't. I should have." That night I went to Durst's room. "Durst, you keep away from my woman." "Or what? She's not your property." "As far as you're concerned she is. You want to step outside right now?" "All right, all right. You win. I won't bother her anymore." That wasn't quite enough for me. I fairly growled at him, "And you don't say a damn word about her. You hear?" "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay!' That ended the confrontation and I left. But the next morning Howard the boy across the hall from me, said, "I heard you beat up Durst last night." "I didn't have to. He backed down." "That's too damn bad. I wish you had. He's got it comin'. He's a real bastard" So Linda's reputation was safe, and all the girls in her dorm thought I was some kind of minor hero. Some girl that I didn't know threw a pair of panties at me out the dorm window. She had printed FRANK on them in bright red lipstick. Linda was a Baptist—very Baptist. I wasn't, but my mother was; I had gone to Baptist Sunday School pretty regularly as a little kid. It seemed only natural that I went to church with Linda every Sunday. One Sunday, as the preacher thundered at us about Hellfire and damnation, Linda leaned her cheek on my shoulder and whispered, "Do you think it's a sin to desire a person in church?" "I don't know about that, but I desire you right now, in or out of church." That Sunday afternoon we were making out as usual, and Linda lifted up her skirt. She placed my hand on her crotch. "Pet my pussy," she said. "That's sinful." She seemed to enjoy the idea of sinning. Or maybe it was the danger of getting caught sinning. We had never gone that far before. I petted her pussy through the thin fabric of her light cotton panties. She smothered my face with kisses. I ran my palm up and down the delta of her crotch. I traced the lips of her pussy with one finger, top to bottom, bottom to top. She was panting, "Ohhh, Frank . . . ." I squeezed her mound together, compressing her slit. Her pubic mound had grown fatter than it was when I began to stroke her. "Oh, Frank, oh, oh, ohhhh Frank!" Her panties got all wet. "Linda, did you just . . .?" "No. It's not that, just keep petting me. Don't stop." I didn't stop. I stroked the cotton cloth deep into her slit. She began to shudder and there was a sudden gush of liquid. Her panties were soaked and my hand was wet. "Linda, did you pee in my hand?" I wouldn't have cared if she had, just because it was Linda's piss. It was erotic. "No, silly. When a girl loves a boy, and when they sin, her thing gets all wet. It's not pee, it's juice. You could call it love juice—because I love you, Frank. If that's a sin, then I'm a sinner." "I love you too, Linda." She loved me. She had never said that before. My feet didn't touch the earth on the way back to the dorms that evening. A month or so after that I went with Linda on a Baptist Retreat. It was a sort of overnight campout on a weekend, with a service and a sermon on Sunday morning. The idea was to "reconnect with Jesus and renew your faith." It was a pleasant time, but Linda and I didn't have much chance to sneak away for kissing and petting. We did manage once to take a stroll beside the creek under the weeping willow trees, holding hands but no more than that. Another couple came strolling along the creek side, also holding hands. "Oh, hi," the girl said. "I think I know you. Aren't you Barbara's roommate?" "Why, yes. I may have seen you around on the campus. I'm Linda and this is Frank." She squeezed my hand. "I'm Amy and this is George." George and I shook hands and the girls hugged each other lightly. It turned out that George was the Baptist, while Amy only came along to be with him. We became friendly with Amy and George and went out with them on a couple of double dates. Amy said she was maybe a semi-Baptist, but she had been baptized a Baptist just for George's sake. George beamed when he said that. "But really," she said, "I'm a Naturist." Linda was intrigued. "What's a Naturist? Is that a religion? I never heard of that." "Well no, not a religion. But it is very spiritual. We have a sort of free and easy lifestyle, close to the earth, informal clothing. We go barefoot a lot." Linda giggled, "You go bare? Foot and back?" I wasn't sure what was going on here. George was flustered but Amy took it in stride without a pause. "Well, actually we belong to a Nudist colony. I hope that doesn't put youall off." I wasn't sure what to make of this, but Linda pricked up her ears. "You mean you go nude? Naked?" Amy went on as if it were a perfectly normal conversation, "We have a place we like to go. It's real secluded. Nobody would bother us there. Want to come along next time?" George had a car, and the four of us went to a spot on the riverbank about an hour and a half out of town. The girls had packed a picnic basket. We scrambled down the escarpment to a sandy beach beside a long bend of the river. Amy was right; it was secluded, a very private spot. Big shady trees overhung the lip of the escarpment, closing us off from the rest of the world, and from prying eyes. Linda was ready to eat as soon as we got to the riverbank. "First things first," Amy said. "We like to eat in the nude." She didn't hesitate. She shucked her dress off over her head and stepped out of her sandals. She wasn't wearing panties or a bra. "Whenever y'all are ready," she said as she spread out a blanket on the sandy beach. "But we can't have lunch until we're all of us naked." She was so matter-of-fact about it that I was nonplussed. George was already unbuckling his belt and dropping his trousers. Linda and I looked at each other. She had a quizzical look, looking at me for guidance. I shrugged and undid my belt. When I got my jeans halfway down around my hips, I realized I still had my shoes on. I sat down on the blanket to untie my shoes. Linda had taken her cue from me and was already removing her blouse, seeming perfectly okay with all this. By now George was already in the buff and was unpacking the picnic basket while Amy laid out paper plates, napkins, and utensils. I shed my jeans and boxer shorts together and stood up in only my long-tailed shirt. My crotch, the center of my nakedness, was still covered. Linda unbuttoned and unzipped her skirt. Her back was toward me as she slid her panties down to her ankles and stepped daintily out of them, one foot at a time. As she bent forward to slip those white cotton panties off her foot, she moved with such fluid grace that my breath caught in my throat. Clad only in her bra, she turned to face me. In all those months of necking, kissing, and heavy petting, we had never seen each other unclothed. I had stroked and massaged her pussy outside and inside her panties, but she had never taken them off when we were together. But now the patch of auburn hair that covered her delta shone in the sunlight. My Linda was a true redhead. She reached behind her back to undo her bra and let it fall. She stood there on the sand totally nude, a vision of grace, beauty, and glory. I couldn't speak. I fumbled with the top button of my shirt. Linda came to me. "No," she said. "Let me do this." She undid my buttons and pulled my shirt open, carefully not looking down at my crotch but up into my eyes. She slid the shirt off over my shoulders and let it drop, pressing herself against me as she did. I folded her in my arms and we began a very meaningful kiss. My hands went down blindly, unwilled and without volition, to cup and stroke her bottom. George stared at us with a sour look. "I thought y'all wanted to be Naturists. Like us," he said. "You're in this just for sex." Linda stepped away from me as if she had been burned by the touch of my skin. Perhaps she had. Sin? "Oh no," she said. "No. It's just . . . we're so in love. We're going to wait, I mean really wait, until we're married. And we're going to be married. That's when we'll have our first sex." "George, let them alone," said Amy. "Can't you see they're in love?" "Well, I guess it's okay, if you say so." But George wasn't happy with us after that. On the ride back to campus he didn't say a word, but Amy seemed unfazed. She chattered gaily about "our next outing." But we never saw or heard from Amy or George again. ----§§---- We really meant to wait, or I did. And I think Linda did too. But we really couldn't. At the end of the semester we got Continental Trailways bus tickets together to go home for the summer. Linda had cooked up a sort of plan. We would stay overnight at a hotel in the city and catch separate busses afterwards to go home to our parents. We were going to "go all the way." It was going to be like our wedding night. I was powerless. In spite of our unspoken pact to wait for marriage, I couldn't refuse. I couldn't refuse Linda anything. We got a room in a second-class hotel. Two dollars for one night's stay. We registered as Mr. and Mrs. John Smith. God, but I was nervous. I hoped it didn't show. Linda was quiet, shy, and demure, which wasn't like her at all. "Newlyweds," the clerk said. "Right, of course, Mr. and Mrs. Smith. He put stress on the Smith. "Here's your key. Checkout is eleven a. m. Enjoy your . . . wedding night." He was smirking or smiling; I wasn't sure which. The elevator was old and creaky. The door was just a latticework of interlocked brass bars that I had to slide across by hand to close. It took us slowly up to the third floor, and we rode up without saying anything. When we got to the room and stowed our suitcases, we turned to look at one another. We both felt shy and awkward. "I, uh . . . , ah . . . ," Linda said. I answered, "Err, um, um . . . . Well, here we are." "Yes," she said. "We're here." I took her hand, drew her to me, and kissed her. Lightly. Then we sat down on the bed. On the bed. We had never been near a bed before. It was a daunting thought. I hardly knew what to do next. Linda let go my hand and pushed me slightly away from her. She stood up. Turn your back," she whispered softly, "don't look at me. I want to change. Maybe you should put on your pajamas too." College Try Pajamas. I didn't own a pair of pajamas. At home I always slept nude. In the dorm I slept in a pair of boxer shorts. Still carefully not looking at Linda, I went behind the big armchair at the side of the room and stripped down to my skivvies. "Frank, you can look now." Her voice was a husky, breathy whisper. I attuned to look. Oh, Good Gods. If an angel had come down fresh from heaven, she couldn't have been half as beautiful as Linda was at that moment. I was in awe. I was speechless. I couldn't speak or move. She was wearing a pale lavender hip-length peignoir, with a bow at her throat but falling open below. Under it she wore the laciest wisp of a bra and tiny panties that barely covered her crotch. All her garments were thin and sheer, as transparent as a pane of glass. All they did was to give her skin a lavender glow. I could see her breasts and her nipples through the bra, and her nipples were hard and erect. The panties didn't conceal her auburn pubic hair; rather they accentuated it. She looked like a goddess walking on the floor of that hotel room. She held her delicate little fists to her chest, between her breasts, her forearms supporting her breasts. Not that they needed support; they were moderate in size, maybe a B-cup. But they were Linda's breasts. She was shyer than I had ever seen her, hesitant, expectant. She seemed to be wanting approval, not sure it would come. "Oh, God. Linda. You're the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," I stammered. I stepped out from my refuge behind the chair and she came into my arms, folding herself into me. She turned and snuggled her back against my chest, her soft round bottom against my thighs. She wrapped my arms around her body, took my hands and placed them on her breasts. I took her in my arms and carried her to the bed. She stood on tiptoe and kissed me. Then she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me deeply and passionately, using her tongue to make my tongue dance with hers. I felt heat and desire rising inside me. Then she stepped back, a single step, but enough to leave a space between our bodies. Her voice was sultry, "Do you want to unwrap your wedding gift?" Her meaning was obvious. I pulled the little bow that held her filmy peignoir at the throat and opened it. She stood till, waiting for me to take away all her wrappings. I encircled her with my arms, feeling for the clasp to undo her bra. She shook her head. Without saying a word she took my hands and placed them between her breasts. There was a tiny bow holding that filmy band in place. I barely tweaked the bow and the bra dropped away to the floor behind her. She stood still, waiting for me to be the one to remove all her coverings. She understood the symbolic value of that action, even though I did not. I slipped the open peignoir off her shoulders and let it drift away out of sight, out of consciousness. "Oh, Linda . . . oh." She was the incarnation, the heart and soul of female beauty. I couldn't form words. I nuzzled my face between her breasts and kissed each one. I fondled her breasts, feeling her areolas contract and her nipples grow stiff. She was enjoying this and growing obviously aroused. I picked her up and laid her gently on the bed. I knelt on the bed beside her, reaching for the tiny gossamer wisp that covered her crotch. "No, wait," she said. "It's my turn." She pulled down the waistband of my shorts and pushed them down to my knees as I knelt beside her. Then she pushed me over onto my back and worked them down my legs. I reached down to help. "No," she said. "I'm doing this. I said it's my turn." So one by one she dragged my feet out of the legs of my skivvy shorts. She bunched up the shorts and held them to her chest. She rubbed them over her breasts, chafing her nipples with the cotton cloth. Then she tossed them aside and leaned over me. She took my hard, pulsing tool in one hand. "God, it's so big, so thick. I can't even get my fingers around it." She put both her hands around my shaft, one above the other. Her delicate little fingers didn't even meet on the other side. The swollen head, now turning bright red, stuck out above her two hands. She leaned forward and kissed the tip. "I love that. I love you." She moved her two hands up and down the shaft, pumping me lightly. I was amazed. I couldn't imagine a girl masturbating me. Especially not Linda. But it didn't last long. She pumped me up and down about four or five strokes and stopped. Then she suddenly lay back and pulled me over on top of her. She lifted her knees and opened her legs. She caught hold of my tool again and guided it to the slit of her pussy. With the fingers one hand she held her lips open and with the other she shoved the head of my thick shaft down between them. "Right there," she said. It was a forceful statement. My mother's Baptist upbringing moved in to smother me. This wasn't a real wedding night. We had agreed, more than once, to wait until we were married. "Linda," I stammered. "My God, I love you so much. But I can't do this. I don't want to take your cherry—to . . . to . . . to . . . b . . . uh . . . , break your maidenhead. Until we're really married, legal and all." "God's going to marry us. Tonight. Right here in this room. Take me now. I'll be your wife." "Linda, I don't want to hurt you. You said yourself my thing is too big. I don't know if this is the right time to break your cherry." "No, it's okay, Frank. I don't . . . I . . . I mean . . . I . . . I . . . I'm not a virgin. I gave my cherry to Tommy Simpson when I was fourteen." Her words came in a rush, as if she had to say it all before she lost her incentive. "I haven't got a cherry. I didn't want to tell you that. I didn't want you to know." Long silent pause. I didn't, couldn't move or speak. "But we're here now," she said, "and I'm ready for you, and I do love you. If this is sin, then I'm a sinner." Having said all that, she said more slowly, "Now go on and put your dick in my pussy. Take me, Frank. Make love with me." And in a fierce whisper, "FUCK ME." I was a mass of conflicting emotions. She wasn't a virgin after all. My Linda, the girl I adored and thought of as a minor Goddess, pure and angelic, had slept around, and I never knew. I had held myself in check all those months, waiting for marriage. I had protected her reputation and almost beat up a boy for her sake. But at that moment, there I was, on top of her naked body, with the head of my tool wedged in her vagina. I was afire with love and passion and desire. I couldn't resist any longer. Tentatively, I pushed the swollen head a short half-inch deeper into her. "Yes. That's it, Frank. You won't hurt me. Go ahead. I won't break, I'm a tough little girl." "No, you're the softest thing I ever laid my hands on." "Frank, I can't bleed for you. But I want you. I want you, and I want to bleed for you. Mostly I just want you inside of me. God, how I want that! I've wanted that all year!" I shifted my hips. She gasped, "Oh, oh, oh. God, I'm so wet. I'm on fire. God, it's so big! Oh, that's good. Take me, Frank. Fuck me. Make me yours. Make me all yours." She was wet. Her pussy was oozing juice. I pushed a little deeper into her. I could feel her vaginal muscles gripping and milking my prick. It was ecstatic. Electric fire ran all through my whole body. I pushed a little harder, a little deeper, and suddenly, as if some barrier had been breached, I slid all the way into her, to the depth. My balls slapped the cheeks of her butt. I felt the head of my pecker bang against her cervix. "OW! Oh, my God, Frank! Oh my living God! You're so BIG! Oh God." "Oh, Linda, I've hurt you. I'll . . . ." "No, Frank. Wait. Just lie still a minute. It only hurt a little, going in. Frank, you're so big. You're so big it was like being a virgin all over again." I was afraid to move. I could only lie still, buried deep inside her. After a long minute, Linda murmured, "That feels good. Oh. It's starting to feel real good. Oh. . . Now fuck me, Frank. Fuck me." She was almost singing, "Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me." All the feeling and sensation of my entire body was concentrated in my dick. My dick inside Linda! Her pussy juice was flowing. It ran down the crack of her ass. My balls were wet with the juice of Linda's pussy. I thought my tool was going to explode! I was a tyro, a rank novice, and Linda was my first girl. By blind instinct I began to thrust in and out of Linda's pussy, fucking her, making love to her. Linda responded vigorously. She pushed her hips up to meet my thrust into her at every stroke. I was in ecstasy. I was I heaven. She sang, "Ooohhh. Ahhhhhhhhh. Ooohhhhhhh. Oh, Frank. Oh, Frank. Oh, Frank, Frank, Frank." Then her tone changed, "Oh. Oh. Oh." It was fierce and insistent. "Oh, God. Oh, Jesus! Oh. Oh. OHHHHHHH!" It lasted about three minutes. My climax came like thunder. It was like an electric shock infusing my entire body. I shot myself into her in jet after jet of liquid fire, pouring all my body fluids into her. I was spent. I was totally drained. I collapsed on top of Linda, unable to move. Linda was very tender, all sweetness and light. She held my head to her bosom with both hands, making singsong little murmurs. She stroked my hair. She turned my face to her and kissed me tenderly on the mouth. "Oh, Frank," she whispered. "That was so beautiful." We lay together, still joined. I was lying on top of her with my shrinking and subsiding tool still deep in her and our mingled juices oozing out of her. We lay like that for at least five minutes with Linda still crooning to me. I felt some strength returning to my body and I made a motion to push myself up and off her. Her arms went round my body and she pulled me back down. "No," she murmured. "Don't go. I love the feel of you in me. I need you inside of me" She raised her knees and clasped her thighs tight against me. "Linda, I . . ." I couldn't say more. The slight motion of her legs had stirred my manhood, still buried deep inside Linda, and I felt it begin to swell and rise again. Now it wasn't fire but a throbbing need. I pulled my risen shaft halfway out of Linda's love tunnel and slid back in again. I started all over again, thrusting in and out of Linda. Her pussy was slippery with all her love juice and the hot seed that I had poured into her. Every thrust into her made a squishy sound. The hot intensity of sheer blind need had subsided. This time I could concentrate on simply making love with Linda. She planted her feet on the bed and heaved her hips up to match my pumping motion, lifting herself to meet my every stroke. We were in perfect unison, banging our pubic bones together time after time after time. As I continued to pump into her, Linda drew her knees up and wrapped her legs around me, pulling me deeper into her time and time again. Then she unlocked her legs from around me and lifted them high and straight up, stretching and pointing her toes to the ceiling. This way she was totally passive, accepting my loving her and fucking her, giving herself utterly to me. I felt as if I could go on like this for hours. Linda was singing again, chanting, "Oh Frank, oh, Frank, oh Frank. Oh, this is so beautiful. Oh, you fill me, Frank. You make me feel like a natural woman. Oh, this is so beautiful. So lovely. So beautiful. Love me, Frank, make love to me, fill me with you. Oh, oh, oh. Oh, oh, oh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Oh, Frank. Oh, Frank. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh." As I continued to pump into her I was kissing her face, her mouth, her neck; nuzzling her breasts and murmuring her name over and over again. I lasted more than ten minutes this time, and then I felt my climax approaching. My tool began to swell. I could feel my balls tensing up. It was building from deep inside me. Linda cried out, "Oh, Frank, Oh, Frank, it's getting bigger. I can feel it! I can feel it! I'm ready! Shoot it into me. Fill me again. Fill my CUNT with your love." And I did. I filled her again. In pulsing spasms I poured jet after jet after jet of hot seed deep into her. When I subsided, she held me to her again, with my manhood still buried deep inside her. Finally she let me roll off her and lie beside her. Our mingled love juices fairly flowed out of her. She didn't notice, didn't care. She was happy with what we had done, with what she had accomplished. She had made herself my woman and made me her man. We made love again twice more before morning, and slept briefly afterwards, locked in each other's arms. Linda was thrilled by all we had done. She was glowing and beautiful the next morning. She was happy and satisfied. She didn't get pregnant, but I never gave her an orgasm. We took separate busses to our parents' homes in two different towns. We wouldn't see each other again until the fall semester.