6 comments/ 78764 views/ 5 favorites Pussology 301 By: julybear7 As is often said, the following is based on real events, with real people, in the place described. It just didn't happen exactly this way. Enjoy. Jb7 * It was late summer of 1960, JFK was well on his way to becoming the first Catholic President; I was just out of my last summer school class and finally, a college graduate, on my way to Rochester in upstate NY, one of the few cities in the state with a healthy economy, or at least a healthy job market. Some how, some one had fucked up my college record so that at the end of the regular school year, I showed up an hour short in my General Education requirements, and needed an extra hour of Physics. For some freaking reason, the only summer course in Physics being offered that year was, and I quote, "An in-depth review of the properties, applications, and manipulation of ultra low level atmospheric phenomena." For those of you who, like me, have no inkling of what the hell that meant, it was a class about the production and use of vacuum technology in industry. No, not vacuum cleaners like the Hoovers. Can't tell you how many friggin' people asked me that. Vacuum technology, like how to survive in space, or produce really pure materials, and, god forbid, instant coffee and tea. The course was actually fun, and it led to a really cool job in Rochester, working for an industrial engineering research firm, which would contract with companies all over the world to solve their engineering problems. I was only a junior technician, so didn't get to do any traveling, but I got to meet a hell of a lot of very interesting people, including the ex-husband of the lady this is all about. After a couple of years of banging around Rochester (yeah, that kind, too), I found a studio apartment in the Park Avenue area of the city. The ParkAve area was about a mile square, just south and east of downtown, and inhabited mostly by twenty-somethings, artists, older liberals, and others attracted by its reputation for supporting a quasi-bohemian life style. The building I moved into had eight studio apartments, and two shared bathrooms, on two floors. On the first floor were two guys and two young women, all between 21 and 29; the second floor, my floor, had a nurse, an ad agency intern, and a college instructor, all women, 22 to 53. The nurse and the intern were both in their twenties. And me, Mark McPherson. I didn't meet Kay, the college teacher, for a few weeks after I moved in. I had to be up early to catch the bus to work, and she taught mostly late afternoon and early evening classes. And weekends, like any 25-year old, I was out 'bangin' around. But, that Saturday afternoon, I was in my apartment, reading a Leon Uris novel, my door was open, and the radio was broadcasting another Cubbies' loss. I was dimly aware of the sound of high heels coming down the hallway when they stopped, right at my door. I sort of glanced up, went back to my book and did a classic double take. In my door way...If simple words could have described Kay, we'd have had world peace 50 years ago. I can honestly say she was not beautiful. I'm not even sure she could be called pretty. I will give you attractive, she was definitely attractive. And when she smiled, it is said the sun hid his face for shame. At my double take, she laughed, and all the nightingales in that London square retired. I know, I'm not making any sense. When I heard there was a 50-year old female college professor in the apartment next to me, I imagined some dried up old spinster, not a contestant for the Senior Penthouse Pet of the Year. And that is not a fair picture either; she was not overly huge or out of proportion anywhere. In fact, later, when we were better acquainted, she actually complained because she thought her bust was too small, or so she had been told. She was just very nicely put together, very nicely. Back to the story, if you're still with me. She introduced herself, laughing at my inability to string two words together, including my own name. As she turned to leave, she thanked me for the compliment and invited me to stop by for a drink when I regained my voice. I glanced at the clock, saw that it wasn't quite three. I didn't have anywhere to be before nine, so I got a drink of water to put my throat back in action and went to meet my neighbor. I think a bit of geography, house style, may be necessary here. Sally and Carole, the intern and the nurse, respectively, occupied the two apartments across the front of the house on our floor. The stairway came up in the middle of the right hand side of the second floor, looking front to back. Right next to the stairs was my apartment, across the hall was the shared bath, and across the back of the house was Kay's apartment and the rear stairs. Kay's doorway opened directly into the hall, with the rear stairs immediately to the left of her door. From my door to hers, maybe five steps. When I knocked on the closed door, she answered, "Mark? Come on in." That's when I learned she had no modesty, or if she did, it sure as hell was selective. I walked in, and there she was, in pink nylon panties and bra, digging in her dresser looking for something to put on. I must have yelped or something when I turned around. She turned to look and saw me with my back turned and I swear my ears must have been flame red with embarrassment. She laughed again (god, that laugh, have I told you about her laugh?) and said, "I wouldn't have thought the sight of a woman in her undies would upset you with all the thumping and banging I hear next door." "It was such a sexy sight it caused an immediate, uh, mm, biologic reaction," I replied, or some such shit. But I did confess that the sight of her in her 'undies' pretty much had given me the king of boners. "What, this old body turned you on? A young stud like you." I sort of half turned to look at her, still majorly uncovered. "If that's an old decrepit body, lady, when you were my age, you must have been a fucking goddess! Excuse my french, please, but...wow!" "I think that's the nicest thing anyone has said to me this year." She lifted her arms and slid a long dark blue tee shirt over them and onto her body, covering up everything from knee to shoulder, but not before I saw the shadow of her nipples and snatch through the semi sheer fabric. "Coffee, tea, wine, beer, soda or..." and she smiled that damn come hither smile I was going to fantasize over for the next five years. "You're teasin', right. Please tell me you're teasin' or I'm gonna melt and die right here on your floor." "Aw, c'mon, Mark, you're a big boy. You can take a little, uh, flirting, can't you. But you got to give me something back. Otherwise it's torture, and that's no fun. At least not for me, I'm not sure how you like it, yet. Besides, I can't put me on the menu. I'm taken." "Damn," I said, "there goes a whole afternoon's hopes and dreams." "That's the way! Now, what to drink?" "Uh, the wine sounds good." "Red? Or are you allergic?" "Allergic to wine? Not that I'm aware of, not yet anyway." "Some folks are allergic to something in red wine. As a health educator, it's part of my responsibility to my guests to help make them aware." "Health educator? Where?" "At the new community college." She handed me a large, stemmed glass of burgundy. As I started to take my first sip, I asked her what she taught. "Sex." I am afraid that whatever impression I may have made on my lovely neighbor as to my maturity, sophistication, worldliness, my cool factor, urbaneness, deserving of a platinum playboy club key, whatever, went out the frikkin' window at that point as I choked, coughed, spit, and spilled my wine. Thank God, it was a wood floor. After we got me and the wine cleaned up, she sat down on the sofa in the living room area, and patted the cushion next to her. As I walked over to the sofa, she curled her legs under her, and pulled the tee shirt down to cover her knees. She sat there, her blue eyes twinkling with laughter (did I tell you how her eyes could chase thunderclouds away?). "You're precious," she smiled. "I teach adult sex education; actually the course is titled Health and Hygiene. Although I assign readings from the whole book through the semester, the class discussions seldom get beyond the plumbing and mechanics of sex and pregnancy, including how to avoid it. Pregnancy, not sex. "It's amazing to me how many women, let alone men, have no idea about how we women are constructed down there. I'm willing to bet a show and tell that you can't name three of the parts of a woman's genitals. If you can, I'll expose myself and show you where they are located. If you can't, you show me yours, and describe the parts." God dam! She had me friggin' tongue tied again! All I had to do was come up with three parts of a pussy, lessee, the hair, the uh, whachacallit, the hole, and uh, uh, uh...shit!! I stood up, and said, "Mrs. Rogers, I have to say this has been a, no, the most interesting Saturday afternoon I've ever had. Maybe some year, when I'm grown we can have a lunch or dinner out, but right now I have an appointment next week I need to go get ready for. It was very nice to meet you, I think." "Aw. Mark. Did I scare you? You don't even want to try to get a look at my coochie? Sit down, tell me about your job." I did sit, across the room. And told her about the everyday crap that went on in an engineering research facility. She asked some really astute questions, impressing me all to hell. I understood how when she told me her husband, ex-husband, also worked, had worked there while they were married. That led to my asking about the breakup. She told me she thought they had a good marriage, and a good sex life. She was ready whenever he asked, and did whatever he wanted, she said (did I tell you how uninhibited she could be). But, she apparently wasn't enough. On some of his business trips to California, he got involved with some 'young chippie' and wasn't man enough to admit it or give her up when Kay confronted him. She had tried for a year, but when it became obvious he wasn't seriously trying, she looked around and found George, her gentleman caller. She had gotten real serious talking about herself and her life. Her voice was soft and low, just above a whisper at times, but when anger and bitterness showed, it was as hard as concrete. She and George hadn't been real discreet in the beginning, and when she filed for divorce, her husband, Nels, countersued. It was messy; she lost a bunch of friends and her job. In the late '40's and early '50's, you didn't get divorced, at least not publicly and especially not scandalously, if you worked for a school. She had had a set of twins just before WWII started, so when the divorce was finalized, custody went to her because of his job requiring so much travel. Good thing, otherwise there probably wouldn't have been any alimony. It took a couple of hours to get all this out, with all the pauses and the refills. Her language when she talked about her husband wasn't exactly clean either. Christ, she could make a longshoreman blush. We must have gone through three fuckin' bottles of wine, I know I was a bit more than half shit faced. Somehow, I got up to leave just as she was walking past my chair, and she stumbled and fell into me, knocking me back into the seat. She fell on top, her back to me, and her nearly bare pussy square on my rod. My arms were around her, one hand in her crotch, the other somehow under the blue tee shirt in full possession of a wondrous melon. As soon as I realized what I was holding, which took about a half a millisecond after I hit bottom, the old sex thermometer started to respond. Bother her? Not a fuckin' whit. She sat there another millisecond, then started doing the fucking shimmy on my lap. In less time than it takes to tell, I was shooting my load all over the inside of my jockeys. Then she reaches down and slides my hand in the leg of her panties and says, "You owe me one." So she guides my hand and shows me how to play with her cunny. And that was how I got my first lesson and insight on how to pleasure a woman. A month or so after that, I actually got to do some traveling for my company. I was sent to Houston, to the NASA headquarters to help them install and implement some equipment and gauging we had helped them develop (read, we did the work, they paid the bills). It took a bit over a month, but the contract specified that every day I was in Texas, it was seven hours of double time, and double time and a half when my actual work time exceeded seven hours a day. Since I was putting in twelve to fifteen hour days, six times a week, I didn't have a lot of time to spend any of the money I was making, and room and board was on the company. I couldn't complain. I grossed nearly three grand on that trip; not bad for the early '60s. When I finally did get home, there were new neighbors, downstairs. The two guys had moved out and I was now living in Estrogen Central Hotel. Two English girls, both from Manchester, but complete strangers before they met at the house, had moved in. Kay was still there, but when I saw her, it seemed like some one had turned off some of her inner lights. I had got home on a Wednesday, and had planned to go through mail and shit, to clean up, that weekend. I noticed George hadn't been around on Friday, so come lunch time Saturday, knocked on her door. The door flew open before the third rap, and her smile faded like red longjohns in bleach. I badgered her until she finally agreed to go out to eat with me. "Just to shut you up," she laughed. There was a new joint a couple of blocks up Monroe Ave that was getting a decent rep, and it didn't cost more than an arm and a half for the two of us. I kept prodding until I got her to open up. It was George. After the divorce, because his mother objected, he wouldn't commit himself to her. For nearly ten friggin' years, she had been dating the dumb fuck, waiting for Momma to kick. Turns out Momma had some damn strong longevity genes. She had lived through two freakin' strokes to the age of 85 and was still kicking along. Sometimes George came and went on Friday night. Sometimes, he would leave on Sunday. She wouldn't know until he got there how long he was staying. Lately, if he fuckin showed at all, he was gone in a couple of goddam hours. This was the second Friday he had missed. Last week, he had shown up for an hour or so Saturday, but had called Friday to let her know. So far, no show, no call. I started to get pissed at her, letting herself be fucked like that. As soon as I opened my mouth to berate her, I realized I was about to beat up the frikkin' victim here. I apologized to her and explained why. Then I blew it and kissed her. I don't know why, and when she asked, that's what I told her, followed by because I wanted to. We got up, paid our bill (of course I paid, whaddaya think I am), and walked home. On the way, I snuck my arm around her waist, and she let it stay there. When we got home, still no word from George, so I invited her to one of my seldom home cooked meals. She accepted, and I ran out for supplies to make (the only fuckin' dish I can) meat loaf and mashed potatoes. I also picked up some beer and a few bottles of Beaujolais. She came in and watched me cook, commenting on how I'd make some woman a good husband someday. We passed the time bull shitting about work. I told her what I had done in Houston, that one of the engineers who had gone down with me was a Nels Rogers. She got quiet at that, shook herself, and asked what he looked like. Fifty-ish, not quite as tall as me (six two), thinning average brown hair, wire rimmed bifocals, a bit of a paunch, rounded shoulders, like he had been beaten down hard once and never recovered. She shook her head, couldn't be him. Hers had gone out to CA to marry his chippie. It sounded like this guy was going to seed. Her Nels wouldn't do that. By that time, dinner was ready, and the first bottle of wine was gone. Then George appeared in the frikking doorway. "George..." "Hey, you guys need to be alone, I can go wait on the porch." "No, no. Stay, young man. Are you Mark? Pleased to meet you. Uh, I can't really stay that long. I just came by to return your key." Kay looked like someone had hit her with a dead fish across the mouth. "Return my key? Wha...why...George, what's happening? What the hell is going on?" The answers must have been occurring to her as she spoke. You could see the temper building in her eyes, and hear it in her voice. (Did I mention her short fuse) George was aware of it, too. He laid the key on the table next to the door and started backing out. "Come back here, you rotten mother fucker! (Did I mention she had a mouth on her that would put sailors to shame)" It took George about 30 fucking seconds to get down the stairs and through the front door. In that time, I heard every dirty name I knew and about 25 new ones, a few more that I had read about, and several combinations I didn't know were curse words until she screamed them after him. George had had the foresight to write a note of explanation. On his way out, he had dropped it on the fuckin' mail table by the front door. Sheena, the blonde Manchesterian, was kind enough to bring it up. I had Kay quieted down, and had offered her some vodka and coke. She gave the highball back and grabbed the bottle of vodka and started swigging. "That pusillanimous little mother fucking cocksucker! (swig) The limp dicked shit eater! (Swig) Goddam chipmunk dicked turtle fucker, I hope his marble sized balls turn square and fester at the corners. (Swig) I hope the next time that cunt licker gets a hard on, the damn thing turns on itself so when he pisses, he drinks it. (Swig) That shit eating, piss drinking, pussy munching mollycoddle. (Swig) Only way he ever made me cum was in my dreams, (Swig) hardly knew he was in me, the needle dicked bastard..." She carried on that way for an hour, maybe more, swigging between curses. Then Sheena showed up with his fucking note. I took it from her, dreading to let Kay see it. Well, she saw Sheena pass it to me and asked about it. Never give a shy girl something concrete to say. Make that your number one fucking rule of relationships. Cause if you do, she will fuck up something. Sheena told her it was a note the gentleman had dropped flying out the door, a note for her. She asked for it, took it, looked at it, started to tear it in pieces, then threw it at me. "You fuckin' read it to me, Mark. Tell me what the fuck he says." I had a bushel of fuckin' dread in my stomach as I opened that goddam note. I was cursing that fuckin' Sheenatwat under my breath like a tornado, calling her every kind of cunt I could think of. The fuckin' last thing Kay needed right now was to hear fuckin George's last fuckin' note to her. I quick read through the sucker's note and groaned. Kay heard me, and snatched the goddam thing from my hand. He had it typed frikkin' single spaced, and it took up three quarters of the goddam page. The fucker must have been a CPA, he had detailed all the sonuvabitchin' reasons his precious momma objected to her, then had the freakin' gall to blame her for his mother's fuckin' strokes. The capper? He was going to marry the prissy special duty nurse assigned to take care of his mother at the goddam nursing home. A cute young thing, just out of school, he said. It is a good fuckin' thing he was gone, 'cause if Kay hadn't hurt him, I would have. You just fucking don't treat people that fuckin' way! Suddenly I became aware of the total silence in the room. I looked at the door, Sheena was gone. I looked at the sofa, Kay was sitting there, tears running down her face, dripping onto the note. I went to sit next to her, put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her to me. "The fucker isn't worth it," I told her. "He don't have the sense God gave a fuckin' piss ant." Pussology 301 That caught her attention. She started to giggle, and giggle, and giggle some more. At some point the goddam booze kicked in and the giggles overcame her. She was layin' on the fuckin' floor, laughing so fuckin' hard she pissed herself, which made her laugh harder. Eventually she ran out of breath and started to panic. I got a cold washcloth and dropped it on her face. Then I got on my knees on the floor with her and pushed the damn cloth down the neck of her shirt. That stopped the laughs. When she got her breath back, she stood up, pulled out the cloth and tried to hit me in the face with it, swearing at me for fuckin' trying to feel her up. Seems like you can't win. Right after that, she passed out. I covered the sofa with towels and put her there to sleep it off. The smartest thing I ever did, as far as dealing with Kay was concerned. I need to explain. My studio, like all the ones on the second floor, had a traditional sofa which split the largest part of the room into a living area and a dining area. It also had a day bed placed in a recess in the wall. The recesses in the adjacent apartments abutted one another, like that Greek key frieze. That's why, when we first met, Kay complained about the noises from my side of the wall. So, she slept on my sofa, and I went to the daybed. At some point during the night, I was vaguely aware of some one washing dishes (I was asleep, dreamin' for all I knew), then this fuckin', nice, warm body got into bed with me and snuggled. Mmm. When I woke and found Kay in bed next to me, my half hard piss hard went from clay to granite in a second. She must have felt it, because we were face to face. Her eyes sort of half opened, she smiled and said the two greatest words a guy can hear--fuck me. Now, I would like to be able to tell you that at that point I realized she was still more than half drunk, that she was probably dreaming about good old George, or even Nels, or someone not me, and that I did the noble thing and backed off. But I can't. I didn't have a friggin' chance. Before she started the word 'me,' she had pushed me on my back, straddled me, mounted me, and slid down my fuck pole. And she began the most absolutely wonderful fuck I have ever had. I swear, Venus and Aphrodite were in the corner taking notes, and their Norse cousin Freya was kneeling by the side of the bed , watching, muttering "impossible, impossible." Kay was moving up and down my rod. On the up stroke, she would turn a quarter turn to the right, then on the down stroke, return to her starting position. Then on the next up stroke, she did a quarter turn in the other direction, and then back. Have you seen those videos of women giving friggin' blow jobs where they circle their hands around the base of the guy's cock? That's what Kay was doing with her cunt. Plus, she was varying the speed, and the length of the ole in-and-outs. Just when I thought I was about to explode, I swear to God, she must have fuckin' levitated herself because she did a total 360 on the head of my dick. That did it for me. Whatever jism was in my sack, whatever jelly was in that thing the docs probe in your ass, it all ended up in her. And when I came, so did she. The whole world knew. Did I mention she was a fuckin' screamer? In about 30 seconds there was a pounding on both our doors. Since she was still screaming, someone tried to open my door. I had forgot to lock it. Sally and Carol came busting in, and fucking froze. Kay lifted herself off me and out of bed, saying, "He's great, girls. You should give him a try." She left the room, frikkin' bareassed, with my goddam spunk running down her legs. Sally stared at me, my cock still rampant, and just sort of glided across the goddam room as if she were hypnotized. Carole watched Kay walk away, licking her lips at the sight of all that spunk on her legs. She closed and locked the door and came to the bed. Sally was just mounting me. Carol swung her leg over my fuckin' face so she faced Sally and for the very first time, I got a close up view of a live fuckin' cooch. God, it was beautiful, and smelled so friggin sweet. And coming closer and closer and then...I got my second lesson in pleasuring a woman. I will admit in all fucking honesty, I probably failed my first lesson in muff diving. Hell, I just stuck my goddam tongue out there and let the girls slide their cunts all over it. I didn't know fuckshit from beans about what I was supposed to do, except keep that tongue out there, pressed against their vagerinos. Hey, remember, this was the early '60s. Guys didn't talk about this shit, and there weren't any x-rated theaters, at least in Rochester. The one fuckin' art theater they had, if they showed anything it was limited to barely bare boobs and butts. The girls and I slept until nearly noon, when they got up and limped their ways back to their own rooms. I showered and dressed, then moped a bit, wondering what to do, if at all, about Kay. It was nearly two when I heard dishes break against the wall. I figured it was time to knock on her door. With a whole fuckin boatload of trepidation, I knocked. It was her voice, the hard one, sounding like a stevedore, asking who it was. I answered, and the stevedore asked what I wanted. I told her I just wanted to be sure she was okay. As she opened the door, she was asking how the fuck should she be, then just stood there in that blue tee shirt. I did a quick glance up and down, and could tell she hadn't washed up yet. "Satisfied?" She asked, in a tone which suggested she was talking to a misbehaving five-year-old. Goddam, that tone just about popped my angry cork. Here I was, trying to be a nice guy, making sure she wasn't hurtin', or at least not very, and she was treating me like something nasty on the bottom of her shoe. I started to turn away, and she started to close the door. I stopped, then pushed my way into her apartment. About two steps in, I stopped and turned around. She just stood there, holding the door, like she was waiting for me to leave. I reached over her, pushed the door closed, and locked it. Those sunny blue eyes of hers I've talked about, nowhere to be seen. Cold and dark as flint they were; her mouth compressed and as thin as floss. She was angry enough to shit tacks and not know it. "What are you doing here, Mark; what do you want?" The words were semi-polite, the tone was sorta neutral, but her face, her face had "fuck off" written all over it. "Fucked if I know, Kay, but I know I need to be here right now, for me, and for you. You need someone to scream at, rail against, beat on, and to keep you from hurting yourself. I just need to know you're okay." And at that point I knew I fuckin' loved her. Wasn't in love with her. But short of that, I cared as much or more about her as anyone in my family, any of my friends, and I wanted, needed her to feel loved. Today, nearly 45 years later, I can recall the conversation that afternoon like it was this morning. The conversation and everything else. "So what are you, my knight in shining armor, my Don Quixote?" "No, that's you. I'm your Pablo." She snorted and walked to the couch to sit down. "You're an idiot." "True, but I'm your idiot." "Shit, look at me! I'm nearly 55 fucking years old, acting like a goddam teenager. Over that ... I can't think of anything bad enough to describe the bastard." "Piss ant worked pretty good last night." "For you, it got you a chance to grope my tits." "Truthfully, didn't think of it at the time. Wish I had. They're nice tits." "They're too small." "Says who?" "Both Nels and George." "Neither of whom have the sense to appreciate true beauty when its sitting on their noses." "And now you do?" "Thanks to you." She looked more than a little puzzled. When I asked her about last night, she remembered the giggle fits, and the cold cloth, but not trying to wallop me with it, or anything else until she woke up on her sofa, clutching George's note in her hand. It was re-reading that which had occasioned the china smash up. I told her she had wet herself, laughing so hard. (Oh, my! I haven't done that since I was pregnant) I pointed out to her she had been pretty pissed. A half bottle of wine, a half bottle of vodka and George. Should have been enough to piss anybody off. She started to giggle again. Then I told her how she had cleaned herself up at my sink and joined me in bed. She looked at her legs, lights going on. "We...?" I explained that early that morning, about sunrise, we woke up together and she sort of helped herself to my morning boner and rode me to one of the biggest cums I've ever had. She questioned my phraseology, "sort of helped herself." And I had to explain, that before she finished her request for me to fuck her, she was on me. "Oh my God, I raped you?" "Uh, no. Rape implies that one of the parties is an unwilling victim, doesn't it?" "And you were a willing victim?" "Not even a victim. I could have stopped you, was going to until you started. You showed me moves that were unbelievable. I had visions of mythological love goddesses watching us and taking notes." She laughed out loud, and long. "You really are precious. How did all this help you appreciate beauty when its sitting on your nose?" "When you came, you screamed. For a very long time, and loud enough to wake Carole and Sally. They came running in just as you got off of me. You told them I was really good and they should try me. Even though you drained me, I stayed hard, so they did, together, at the same time. One on the old roger, and one on my face. When the roger rider came, they switched. It was nearly forty five minutes before I came again, and they enjoyed every fuckin' minute. And I learned to love the taste of pussy. I'm just not sure what I'm supposed to do." She gave me a weird look, and asked what did I do for the forty five minutes the two girls rode my face. I told her I just sort of laid there, pressing my tongue into their quims, while they squirmed about, rubbing against it. She just looked at me, her face both unbelieving and sad at the same time. She muttered something about being 25 and totally ignorant about the important stuff in life. She got up and went to her dresser and rummaged in the drawers for a second to get a towel. She instructed me to stay put, on pain of emasculation. Frankly, I didn't understand the word, but I did the tone. Twenty minutes or so went by, creeping. Then she and Carole came through the door, both starkers, Kay, with the towel around her head, wrapping her hair, dragging Carole. She ordered me off the sofa onto the floor, and had Carole join me. Kay suggested that since she and Carole were naked, it was only right that I get in the same condition. Then she sat between us, on the sofa, her legs spread wide, revealing one of the prettiest cunts I think I have ever seen, before or since. She drew her legs up so everything from asshole to belly button was totally in view. She told me to pay attention, then started naming pussy landmarks (clit, vagina, hood, labia, you get the drift) and had Carole point them out. All she let me do was fuckin' observe. She went through the sequence three times, then had Carole point them out for me to name. When Kay was satisfied that I knew them by sight and name, we switched places, Carole and I on the sofa, Kay on the floor. Kay was going to name the parts, and I had to point them out on Carole's pussy, except I wasn't going to be able to visually see her pussy. When I heard that little kicker, I asked Carole if she was okay with our show and tell exercise since I was going to be feeling her up big time. She gave me a quick kiss, reminding me we had fucked for nearly an hour earlier, we were just doing the foreplay a little late. I smiled and returned the kiss as I slipped my arm around her shoulder and found her left boob. Kay noticed, smiled and made a mark in the air, as if to say score one. As we went through the name and find part of the drill, she also told me how to caress the particular area she had directed me to. She would ask Carole how she was feeling, and how her body was responding. As time and the drill went on, her responses became shorter, breathier. I was aware that she was getting wetter, and having more trouble sitting still. Kay told me to become aware of signs like that, and of her nipple reaction. I had just followed her instruction to slide a second finger into Carole's very wet snatch and caress the top of her sheath when Carole went all tense, and then all hell broke loose. Now, I lost my cherry a few years back to a girl a couple of years older than me (yeah, she was drunk, but not that drunk), and been with a lot of girls since, but I gotta say, this was the first full blown female climax I had ever seen. Goddam, it was scary, exciting, empowering, and sexy as hell. Kay told me to keep stroking like I had been until Carole either stopped shaking, or told me to stop. It seemed like forever, and also like no time at all, when she suddenly just seemed to collapse and pass out. So I stopped stroking and just sat there, with my fingers in her, holding her by the quim and boob. She just hmmed and cuddled up close, putting her arm around my neck. Kay made another mark in the air. Score two. Soon, Carole started to show signs that she was still with us, opening her eyes, breathing regularly and such. She looked at me with a shit eating grin, then looked at Kay and asked if she could take me home. Kay just shook her head and said class wasn't over yet, there was one more very important skill yet to be demonstrated and learned--the art of male on female oral sex. Carole's grin got bigger and she asked if she was going to be the teaching aid again. The smile faded a bit when Kay said no, but then got real big when she learned she was going to be the final exam. Carole excused her self to go to the bathroom and Kay took her place on the sofa. She said I'd probably be more comfortable on the floor initially. Her first instruction was to remember how I had used my fingers, and to consider my tongue a finger, or a pair or triplet of fingers, depending on where I was applying the pressure. She then spread her legs and told me to start. I asked if that was the usual sequence, just dive into the muff and start licking. She told me not to be so fucking dense, of course there was necking and finger play first. So I got back up on the couch with her and pulled her to me for a deep, deep, deep kiss. She started to object, but then just relaxed into the kiss and returned it. We tongue wrestled for a while, then I started playing with her puppies, and caressing her butt. When the kiss finally broke, she made some smart ass comment about me not being totally ignorant. I got another liplock and started petting her pretty pussy. Every time I felt her start to tense up, I'd ease up a bit to let her cool down a little and then start over. Pretty soon she was in a state where she couldn't cool down without me letting her completely loose. I slid to the floor and pushed her back into the position she had taken when Carole and I were on the floor, semi-reclining and wide open. Barely touching her with my tongue, I stroked her labia from the top of her slit to her rosebud and back, pausing at her clit for a sloooow trip around that bundle of nerves. I felt a shiver run through her and quickly moved on to the top of the slit and then repeated the move, bypassing the clit on the down trip and sliding around it twice on the journey back up. Her moan let me know I was doing something right. I continued to explore her cunt with my mouth for several minutes, backing off when ever she approached her orgasmic threshold. She was starting to call me all the names she had shouted after George last night, grabbing my hair and pulling me into her hotbox. In my explorations, I had visited everywhere except her hidden clit-- that little rod that extends from her hood to her pussy opening, under the skin. Finally, I closed my mouth over that little gem and sucked it into my mouth. The first tongue swipe was like striking oil. Her head was against the back of the sofa; her pussy was in my face; her legs, on my shoulders, around my head; her body, flat out horizontal between the couch and me. She gushed, down my chin, my chest, my groin and thighs, all the way to the friggin' floor. And she screamed, again (Did I mention...). We hadn't known it, but Carole had come back into the room while we were necking and had been watching us. Before she could lock the door, Sally was there again, along with Sheena and Debbie, the other new girl. Carole must have signaled them to be quiet, because Kay and I had no fucking idea we were not alone. As she calmed down, I just moved up over and into her, and for the next few minutes, had the nicest quiet fuck; it was amazingly tender and loving. Her climax from the fuck was nothing like the one she just had, but mine was! I must have come a bucketful. Then, I think it was Debbie, one of the girls started cheering. Kay and I looked toward the door and saw the four girls there, mostly naked. Sheena still had her panties on, and Debbie was just slipping off her bra. Carole started across the room, claiming it was time for my final exam. Kay had her head buried in my shoulder, her legs wrapped around my ass, asking me to tell them to go away. Without moving, I convinced Carole to take the girls to her apartment, and that I would join them shortly. She said I should come nude and loaded for bear (or was it bare?). When they were gone, I pulled out of Kay, still a bit more than half hard. She sat up, next to me, right next to me, her head on my shoulder, her arm around my waist. My arm was around her shoulder, supporting her breast. I lifted her chin and kissed her, sweetly, gently... And that is how I passed Pussology 301.