Glory Days, Gloria Daze, Dazzling Gloria

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Caution: This Erotic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, BiSexual, Heterosexual, True Story, Cheating, .

Desc: Erotic Sex Story: Gloria. Glorious fucking Gloria. Wherefore art thou Gloria? My first fuck buddy. Not a girl friend. Not romantic, just a wildly fulfilling athletically sexual friend-with-benefits fuck-buddy. Gloria.

Glory Days, Gloria Daze, Dazzling Gloria

An 'Our Bodies, Our Selves' Series Story

Gloria. Glorious fucking Gloria. Wherefore art thou Gloria? My first fuck buddy. Not a girl friend. Not romantic, just a wildly fulfilling athletically sexual friend-with-benefits fuck-buddy. Gloria.

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When you are young and just fucking around, one's sex life takes many a turn. One by one, my lovers moved on to other cities, others arms. About the same time my current house mates graduated or rearranged their sleeping partners. My attic room in the half double north of campus was the only one occupied. I was going to be short of housemates and couldn't afford it on my own. It was time to make new plans. The best alternative was to bunk-in with two good friends, a couple, in a familiar hill-billy slum neighborhood. We would share an old Victorian three bedroom townhouse.

Though it was a good place to live, it was going to force some downsizing. My potter's wheel felt the squeeze. My new room was half the size of the old attic bedroom. The townhouse basement was a cramped cave. Besides, I didn't spend much time throwing pots anymore, my interests had evolved. I found creative time working as a Research Associate / machinist making lab equipment. Classes work, and time between the sheets left nothing for pottery. I didn't want to leave the wheel on the curb as junk; it was a good potter's wheel. So, I began looking for someone to adopt it. Thinking through artists I knew, one face flashed into my brain. It was a memory of her face in the middle of orgasm. I helped her make that face quite a few times, though not so much recently.

Gloria. Glorious fucking Gloria. Wherefore art thou Gloria? My first fuck buddy. Not a girl friend. Not romantic, just a wildly fulfilling athletically sexual friend-with-benefits fuck-buddy. Gloria.

Just thinking her name stiffened my dick. If Marilyn Monroe or Katie Perry was a twenty-one year-old red headed athletic hippie that would almost be Gloria. Beyond the body there was definitely more than a visually attractive female. She was freaky smart. She was a dope smoking, sexually omnivorous conquistador. Merely calling her athletic isn't enough to describe her. Think, Olympic athlete strong and fit. Gloria competed in clap hands pushup contests until the guys fell on their faces, and then did a few more. She wasn't some sort of Schwarzenegger body builder freak. Gloria was lean and swimmer hard, stronger, and fitter than most men. She just didn't look it.

She was gorgeous. Guys fainted just looking at her. It was the blood rushing to their dicks as they flashed to rigidity.

She showed up at a Big State University sailing club meeting. She got guys attention. She got the attention of other women too. Wednesday night club meetings were followed by beer drinking in a dive bar. Over mass quantities of beer she got more attention.

Every action has a reaction. It didn't take long for, rumors to start flying around. Mostly from other women. Jealous women.

I met Gloria during a period when I was on the outs with my first main girlfriend, Susan. Susan had taken me into her sexual tutelage. She took my virginity, and then taught me so much. I was seriously in love with her. I thought she cared for me too. Then her mother started working on her. I was too young for her. I wasn't good enough for her soon to be a Doctor daughter. I wasn't raised in the right church. Susan's mother told her, "It's time for you to move on." (see: Training)

Susan was in fits. Daddy was going to pay for med school, and Mommy turned the screws. Our relationship suffered but we were still a pair. She and I would stay apart for weeks. She said. "We should see other people." I was heartbroken. I begged her, we got together, the sex was hot, then we'd split again.

During all this drama, it seemed there were plenty of women who were trying to cheer me up. I was more than willing to be cheered up. Susan had changed me somehow. It was like some secret stamp of approval had appeared on my forehead. I was no longer invisible to women. For the moment I was happy. It seemed women were auditioning for the role of next girlfriend. Susan trained me to pleasure a woman sexually. I was putting that training to use, in no hurry to pick out a steady girlfriend.

Anyway, there were quite a few women who liked to talk with me and talk they did. Talk, like they were still in high school. Or do some women never change? Among other things, they talked about Gloria: "She's crazy." "She was high school home coming queen. Now look at her." "Went to Harvard, majored in drugs and sex with every guy she could. Flunked out." "You mean fucked out." "Freaked out," some said. "She just got out of Harding; You know that rich bitch psycho ward hospital." "She's an Art major. You know what kind of people those Arty women are. Queers." "She fucked this guy, maybe even that guy." "She's a lesbian, She came on to this girl, that girl."

'How was this supposed to be bad? How did the lesbo label fit with fucking lots of guys?'

"Look at those muscles, she does pushups."

'Not that you could do even one, toothpick.'

"She has hairy nipples."

'How the hell did they know that? Must be lesbians too.'

I thought it was a lot of bullshit, but when a good looking girl is talking, you just listen. Then you work on getting her pants off.

Yeah, Gloria got plenty of attention. The rumors continued to flow from the club members. I really hadn't even spoken with Gloria, I just watched from the sidelines. When women talked to me, I just listened, asked simple questions and got fucked.

One Wednesday, the sailing club bar crew held an arm wrestling competition. Two teams divvied up the talent. I begged off. Names went onto tournament chart. The playoff rules required beer consumption for each win. The first couple of rounds went quickly. It got rowdy; beer and testosterone. Too rowdy. Then a pitcher of beer got spilled on a guy at another table. He took offense, so did his friends. The brawl was on.

I grabbed a nearly full pitcher and two glasses off the table before it was spilled. Backing up I moved around a corner into another room taking a seat at an empty table. Gloria was next around the corner backing away from the melee. In the other room, you could hear bouncers charging in.

"Have a seat. Make like you don't know them." I said calmly to Gloria.

She took a seat, I poured her a beer. "You know, we haven't really ever met. I'm Dave."

Gloria rolled her eyes at a big crash, and then said, "I'm Gloria. As if you didn't know. First off, I'm not crazy. I did go to Harvard. Harvard was my dad's idea, not mine. Yes, I was in Harding for a while. Daddy put me in there 'cause I must be crazy not to love Harvard."

"Did I ask?"

"I've heard the rumors going round about me. Why spread stuff behind my back. True stories are better."

Raising my eyebrows, I leaned forward to ask, "So, are your nipples hairy?"

She exploded, "That CUNT! I'm gonna pound her." Through her rage, she sees I'm laughing. I reach out to take her hand in mine. The laughter is infectious. In moments we are holding hands, laughing, tears rolling down our cheeks.

From then on, she was an open book. She told her story straight out. Huddled together I held her hand while she talked. "Yeah, I needed to leave Harvard and take some time to get off oxy. That shit's nasty, fucks you up. I started doing art therapy and exercise. I guess I have an addictive personality 'cause now I'm addicted to working out. Never going to do downers again. Ever." She shivered in revulsion at the thought while telling her story.

"I hated the fakes and preppy posers at Harvard. There were some good people, but I got on with some guys that were way screwed up. It all made me more crazy than I started." she said with a little self deprecating chuckle.

"Coming here to art school at the big farm is a re-start. I'm learning to do what I want, not what Daddy wants. Like putting the training wheels back on the bike experience. Like learning to walk after breaking a leg." She concluded with a wistful look.

"But, I'm not crazy." She said with a wry smile and a crazy head jerk. Then reached up to her shoulder grabbed an imaginary critter and yelled, "Get off!" as she mimed slamming it to the floor, then went. "Whew."

"I get that," I laughed, "I broke my ankle. It takes rehab to get your strength back." Then I stomped the imaginary critter. "Hard to kill." I said as we continued giggling together, sipping beer.

After the chuckles died, we began to explore common interests; Art, science fiction, weed, sailing, yoga, exercise, and fixing machines. A'la Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. As we talked we played finger tracing games in the beer rings, then each other's hands. Before long, her ankle was caressing my shin. It seemed there might be something else we both liked to do.

Reading the signs, I ask, "Had enough beer? How about we go to my place to smoke dope?" actually, hoping for more.

Gloria was quick to negotiate the offer. "Got the dope with you?" I nodded.

"How far is your place?" she asked.

"About five minutes by car and it's parked just around the corner," I replied.

"Come with me. We're going to use my bed. It's much closer." As we stood to leave the bar, she made it very clear, her real interest was carnal. She stood facing me, very close. Our eyes met, she was every bit as tall. Her breasts pressed into my chest. "In a few minutes you will know if my nipples are hairy." She kissed me quickly on the lips as her hand grazed along the bulge of my cock.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / BiSexual / Heterosexual / True Story / Cheating /