Chapter 1

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

Desc: Erotic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Not your typical nerd and princess type story, but it has both types of people. Not your typical 'cheating wife' story either, but she does cheat. Just a little story of people who like to play -- games.

Okay. So I'm a nerd. Or is it geek? According to Wiki, a nerd is "a person overly intellectual, obsessive, or socially impaired." So, two out of three for me: I'm not obsessive. And a geek is "an expert or a person obsessed with a hobby or intellectual pursuit." Like I said, I'm not obsessive. So maybe I'm a 'gerd' or a 'neek'?

I'm William Joseph Michaels, known as Bill. My father was William and my grandfather was Joe. Please, do not go into the Billy Joe jokes. I never tell anyone my middle name for that reason. My parents always said that they'd name their kids so that it would go with 'Now, riding a tough bronc, coming out of chute 2 ... Billy Michaels' OR 'The senate today approved the nomination for the Supreme Court of William J. Michaels.'

They did it with my sister, too. She was two years younger than me and named Amanda Clarice Michaels. Amanda was my mother's mother, and Clarice was my dad's mother. 'Chute 2 ... Mandy Michaels' or 'Associate Justice Amanda C. Michaels.' It works.

I don't think you should ever name your kid something weird. If your last name is Beech, don't call your daughter Sandy. If it's Lane, don't call her Penny. Stay away from Moon or Starshine – unless you're a famous musician. You get the picture. I think people should have regular names, if at all possible. Don't get me wrong: I don't discriminate against people based on their names. One of the greatest guys on the chess team was named "-el"; his mother used to say 'The dash isn't silent, so it's 'Dashel.' He's a black dude – surprised? No, I'm not a racist – just presenting reality. He went by his middle name Shawn. I guess his mom was hooked on Ebonics. Can you just see the headlines in the Washington Post? 'Associate Justice Approved by Senate –el S. Carruthers'.

He was second board on the five person chess team. I was, naturally, first board. I don't mean to sound stuck up – I was just better at chess than he was. He was rated 1970 in the USCF (that the U.S. Chess Federation) rankings, and I had earned a 2045 at the most recent U.S. Open, held in Chicago. I'd gotten lucky with a Sicilian Defense, Dragon Variation, in Round 7 against last year's runner up, and if I'd finished with two draws I might have placed first, but I got a draw and a loss to an International Master (rated 2530). It was a complicated positional game coming out of the King's Indian Defense, and he just ground me slowly to bits. Sorry. Not interesting to most people, I know. Let's just say I was a damned good chess player and Shawn was nearly as good. The IM was in another class entirely.

Third board on the Berkeley chess team was Stephanie Bridges. (Thank god she wasn't named 'Brooklyn.' Sorry again. I'm easily distracted.) Steph was pretty good (1812 rating) and pretty, period. She usually won her matches by playing well and wearing something that showed a lot of cleavage. An advantage is an advantage. She didn't really try to work on her chess; she just naturally played well. Can a person 'work on their chess'? Yes, of course. ANYTHING that a human being can do, can be worked on and improved. But Steph didn't.

She was just gorgeous, too. Long sable hair that came nearly to her ass. Creamy complexion with dark green eyes. Perfectly formed mouth. Her face was an oval shape and she had angular planes that showed off her cheekbones. A smile that could light a thousand homes. Breasts like beautiful cantaloupe halves that rode high on her chest. Long, willowy legs that she enhanced by always wearing short dresses and high heels, or short shorts, or – god help me – skin tight jeans. Oh My God. And she was tall enough, too: about 5'8", so depending on her heels she came close enough to my 6'1" to be just right ... Would have been just right, if anything ever developed – which it never did. I'm a 'neek, ' remember?

I could go on, but I think you've got the idea. I was stupid in lust. Or in love. Certainly too stupid to ever say anything to her outside the 'chess game analysis' sphere. Maybe I'd get to 'see you next time.'

She was out of my class. Not that I was a schlub. 6'1" as I noted previously. I had sandy hair that the campus barber took care to keep fairly short. My last growth spurt, just last summer between my 2nd and 3rd years, had left me painfully thin; and, of course, I wore glasses. Don't all neeks or gerds or whatever? I was on the chess team, argued my way onto the debate team, dabbled at the scrabble club, and tried to swim a mile and a half three times a week. On Saturdays, I played Advanced Dungeons & Dragons. Not the computer game, the FtF (face to face) version. It's the Grand Daddy of all the role playing games. It requires skill, virtue, perseverance, imagination and a deft touch with multi-sided dice. Of course, I had to keep up with my scholastic work, too: I was in the six year program; that would give me a PhD, and MS and a BS at the end – all in Electronics Engineering. Yup. I was a computer nerd. Worse, an engineering computer nerd.

Where did I find the time to do all that? Simple really. I had zero social life. Couldn't afford the time. Couldn't afford the money it takes to impress a girl on a date, either – the stipend that came with my scholarship only went so far. And I was so shy that it didn't matter anyway.

Except for Stephanie Bridges. Until a certain day, she didn't matter at all. And then she did.

In northern California, at Berkeley, January days can be either delightful sweater-weather, or dismal, fog enshrouded damp days that didn't quite call for a rain slicker; but if you went without one, you'd be soaked if you walked a block. Literally, you were walking through low-hanging clouds. The chess team always met on Wednesdays for practice before a Friday match. What? You didn't think chess teams practiced? We did, discussing opening variations and end game studies. We were playing Stanford this month. The match was to be at neutral grounds, the San Francisco Chess Club. They had two masters on their team, but the rest of them weren't so strong; so we had a good chance to win. We were evenly matched at the top: me and Shawn playing the Masters, and the others on our team outclassing their 'others.'

There were five on the team, so we played a series of games against each other, when we practiced. Our coach was there, too, but he felt it would be better to play against other team members. Truth was, he was not that good, but he could help us deal with the stress of playing high-caliber chess. In our practice games, we played serious games without a chess clock, but not exactly skittles games either. I was playing black against Shawn, and Steph was watching. I forced us into the French Defense, and I saw Steph get out a crossword puzzle book. She didn't much like closed positions with slow developing themes. At move 18, I tried something out of the standard variations. It didn't lead to much for me and I lost 30 moves later.

She took my place vs. Shawn, and put the book down. I noticed that she'd finished one puzzle and was working on another. I picked it up.

"You mind?" I asked her, gesturing at the book.

"Not at all," she said.

In my mind, this was a significant exchange between me and a girl. Then I had an idea. I took the puzzle book out to the copier and made two copies of one page. When I got back, I set up a chess clock, punched the button to start it timing me, and went to work on the crossword. When I finished, I wrote my time on the virgin copy of the puzzle – 14 minutes, 33 seconds, by the way – and left it for Steph, propped up against the chess clock. Then I set up the pieces to play against the fourth and fifth board players simultaneously. (It looks hard, but believe me, it's not – at least not for me. I won both games easily.)

Shawn won against Steph again, and I sat down to play him once more, with the white pieces this time. Steph looked around for her puzzle book and saw my challenge. She worked on the puzzle while I worked on Shawn. We got into a wild Greco Counter Gambit, or the Latvian Gambit, as it's known in Europe – and there were pieces hanging in precarious positions all over the board. On move 27 I finally castled late, and on the queen-side – I guess he hadn't expected that – and in five more moves it was all over but the shouting. Of course, nobody ever shouts at a chess match, but...

Shawn and I looked up to find the other three players standing around a board where they were trying out variations after my surprise move. Shawn and I joined them. Harry Slossen, our fifth board player, suggested a bishop sacrifice, and we all agreed that that would have been a killing shot. No way out. If I took the bishop it left me exposed, and if I declined to take it, it was even worse.

"I'm not good enough to find that sac (sacrifice) over the board," Shawn submitted. Probably the IM who beat me in Chicago would have found it.

Anyway, enough about the antics of the chess team. I didn't start this journal to talk about that. I told you, I'm easily distracted.

Stephanie handed me back her version of the crossword puzzle and said, "You skunked me! I'll get you next time." She had written 'Bill' next to my time and underneath was 'Steph 17 min 3 sec.'


The next day, she found me at the student union, trying to read through some MIT asshole's doctorate dissertation on atomic processors. She stood next to the armchair I was sitting in and waited. Eventually, I noticed her feet – they were almost in my line of sight.

Three inch heels. I looked further up. Skinny-legged jeans, painted on. Long sleeved top of faux-suede that had a zippered front; a top that let a small amount of her belly show when she moved. Need I add that I noticed the zipper was open to about nipple level, showing a nice expanse of cleavage? Her hair was done up in a simple braid that she had hanging down the left side of her chest. She must have left the computer nerds in her classes panting: she was 'studying' to be a programmer or systems analyst.

She was holding a sheet of paper out to me, just waiting for me to notice her. Not many in the world would have failed to notice her immediately, but ... what can I say? I was socially crippled, and it was a complicated monograph. I smiled up at her and took the paper. It was a Sudoku puzzle with her time at the top: 'Steph 9 min 41 sec' and under that it just said 'Bill' with enough room for me to put my time down.

"Okay. You're on," I said.

"Tomorrow at lunch?" she replied, with that thousand watt smile.

"Can't until 4:30. I got a lab."

"And I can't meet you that late. Got a dinner date," she said. "Bring it to the Stanford match, then."

She went on her way, and I resumed reading.


Well, I was just crummy at Sudoku. It took me 13 minutes 18 seconds. That left the tally at one to one in our 'puzzle battle.' After the chess match on Friday (which by the way, we won: 4 to 1. I had the only loss.), I gave Steph the Sudoku paper back with my time, and the further inscription '1:1'. I also gave her a fairly long jumble-type puzzle. It was a seventeen letter phrase and you had to make as many other five or six letter words out of the same letters in under three minutes. At the top of the page I'd written 'Bill 16 words'.

"Tomorrow noon at the student union?" she asked.

"Can't. I'm in an AD&D game from noon on – 'til the dark hours."

"What's AD&D?" she innocently asked. Heads turned among the spectators and players alike; they were aghast. Lot of nerds at the San Francisco Chess Club.

"Oh, you poor child!" I exclaimed in false sympathy. "You know not of the greatest role playing game ever created? Come, young innocent miss, and I shall explain to you about 20-sided dice and the importance of Armor Class." I put my arm around her – jokingly.

She leaned into my shoulder a little. "Okay, I accept. You can take me to dinner."

A quick look around showed many geekly and nerdy guys flashing me a thumbs up sign.

That little joke changed my life.

I explained the basics of the game – mostly that it was about imagination. She said that AD&D sounded interesting, but she couldn't make it this Saturday (tomorrow). But how about next week?

I thought about it for a pico-second (one thousandth of a nano-second ... a trillion picos make a second), and said sure. The other AD&Ders in the group would love to have a goddess to drool over; I'd tell the DM (dungeon master – he runs the game) about a new addition so he'd have enough time to weave her into the tapestry of the game.

On Saturday, I went to the AD&D game, rolled dice and pretended to be an axe-swinging dwarf for about thirteen hours. I went back to my one bedroom apartment (yes, the stipend I got from the scholarship/fellowship from Ajax Chips paid for an apartment) and pounded the books on Sunday.

On Monday, I got up at 5:00, swam for about two hours or fifty laps of the Berkeley 50 meter pool, which ever came first, and went back to my grind: class, prep for the next class, lunch, class, scrabble club, back home to work on my idea for a dissertation. Lather, rinse, and repeat.

Only now, the 'lunch' part of my routine was interrupted by Stephanie Bridges coming over and dropping off, or picking up, another sheet of my/her challenge. Chess matches were only about one per month, so that didn't interrupt this schedule much. Steph started coming over for AD&D every other week. It was a strain on the group to have an irregular character dropping in, but they worked it out. Hey, the Wiki definition of geeks and nerds included 'obsessive' so, an occasional drop-in player would upset their sense of order. But ... like, a bunch of nerds wouldn't work it out to have gorgeous Steph in the same room with them for thirteen hours or so? Nobody else in the group had jeans so tight that she showed a camel-toe. Thank heavens.

The 'off' weekend she dated. On Fridays, she dated. Maybe she dated on other nights, too. Maybe keeping up with her classes was like chess for her – maybe she didn't have to work hard. I know she didn't have to watch her pennies and she didn't have a full schedule of activities like I did. (Ha!) So she had an active social life.


In mid-November of my 3rd year (would have been called my Junior year, but I was in this six year program), and Steph's Sophomore year (she was in the regular four year plan), she stopped me at lunch as usual. I said "Hi Steph." and reached for the contest paper as usual, but there wasn't one.

"Billy, can I talk to you for a bit?"

"Uh sure, Steph. What's up?"

"You know I went to that private high school up in Oakland, right?"

"No. I didn't. But, okay ... Now I know."

"Well, there is this Homecoming Weekend," she started. "Not this week, but next week. The guys in my high school class have all moved on – well the ones I knew anyhow. And I just can't ask one of the guys here at Berkeley to come to a Homecoming Dance. So will you be my date?"

That took me back. On one hand she wanted to date me. On the other hand... "So, you can't ask any of the guys that you know here at Berkeley to take you to the dance. But you can ask me? Have I suddenly been put in the hermaphrodite category?"

"Oh ... no. I didn't mean it that way. I meant ... uh ... any of the socially active guys. They might think badly of me for asking them, I mean ... it might be beneath their 'dignity' to go to a high school dance," she quickly said, putting air quotes around 'dignity.' "And you ... you're not ... uh ... socially active are you? I mean ... you don't seem like you'd think badly of me for asking you to a high school dance. It's just in the hills up in Oakland."

I was thinking about it. She was gorgeous. Her lustrous brown hair was dangling down to kiss her perfect ass. Her eyes were glowing like backlit emeralds.

"C'mon Billy." As far as I could tell, she was the only person since my Aunt Tillie when I was six who called me Billy. And Steph said it differently than Aunt Tillie; the way Steph said it, it was a whole lot more interesting. "You'll only have to give up one AD&D session, 'cause the dance is on a Saturday night ... And besides, when are you gonna have a chance to take someone who looks like me on a date?" She struck a pose and then broke out laughing.

Well ... she had a point there. I didn't really have any chance of it being a real date – with a real chance of terminating my status as a 'hopeless virgin.' But she was gorgeous, and I was going to be her date for the night.

"Okay. I'll do it."

"GREAT! You don't need anything but a suit. I'll get a car. Thank you. Thank you." It was like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Oh. Here." She handed me the latest contest sheet. The running score was me – 15; her – 10. These days she always handed me a Sudoku puzzle, my worst kind of puzzle. All 10 of her points had come from Sudoku.

That decision changed my life, too.


The Saturday of the dance came and I was ready. Blue suit, a new pale blue shirt with white collar and cuffs. I thought about wearing a bow tie and putting a pocket protector in my suit's breast pocket as a gag, but settled for a normal four-in-hand tie in contrasting blues and a pocket square. I mean ... I wouldn't really wear a bow tie, to a dance, but I did have a nice collection of them.

Stephanie picked me up in a Lexus sports car. I was impressed. I told you she didn't lack for money. "It's daddy's," she said. "I borrowed it for the night. Can you drive a stick?

"You look good, Billy. You clean up real good." She favored me with the thousand watt smile again. It really lit up her face and made her even more wonderful.

She was in a dress that had no shoulders, no back and seemed to stay on by magic. It tapered down to what looked like a waspishly tiny waist, and then flared out to the 'dress' part, which came to mid thigh. It was green and showed off her eyes. She had just the hint of green eye shadow and a pale pinkish red lip gloss. Four inch heels that had a strap across the toes and a strap around her ankles. The bottoms of the shoes were green, to match the dress and her eyes. I'd never seen that before.

God! She looked fabulous. She was sex on legs. I got hard. Fortunately, I was wearing boxer-briefs under the suit pants, so it wouldn't show. But I wouldn't be able to make it if it went on all night. Maybe I'd get a chance to hit a men's room and jerk off.

I hoped that I remembered how – to drive a stick, I mean. (You think I'd ever forget how to jerk off? Please.) But it was like riding a bike; you never forget some things. I'd learned how on my father's farm, driving the farm truck, while the field men were picking up squash and putting them in back. I think I was ten at the time, tall for my age, so I could reach the pedals – with a pillow at my back.

Well ... we went to the dance and Steph chatted with some old friends (two years old, anyway), and she introduced me around as her escort. We found seats and then the music started. She grabbed my hand and pulled me out to the floor.

"Steph ... I don't know how to dance."

"Sure you do Billy. You hear the beat in the music, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well pick up one foot on the beat and then pick up the other foot on the next beat. Just move your arms in whatever way feels comfortable."

"I'll fall over."

"No you won't. Nobody else does," she laughed.

"Yes I will. If I pick up one foot, and then pick up the other, I'll fall over." I delivered the line straightfaced.

She slapped my chest and laughed again. Then she started to dance. She probably wasn't the best dancer there, but she had my full attention. The skirt flared a little when she spun. I drooled. I just picked up one foot after the other and kept time with the music.

Eventually, they played a slow number, and she came up and put her arms around my neck. "Just put your hands on my waist and keep moving to the beat," she said.

She moved in closer and then she felt it. I knew it was gonna happen. I dress left and my bulge was trapped inside my boxer-briefs and it extended down my left thigh. She bumped against it while we were dancing.

She pulled back a bit to look at my face. "Billy, is that yours?"

"You think I'd bring a stunt-penis to a dance? I'm really sorry, but it's hard because of you. You're beautiful, you know."

"Stunt-penis. You're a piece of work," she said and moved close again. This time she insinuated her left leg between my legs and began rubbing her pelvis against my cock. "I know I'm attractive, I'm no dummy. Guys have been hitting on me since I was eleven."

"No. Not an ten letter word starting with 'a.' But a nine letter word starting with 'b, '" I mumbled into her ear.

"Crossword puzzles while he's making a pass. Unbelievable." She continued rubbing her pelvis on my now, even harder cock. "You have something beautiful, too. How big is it?"

"I haven't measured it, except once, on a bet from some guys in high school," I replied into her hair. Then I had a funny idea. "It was 25 long and 19 around, back then."

She paused for a few seconds ... nobody was 25 inches. Then she got it. "Same Billy. Centimeters." She laughed again. I'd do anything to hear that laugh again.

"Is that 10 inches by 7 inches?" she asked. "Did I do the math correctly?"

"7.5," I replied.

The slow number ended and the band kicked it up to a faster piece – more Latin. I have no idea if it was a cha-cha, or rumba, or meringue, or what. On further reflection, meringue is something I've had in a pie: lemon meringue. Well, anyway, I was confused about the music.

She just pulled me closer and moved faster.

"Steph. You've got to stop. Rubbing against me is driving me crazy."

"What? You don't like a nine-letter starting with 'b' girl in your arms?"

I knew I'd never be able to talk to her again, at least without turning beet red, but here she was, rubbing on my penis like a dervish. In about five seconds I was gonna come, and that would be a big mess. Really big. You have no idea how much I can ejaculate when I get excited – and I was.

"Look. It's not a hunk of metal. What you're doing is getting me uncomfortable. So please stop," I implored her, pushing her body away from mine for a little breathing room – and to get some time to relax before I got a big stain on my left leg.

She stepped back and broke contact, looked at me then ... she took my hand and led me out of the hotel ballroom where the dance was being held. Out the front door and through the parking lot to her car. She opened the passenger door and pushed me into the passenger seat.

Then she bent over – squatted really, on her heels – and undid my zipper. Frankly I was stunned into silence. I had gotten a little softer in our parade out of the ballroom, but now, when her hand found my cock, tucked away as it was, trapped by my boxer-briefs against my left leg, it got hard again. Real hard. Real fast.

Her hand was hot and teasing me with feathery touches along my length. She was silent while she was trying to get it out of its prison. And getting frustrated. "How the fuck do you get it OUT?"

"Well, I usually don't have to get it out when it's hard. And I never had somebody else try," I finally said.

She plastered her mouth on mine, broke off the steamy kiss, then said, "Well, get it the fuck out here, so I can have it." And then she kissed me again – felt like she kissed me for the next week or so. It could have been five seconds. What did I know? It was the first kiss I'd ever gotten. Her hand was still in my pants, rubbing my cock.

I grabbed her wandering hand by the wrist and pulled it away from me. "Look. I'm tall. You're tall. This is a tiny sports car. I don't want my fir – I don't want to do it here. Can we just go to my apartment or something?"

She pushed back from me to gain some distance and look at me. "This is your first? You're a virgin?" Steph seemed concerned.

"I don't like the 'v-word'," I said trying to regain my perspective. "I prefer sexually inexperienced."

Steph pushed back farther. "Okay, Mr. Inexperienced. You get Big Bill out of your pants, and I'll drive us back to your apartment. That work for ya?"

It dawned on me that this was really going to happen. "Of course," I said. It was a wonder that I could form words. Steph wanted to go back to my apartment? We were going to have sex?

By the time she'd gotten to the driver's seat, I had my pants open and my cock out, with the waistband of my underwear down under my balls. I held it in my right fist and looked at her, for what to do next.

"Oh that is just beautiful," she said. She reached over and hefted my balls in her right hand. "And balls to match..." Then she dragged her nails up the underside of my cock, and made little circles on the crown. "You sure you want to wait for me to drive to your apartment."

"Not really, but I don't want my first fuck to be in a cramped sports car."

"Great! I don't either." She leaned over my shaft, and whispered to it. "But you want to be inside my hot, wet mouth, don't ya, big boy?"

I throbbed a 'yes' in reply.

And she tried to inhale me. She got it into her mouth, but she couldn't take it all. It was stretching her mouth and bent over the console as she was. So she concentrated on just licking the head. Then she'd put the head in her hot, wet mouth and lick some more.

That was heaven for me. This was the first woman who'd ever ... ANYTHING ... with me. It was fully three seconds of cockhead licking before I started to cum. I already told you, when I cum, I cum a lot. I had two long spurts into her mouth. Then she closed her mouth to swallow and I kept on spurting. Four long spurts onto her face, and she was just covered with my junk. I was slowing down. She opened her mouth again and caught the last weak spasm of my cock in her mouth. She kept licking on me and only got a drizzle.

I guess she was waiting for me to get soft and small, but I didn't work that way. Well, I got soft and small for me, but it was only an inch or two smaller. Still big.

"Damn, Billy. You could have warned me." She was wiping her face clean on my shirt tails. She was chuckling. "That was quite a load. And from the looks of Big Bill, you're not done yet."

"I was inspired. I told you. The V-word ... I've been saving up for 23 years."

Her makeup was a mess. Mascara smeared, lipstick nearly gone. She had cum in her eyebrows and it was on the long braid of her hair. She got back into the driver's seat, and slipped the car into second. She grabbed my dick like it was the gear shift. Then she started the car and feathered the clutch until we got going.

"It'll take a little longer to get there in only second." She shook my cock back and forth. Naturally it got firmer and bigger. "You don't mind if we take the time, do you?"

"Depends on what we do at the end of the ride? We going to play AD&D?"

"Well ... I do want to get destroyed by your big cudgel. But I don't want to have the other fellows involved. So ... no AD&D."

"Then I don't mind at all."


She was sitting on top of my pole and began to lower herself down. It was the third time tonight, we'd done that. In between times, I'd licked her just the way she liked most. I needed instruction on what she wanted, but I'd seen plenty of porn videos. She'd sucked me to get me hard.

We tried anal, but Steph said I was just too damn big. That was okay with me. I liked her pussy just fine. Oh. Her mouth was fine, too. Couldn't forget that.

Finally I couldn't take being passive any more. I grabbed her hips and flipped us over. When I began pounding her, her eyes got big and she started cumming. When I finally busted my nut in her, she had cum so much she was just babbling.

I unhooked her knees from my arms, and collapsed next to her on the wreck of a bed.

That started a series of Sundays, and we were both totally fucked out by Sunday night. The other nights, I was busy. School, scrabble club, chess club ... remember? We did add a new contest to our interactions. It was called "Lay on my love, and damned be him who first cries 'Hold, Enough.'" Apologies to the Bard. It was a pretty even match, sometimes I'd fuck her to death, but most times she won. I felt I won those times, too.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Cheating / Size /