In my Senior year of high school, I did well enough in Forensics to earn a spot in the state competition. We piled onto a bus, kids and chaperones and luggage and all, and set off across the state. We arrived at State University, the site of the competition, and settled in.
My event was Extemporaneous Speech, wherein you get a topic, and 15 minutes to develop a 5 minute oration based upon it. Now, I’m a talker (surprising, no?), and a bit of a dilettante, knowing a bit about a variety of things (most of it useless trivia). One pairing had me competing with a slender dark eyed girl, about my height, her dark locks settling about her shoulders. She went first, and her poise, her eye contact, her fluid movements as she made one point after another, seamlessly weaving her points into one compelling whole, all captured my attention as if I were a mouse in a glue trap. The fact that her smile lit up the room, and she had a body that simply wouldn’t quit, did nothing to dampen her magnetism.
She finished, and the judges conferred and set their scores. My turn. I stood, and launched into my (in my opinion) killer intro. I knew what my first expository point was. I had spoken on this topic before, and was kind of proud of how I had polished my spiel, to a high gloss. I shifted my gaze from one judge to the next, gesturing just like I knew what I was doing. Then I saw my adversary.
She was sitting towards the rear of the room, wearing a professional blouse and a below the knee skirt. She swung one booted foot idly, watching my presentation with a smile. Well, I thought I could multitask, delivering my speech and ogling the pretty young woman in the back, but her bust destroyed me. Her blouse was buttoned up to a point where it was well clear of her cleavage, but the fact that she was a fit woman was very clear. So much for multitasking. Remember, I was eighteen.
My five minutes closed, and our scores were awarded. To my astonishment, I was a close second to my opponent. She came up to me in the hall, and stuck out her hand. “Hi! I’m Mary O’Brien. You did pretty good, until you seemed to lose your concentration. What happened?”
Honesty seemed a good policy. “You happened. I’m Bob Taylor.”
Her handshake was firm, her brown eyes met mine. Her smirk was subtle. “I don’t generally render boys speechless, but, with you, it sure looked like a near thing! It must have been my radiant smile, right?” She gave her chest a little shake, and, true to form, my gaze followed her breasts inside her blouse.
I wasn’t completely hopeless. Just nearly. “Well, you certainly bring a lot to the discussion, but, yeah, your smile, and your eyes, as well as the rest of you, distracted me quite effectively. What dorm are you in?”
“Why?” her smile illuminated her entire face.
“Because, I want to sweep you off your feet with a dinner of dorm food!” was my response.
“Have you tried dorm food? My big sister goes here, and she told me about alternatives. How about you take me out to dinner, off campus? We’ll see about the feet sweeping as the evening develops.”
I was in. “You bet! So, where are you staying?”
It turns out, she was in the “B” hall of the very floor that I was on the “A” hall of. We agreed to meet in the elevator lobby at 5 pm, and she’d show me the sights.
I was there at 5, and met her exiting her hallway. We made our way to restaurant row. Her first suggestion was packed, and the second as well. The third was a Greek restaurant, and I had never had Greek before. (Face it, I was basically a white bread, suburban, white boy. Everybody’s gotta start somewhere, right?)
We split a sampler plate, and, well, I’ve been eating gyros and soutzouki ever since. I paid, and we walked around restaurant row a while, her hand seeking and holding my own. As we walked, she would lean in and whisper a comment into my ear, and I’d reciprocate. Soon, I slipped my arm over her shoulder, drawing her in closer for my clever thought, and she spaded her hand into my hip pocket.
We meandered back to the dorm, and rode up to the floor. Once in the lobby, we looked at each other, and drew each other closer.
She was quite pretty, and her knit top certainly highlighted her breasts, the jeans molded to her butt, displaying her taut figure to great effect. We kissed, tentatively at first, then with increasing enthusiasm.
When we drew apart, breathless, our belt buckles were rubbing one against the other. “My room mate has a boyfriend who goes here. She won’t be back until late tomorrow. Can I show you the view from our room?”
“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
She giggled. “Yeah, I thought you might!”. Taking my hand, she led me down her hallway, unlocked her door, and drew me inside.
Locking the door, she turned into my embrace. Our kiss resumed, heating up as we ran our hands over each other. I was right, her ass was amazing, firm and round, and just the proper size for a solid two handed grasp.
Once my hands had settled into her hip pockets, she startled me by taking a little hop, and wrapping her legs about me. This had a couple of effects. First, her sex was pressed, firmly, against my own, and mine was prominently erect. Next, her breasts were firmly crushed against my pecs.
She wriggled, and then giggled. Whispering into my ear, she oriented me to her plan. “Now, my kitty is pressed against your markley, and ya know, we’re alone here. I happen to have a nice bed right over there, and, if I get too heavy, you might lay me down on it, and we could ... wrestle!”
I was torn. I was certainly having a great time, right there. She was pretty, playful, smart, and hot, and, if she got any closer, we’d have to be separated surgically. Then she kissed me again.
This girl kissed the holy loving dogshit out of me. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself trying to evaluate her tonsils with my own tongue. She squirmed in my grasp, with entertaining effects upon my throbbing tool. I returned the favor, rubbing her up and down the front of my torso.
I soon determined that, should my wriggling little captive be resting upon a stable surface, I could continue my inventory of her charms in a a manner both more leisurely, and more thorough. I shuffled over to the bed, laid her down upon it, and tried to straighten myself up, so as to reposition for more fun and games. She was not having it, drawing me more closely into her embrace. I managed to wriggle my hands from beneath her butt, and began to caress her flanks, soon caressing the sides of her breasts. That caused her to relax her grip, and I stood up, stretching my back, as I drew my shirt over my head, and returned to the clinch. She pushed me away, grasping the hem of her own shirt, drawing it up her taut belly, over her braless breasts, and then, shaking her head, cleared the shirt and tossed it away.
I stood still, admiring her medium sized tits, her erect nipples, and the gentle sway of her breasts with each breath. She grinned at me, and cupped her breasts, offering them to my gaze. “You like? I got’em especially for you!”
It was bullshit: she had developed those breasts so that men, everywhere, could know that there was a God, and He wanted us to be happy, and want to procreate. It certainly worked for me, and I told her so in unmistakable terms: I dove into her chest, kissing, sucking and licking her breasts, moving from one to the other, and caressing the unattended boob with my hand, reveling in the curves of a woman. I teased her erect nipples with my teeth, then soothed each with my tongue. She seemed to appreciate my efforts, as she smoothed her hand over my head, cooed and murmured, and gasped from time to time as I found a maneuver that she especially liked.
She released my head, and her hands wandered down my torso. She slid one hand beneath my waistband, and reached my oozing cockhead. Withdrawing her hand, she pushed me away from her chest, and, making certain I was paying attention, placed that finger upon her tongue, and explored the tip, seeking all my essence.
“Hmmm! You taste sweet! Don’t smoke, do you?” Mutely, I shook my head no. “Hmmm! Ya know, I love blowing a man who doesn’t smoke! They taste so sweet! Can I blow you? Huh? Can I, please?”
I tried to process her question. Was there, really, somewhere, some man who would decline oral sex with her? And, if so, just how hard had he been hit in the head, to scramble his brains to that extent? Eventually, the message my brain had been screaming, reached my mouth. “Uh, sure. Yeah! Why not?”
She ignored my imbecility. ‘Why not?’ What sort of numbnut invites an insanely pretty woman to entertain for a second the prospect that there might be any reason that she might NOT want to blow him? Ghawd! I frighten myself!
Fortunately, she plowed ahead. “Uh, Bob, wouldn’t that be easier if you weren’t still wearing your jeans?”
“Uh, yeah. Yes, it would!”, accompanied by buttons unbuttoned, zipper unzipped, and jeans as well as shorts balled up in the corner. My cock throbbed, and she reached for my hardness. Wrapping her small hand around it, she looked at me from beneath hooded eyes. “Would it excite you a little if I was naked, too?”
Some questions! “A lot! It would excite me a lot!”
“Would you like to help me get undressed?”
“I’d love to help you!”, and I reached for her zipper. Releasing the button at her waistband, I lowered her zipper, and grasped her jeans, She raised her hips, and I eased her pants and lingerie down her rounded full hips, along her smooth strong thighs, and off her feet. Her neatly trimmed pubic patch contrasted with her clean shaven labia, and I felt Mr. Happy give an additional throb.