Copyright ©1999 - all rights reserved.

I still remember what it was like growing up during what would later be called the "Swinging Sixties". We protested the war in Vietnam. In fact, we protested almost everything our parents had handed down to us. We were going to change the world. There would be no more racism, no more militarism, no more sexism. A new era of peace and love was going to dawn. We knew it was going to happen. WE KNEW.

We were also the first generation to grow up with the Pill. Intercourse had been divorced from pregnancy, aids had not yet reared its ugly head, and everyone was ready to give up the guilt trips that had haunted previous generations when they thought about sexual intimacy. We were going to be SO different from our parents.

Only things didn't quite work out that way for some of us.

I was one of those people who didn't fit comfortably into that new world. I knew that sex was supposed to be different for us. I knew that we didn't have to wait for marriage. "If it feels good, DO IT." was the mantra of the times. I truly believed that. I believed in doing it. I wanted to do it. I couldn't wait to do it. I only had one problem. I had never done it, and I was too shy to ask any of the girls I knew to do it with me. In a world where everyone was supposed to "Make Love, Not War", I seemed to be the only one who wasn't getting any.

To make matters even worse, I was a junior in college and still a virgin. This wasn't exactly the kind of news you wanted to have getting out. It would have been bad enough if any of the girls I knew were aware of my inexperience, but it would have been an absolute disaster I would have never lived down if my male buddies even suspected that I had never fucked a girl. Fortunately, when the subject would come up I managed to deflect inquiries with a response along the lines of "A gentleman doesn't tell". I managed to avoid mentioning the fact that in my case there was nothing to be told.

I was beginning to wonder if I would ever get laid. Certainly I wasn't looking for anything to happen with my girlfriend. We'd known each other seemingly forever, and had been classmates from the time we had both entered middle school. She had become my best friend in high school, but there was no physical relationship between us and, as she was even shyer than I was, there was little prospect of one. We had dated fairly regularly, but with her going to community college and me to the local branch of the state university we had problems maintaining contact. So it was really no surprise that when the big moment finally came, it wasn't with her.

My day of reckoning started out without any indication that things were about to change in my life. I was involved in the drama department's latest presentation, a production of Bertold Brecht's "Mother Courage and Her Children". I was not in the play myself. Although I was a theater major (a perfectly useless major I would later admit), acting was not my strongest suit. My real talents lay in the technical aspects of the stage, and for this play I was in charge of the props. I made sure they were all present when they were needed and would work properly. As a firearm was one of the major props, I was responsible for seeing that it was properly set up, loaded (with blanks), cleaned, and stored safely after each rehearsal and presentation of the play. This meant I was offstage in the wings every night the actors were working. It also meant I got to attend any parties the cast and/or crew might be involved in.

Each of the plays the college performed would run for just over a week - from Friday through the following Saturday. We were doing the last Friday performance, and as was normally the case any weekend when we were doing a show, a party had been planned at one of the theater faculty member's houses. I planned not to miss this little gathering. The teacher in question was known to provide a good spread for his guests and a keg had already been procured. In addition, this particular professor happened to like smoking pot, and was free in his sharing of the herbal substance. For students always scraping to make ends meet, the prospect of free weed made the prof and his parties very popular indeed, and while I didn't toke up much on my own, I did like to when partying with my theater companions.

We were in the intermission and I had gone to the green room to hit the bathroom off the men's dressing rooms. I was exiting from there when I practically ran over Deborah Kline, a cute brunette from the costume department. She was trying to repair one of the side straps fastening a soldier's armor breastplate to the backplate. It had come unattached and she was attacking it with Super Glue - the theater technician's best friend. I tried to sidestep her.

"Sorry Deb." I said, stumbling. I surveyed the problem. "Anything I help you with?"

"I don't think so." she replied. "Not unless you know something that will stick to this stupid paint."

I looked more closely and saw what she meant. The fake armor had been painted with aluminum paint and though the Super Glue stuck to the leather just fine, it was another story with the painted surface of the breastplate. The strap refused to stay.

Just then the green room lights flashed on and off three times. Debbie knew what that meant. The lights in the lobby had also been cycled to notify the theatergoers that the play was about to start again. In just about five minutes the curtain would be rising.

"Shit!" said the actor wearing the armor. "I'm supposed to be on stage."

"Well, just hang in there." Debbie said. "I'm doing the best I can."

Now you have to understand that this is the way things are all the time in the theater. Everything looks so smooth to the audience out front but behind the scenes panic is the normal mode of operation. I grabbed the two of them and started dragging them toward the small office near the stairs leading back down to the stage.

"Come on. I have an idea." I said.

I reached into the office and grabbed the stapler off the desk. Debbie picked up on my idea right away and held the strap in place while I stapled it several times.

"You think it'll hold?" she asked me.

"Until you can fix it tomorrow." I replied.

She grabbed hold of the ends of the straps and buckled them together, then gave the actor a slight shove toward the stairs. He took the hint and dashed down to take his mark just before the house lights came down and the second half of the play began.

"Thanks for the hand." she said. "I didn't think I was gonna make it this time."

"Always glad to help a lady."

"Really?" she said, giving me a smile. "Would you be going to the cast party tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it." I answered. "You going?"

"I want to. Unfortunately, my mother has the car tonight and I don't have a ride." She gave me a pleading smile, obviously hinting that it would be ever so nice if I would offer her some transportation.

Of course, I could have ignored the hint. However, she was part of stage crew and it wouldn't be that much trouble to help her. As I said before, I had a girlfriend. I hadn't paid Debbie much attention, but now that we might be companions, I gave her the quick once-over. She wasn't bad at all. About 5'2" - what I would call petite - with a nice body. 36-C breasts if my guess was accurate. They were firm and bounced very nicely when she moved - a little too big in proportion to her frame but you weren't about to hear me complaining. Fairly long brunette hair that just reached the bottom of her shoulder blades. Wide lips, upturned nose, gray eyes with dark brows and lashes behind a pair of granny glasses. She was wearing the college equivalent of a conservative business suit for that time - sandals, wide black vinyl belt, Navy blue midi skirt that ended about four inches above her knees, a turquoise and silver necklace of American Indian design with matching bracelets, and a peasant blouse of unbleached cotton that couldn't conceal the fact that she was not wearing a bra. The barest impressions of her nipples were outlined against the loose fabric. A pair of earrings - ankes hanging from silver loops - completed the outfit.

"Tell you what, Debbie. I'm going up there alone. You're welcome to join me if you don't mind waiting 'till I'm done putting things away."

"Great. I was hoping someone could give me a ride."

"Always ready to assist a damsel in distress."

Despite the corniness of the line she gave me a big smile. "I'll see you after the show." she called out as she turned and headed back toward the costume racks. I followed her example and returned backstage to my work at the prop table.

It turned out to be a smooth night as far as props were concerned. Nothing more eventful happened than the routine checkout and loading of our prop gun. It was a gussied up antique twelve gage with a fake muzzle over the real one to make it look like a blunderbuss. The thing was in poor shape appearance-wise, but was materially sound and produced an impressive effect when the actor using it fired off one of our hand-loaded blank shells. The black powder produced a bright orange flame and lots of sulfurous smoke. The only problem was that black powder leaves an extremely corrosive residue behind, which meant that the first thing I had to do when the gun returned backstage was break it down and clean it thoroughly. By the time the cast was taking their curtain calls I had my supplies spread out on a table in the scenery shop and had nearly completed my task. The solvent patches had been run through the barrel, and I was preparing the last oil patch when the backstage lights came on. By the time Debbie showed up I had finished the dry patches and zippered the shotgun back into its carrying case.

"How's it going?" she said cheerfully as she poked her head around the corner of the scenery shop door.

"Just about finished." I answered. "How are things at your end."

"Have to finish inventory. I've got it easy tonight. Tomorrow's not a cleaning day."

I nodded back to her. I had worked costumes several times and knew exactly what she meant. Theatrical costumes suffer a lot of abuse, so they tend to be made of heavy duty materials - for the majority of our costumes we used upholstery fabrics. These are both rugged and good looking, but are much heavier than the clothing people normally wear. Because of the weight and the intense theatrical lighting, stage costumes are hot to work in. Unless special provisions are made they start to get ripe in a very short time, so during a play's nine day run all the costumes are sent out for dry cleaning at least twice. The nights a cleaning run had to be prepared for were busy ones. Fortunately, this wasn't one of those nights.

"Fifteen minutes then?' I called to her.

"I'll be in the green room." she called back, heading out and up the stairs.

I picked up the shotgun and the box of black powder blank shells and placed them in the scenery shop's paint locker, snapping a padlock onto the locker's hasp. Looking back now I'm amazed. Back in 1969 no one thought twice about me - a student - being in possession of a real shotgun complete with ammunition on campus. The whole country was a lot more innocent then.

I had to finish taking care of the remaining props. Grabbing one of the stagehands, I released the wheel locks on the prop table and with his help rolled it through the rear roll-up door back into the scenery shop. Finally we lowered the door, turned out the lights, and headed for greener pastures.

It wasn't more than five minutes later that Debbie and I were heading across campus toward the football stadium. I had wanted to hit the back roads and avoid the traffic on the main drag, but had forgotten about the weekly anti-war protest and bonfire at the lake. A detour had been set up, forcing us to circle the event. It consisted of the usual suspects: about a hundred and twenty student activists - mostly members of Students For A Democratic Society with a smattering of militant blacks who seemed out of place on our almost lily-white campus - along with a number of Marxist professors from the economics department and members of the stoner crowd there to get high and watch the pretty sparks flying up into the air.

And of course the Keystone Cops (AKA Campus Security) were present in force - hanging back around the edges of the grass in their big Ford black-and-whites, lights flashing, pretending to be real police while sucking up the overtime for what was essentially six hours of sitting on their asses. But they were ready "just in case". Not that anything violent ever really happened at these rallies. That wouldn't occur here until the next year when National Guard troops would open fire on a group of students at Kent State University in Ohio, killing four and precipitating a revolt on college campuses across the country. This would include our own little campus where even non-political types like myself would be shaken into realizing that something very wrong was happening to our country. But on this particular night Debbie and I were still apathetic and just wished to get off campus and relax. Eventually we were waved through and on our way.

The party was in full swing by the time we got there. I headed over to say hello to our host. When I looked back around Debbie was nowhere in sight. Oh well. Easy come, easy go. It wasn't like we were out on a date. Only I found out that I hadn't been abandoned after all. Instead, Debbie had sought out the house's front porch - the location of the keg - and gotten us both a cold one. I saw her as she was maneuvering her way back to me with full cups. She handed me one of them.

"Thanks." I replied, taking a healthy swallow. "I thought you'd dumped me."

She giggled. "Don't be silly. My Mom taught me proper manners. I always go home with the person I arrive with."

I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. I took another drink.

We passed the next hour like that, making light conversation, sampling the food, wandering around talking to the other people there. Every once in a while Debbie would slip in a little double-entendre. I soon came to the conclusion that she was a flirt, but she was good natured about it, doing it in a light-hearted way that undercut the sexual tension that might have arisen. And I had to admit it was nice having her with me. She attracted more that her share of looks from the other guys there, and I realized it wouldn't be at all bad for my reputation to be seen with her.

The plastic cups were soon drained and we refilled them to the top from the keg. I nursed this second beer a little longer, but soon the cup was once again empty. I wouldn't be sampling any more from the keg tonight. I was the one doing the driving and respected the danger that mixing gasoline and alcohol represented. Not that I was a saint on the subject - more than once I had driven myself home and not remembered doing so the next day. But the fact that I would be having a passenger tonight gave me an incentive to be responsible. I decided to switch over to a less deadly intoxicant and Debbie was eager to join me when I told her my plans.

It did not take great detective skills for us to find where the pot was being smoked. Anyone with a nose could have tracked that location down in the dark. The dining room table had been taken over for a marijuana smorgasbord. Bowls of the stuff were sitting there, while several of the partygoers sorted through the leafy material, pulling out the seeds and stems. The good stuff was then passed over to the smokers. They in turn packed it into one of the several bongs being passed back and forth. I waited until a bong was handed to me and, being a gentleman, passed it to Debbie, who proceeded to take a big hit off it. I followed suit when she handed it back to me, then passed it to the next person in line. Within thirty minutes we had forgotten about the keg and had traded in our pleasant beer buzz for a mild high. We eventually drifted back to the living room where the hi-fi was pushing out some serious sound.

Debbie dragged me out into the middle of the floor. "Come on, I want to dance" she said, just a little bit stoned. I put up no resistance. I was a little stoned myself.

We started to sway to the music, sometimes moving in rhythm together, sometimes moving separately. This lasted through several songs. Finally a slow song came on and I waited for Debbie to stop dancing. She didn't. Instead she came over to me and put both arms around me and rested her head on my shoulder. She began to undulate, slowly pressing herself up against me until she was clinging to me like a coat of paint. Now I was not just stoned, I was also aroused by the press of her body molding itself to mine. I could feel my dick starting to stiffen in my jeans and attempted to separate from her a bit but she wouldn't allow it. Instead she put both her hands on my ass, pulling me into her. By this time there was no way she could miss the hard-on I was sporting, and the way she kept rubbing against it was leading me to believe she was deliberately and literally being a cock-tease. After a good five minutes of torture the music finally ended.

I took this opening to try to get myself collected. "Look Debbie, I'm going out and get a little air. It's getting awfully hot in here."

"That sounds like a good idea. I think I'll join you." she said, looking me straight in the eye. "I'm getting pretty hot myself." She slipped her arm through mine.

I shook my head at her forwardness. She didn't know when to quit. And I was beginning to think that maybe I didn't want her to.

We headed outside. It didn't take long for us to move away from the lit front portion of the yard and around the side of the house into the darkness. She tilted her head up in invitation, lightly running her tongue along her lips. I accepted the offer, placing my mouth over hers as I gathered her body against mine. Her tongue darted between her lips and then between mine. I quickly discovered that she was considerably more experienced at this than I was. The kiss was not subtle - it was insistent, demanding. I kissed back the best I could, my tongue dueling with hers as my dick hardened between us, pressing into the softness of her tummy.

When we finally broke she looked up at me and after several seconds, apparently making up her mind, she said "I think maybe it's time for you to take me home".

Hardly any time passed before we were back in my car traveling through the darkness toward her house. She was leaning against me as we drove, gently stroking my inner thigh with her fingers while she nibbled on my earlobe and whispered occasional directions to me. I nearly ran off the road when she placed her hand over my straining hard-on and gave it a squeeze. She wisely decided to move her hand back to my thigh for the remainder of the trip.

Several minutes later we pulled into her empty driveway. Her house, a two story Cape, was dark save for the single exterior light over the front door. Debbie loosened the wide vinyl belt around her waist. She remove it, folding it back to reveal a small pocket in the back from which she extracted a tarnished brass house key.

"Come on in with me. I'll make you a drink."

"A drink?" I queried.

I began to wonder if I had completely misread Debbie's signals. I had certainly thought she had been offering me more than just a drink. A lot more.

"I make a wicked margarita." she continued. "You won't be disappointed."

She exited from the passenger's side of the car, belt in hand and waited for me at the head of the walk. I leaned over, locked her door, then exited the car and locked my own. Joining her, I went up the walk toward the house and whatever she had in mind for us. She fumbled the key for several seconds before finally getting it to enter the keyhole and turned the dead bolt. She then twisted the doorknob, and entered the darkened house with me in hand.

Her home turned out to be a cozy little place once she turned a few lights on. It was a small but typical development house of the type made popular in the fifties by Levitt and his followers - a simple standardized design that could be put up fast and cheap by semiskilled labor. The front door opened into a small hallway with a set of stairs on the right leading to an upstairs hallway. An open doorway past the foot of the stairway led into the living room. It wasn't an upscale enough house for a basement, so the door under the stairway had to be a closet. There was a closed doorway halfway down the hall on the left, probably leading into the master bedroom. Past the stairway a second hallway intersected the first, leading off to the right. If her house followed the typical plan the rear would consist of a utility room with furnace, water heater, and washer-drier combination, a bathroom with tub and shower, and a kitchen-dinette on the ground floor. Upstairs would be two small bedrooms, a half-bath, and possibly some attic space for storage.

She led me by the hand into the living room. "Just grab a seat on the couch. I'll be in the kitchen." she called, releasing my hand and heading through the door at the other end of the room.

Her head popped back around the corner. "And throw something on the hi-fi while you're waiting." She disappeared back into the kitchen.

I found the hi-fi and panicked a bit. What should I play? What did she like? I looked over the albums next to the turntable and relaxed a bit. The Stones, the Beetles, the Broadway cast recording of "Hair". All popular albums and music that I liked. I went with Simon and Garfunkle's "Bookends". I knew the music was good, and it wouldn't break the mood of whatever was about to happen. I wondered about just exactly what WAS going to happen. Debbie had seemed to be offering something big. On the other hand , maybe she was being a real cock-tease, just leading me on. She'd already given me several hard-ons and no relief. Was this going to be another exercise in frustration?

I heard the blender kick on in the kitchen. It ran for almost 30 seconds and then went silent, followed about a minute later by Debbie's reappearance carrying two full glasses, the rims coated with coarse salt. She handed me one of the glasses.

"Enjoy."

I took a sip and felt the bite of tequila and salt on my tongue. She was right. She DID make a wicked margarita.

"So, what do you think about my bar tending skills?" she inquired.

"Very impressive" I responded, and took another drink.

She took a swallow from her own glass. "Just one of my many talents." She kicked off her sandals and sat down next to me on the couch. "And I plan on showing you every one of them tonight."

I had my left arm across the top of the cushion and she slid under it and fitted her body to mine, her warmth pressing against my chest as we worked on the margaritas. She trailed the fingers of her left hand along my thigh. I responded by lightly stroking the skin between her ear and shoulder with my free hand.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I inquired, not wanting to discourage her but deadly afraid I might be reading her wrong. "What happens if your parents walk in?"

"Don't worry. Daddy left years ago. There's just Mom, and since she isn't home by now I'm sure she'll be spending the night with her date."

Debbie gave a little smirk when she saw my expression upon being given this tidbit of information. I think she enjoyed shocking me. "Besides, it wouldn't matter if she did find us together. What's she going to say - not to do the exact same thing that she does? It's not like she thinks I'm still a virgin."

"Aaaa... You're sure about that?"

"Don't worry. Mom's cool about what I do."

She returned her attention to her drink, while I pondered what she had said. If Debbie was telling the truth, she and her mother must have a pretty strange relationship. Still, I hoped I never ended up in a position to confirm her statement firsthand.

She finished her drink first, placing the empty glass beside herself on the end table. I finished mine right behind her.

"Enough preliminaries. Time to get down to business." she said, taking my glass from my hand and placing it on the end table. She took my now empty right hand with hers. It did not remain empty for long. She placed it firmly over her breast as she leaned into me and kissed me openmouthed. The kiss was an insistent one, demanding a response. I slid my tongue past hers into her mouth, running it across the back of her upper teeth and then across the top of her tongue. Her mouth opened wider as she sucked my offering in while her hand pressed my hand more firmly into the yielding softness of her breast. My other hand rose of its own accord and covered her other breast. I ran the palms of my hands over her nipples, while softly squeezing the mass of her tits. She moaned softly, never breaking the kiss or stopping the tongue dual we were performing. She removed her own hand from over mine and dropped it down to my once again rigid cock and started stroking it through my jeans.

We continued in a liplock for almost sixty seconds before she came up for air. I responded by moving my hands down to her sides, tugging at the peasant blouse, pulling it free from the waistband of her skirt. I slid both of my hands back under the fabric, covering each breast, her nipples pressing against my palms. She locked lips with me again while her hands moved to my belt, unbuckling it.

We broke from the kiss. Debbie leaned back a bit and, crossing her arms in front of herself, took the hem of the blouse in both hands and pulled it up over her head. I got a good eyeful of her now exposed breasts, then turned my attention to removing my own shirt and undershirt. She started pulling on my jeans, indicating for me to lift my ass a bit. I did, and she slipped my Levi's over my butt and down to my ankles. We renewed the kiss again, with me leaning back while she slid her body over me, her naked tits pressing against my chest. We kept this position for some time, kissing openmouthed, tongues intertwining, me caressing her back, her ass, the sides of her breasts while she reciprocated, running her fingertips over my chest, my thighs, and the tent created by my cock in my BVDs.

The kiss ended and she looked me in the eyes, her hand stroking my erection. "Do you think I'm sexy" she inquired, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

"I sure do." I replied, almost instantly wishing I had come up with a more articulate response.

She giggled. "I'm glad." she said. She then slide her hand under the waistband of my briefs and moved the elastic down, exposing me. Her head lowered into my lap and I felt my first new experience of the night - the sudden wet warmth of her mouth engulfing the head of my cock.

It was all I could do to keep from cumming right there. She moved her lips slowly up and down the length of my shaft, pushing me toward orgasm. Just when I thought I couldn't stand it any more, she removed her mouth and commenced licking the underside of my erection. This, while very pleasant, felt much less intense, allowing me to regain a small measure of control. Her tongue snaked its way around my balls, and finally she sucked a testicle into her mouth. She switched to the other, then inhaled both while watching my face, gauging my reactions. She must have pleased by what she saw, because she freed my balls, ran her tongue back up the underside of my dick, and finally engulfed me again, this time deep-throating me until her lips circled the base of my penis. She slide me back out and gave the head of my dick a little kiss.

"My turn" was all she said, laying back against the cushions. I eagerly took my cue.

I lifted her shirt exposing her white nylon panties, her wetness almost soaking through the cotton crotch which clung to her pussy. I slid my hands up her hips to the panties' waistband, my fingers hooking the elastic. She lifted her ass, allowing me to slip them over her legs to the floor and then she kicked them off her feet. I gazed lustfully at my first naked breasts, my first naked cunt.

At this point I decided to finish the awkward preliminaries of clothing removal before I fell on my face. My jeans were tangled in a bunch around my feet. I removed my shoes and socks, then pulled the pants over my feet, followed by my shorts. I was naked! With a girl! Now it became her turn to join me. I loosened the zipper on the side of her skirt and, with her assistance and encouragement slid it from her body. It joined the pile of other clothing on the floor.

Debbie was now exposed completely to me, naked save for her glasses and the jewelry she was wearing. I drank in the vision of the first naked female body I had ever looked upon in the flesh. She wasn't at all what I had expected. I'm afraid my expectations had been shaped by porno stories and Playboy magazine. Debbie was nothing like the females in their descriptions. Her breasts met the Playboy ideal sizewise, being - as I've said - too large in proportion to the rest of her body, but instead of the silver dollar sized aureole and pencil eraser sized and shaped pink nipples the porn stories talked about, Debbie's were small - more the size of quarters - and dark tan in color. Her nipples were hardly visible. Instead of her nipples standing out, her arousal made the entire area of her aureoles swell outward, engulfing them.