Out Of Sync With The Sixties


Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, First, .

Desc: Sex Story: Our hero has managed to have the sexual revolution pass him by, but tonight he is about to discover what he's been missing.

Copyright ©1999 - all rights reserved.

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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.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Heterosexual / First /