Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, BiSexual, Swinging, Group Sex, Orgy, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, School,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 7 - A sequel to Weekend at Grandma's. Amber has now gone on to college and sorority life, where she has several things to consider, her love life, her swinging, and her future.
How do I reconcile sex as a social activity with my religious beliefs? Who says I have to? In Sunday School we were encouraged to read the Bible, and I soon concluded that God wanted us to engage in sex. It was those who interpreted His word that wanted us to refrain. Most of those were mystics who lived in Egypt, and they were repenting their misspent youths.
Part of the problem, of course, is that when a woman has sex, she conceives. It's not a guaranteed event, but everyone knows this is how its done. Not any more. That's what birth control, or more properly conception control has given us. A woman has some control over her own body, and believe me, it's a welcome thing.
I once talked with my Grandmother. She'd been a swinger when all they had available were condoms. Girls weren't supposed to use birth control. She was supposed to spend most of her life pregnant or recovering from a pregnancy. And Grandma's grandmother died in childbirth as she bore her twelfth child. In fact, that was the most common way for a woman to die. Biochemistry sure changed all of that.
What did they do about "accidents?" Well, the law assumed that if a woman was married and she got pregnant, her husband was the father. Apparently there were a few "oops" in their group, and a few babies that didn't look like Dad.
That's not the case any more. The 1960s marked the first real liberation of women, and the consequences haven't yet worked themselves out completely. You can now have sex for other reasons than making a baby, including fun, love, and just because.
I started my sexual life a few months after my fifteenth birthday. That happened at a teenage swinger's party, which took place while our parents were upstairs or elsewhere, also swinging. I will admit that it's not for everyone. Your emotions can get really involved, and jealousy is always a problem. Girls instinctively feel possessive of a guy they've had sex with. That's biology. Her subconscious is wanting the guy to stick around and help raise any children. That's one of the reasons why swinging is best done as a couple. At the end of the evening you go home with the person who brought you, and that seems to satisfy that little part of the brain "that wants to keep the man around.
With babies out of the picture, that left doing it for fun, or, as Mary Alice put it, "We just take love they neighbor" literally.
We had a chapter meeting Sunday evening, so I spent Sunday afternoon reading and doing homework. That was why I was there, after all.
I am not going to comment about what went on in the chapter meeting. But we needed it. Afterward, of course, we continued some of the discussion as we actives talked among ourselves. After all, there were things we'd decided to do, and we needed to coordinate them. I had a lot on my mind on Monday morning.
On Sunday I heard a rumor that a girl from our chapter had gone to Atlanta and been seen having sex in public. The description missed mine in some important ways: she was blonde with short hair, curvaceous (they got that part right), and identified herself as being from LSU. That, of course, started the tongues to wagging as everyone tried to figure out who it was.
Krys was the only one who knew I'd gone to Atlanta. I'd learned to keep my mouth shut, and this was one of the times I was glad I did. Of course a few girls wondered if I was that person. I was out of town that weekend, but the story was that I'd gone home for a few days. But I did have a boyfriend at Georgia Tech, an ex-boyfriend I was quick to point out. Soon suspicion passed me by, and a different girl was picked out as being the target, except she had a rock solid alibi as well. She'd gone home to New Orleans to see her sister's new baby, and had dated and time-stamped pictures to prove it.
That brought the attention back to me. I started sweating things a bit. I'd been very stupid, and my reputation was at risk. In the South that reputation is everything. Krys, though, managed to come to my rescue. She called Mom, and my mother drove over to campus while she was in Baton Rouge for some Red Cross thing.
First she greeted the women from the National Chapter, then finally spotted me when I got back from class. She had a textbook from the previous term in her hands.
"You left this at home," she said. "I had to come in to town, so I thought I'd swing by, take you to lunch, and drop it off."
That didn't get me completely off the hook. There are always the suspicious types, and a couple of girls muttered that that could have been a ruse, which it was. Most of the others, though, figured my mother wouldn't lie. Sure, I had a boyfriend, or had one at least, at Georgia Tech. Sure, I was gone the weekend this supposedly happened, but there wasn't the slightest bit of proof that it was me. Why even my overnight bag was still in my closet—my roommate checked—so I clearly hadn't gone anywhere.
I had a second overnight bag that I kept in my car with the necessities of life, underclothes, make-up, hairbrush, and a couple of other things. I hadn't planned on wearing much that weekend, so that was all I really needed. But of course I wasn't telling them that. Some things are better left alone.
I had to put up with those rumblings for the rest of the term. What people did hear was that I stopped referring to Eric, and became more focused on Wes. We were seen around campus, doing a study-date, having lunch, just sitting next to each other on a bench, and so on. We were soon an "item". I still had to do my social thing with the house, but the social director understood that my heart was with someone else.
My heart, and various bits of my body, were with his heart, and various parts of his body. Wes did love to kiss, especially down there. I'd never met a guy so enthusiastic about going down on a girl. Sure, he loved to do the regular thing, but he really seemed to dig going down. And who was I to stop him? I spent many a happy hour with my thighs on his ears and his tongue in my core. And the things he could do with that tongue... !
There was the time he curved it down, and got the bottom of my channel, and another time when he sort of rolled it around my clit. And then there was the time he rubbed my pearl while sticking his tongue in and out of me quickly. His face got all wet from that little effort. Every girl should be so lucky.
Other girls commented on it, too. Wes was quite popular with the foreplay part of an evening, especially because he didn't seem to mind going down on a girl who'd just had someone come in her. He didn't lap up the guy's stuff, he used his fingers instead, but his tongue would dance on her pearl, and more than a few girls, under such ministrations, had a curling up, kind of climax, the kind where you can't think coherently for at least a half hour afterward.
The best time, though, came when he put his finger in me, pressing up on the roof of my channel. At the same time he bore down on my pearl with his whole mouth. It was like he took the most sensitive part of me and separated it. The climaxes just rolled, wave after wave, and I spent some time just sitting on the couch, watching the fun, and just trying to recover.
I don't know of a similar technique for guys, and believe me, I've searched. Girls have so many more erogenous zones, and a skilled guy, or girl, can play on all of them. A guy's erogenous zones are concentrated around his dick, though you can get some reaction with some of the guys if you kiss and suck their nipples. Judging from the reaction, though, I don't think its the same.
A girl's boobs are meant to be sucked. Guys get a great deal of enjoyment from them—the girl does too!—but they're primarily for a baby. Its Mother Nature's feeding mechanism, after all, and even girls who say they don't want to be a cow have tried nursing and come away with a generally favorable impression. As one girl put it, "it's just you and the baby." It's a uniquely female experience, one no guy can ever hope to experience.
On Thursday I opened my drawer and looked: I was down to two bras, one of which chafed, and the other didn't fit very well. Clearly it was time for a lingerie shopping expedition. I started rounding up people to join me.
Guys don't understand how clothes affect a woman. They're an expression of who you are, and a depressing day can be brightened up by a new outfit. And nothing lightens your mood better than wearing a brand new dress in public for the first time and getting complimented on it. I swear you walk around glowing after that.
Lingerie is different. First, it's a necessity. Back in high school we had a guy make some slighting comment about boobs, so his girlfriend taped water-filled balloons to his chest and made him walk around that way all weekend. The first time he ran, and one of the pieces of tape tore, was an enlightening moment. And we had that problem all of the time, not just one afternoon.
Lingerie comes in two types: the strictly utilitarian that you wear day after day, and the things you wear for some guy, or social event, that you're going to get out of as soon as is convenient. Every girl should have some of the latter, and should at least look at it and think naughty thoughts. A girl does a lot of dreaming and fantasizing, and staring at a manikin in a seductive peignoir or a lacy cami can give you all sorts of wicked ideas.