Georgie Girl
Chapter 1: Meeting Georgette

Copyright© 2012 by Coaster2

Drama Sex Story: Chapter 1: Meeting Georgette - When an earnest young male student meets a sophisticated female graduate student, the unexpected happens. But he's not just an ordinary guy, and she's far from an ordinary woman. He has plans, but then, so does she.

Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Violent  

My name is John Carter Smith. As I write this I'm a recent graduate in chemical engineering and self-employed. I didn't have to be self-employed, but the job offers and opportunities that I was presented with were all pretty much of the same kind. I'd be a miniscule cog in a giant wheel. I'd be engineering the control valve on a brewery vat, or the ideal viscosity of women's pump shampoo if I'd have accepted what was available. I had higher aspirations than that and I wanted the freedom to explore them. So I never really even considered them.

Oh yes, I know we all have to start somewhere, and I shouldn't expect to be designing the answer to cleaning up the tar sands myself. I should be happy to have a job in this economy. Well, I don't see it that way and happily, I don't need to see it that way. I have my own ideas and I have an opportunity to develop them. So for the time being, I'm still working on something creative that I can call my own.

Now, about this woman I have fallen in love with. Her name is Georgette desBiens Fulton. She's as American as apple pie, but her heritage, going way back, is part British and part French. Georgette is six years my senior. She's not exactly robbing the cradle, but that's a fair disparity for some people to swallow. How I met her and how we fell in love is an unusual story.

I was attending college in San Francisco. I was raised in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, where my mother, Marjean, and father, Carter, owned and operated a motel. Excuse me, a motor inn. We were a nice, middle class family living a nice middle class existence. I was a moderately good student with a specific ambition. I wanted to become an engineer. I had a concept for something truly worthwhile and I wanted to try and make that dream come true. More about that shortly.

I was also a decent athlete. I skied, both snow and water, and ran some distance races in track. I was pretty good on snow, but probably only college team quality. I had one problem that I didn't realize until I was a junior in high school. I had a moderate learning disability. At first I was thought to be lazy. When I took various intelligence tests, I scored quite high numbers compared to expectations. My school marks didn't reflect my estimated I.Q.

My school counselor, however, was a very bright and helpful man. Mr. Farnsworth suggested I do some testing with a research group at the University of Washington who were looking into learning problems. With my parents' support, I spent four days at the Seattle campus undergoing a number of tests. I didn't get the answers until the last day when they reviewed the results and handed me their evaluation.

It turned out that I had what they called a "storage" problem. It was in my short term memory and made it more difficult for me to learn complex information and retain it without multiple repetitions. I had been compensating for this problem by going over and over my lessons several times until I absorbed enough to understand. I wasn't conscious of it being a problem. I just did what I had to do to cope.

It wasn't possible for them to pin down the cause of the disorder, but I had adjusted to the problem over the years and the research group had no other suggestion than to keep on keepin' on. In other words, continue to adapt with repetition as the best way to learn. There was no drug or magic formula to cure this problem. The best I could do was to refine my study methods to concentrate on getting the core of what I was trying to learn and spend most of my time absorbing that. It struck me that I had been doing that very thing for the last ten years.

I think my parents were relieved to know the cause of the problem and in fact, they expressed some pride that I had accomplished as much as I had without anyone's help. That made me feel quite good after years of being told I wasn't working hard enough. I knew my limitations and I could deal with them and they wouldn't prevent me from getting a good education and achieving my dream of becoming an engineer.

I chose the college I would go to very carefully. I wanted to get the best education that would give me the best possible chance to achieve my goal. Geary Polytechnic wasn't a big "name" school, but rather a well respected one in the physical and social sciences. It was very lucky that my parents could afford to send me there for the four years it would take to earn my degree.

I was beginning my junior year the first time I encountered Georgette Fulton. I had been invited to a sorority mixer by a part-time girlfriend. My studies didn't really allow me the luxury of a steady girl, but Virginia Kane and I had been "hanging out" for the past two years, becoming friends with benefits. I didn't belong to a fraternity but "Ginny" was a sorority girl and hence the invite.

I liked Ginny, but she was on a very different path from mine and we had little in common other than the usual rampant sex drive that people of our age featured. She was attractive, but not spectacular. I was happy with our arrangement and she said she was too. Neither of us wanted to get involved in a committed relationship at this time. If we wanted to date someone else, we could without any jealousy or upset as long as we were honest about it.

The mixer was an excuse for the female equivalent of a kegger except punch was the only drink offered. I had no doubt some vodka or gin would make an appearance at some point during the evening.

Ginny and I had been going out since our freshman year and this was the first social of our junior year, so there were some new faces in the crowd. One of the new faces, at least to me, was Georgette.

I was nursing a sickly sweet punch and wishing someone had indeed brought a keg, when a tall, very attractive woman moved toward us. I say woman because she was older than the rest of us. I wasn't sure how much older, but I guessed about five years or so. I wondered if she was a mature student, a chaperone, or maybe faculty.

"Hello, I'm Georgette Fulton," she said with a lovely smile.

"I'm John Smith, and this is Virginia Kane," I replied, sizing up this formidable female.

"I don't recall seeing you here before," Ginny said.

"I'm a graduate student and working on my doctoral thesis. I'm seldom around the sorority house. I have a residence nearby."

"Oh, I see. So you were a member of Sigma Kappa Tau when you were an undergraduate?" Ginny asked.

"Yes. I'm still on the mailing list, so I thought since I was in the neighborhood, I'd drop by and renew acquaintances and make some new ones."

"What is the subject of your thesis?" I asked.

"I'm working toward a Ph.D. in behavioral psychology. I'm examining the sexual development in educated North American males."

"Oh," I said, thinking that her statement was a conversation stopper.

"That must be fascinating," Ginny said engagingly while I cringed.

"It is. I've tasked myself with doing exploratory interviews with both undergraduates and graduates. Perhaps you'd like to participate, John?"

"Uhhm, well ... I don't really have a lot of time. I carry a full schedule in engineering and ... well ... I'm not sure I'd be the right kind of person for you."

"Why do you think that," Georgette asked, not letting go of the subject.

"Uhhm, well ... er ... I just wouldn't be," I stammered.

"Sure you would, Johnny," Ginny piped up.

"Thanks," I mumbled, not meaning it.

"It's completely private and not time consuming. It would be a big help to me if you'd volunteer."

"Go ahead, Johnny. You might not get a better chance," Ginny intervened again.

A chance at what, I wondered.

"I don't want you to feel pressured, John. Why don't I give you my card and you give me a call in a few days and we can discuss it again in private," Georgette said, obviously aware of the irritating effect Ginny was having on me.

"Thanks," I smiled, relieved that the conversation could change to something less challenging.

As Ginny and Georgette talked, I had a chance to look the woman over. We were pretty much eye-to-eye and I saw she was wearing something like three inch heels. That would make her about five-foot-ten to my six-foot-one I estimated. She was a dark blonde and her hair was cut fashionably short, displaying a natural curl. Her eyes were blue and her face was quite striking, with slim lips, bright, even teeth, a strong chin and an aquiline nose. Very attractive and distinctive.

Her body was bigger than normal and I guessed her weight to be more than a hundred and fifty pounds. She was wearing snug jeans and a cotton pullover top in bright blue. She was a full-bodied woman in every respect, including her breasts and her butt. Yes, she was all woman, well built and very appealing to my youthful hormones. She was also out of my league.

I snapped out of my mental meandering when I realized I had missed a question she had asked.

"I'm sorry, I was daydreaming," I admitted.

That brought a frown from Ginny and a smile from Georgette.

"Oh ... what about," the woman teased as if she didn't know.

I'm sure I turned beet red at the direct question and my guilt might as well have been written in capital letters on my forehead.

"Ah ... er ... oh, nothing much," I stumbled awkwardly.

"I'll bet," Ginny said with no change in her disapproving expression.

"It's all right, Virginia, I'm used to it," Georgette laughed lightly.

I bet she was, too. This was a woman who dominated the people around her, both male and female.

"So what were you asking me?" I asked, hoping to rescue myself.

"I was asking if you lived in a dorm or a fraternity house."

"Neither. I share an apartment with three other guys just off campus. We're all pretty serious students so I don't have to put up with the noise and distractions in a dormitory or fraternity house."

She nodded understanding. "I did the same thing, but by myself."

"You're lucky you could afford that," Ginny said.

"I was. I had an academic scholarship and support from my family. It covered my costs for both my undergraduate and master's living expenses. I've almost used all my time up now, so I'm working hard to keep my doctorate in sight."

"So, what's your plan when you are granted a Ph.D.?" I asked.

"I'm not completely sure, but I'm thinking I might open my own private practice. I would specialize in social behavior disorders, particularly sexual."

"Hence the subject of the thesis," I suggested.

"Exactly," she smiled.

"Isn't that a very narrow field?" Ginny asked.

"Not as much as you'd think. I'm pretty confident that I'd be able to support my practice without having to rely on being a marriage counselor."

We chatted for a few more minutes as Georgette asked us about ourselves and what our ambitions were. Ginny was focused on interior design and in particular, geriatric ergonomics. Her special interest was in housing and care facilities design. With our aging population, she was sure there would be a call for her services.

I was asked about my ambitions and I hedged my answers, not wanting to sound like I had no clear idea of my future or what I might want to do. Georgette was quite specific with her questions and I could tell she would be good at getting the most out of an interview. She knew how to ask questions and get pertinent answers. I suspected she would be able to recognize bullshit when she heard it.

"I have some thoughts about water treatment," I finally admitted. "It's the most valuable commodity on earth and it's in short supply ... just as it is here in California."

"I assume you're talking about potable water," Georgette said, showing that she was paying attention.

"Yes. There are already companies manufacturing portable systems for desalinization and decontamination. I have some ideas about making a similar system smaller, cheaper, and more portable again. They are only just ideas, mind you, but I want a chance to develop them."

"So ... you need a sponsor," Georgette suggested.

"Yes, exactly. I've sent out a prospectus to potential investors but so far no responses. I'm not discouraged. I really don't have a finished design for my concept, so that takes priority."

There was something about the look in Georgette's eyes that caught my attention. She was concentrating on what I was saying and not just paying polite attention to me. She was genuinely interested in my comments. That was something I didn't expect.

"Where do you see this concept being used?" she asked, her eyes focused on me intently.

"Third world countries for sure, but I can see applications in North America too. The central plains are full of alkali contaminated water that could be made usable for crops, animals and human habitation. It would make barren land worth something to farm as well as live upon."

"How would you power these systems? With a generator?" she asked.

Her gaze remained intense and I was impressed that she was so interested in my concept.

"For the time being, it requires electric power to run. I'm trying to keep the input power requirements flexible, so it can run off the grid or from battery, solar, or wind power."

"That sounds like a very worthwhile objective, John. I hope you get an opportunity to develop your ideas."

"Thanks. I've got two more years of school before I'm qualified, but I want to get a head start on my plan."

"That's very ambitious," she said. "I think that's a very good plan, too."

I cast a glance at Ginny and noticed she had lost interest in the conversation and was looking around the room for an escape route or someone else to talk to. Georgette must have noticed too.

"I didn't mean to monopolize the conversation, so please excuse me. Give me a call sometime next week, John. I have some contacts in the venture capital business and I really would like to interview you."

Well, there it was, the bait in front of the hook. I help you and you help me. Decision time.

"I'll give it some thought, Georgette," I smiled, hoping we had concluded our conversation.

"You do that, John. We may be able to help each other," she said seriously. "My apologies, Virginia. I didn't mean to monopolize your boyfriend like this."

"No problem," Ginny said, not meaning a word of it. I was pretty sure Georgette picked up on that as well.

"Jeez, Johnny, do you think she could have been more obvious?" Ginny snapped as she watched the big woman move toward another group.

"Obvious about what?"

"Well, duh! I'm surprised she didn't grope your crotch to see what size you were."

"Oh come on, Ginny. The only thing she's interested in is getting her thesis done and earning her doctorate. She's way out of my league anyway."

Ginny was shaking her head with a look of disgust, possibly mock, but possibly real too.

"Just what would make you think she was interested in me for any other reason than her research?"

"The way she looked at you, for one. She was damn near licking her lips at one point. Trust me, she was interested in more than just an interview."

I shook my head in denial. It wasn't rational. She was clearly a woman who could command much more than a schoolboy to attend her. I rejected the idea immediately.

I imagine that would cause you to wonder why I called her the following Thursday.

"Uhhm ... Hi Georgette ... it's John Smith calling," I said, very unsure of myself.

"Oh, hello, John. So good of you to call. Can I assume you're willing to allow me to interview you?"

"Uhhm ... well ... I'd like to discuss it first. Do you mind?"

"No ... of course not. Why don't you and I meet at a place of your choice?"

"Sure. Some place private ... if that's okay?"

"Well then, my apartment is probably best. We won't be interrupted or overheard here."

I thought about it for a moment or two before realizing I didn't have a better alternative.

"Okay then, your place. When?"

"What's convenient for you? I'm available anytime."

"Uhhm, Saturday afternoon okay?"

"That's fine. How about two o'clock? Will that work?"

"Yeah. Two o'clock. It's the address on your card, right?"

"Yes," she chuckled softly. "I'll look forward to seeing you then, John."

At one-fifty-five on Saturday afternoon I was looking at her card and the imposing building in front of me. It was an unusual structure for this area. It was a stone and brick building and it looked like it had been around since the late nineteenth century. It didn't look like an apartment building at all, but more like a mansion that had been converted. There were four doors spaced more or less evenly along a wide wooden front porch and Georgette's was number three.

I walked up the steep stairs to the front porch and turned the tab on the old bell mounted in the door. It was quite loud, so I was sure she could hear it. She appeared at the window in the door quite quickly and, confirming it was me, opened it.

"Hi, John. Come in, please. You're right on time. Thank you for that."

"You're welcome. This is quite an unusual apartment. Very unusual, in fact."

"Yes, it is, isn't it? I love it. A little bit of luxury that am grateful for."

As I looked about, I could see it was Victorian era in design and furnishings. The ceilings were twelve foot, I guessed. The baseboards, casings, wainscoting, and cove around the ceiling were all large and beautifully preserved. The furnishings all reflected the period as well.

"I feel like I'm in a museum," I said as I gazed at the living room and dining room.

"The Historic Preservation Commission won't let us touch a thing without permission," she said, following my wandering eyes.


"Yes, this building is owned by my grandmother now. It's been in the family since 1885. It survived the earthquake in '06, but was badly damaged. My great grandfather modernized it and converted it for several members of the family since most of their homes were destroyed. That's why it's quite an unusual configuration. You couldn't get away with this today."

"So, it's four townhouses in a single structure then?"

"That's right. Each one has a basement, a main floor and an upper floor. All three bedrooms are upstairs along with a single bathroom. This floor is living room, dining room, kitchen, mud room, and a second bathroom. The basement is just for the furnace and storage in my unit."

"Amazing," I said as I gazed about the two large main floor rooms. "It's beautiful ... perfect in fact."

"Yes. I'm very happy here and lucky there was room for me too."

"Do you know the people in the other three units?"

"Yes," she laughed. "They are all my family. "My mother and father live in number one, my maternal grandmother in unit two, and my uncle and aunt in number four."

"All in the family then," I smiled.

"All in the family," she agreed, returning my smile. "Would you care for some iced tea before we start?"

"Uhhm ... no thanks, I'm fine. I just wanted to ask you some questions about the interview and get an idea of what you want to know."

"I understand. Why don't you have a seat in the living room and ask away."

I moved to a large wing chair and sat carefully, not sure of how sturdy these antiques might be. I needn't have worried. It was as solid as a rock.

Georgette sat waiting for me to begin.

"I was wondering ... about privacy," I began hesitantly.

She nodded. "Yes, I'm sure you are. Nothing that is talked about or goes on in the interviews or follow-ups is ever revealed. As far as my notes go, you are interview number ... twenty seven," she said, checking the front page of her folder.

"So, it's like doctor-patient confidentiality then?"

"Not quite," she said, "Doctor-Patient confidentiality is protected by law. Our conversations are protected only by my commitment not to reveal the identity of the subjects I interview. It's a matter of trust, really. And I want to emphasize that these are exploratory interviews only, designed to help me develop a questionnaire that would be used for my formal testing."

Well, that was an honest answer. Now I had to go by instinct.

"Okay. Uhhm, what kind of questions do you ask?"

"Well, aside from the basics, I want to know about your sexual history and your personal views as they relate to your sexuality."

"Won't some people lie? I mean ... so that they don't look bad or maybe ... weird?"

"Yes, of course. But there are ways to pull the truth from the fabrications."

"Don't you find this hard ... I mean, difficult. You're a woman and you're asking men some very personal questions."

She had a slight smile on her lips as I quickly corrected myself.

"It isn't easy, but I find once we get into it and the subject begins to relax a bit, the answers come more easily. I usually don't start out with difficult or highly personal questions. You need to have confidence that I'm not going to embarrass you or pass judgment on you."

"Has anyone quit an interview? You know, got upset and just left?"

"Yes ... a few times. Some men aren't ready for the kinds of questions I ask. Some don't want to reveal their personal beliefs or preferences."

I found I was now sitting back in the big chair and a bit more relaxed. Georgette had a way about her that was so direct and open that it gave me confidence that she would be secure with any information she might get from me. I'm not sure why I felt that way, but I did. I decided to take a chance. After all, if I got in too deep, I could always end the interview. According to her, it wouldn't be the first time.

"Okay, then," I said. "I'll trust you and will give it a try. I'm not sure why, but I guess I'm interested in the idea to begin with."

"Good. I'm pleased. I'll try and make you as comfortable as possible."

"When do you want to start?"

"Anytime you are free. I'd like to have two hour segments so that neither of us is rushed and we can dig into subjects more thoroughly if we want to."

"How many sessions does it take?"

"That depends. Some interviews are completed in the first session, some can take two or even three sessions, depending on the man and how open he is willing to be."

I nodded. Six hours at most. It was hard to imagine that there would be enough interest in my sex life to talk about for six hours, but who knows what might come up. That's six hours with a beautiful woman talking about sex. It could be very interesting.

"Why don't we start next Saturday afternoon?" I suggested.

"Excellent. I'll see you here at two o'clock then?"

"Sure. Two o'clock. We'll see what happens.

"So you're really going to do it?" Ginny asked in surprise.

"Yeah. I thought it might be interesting. I can quit if it gets too hairy."

"I bet you don't," she said emphatically.

"Why do you think that?"

"She's got you hooked and you just haven't figured it out yet."

"Oh, come off it, Ginny. I told you, she's way too much for me. First of all she's older, and secondly she's clearly from a very wealthy family. Do you see me as a match for that?"

"So what am I? On a scale of one-to-ten, where do I rank?" she challenged.

Oh, shit. There is no right answer to that question. How far is up?

"That's not fair, Ginny. I've told you a hundred times you're a 'ten, ' so don't try and make me out to be the bad guy."

"Chicken! I'll bet I'm a seven in your mind," she sneered.

"No way. Do I act like you're a seven? Do you feel I don't think you're beautiful? You know better than that."

She quit the interrogation but, I could see a look of doubt on her face that I hadn't seen before. I was wondering if she might be jealous of Georgette. She had no reason to be, but that was the implication I was getting.

"Are you going to tell me about the interview afterwards?" she asked.

"I don't know. I'm not sure what the questions are and how personal they might be. I won't lie to you, but I'm not sure what to expect, so why don't you wait until after the interview and we'll see."

"I bet you don't tell me anything," she said sullenly.

"Then that's a bet you'll lose. I promise I'll tell you at least something about what goes on. Remember, it's in strict confidence, so no one but Georgette and I know what questions are asked and how they are answered. If I tell you, can you guarantee that confidentiality?"

"Sure. I won't tell anyone."

"Unless of course you get mad at me and decide to get some payback for something I did or said."

"You don't trust me?"

"I don't have any reason not to trust you, but I have a feeling some of the questions are going to be very ... deep. Something I might not want to share."

"Humph!" was her only reply.

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