I had known Charie Carlisle for two years before we finally got together. For me she was just about as cute and classy as any girl I had ever met. Standing 5' 5" she had world class legs, a dynamite ass and a lithe figure. Her breasts were not large—I found out later they were 34B, which worked for me. She had wavy, short dark brown hair, clear blue eyes and a smile that was like the sun on a bright, cheery morning. I met her while working as a "hasher" (a houseboy who worked for food) in the sorority house where she lived. Though I had my eyes on her and we seemed to have a warm, friendly relationship, she always seemed to be dating higher profile guys, ones who seemed destined for moneyed careers. I never expected that she had any more interest in me than just friendship.
At the beginning of my junior year a fraternity brother and good friend, who years later became a high placed executive in a major food company, began dating Charie. He had the reputation of being a real player, usually going for "loose" women or, at least, those who could be easily loosened. This led me to consider that Charie was one of those. One night, about two months into their relationship, I was proven wrong when Garth came storming into the fraternity house shouting, "I'm through with that fucking broad. I've wasted two months, tons of dough, and haven't even gotten so much as a hand-job from her!"
It was taboo for the girls in the sorority to come into the kitchen where I worked. Socializing with the help was not encouraged by the sorority at large, even though the help consisted of young men attending the same college. But Charie, being more independent, ignored the taboo. She would often come into the kitchen after dinner and talk with us as we worked. It was this "in your face" attitude that attracted me to her even more. I asked her out about two weeks after Garth's outburst at the fraternity house. When he found out that I was dating her he chuckled, "So you've got a thing for nuns, huh?" She was active in the Wesley Foundation, the Methodist outreach for college campuses throughout the country. Soon, she was pressuring me to go to church with her, which from time to time I did.
She always seemed to be such a demure girl; the kind of person one would think was always in control of her emotions. We didn't even kiss until our second date, which wasn't unusual in that era. Though it was just a peck I was surprised at how her breathing increased, almost to a pant. I could see how Garth had been convinced that she would be an easy conquest. On our third date we went to a movie. When I put my arm over her shoulder she took my hand and rubbed the back of it against her cheek. There was no question that she liked touching. At the same time she nudged my knees with hers and mover her body as close to mine as the armrest would allow. I remember thinking, well; at least she isn't a nun.
After the movie we pulled around the corner from the sorority house, parking the car in a dark, tree shaded area. We had only about fifteen minutes before the girls were required to be in the house for the night, a requirement on college campuses in the early 60s. This time our kisses were passionate bona fide French kisses. By the time she had to go into the house saliva was sagging down both of our chins. As I remembered Garth saying, "I've wasted two months, tons of dough and haven't gotten so much as a hand-job from her," I thought she doesn't seem so frigid to me.
The fourth time we went out she welcomed the caress of my hand on the outside of her breast. While necking during the fifth night out she even sucked in her chest to allow me to get my hand inside her bra. I remember how small yet how soft her breasts were, and how her nipples seemed to harden against the hollow of my hand. Also, as I fondled her breasts she was much more passionate, our kisses turning into a marathon of twisted tongues, moans and sighs, where our noses served as snorkels.
When I slid my hand up the inside of her thigh it seemed a natural segue that wouldn't be denied. She was wearing a dark blue, pleated skirt and knee socks. Her legs were bare from her knees to her panties. When my hand reached the warm, damp fabric she jerked it away and said "no!" After being quiet for a bit and keeping her head down she looked up at me with her wide blue eyes, smiled and kissed me passionately. Then she took my hand and put it back between her legs.
Vagina, pussy, twat, cunt, all the descriptive words that I could imagine, flooded my mind as my fingers felt her moist and flaccid lips. When my middle finger slid inside the most marvelous tunnel in God's creation it was all I could do to keep from coming in my pants. As we kissed her moist and spongy walls seemed to tighten on my tingling finger. I didn't know about female orgasms at the time, had no idea what a clitoris was, or what I should do with it if I knew it was there. All I knew was, when she gasped and her body froze into a spasm, I loaded my shorts with cum.
It was the first time my finger had been inside a girl's pussy. As I drove back to the fraternity house my left hand was on the wheel and the middle finger of my right hand was under my nose. It was as if I were sniffing a fine Cuban cigar. The delicate smell, coupled with a faint hint of urine made me hard again. Sucking my finger into my mouth as I drove I relived of our love-making.
It was the night before we left to go home for Christmas vacation, just a month after we had first started dating. She would be driving back to Virginia for the holidays. Charie was the last one in the sorority house, planning on driving home in the morning. We exchanged gifts and then made love in the car, kissing and caressing; my finger sliding inside her pussy again. I would take it out and hold it under my nose when we kissed, sure that she wasn't aware of what I was doing.
Romantic music played on the car radio, its light casting a green shade on Charie's bare legs above her knee socks. I had never done it before but, since sucking my finger after having fingered Charie's pussy the first time; I had the urge to get close enough to her pussy to smell it. In the late 50's and early 60s none of my fraternity brothers ever talked about eating pussy—except maybe Garth. Oral sex had not come into the popularity that we know today. But I was more than ready to break new ground.
As I lifted her skirt I could see her white lace panties being washed by the green light of the car radio. Lowering myself to my knees I spread hers—there was no resistance. Like a photographer taking a group picture I pulled her skirt over my head. Resting my cheek on Charie's soft abdomen I could hear the grumbling inside her stomach and wondered if it was a sign of her excitement. It was heaven to be so close, smelling the delicate bouquet of her femininity.
For me I was about to do something that I imagined she had never dreamed of; I had only just recently been dreaming of it myself. When I pulled her panties aside it was as if the music from the beginning of the movie A Space Odyssey 2001 blared in my ears. Dark brown hair, curly dark brown hair, covered not only her mons but her puffy labia as well. (Women, at least young women, didn't trim their pussies back then). I didn't cum in my pants, but my balls were working on it. It was only because I squeezed the cheeks of my ass so tightly that I didn't pop my load. I was convinced that I was going to fuck Charie that night and didn't want any mishaps along the way.
As I parted her lips with my fingers I heard that most marvelous wet "click." I could see her labia glistening in the ambient green light of the radio. Extending my tongue I licked her just where the top of her clam came together. I must have touched her clitoris because she winced so hard that her pubic bone hit my nose, almost causing it to bleed. As my tongue slid through her moistened, aromatic groove it tingled. I had never done or tasted anything this exciting—I suppose my first taste of ice-cream might have come close. But in my memories the taste of her pussy was tantamount to the Ambrosia of the gods.
As Charie's hands pressed against the back of my head her quiet "oohs" reminded me of a kitten purring. Her legs opened and closed against my head and face as she ground her bottom against the seat. As I sucked her warm, wet lips in and out between mine I wondered how I was going get my turgid cock inside her. Unzipping my fly I flopped my nearly nine inch organ out of my pants then took her hand and put it on its engorged bulk. In awed amazement she said, "It's huge!" My fraternity brothers always joked that I had the biggest cock on campus. Raising my ass I held my cock, spread her lips and put the head of it against them. I moved it through her slippery groove both trying to lubricate it and finding the indentation of her portal.
"No Gary." She gasped. Ignoring her plea I continued pressing, beginning to open the hole to her feminine core. Grabbing my cock she pushed it aside and commanded, "Stop Gary, I said no!"
I fought her a little. But remembering my mother's lecture on respect I relented and sat back in the seat. "I'm sorry, Charie."
With a choke in her voice she stammered, "It's ... it's just ... it's just that I'm going to be a virgin until I'm married sweetie." As tears welled in her periwinkle eyes she said, "I want you inside me so badly." She blinked. "But I'm scared honey. You're so big." As she pressed her head against me I could feel her tears wetting my shirt as she said, "I need more time baby." She hugged me and sighed, "I want to do this with you so badly Gary. Oh this just isn't fair!"
.... There is more of this story ...