Chapter 1

It was September 1966. My second day of college. I made one of those life decisions that you never forget.

I was a math/science nerd in high school. I was almost as smart as I thought I was, but in the big public high school I attended there were lots and lots of smart kids. I graduated number forty-two in a class of seven-hundred-twenty. Brainy, but not a genius. I was one of the kids who had to work hard for every grade. I was lazy and often thought I knew more than I did because I read the Reader’s Digest condensed version rather than the whole book. I was proud of myself because I NEVER used Cliff’s Notes, but I was definitely book smart and life dumb.

I had a Biology Achievement score of Seven-Hundred-Twenty on the SAT, so I was invited to attend a meeting of potential Biology Majors. The head of the department explained options and we had to make choices. My test score would let me skip the first year of Biology classes, but because it wasn’t an Advance Placement program, I wouldn’t get college credit. My choices were, Biology 101 or Biology 201 as my starting point.

My SAT total score was over fourteen-hundred, so I could get into about any college I wanted. I chose a small but prestigious Liberal Arts College, about an hour away from home. Part of that choice was because I had very little self-confidence.

I was similar to a Swiss Army Knife in that I could do many things pretty well, but I wasn’t excellent at anything. I thought I wanted to go to Columbia University and study with an historian who was writing about history in a more interesting way, learn the craft, and try to become a professor and author. Ultimately, I decided on the small Liberal Arts College because I wasn’t convinced I could make it in the big-time. Another factor was that I had no idea what I wanted to do. I had a friend who knew in eighth grade they were meant to be a doctor and put all of their energy into preparing. Another friend was “called” to the ministry. I had no calling or career goal. I had no map. I was wandering.

Now I had a goal, but it isn’t one you can describe in a speech or tell your parents about. My goal was to get laid. I was socially inept and never had a girlfriend until I was seventeen. Then it wasn’t my choice. She picked me out as a reasonably good looking, reasonably intelligent guy, with reasonably good prospects. She was willing to teach me to dance and teach me to kiss. I was convinced we were in love. She was intelligent and had a career goal. She worked as a student librarian in high school, loved it, and was going to study Library Science. She fit my image of the kind of girl who would stay married as long as you supported her and didn’t cheat. She had the look of an “intelligent woman” too.

Janis was five feet ten inches tall. She looked good in a suit like Jackie Kennedy would wear. She was blonde, but not in a ditzy or bimbo way. She reminded me of the character Abby Dalton played in the television show, “Hennessy.” She was the classy girl. Maybe not the sexiest or most beautiful, but the classy girl most guys would kick themselves for not going after when they finally realized hot girls were just a source of heartache and trouble. I was going to be smarter than most guys and seal the deal with the girl you wanted to be married to and skip chasing beach bunnies or ski bunnies or Playboy bunnies.

Janis was a “saving herself for marriage” girl. I was pretty hopeful it would be worth waiting for because I knew she wasn’t frigid. We made out a lot, and she kissed passionately. Once she even cut my lip on one of my incisors, she kissed so hard. I wasn’t allowed to touch her breasts even through her clothes. Janis wore an A cup bra. I knew because I sneaked a peek at the label in her bikini top once. I think she felt like her breasts were too small and that contributed to her not letting me touch them. I certainly wasn’t allowed to touch her under her skirt, but she would rub against me and even with all our clothes on, she would have an orgasm. We got very good at “doing it dry” and I learned to always carry a handkerchief for cleanup. I made sure she always came before I let myself shoot off. I figured we would have a good sex life when we got married because Janis was almost always willing. I saw her being orgasmic as a sign we were sexually compatible. Then one night she let me rub her with my fingers, through her panties. She came harder than ever, and she came a second time almost immediately. Then we dry humped and she came again before I made a mess in my pants. I figured she would realize I was the guy who could make things wonderful for her and commit to me.

We talked a lot about getting married and how we were going to make that happen. I thought we had a life plan. I was ready to follow the steps and make the plan reality.

Back to the Biology meeting:

I noticed this red-headed girl looking at me from across the auditorium. She was cute with this little upturned nose. After the department head adjourned the meeting, I saw that the red-head was navigating through the crowd and headed toward me. That was a novel situation for me.

“Hi, I’m Connie. I get pissed off by dumb guys. I like to hang out with people who can talk in complete sentences,” She said.

“Hey, I’m George. There are a lot of things that make people think my family is weird, but all of us communicate in complete sentences,” I replied.

Connie was about as different from Janis as a girl could be. She was a red-head with thick, wavy hair, a little past shoulder length. She was only five feet tall, so she looked heavier than she really was. She seemed solid and healthy, not thin or reedy or even willowy the way Janis did. Her legs seemed short too. Connie was wearing navy athletic shorts and a navy and white football style jersey with the number forty-two on the front and back. She filled out the shirt nicely. I wasn’t experienced, except from jerking off while looking at the lingerie section of the Sears catalog, but I guessed she was at least a C cup and probably a D. I knew the ideal girl was supposed to be 36-24-36 and that the average American woman wore a B cup bra, so I thought the extra breast tissue in a D cup might push the chest measurement to forty-two. I thought I was being clever, and I said, “Is the number forty-two” personally significant for you?”

Connie laughed and said, “Good eyes. I’m a 42 D, and thanks for not having, ‘What’s your bra size?’ be the first thing out of your mouth.”

I invited Connie to go for coffee, so we went to the Student Union, got a cup each and found chairs in a quiet corner.

Connie said, “George, I don’t like to be alone. I am at my best when I am with a guy who knows how to keep me motivated. As I said earlier, I can’t stand dumb guys. I always dated jocks in high school, but nobody on the football team here is even up to Cro Magnon intellect. Why don’t we share an apartment off campus for a year and see how things work out for us? You are pretty cute, smart enough to not get me pregnant, and I’ll bet once you get used to me, you’ll even be able to talk to me without staring at my tits.”

“I have absolutely no dating experience, and I have never seen anyone with such an awesome figure outside a magazine,” I said.

“That’s OK, George. I’d like to teach you, if you’ll let me. The main thing for me is that you talk to me like I have a brain. I think it’s kind of cute that you can’t keep your eyes off my chest. Think about how much more fun it would be to see what’s under my shirt and know you get to look and touch all you want,” Connie said.

That was the moment I made the fateful decision. I never was good at thinking on my feet. My logic was that I had a lot of time invested in Janis and after going out for three years, I thought I knew who she was and what to expect. I thought the known was preferable to the unknown, even though the unknown seemed to promise everything I ever wanted. Then there was the snob factor. Janis seemed upper middle class and elegant with her suits and tailored dresses. I guess Connie’s casual sports clothes seemed more working class. Another problem was all the pornographic novels I’d read. I was sure I’d be able to keep Janis satisfied, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to take care of all of Connie’s needs and she would cheat on me with some muscle man. I didn’t think I could survive the humiliation if that happened.

I said, “Gee Connie, I think that would be great, but I have a girlfriend, and we are planning on getting married senior year. You are totally beautiful, but I feel like I’ve made promises to my girlfriend, and I don’t think I could live with myself if I broke my promises to her.”

Connie frowned and said, “That’s really too bad. I think we would be good for each other, George.”

We got up and walked out of the SUB (Student Union Building) and headed off to live the lives my decision headed us toward.

Janis thought our talks about marriage were just fun conversation, and she never felt committed to what I thought was our plan. I thought that her being multi-orgasmic meant we would have great sex when we got married, so I was prepared to wait. Janis was scared to death of her sexual responsiveness and afraid it would lead her to have sex before marriage. It also worried her that I could make her cum as easily and as hard as I did under much less than ideal conditions. That made her afraid I’d get her carried away and she’d want to have sex before marriage. The fact that I was going along with the whole marriage idea and willing to wait just didn’t seem to get through to her.

Once we went to my dorm room, she told me to keep my eyes closed and she took off her formal and everything except her panty girdle and bra. She let me take off everything but my underwear. She lay on my bed and had me get on top of her. She spread her legs wide and I rubbed my rock-hard cock against her clitoris with only two layers of cloth separating us. I kept my weight off her chest, but let most of it crush her clitoris under my steel-hard dick. She came four times before I spunked in my boxers. It was the best pseudo-sex we ever had. Shortly after that, Janis broke up with me because she couldn’t live with herself acting like “a bitch in heat.”

Connie found a pathetic loser and they moved in together. I could tell they were having sex because of the looks and goofy grins they shared. Second semester, Connie wasn’t in any classes or anywhere to be seen in the small college town.

I went on with my life of quiet desperation, being lazy, and making bad decisions. I was in a VA hospital, old, alone, and totally messed up physically and mentally from the Vietnam war. One night I couldn’t sleep. A new nurse was making rounds and stopped to talk to me. The cute red-head asked me, “If you could go back to just one critical moment in your life, what would it be?”

Her upturned nose reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think who. I thought for a minute and said, “I’d have a different conversation with a girl at the Biology meeting, freshman week of college.”

Suddenly my eighteen-year-old self was sitting in the Biology lecture room and Dr. Mendoza was rambling on about our options as high scorers on the SAT Biology Achievement Test. I smiled because I could tell my memories were intact, but my body and the clock had been reset. I promised myself I would make better choices this time, and if there was a doubt about the “right” choice, I would always choose or do the opposite of what I’d done the first time.

Finally, the department head finished and I got up to go. I saw a red-headed girl looking at me. She had a cute turned-up nose dusted with a bunch of freckles. I purposely walked really slowly as I left the auditorium so that the girl and I arrived at the exit at the same time.

“Hi, I’m George. Want to go to the SUB and get coffee?” I said.

“I’m Connie. I don’t know about coffee. Well, actually, I don’t know about you. I have very little patience with dumb boys,” She said.

“I am a guy, but why not at least talk with me and find out if I’m smarter than I look?” I asked.

Connie laughed. “If you buy,” She said.

We found two chairs in a quiet corner and sat down. I moved my chair closer to hers so we could talk quietly.

Connie was wearing jean shorts and a football jersey with the number “42” on the front and back. She filled out the jersey nicely. I did my best to look at her eyes when I talked to her. Finally, Connie said, “It’s ok to check me out George. I’m interested in a man, not a saint.”

I laughed and said, “Well I’m afraid I’m a pervert, and I try to keep it hidden so girls will at least talk to me.”

Connie said, “I’m intrigued. What kind of pervert are you?”

“Well, I grew up a math/science nerd, but I never had any goals, except to get laid, and to be the very best at satisfying a girl it’s possible to be. Unfortunately, I haven’t met a girl who wants to give me OJT and a chance to develop my skills through frequent practice,” I said.

Connie giggled and said, “How much practice do you need?”

“I jerk off a minimum of three times a day, but once a girl left matching black bra and panties in the laundry room. I stole them and got so excited I kept jacking off until I squirted eight times in twenty-four hours. I think I could take care of any little thing a girl might need as often as required,” I said.

“You know I hate being alone and I definitely need a guy to take care of this and that for me. I get bored taking care of things myself, don’t you? I never rubbed myself eight times in a single day, but I’d love to find out what it feels like to get rubbed as often as I want,” Connie said.

“Gee, I’d like to apply to be your assistant and take care of this and that for you. I don’t have any experience; would that be a problem?” I asked.

“I think I’d like to try training someone. That way I can be sure they do things the way I like them done,” Connie said.

“I think it is really important to pay attention and find out what a person likes and how they like it done when someone tries to help with this and that,” I said.

“I like that attitude. So, you wouldn’t mind having a girl teach you?” Connie asked.

“Not at all. For this particular kind of helping, I think only a girl can really know how it needs to be done,” I said.

“Well, just remember that I don’t have a lot of patience so I hope you are bright enough to learn what needs to be done quickly,” Connie said.