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!"
Disappointed that I hadn't experienced my first fuck with the girl I knew was going to be my wife I pouted a bit but felt good that I hadn't hurt her in anyway.
"Are you alright Gary?" It was as if she had considered that she was denying me too much. Wrapping her hands around my erect penis she said, "You are so big." After thinking for a bit she asked, "Are all guys as big as this?"
Taking this as a compliment I wondered how does she know what big is? I knew that beside me Garth was a peanut; there were few secrets in the fraternity house. "What about Garth Anderson," I asked.
In complete control she merely moved the covering skin up and down on my turgid bulk, studying it as she manipulated me. Laughing she sneered, "Garth Anderson, what a creep. He pulled his penis out of his pants the last night we were together and I slapped his face. I didn't see any more than the pinkness of its skin."
I told her what Garth had said about her. She said, "hand-job, what a quaint way to describe what I am doing," then giggled. Somehow, she knew I was almost out of control. My excitement caused her to double her effort, jerking me faster until I shot a long rope of cum that landed across her legs and panties. "Eew," she reacted, "this is nasty." Reaching for her purse she pulled out a hanky and wiped my semen off her legs, and tried to cleaning it from her panties. As she was doing it she chuckled and said, "I guess I'm not the first girl you've done this to."
"I-I'm sorry to have made such a mess Charie. But I want you to know that the first time we French-kissed, I came in my underwear the same way."
She was quiet for a moment then said. "Well, I guess that is some kind of a compliment anyway. Did your other girls mind as much as I did when you ejaculated on them?"
I made matters worse by replying, "I've never done it with any other girl. But I have come in my pants before."
Our parting was a lot cooler than I would have hoped. Just as she was getting out of the car her kiss was perfunctory, "Have a merry Christmas Gary. You don't need to walk me to the door."
Christmas vacation was not as happy as I expected it to be. Thinking my relationship with Charie was over I was in a two week sulk. Ordinarily we would have exchanged phone calls. But neither of us did. When I got back to school I went back to hashing at the sorority house. Charie and I saw each other, and when we did, she was looking at me with either angry or hurt eyes. For three days she didn't come into the kitchen. It just made my funk deeper.
On Thursday she phoned me. "Hello Gary?" She sniffled. I greeted her. "I guess you must think I'm quite a prude." I told her that wasn't true. "Over the holidays I talked with my brother about what happened. He said I was a jerk." I didn't know whether she was or she wasn't. I knew I was.
"It's nine o'clock Gary. I have to be back in by ten, but could you come over right away?"
When I arrived she was waiting on the front porch of the sorority house. Having parked the car in our secluded spot I walked around the corner and met her on the porch. Kissing quite passionately in that public spot we then walked hand-in-hand to the shadows where the car was parked. Getting into the back seat we proceed to make more passionate love than we had before. I didn't try to fuck her, although I honestly thought I could have. When we kissed in the car she immediately and avidly struggled to get my cock out of my pants. Kissing the glans she said, I'm glad you came on me the night before I went back to Virginia darling." I was surprised she used "came" instead of "ejaculated." As we kissed even more passionately my finger was inside her pussy and she was furiously jacking me. Breaking the kiss she reached inside of the long sleeve of her sweater and pulled out a hanky. I knew what she was going to do.
As I added another finger inside her cunt we engaged our mouths in another French-kiss. With one hand she covered the head of my cock with the hanky and with the other she stroked me at light speed. As she froze in an orgasm I popped three long ropes into the hanky. As we came down from our exertion Charie said, "I promise you baby, the night we get married and for the rest of our lives, I'm going to want you to put that big thing inside me anytime you want." She giggled. "And you had better want to do it a lot."
Marrying a year and a half later we honeymooned in New York City. As she promised we fucked many, many times, sometimes when my cock was so sore that I didn't think I could. She had always been an incredibly horny woman, but one with a tremendous sense of self control. That's what made it so surprising for me. When we visited Times Square it was Charie who insisted that we go into an adult book shop. It was there where she saw her first porno flick, actually masturbating while she watched. She climaxed several times, getting me off at least three, once by way of a fabulous blowjob.
The film was of two men on one woman. With her eyes bugging out as if she had just discovered America Charie said, "Gary, I've never even considered sex with more than one person."
The men were both hung, much like me. So, having been with only one man, she thought I was of normal size. Many times after that, when I was ramming my cock into her newly christened cunt, she wondered out loud what it would be like to be ravished by more than one man. I, of course, found the conversation quite stimulating. But I never imagined that anything like that would ever happen to us. From my own point of view, now that I knew what sex was like with Charie, I often found myself looking at attractive women, becoming aroused and wondering what sex with them would be like?
After our first year of marriage I was transferred by my employer to the city of Huntington, West Virginia. It was 1964; Charie found a teaching job there. There were no children in our marriage with none planned for the next five years. Settling into the new community we became members of a Methodist church, something she had always insisted upon. As we had done in our last community we became active members of the church. Charie taught Sunday school. I joined the governing board. We both became members of the choir.
The choir director, John Chapman, was a handsome man with penetrating blue eyes. Standing about 6'2" he had been a football star at one of the church affiliated universities in Kentucky. His wife Penny, a stunningly attractive, vivacious blonde, was the church organist, playing the piano and accompanying the choir as well. One night after choir practice, as we walked out of the church together, Penny looked at John in a questioning manner. He looked at me and asked, "Do you and Charie drink?" I said that we did.