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 five foot five 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 deep 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 being more independent, Charie 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. About two weeks after Garth’s outburst I asked her out. When Garth found out that Charie and I were dating 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 appeared demure; the kind of girl one would think was in total control of her emotions. We didn’t even kiss until our second date, which wasn’t unusual for the 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 moved 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 and parked 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 sixties. This time our kisses were passionate, bona fide French kisses. By the time she had to go into the house, saliva sagged 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 soft her breasts were, and how her nipples seemed to harden against the hollow of my hand. Also, as I fondled her breasts, our kisses turned 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 of her panties 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, taking my hand and putting it back between her legs.

Vagina, pussy, twat, cunt, all the descriptive words I could imagine about it, 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 sperm.

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 our lovemaking.

It was the night before we left to go home for Christmas vacation, just a month after we had started dating. The last one in the sorority house Charie would be driving back to Virginia for the holidays 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 to savor it 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 sniff its scent. In that period, none of my fraternity brothers ever talked about cunnilingus—except maybe Garth. Though oral sex had not come into the popularity that we know 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 her legs. 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 my girl’s femininity. For me I was about to do something that I imagined she had never dreamed of happening to her; I had only just recently been dreaming of it myself. And, 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. Deep brown curls 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 come 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 release. Convinced that I was going to fuck Charie that night I didn’t want any mishaps along the way.

As I parted her lips with my fingers, and heard that most marvelous wet “click,” I could see her labia glistening in the ambient green light of the car’s 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 in my life. I suppose my first taste of ice cream might have come close. But in my memories, the taste of Charie’s pussy was like Ambrosia of the gods.

Charie’s hands pressed against the back of my head as 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 suckled her warm, wet inner lips between mine I wondered how I was going to get my turgid cock inside her. Unzipping my fly, I flopped my nearly nine-inch organ out of my pants and then took her hand and put it on its engorged bulk. In awed amazement, she said, “IT’S HUGE, GARY.” (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 my knob against them and moved it through her slippery groove both trying to lubricate it and finding the indentation of her threshold.

“NO GARY.” She said. Ignoring her plea I continued pressing, beginning to expand 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 when I marry, 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., but, OH, THIS JUST ISN’T FAIR.”

Disappointed that I hadn’t experienced my first fuck with the girl I knew I would marry I pouted a bit. But I felt good that I hadn’t hurt her in any way.

“Are you all right, 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 large as this?”

Taking this as a compliment I wondered, how does she know what big means? 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 of my outer 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, knowing I was almost out of control she seemed to double her effort, jerking me faster until I shot a long rope of semen that landed across her legs and panties. “Eew,” she said, “this is nasty.” Reaching for her purse she pulled out a hanky and wiped my semen off her legs and tried to clean 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 did it 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 had expected it would be. Fearful of my relationship with Charie being over I was in a two-week sulk. Ordinarily, we would have exchanged phone calls. Neither of us did. When I got back to school and went back to hashing at the sorority house Charie and I saw each other, and she seemed to be looking at me with either angry or hurt eyes. For three days she didn’t come into the kitchen, making 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. But 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. Though I honestly thought I could have fucked her I didn’t try. But when we kissed in the car she immediately went for my cock and struggled to get it out of my pants. Kissing the head of it she said, I’m glad you came on me, darling, the night before I went back to Virginia.” I was surprised she used “came” instead of “ejaculated.” As we kissed even more passionately, I put one finger inside her pussy and added another, she was furiously jacking me. Breaking the kiss, she reached inside of the long sleeve of her sweater and pulled out a hanky. I sensed what she was going to do. Covering the head of my cock with her the hanky in her left hand she furiously stroked me at light speed with her right. And, as I spurt three long ropes of semen into the hanky she froze then shuddered in orgasm. After settling her heaving chest she 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 this big thing inside me anytime you want.” Then she giggled and added, “And you had better want to do it a lot.”