Telling stories about girls who were virgins before, during, and after I knew them is tricky enough and even so I rename them all "Bonnie" to protect the girls whether innocent or not. I now want to tell a series of stories where only one virgin was involved. Any one who knows much of me or the females involved could pretty well figure out who was who, but go ahead: I'm not going to tell you. I'll change all names: to protect me if no one else.
I've said in my earlier sex narratives that I tend to be passive as males go. The female usually initiates. Maybe I stimulate. Maybe I share the lead. Who knows what we do: I don't claim to be 100% conscious: just 99% more conscious than most.
One result of my sexual character is that I had a "girlfriend" for years in college who was never my girlfriend. I never asked her out. I never had a date with her. I never told her I liked her. She just moved in and I could never gather the strength to make her leave. Sure I took the pussy. Why not? But it carried a price: never lacking pussy, I never got up the energy to hunt for a real girlfriend. I'll never know what I would have found had I looked, who I might have seduced had I tried, what it might have meant to me had I made an investment.
There's a frightening parallel there with the girl I married. My attempts to get rid of her never worked. Maybe accepting her would work. It didn't. The scars I bear for my passivity are permanent.
Since teen-hood I've had lean periods: no-woman in my bed more regularly than a-woman in my bed. More often I have one woman in my bed who I don't want in my bed: other than that getting laid is nice: hard to give up if it's there. The sequence I want to tell as a group here involves a funny musical beds interlude between two long periods of one unwanted woman in my bed. Though there's a strong contrast between the two unwanted women: I didn't love the first; I did love the second. I just didn't think we were good for each other. I think I was right.
As preface, I'll tell about the first unwanted long relationship. Then I'll tell the fast, funny stuff.
You hold my ass, I'll hold your balls
We get to school. We're dumped together by age. Class of '60. Some Columbians commute to college, but for the first week we all lived on campus. Columbia College was full of freshmen for one solid week, very few sophomores around. No faculty, but a couple of deans. We were supposed to bond with our own litter mates. And for the most part we did. Once the actual year started, we might become acquainted with upperclassmen living in neighboring rooms of the same dorm, but such upperclassmen were likely already bonded from previous years and not looking for new bonds. Juniors and Seniors tend to have a wider acquaintance in their classes as well as in their social lives but freshman are routinely insulated. So it was odd when the sophomore next door to my three-freshmen-to-two-rooms suite hung out in our suite. What the hell. A year or so later we were still friends with Willy Gib. I change all names in any way related to the sex in the stories. Non-combatants I may call by their real names. Willy played piano. Gib got gigs here and there, copiously during fraternity rushing weeks. Gib says he's got a gig at the What For fraternity. He's also got a date with a Barnard freshman. Do we want to come. Beer? Music? What the hell. Willy didn't play jazz, but he played OK. Sure.
Willy Gib was on the short side. Boy, had he found a short girl. Tina can't have been more than four foot eleven. Gib was Jewish. Tina was Jewish. SybaRight's surname is what? Well, not Nazi, but not Jewish.
I get a beer. Gib nods me over to the piano. He has to work: of course. Will I keep my eye on Tina? Keep her from getting bored? Sure. I stand at the wall with my beer. Tina comes over. Do I want to dance? Sure. We dance. She pulls me real close. She leads me out of Willy's sight. She nods toward the stairs that leads to the fraternity brothers' rooms. Fraternity brothers' rooms are understood to be common property during these open houses. You wouldn't dream of fucking in just anybody's room in a private home; you won't dream of not fucking in a fraternity party just because you don't know whose room it is. Tina nods me and leads me into one of the rooms upstairs. I haven't known this girl ten minutes and she's somebody else's date.
Maybe I should have pushed her away from me. Maybe I should have treated it as a joke. Oh ha, ha, ha: and led her right back into Willy's vision. Now I'll never know what would have happened if I had. I yielded to her lust and her lust was like a lobster trap: easy to fall into, hard to get out of.
Tina was OK looking. She had two features I like a lot: long long long blond hair: down past her ass, and a nice compact curve of an ass: soft and firm at the same time. Tina closes the door. Tina comes up to me. Tina puts her arms around my neck. Tina looks up into my face. I kiss her: without much interest. I loosen her bra and get a modest-sized breast out, also without much interest. I fondle her butt with considerably more interest. Short girls can have great asses. Jewish girls can have great asses. Tina was a dancer, ballet all her life: and need I speak of dancers' asses?
Tina is wearing tights. I start to fumble at them. "I'm a virgin," she says. I stop and don't know what to do next. If this girl wants me to take her pants off, she'll get me to take her pants off. If she wants to take my pants off, she'll do it. I don't have to worry about reticence on her part. She's taken the lead through this whole thing. I let her keep it. Pretty soon her preferences are clear enough. She doesn't need her pants off but she does want mine off. She wants my dick jabbing the air but doesn't seem to want it jabbing inside her. Neither does she take it anywhere near her mouth. Neither will she stroke it properly. It takes however no persuasion whatsoever to get her to caress my balls. Very gently. Very respectfully. And then to hang on for dear life: for several years. I liked to hold onto her ass; she liked to hold onto my balls. She'd phone and ask if I wanted coffee, if I wanted to study, if I wanted to go for a walk ... What she meant was she wanted to hold onto my balls.
Gender is funny. Only once in my long-enough-now life have I met a girl who could handle a penis as though she had one of her own. She could jerk you off as though you'd done it yourself while in a hurry. (Julliard girl. What was her instrument? violin?) My general experience is that girls will stroke the penis or kiss the penis or suck the penis out of a sense of obligation, but seldom with passion or genius: not with male imagination. But 50% to two-thirds have a real feeling for caressing the nuts. That would be a terrible ratio if hands and mouths were all that's involved. [I just broke up with a twice-widowed woman with several children, the children all fully-adult, who has zero-sense of how to handle balls. Terrifying lover; but what an absolutely adorable pussy! A teen-aged pubic region and high, uplifting breasts on an old woman, but one with spastic hands!] Fortunately, it's the pussy where you want to put the dick most regularly. And the pussy feels good almost no matter what kind of a dud the girl is. The girl blows as an obligation: I let her as an obligation. If she asked for a rating she'd seldom get better than a D, maybe a C-. In my experience girls go straight from D, C-, C-, D, F, F, D ... to A+. I don't know any Bs or ordinary As. Now the balls: Balls are great bumping against the buttocks, bumping against labia. Balls can come into play when the male apparatus caresses the breasts, the face, the hair ... But for straight out caressing with fingers I've known a number of virtuosi of the nuts for only that one genius of the penis.
Tina, at least as an eighteen year old virgin, was clear as clear: you handle your dick; I'll handle your balls.
Tina wanted to hear my come spatter on the floor, on the sidewalk, on the park bench, feel it on her wrist, on her dress, on her breasts, on her face ... several times a day, several times a week for a year before she told me she was ready to feel it inside her. For that she borrowed a nice older lady's apartment, bought new sheets, decorated the bathroom ... Even after that she still didn't want to take me in her mouth. She was quite discouraging if my mouth got anywhere near her pussy. I don't think she liked to be fingered that much either. Who knows what she liked by the time she was thirty (and long-married to a rabbi). But from eighteen to twenty or so she loved my balls and my come: and from nineteen to twenty or so she loved to fuck: and my balls, and my come.
But I really wish I had been able to learn what it was like to survey a room, decide if there were any women who interested me, see if I could get them to be interested in me, ask them out, jockey back and forth ... have a normal relationship. Maybe all women, or almost all women, wind up reaching for the apparatus, but I'm not at all sure it's good when they reach for it in the first second. And in the end all women want to be reached for: and maybe kissed: and fucked, and given children. But few want you to shove your face between their thighs before asking about the weather.
There were occasions where I'd be verbally abusive with her: curse her as well as tell her to go away and leave me alone. Two days would pass: and there she be: at the door: holding a candle: bearing a gift: and a bottle of wine. I hadn't been laid in two days. I'd let her in.
Well, finally I graduated and for the first time in years no longer had a regular address on Morningside Heights. Tina was still at Barnard but she'd have to haunt somebody else. I heard that she became promiscuous for a period. I also heard that the rap on her was that she was a bad lay. I bet a lot of guys don't like to be grabbed. I hope nobody thought that I had taught her anything. I never did much with her but find neutral ground.
I was frequently back in the neighborhood, would run into her: but being free of a known address offered no place for her to corner me. By the time I got another address on the Heights, her habit was broken. She went through a period of cursing me. Then decided I was OK, and resumed saying nice things about me. Then she got engaged to the rabbi. Who knows: maybe her experience helped make her a good rabbi's wife. I have no idea. No contact since 1961.
Notes:
Nuts for Nuts:
I remember one night we're in Riverside Park, on the brow of a hill. I tell her to hold it a minute: I gotta pee. She comes to attention at my side, breathing like a patriot. I take it out. Offer to let her hold it. No. Quick little firm "no"-shakes of the head. I shrug. I pee. Does she want to shake it clear? More little "no"-shakes. Firm. But she's breathing hard. It's been a real experience for her. She connected to the penis whether stiff or lax: just not through her hand.
I can tell she's eager to hold something. Another couple of minues and I let her. Love out of doors is special.
Consciousness:
I have only just recently discovered that Timothy Leary forged a streamlined, complex, amazingly comprehensive model of consciousness. You can look it up at deoxy.org. It merges Freud and Jung with the zoo-biologists and the yogas too. It goes beyond all of them! and just so happens to merge well with my own theory of complex information! (That I'll link to later.)
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