Gender: Male Age: Secret Location: N/A
|Introduction: As I approach the end of my life, I find that I have only one story to tell. It is this one. It is absolutely true in all but trivial detail. I have never told this tale to anyone, and I am grateful for this place where I can finally let it out. Perhaps there will be healing in the telling. Read this with compassion and respect. Whatever is left of my soul is here.|
They met in early September, on their first day in college. The year was 1968.
Her name was Carol, and his name was Charlie.
Charlie had always been shy with girls; he had hardly dated before college. He was still a virgin, though he did know what a girl's breast felt like and how to feel her pussy to give her pleasure and make her come. He even knew that he was very good at that.
He had never wanted to date a lot of girls, anyway. He only wanted one, a girl whom he could love and who would love him, and who would be his soulmate forever. Just one.
And when he saw Carol, he knew beyond doubt that she was the one he wanted.
Carol was, simply, beautiful; clear and creamy-white skin, sparkling green eyes, a smile like an angel, and long brown hair that fell in soft waves to her waist. Her breasts were full, her hips generous, her bottom round and perfect. He could not see much of her legs; she wore a slightly old-fashioned skirt that covered her knees, but what he could see was wonderful.
Indeed, Carol had a slightly old-fashioned air about her that he found charming. She tended to stand with her feet primly together, and even a little pigeon-toed, with her feet turned inward, like a child's. Her hands were normally clasped together in front of her in a shy, endearing sort of way, and her eyes were wide and bright; but her smile was always reserved and proper.
"Ladylike" was the word that came to mind. He thought her amazing.
For the first time in his life, Charlie made up his mind to pursue and win a girl. In the past, he had tended to hang back and hope for a signal; but not with this girl. He knew he had to make the first move--and quickly. When the upperclassmen saw her, she would have plenty to choose from.
He managed to maneuver himself till he was beside her in line as they filed into the auditorium for their first orientation lecture.
"Hello. My name is Charlie," he said.
"Hi. I'm Carol."
She smiled as he knew she would; friendly, but reserved. Up close, her skin was so clear and perfect it almost seemed luminescent.
"Boy, wasn't that opening convocation boring?" he said.
"It sure was. I kept yawning."
Charlie knew this. He had been watching her from the balcony for the whole hour.
"I hope this thing is better," he said.
"Oh, me too. If it's as boring as that was, I'm going to fall asleep."
Her voice was enchanting; low and sweet, Southern honey with a charming hint of New England. Charlie had never heard anything like it. He later learned that she had grown up in South Carolina and had just graduated from a private school outside of Boston.
"It should be better," he said. "This is where they give us all the rules and regs."
"And pass out the student handbooks," she said, nodding.
He looked at her hands, holding a binder against her chest. She could be a hand model, he thought. She wore no nail polish, and needed none. You don't paint lilies.
They were going into the auditorium. "Do you mind if I sit with you? First day, I don't know anybody," he said with a grin.
She smiled. "Okay. I don't know anybody either." Then, "What was your name again?"
"Charlie. And you're--?"
As if he'd forgotten.
He did not know it then, but that name would echo in his heart for the rest of his life.
After it began, Carol not only loved Charlie; she was grateful to him, and would be forever after. He taught her so much, and so patiently and lovingly and well.
She was totally naive and a little fearful of sex when they met, having grown up with a stepfather that was always dancing around the edges of sexual abuse--"accidentally" walking in on her as a child when she was in the shower, making her lie on him so she'd feel his erection against her 10-year-old belly, and so on. He and her mother were divorced by then, and she had not spoken to him in years.
Carol was more than innocent. She had dated a little, but sex frightened her and she was still very much a virgin--and in fact knew very little about the subject. It was a different time.
But Charlie took it slowly with her. He was always so gentle and patient, she gradually began to relax and trust him. He didn't even try to kiss her till their third date, and he never, ever, pressed her for anything. It was as if he knew how fearful and fragile she was.
The truth was, he was as shy and unsure as she was; but he knew to conceal that and feign confidence. That he was exactly what she needed was an accident, but a happy one for both of them.
Charlie was not only gentle and patient to a fault; he was easier to talk to than anyone Carol had ever met. They talked for hours, those first few days and on their first few dates. Charlie was very intelligent, and had many interests; he seemed to know everything without being conceited or nerdy about it. She found him fascinating.
More importantly, he really listened to everything she said with total attention instead of planning what he was going to say next. He didn't seem anxious to impress her at all.
She liked him.
It was the late 60s. Their place to be alone was the back seat of Charlie's Chevy II at the local drive-in movie or various "lover's lanes," and that was where he taught her about love, and sex, and even her own body.
On their sixth date, they went to see "Romeo and Juliet" at the drive-in. Olivia Hussey, playing Juliet, was radiant, a classic beauty; Carol breathed, "She's so pretty..."
Charlie was sitting beside her with his arm comfortably around her shoulders. She had come to like that; it was warm and affectionate, and Charlie never acted like it entitled him to anything more.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear: "She is. But you're the prettiest girl I ever saw."
She turned and looked at him. He wasn't watching the screen. His eyes were on her face, and she sensed that they had been for some time.
"You're just flattering me," she said archly, "and flattery will get you nowhere." Then she laughed.
He only smiled a little, his eyes still roaming her face. "No," he said. "I'm not. You really are."
She looked down. "Thank you," she said quietly. "That's very sweet."
She felt a finger at her chin. Charlie turned her face toward him, and when he was sure he had her attention, he said, "Carol, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever met. But that's not what's important."
"It's not?" She blinked at him innocently, a little puzzled.
"No. You're smart, you're funny, you're kind, and you're as sweet as you can be."
She smiled, a little cautiously. "You sound like you're in love with me."
He smiled too, and warmly. "Not quite yet. But I'm for sure in 'like a whole lot' with you."
She laughed, and so did he.
Then, he lifted a finger in front of her face, pointing downward, and moved it in small circles. "Turn around," he said softly.
She did, turning to kneel on the seat with her back to the screen. Then she leaned to her right and found herself in his arms. She stretched her legs out on the seat and reclined against him, a little timidly.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked. She examined her feelings. "Mmm. Yes. This is nice," she said. She snuggled against him contentedly. This was new.
He kissed her. She kissed back, and they did not speak for a few minutes. Sweet kisses, mouths closed, but warm and meaningful even so.
"Do you like this?" he whispered.
"I do," she whispered back, and kissed him again.
After a while, she breathed, "We're going to miss how the movie comes out."
He was stroking her face. "They both die," he said, deadpan.
She laughed, as did he--and when he kissed her again, she felt a tiny, tender swipe of his tongue against her lips. Just once.
She hesitated, then opened her mouth to him. Just a little; then more. Then more than that.
Soon their mouths were locked together, and their tongues were getting to know each other, exploring this new world. Even then, Charlie was gentle and undemanding. Their kisses were deep and intimate, but he never tried to overwhelm her. His arms supported and protected her, and she felt safe.
"I think maybe I am falling in love," he said a little later.
She clung close to him and whispered in his ear: "Me, too."
Their next few dates were similar. They held each other and kissed, deeply; they talked quietly, about nothing, about how they felt, about each other. They held and felt and stroked each other's bodies, tentatively, shyly, their hands never straying into the most intimate areas--not yet.
"I love how you hold me, Charlie. I feel so safe and warm."
"I love how you fit my arms."
"Mmmm. Me too."
He found a spot on her neck, above her collarbone, that made her gasp and writhe when he kissed her there. He remembered it, and kissed it often. She would lift her chin for it when he moved his head that way, and she hissed and clung to him and whimpered as he sucked her smooth skin there.
The first time he held her breast, he actually asked her: "Do you mind?"
She quickly said, "I don't know..."
He left his hand there and continued to kiss her.
She left his hand there too. The question was strange, but somehow it made her feel safe, too. Charlie would never push her, never give her anything she didn't want.
Her breasts were full and lovely, and he slowly taught her to love having them fondled and sucked. Soon she was adept at slipping her bra off as soon as she got in the car with him--and she loved thrilling him by sometimes not wearing a bra at all.
When they were at the Park--their name for a little undeveloped area at the end of a street far from the school--Carol would take her blouse and bra off entirely, and snuggle in his arms bare to her waist. He would stroke her smooth back as they kissed, her heavy breasts pressed against him; sometimes he would take his shirt off too, and she would rub her nipples against his bristly chest and purr like a kitten.
Then she'd turn around and lean her back against him, arching her back as he took her bare breasts in his hands. She shivered as he felt and hefted and played with her lovely tits; and there was a lot to play with. Carol said she was a 38-D, but her bras seemed too small to him. 40-DD would be closer, he thought.
"Mmm, I like that.... Ooo.... Ooo! Oh, pinch my nipple again like that... Mm! Yes..."She liked it when he held her breasts in his hands and sucked her tender nipples. "Squeeze me just a little, Chahlie... Oh, Chahlie... Suck me harder..."
When Carol was aroused, her time in Boston came out and the "r" in his name disappeared. He found it endearing and entrancing.
Each night when they met, they embraced--and she giggled at the times he gasped to find no strap across her back.
From early on, Charlie adored her hands--and her feet. She never wore nail polish on either, and he was glad; they were too pretty bare to paint them. If Carol wanted him to want her and get hard, all she had to do was slip off her shoes and go barefoot, especially if she was wearing shorts.
It was a secret joke they shared, and an intimate one. The first thing she did on getting in his car was throw her shoes in the back seat and smile.
It took longer to teach her to love being touched more intimately. It was long before she opened her legs so he could stroke the crotch of her panties, and they stopped there for quite a while; he would caress and stroke and knead her pussy through the thin nylon till it was soaked and she was gasping, and finally one night he made her come like that.
She shivered and tensed in his arms--and when she relaxed again, she clung to his neck and said nothing for long minutes. He kissed her cheeks and found them wet.
But the next night she whispered, "Put your hand inside," as he stroked her panties. He kissed her gently as he did.
"Oh, Carol--" His hand was exploring her soft, hidden hair, and she opened her thighs wider than she ever had. "Feel me," she breathed.
Her sweet slit was warm and humid, and he stroked her outer lips ever so gently, till she was subtly moving her hips and breathing a little faster.
"Oh, Chahlie--feel me inside," she whispered. "Please..."
His finger slipped inside her trembling pussy with a tiny pop, and he kissed that secret spot above her collarbone as she moaned. She was so smooth, so liquid, so warm and wet--
And so sensitive. She began to shudder almost immediately as he felt her most intimate secrets, and he brushed her swollen clit and felt her spasm in his arms. "Oh, God.... Oh, do that again..."
He took it slowly, barely touching her clit now and then as he slid his finger in and out of her quivering, slippery hole. She grew more and more excited, and soon he was frankly sliding his finger over the stiff little button, rubbing one side, then the other, then right across the tip as she gasped and whimpered.
As she rose toward her most intense orgasm yet, he massaged the hidden shaft of her clit, deeply, rubbing just beneath it, up and down, and stroking the tip of it as he did so.
Finally, she gulped and gasped, her ass rising from the car seat, and he whispered, "Tell me when you come--I want to hear you tell me--"
He slid his finger all the way inside her, deeper than he'd felt her yet, and pulled back to press his palm against her clit as he held it there. He massaged her whole pussy deeply and explored her with his finger, wriggling it inside her.
"Ggg--I'm coming," she grunted.. "I'm cooOOOMMING..."
She cried after that first hard orgasm. He held her and kissed her tears away until she stopped shivering.
"Why do you cry?" he asked. She didn't know.
She grew to love it, and soon she surprised him by getting into his car wearing maroon cutoffs and a matching sweatshirt--and no underwear at all. She giggled at his shock and excitement.
They didn"t always just "make out," as it was called then. She fondly remembered a night when they hardly even kissed. She began asking him questions, and he had "the talk" with her that her parents never had.
Some of it she knew, but there was much she didn't. He told her about eggs and sperm, ovulation, pregnancy, contraception, and even how her period worked and how it affected her moods. He told her about her clitoris and her labia and explained the things she had been feeling when they were together.
She asked many questions, and he answered her seriously-- without making fun of how naive she was or how little she knew for an 18-year-old. She adored him for it.
One night at the Park, a smiling Carol said she a surprise for him. She climbed into the back seat and told him to wait and not look till she told him.
"You can look now, Chahlie," she cooed, and he did.
She sat there smiling at him shyly. All she was wearing was a pair of tiny beige bikini panties and a matching half-bra.
Charlie was stunned and thrilled and shocked all at once. Till that moment, he had never seen her in anything that was designed to be "sexy"--she was so modest! He stroked her all-but-bare body for hours, and made her come many times. Carol was learning to tease and be seductive.
He had taught her to be multi-orgasmic, and she would get off many times a night. He made sure that she was never unsatisfied, but never pressed her to take more when she had had enough.
He grew adept at eating her sweet pussy; he would lick her tiny labia-she was very small there, like a child--and lap at her clit till she was whimpering, in a tiny voice also like a child's, then suck on it till she came. Just as she peaked, he would slide a finger in, or two, and she would come with even greater intensity.
More than once, she fainted from it. Charlie would hold her till she came to. She would be disoriented and frightened, and he whispered reassurance and cuddled her till she relaxed again in his arms.
It was harder for her to please him and make him come, though. She was still reluctant to touch his penis, and sucking it was out of the question, even though she loved feeling his tongue in her pussy. She just wasn't ready. Charlie was patient, and never made her feel bad about it, though she knew he was frustrated.
They finally hit upon a compromise; she would pose and show off for him, and he would masturbate and look at her. It pleased them both. Charlie enjoyed what Carol gave him, and let her progress at her own pace. She felt no pressure, and that too made her feel safe.
This stage lasted a long time. In the warm months that spring and fall, they often went to a nearby lake; and one day she surprised him there. When she took off her coverup--a sort of short coverall, usually of cotton terry--she was wearing a bikini.
A modest one by the standards of today, but in 1970 it was shocking. He stared at her belly, his mouth open. He had never seen her more beautiful. "Like it?" Carol asked melodically, delighted at his wide-eyed reaction.
Charlie nodded. "Uh-huh," he said, staring.
"Want me to take it off?"
Ten seconds later, he was stroking his cock hungrily as she posed and postured coyly, barefoot in the sand. He was staring at her lovely bare legs when she reached behind her and whispered, "Are you ready, love?"He nodded, pulling his dick slowly, and she smiled and dropped her bra on the blanket.
He moaned. It was the best view he had ever had of her lovely tits, and they were far more beautiful, more perfect than he had thought. Heavy and firm, sweetly rounded, softly pointed and tipped with large, pink nipples.
Carol preened before him, turning this way and that, showing herself off. In broad daylight, on a public beach. Charlie was already close to coming, sooner that he had ever felt it. She leaned forward, and her heavy breasts swung slightly as he stared and jacked off.
He expected no more; he knew how modest she was, and it was incredible that she would even go topless for him in this deserted but public place. He was staring at her hanging breasts and stroking, pre-cum dripping from his steel-hard dick.
"I've got them all the way down in back."
He suddenly saw that her hands were at her hips. "Sh-show me," he stammered.
She turned around and showed him. Her big, perfect, pale and deep-split ass was completely bare, her bikini bottom at her thighs. He gasped and stroked, struggling to hold back his steaming sperm.
Quickly, she yanked the garment to her ankles and off and dropped it by her bra. Charlie glanced down; the sight of Carol's swimsuit, discarded on the blanket, was exciting by itself.
He looked at her, hardly believing his eyes. His sweet and shy, prim and proper Carol was stark naked on a public beach, just for his pleasure.
He bit his lip and jacked off to her as he stared--at the long, long sweep of her beautiful bare skin, from her bare pink heels, up the bare, pale curves of her perfect legs, over her heartbreaking bare ass, and up her pale bare back--to her twinkling green eyes.
"I'm going to turn around now, love," she cooed coyly. "Get ready..."
She slowly turned, and Charlie moaned with passion and wonder. She stood there like a goddess, bare from toes to hairline, and he could hardly comprehend her beauty. Carol was creamy-white all over, so pale she almost glowed. There were highlights of peach-pink here and there, in her sweetly blushing cheeks, at her large, excitingly erect nipples, and beneath her belly--he was thrilled to see the blushing skin of her pubic mound and the sweet crease of her vagina through the thin veil of her small and sparse patch of pussy hair.
The swell of her large breasts, the soft curve of her belly, the flare of her hips, the curve and taper of her legs--she was perfection, sexuality personified, the most beautiful and most exciting thing he'd ever seen. She smiled at him innocently, turning slightly to make sure he could see her from all angles.
"I don't have any clothes on, Chahlie," she murmured teasingly. "I'm completely nude. Do you like the way I look?" As if she could not tell, from his red, perspiring face, his expression as of pain and torment, his shivering and jerking as he knelt on the sand, and from his fevered pumping of his red, swollen, and foam-dripping cock.
"Yuh," was the best he could do. She was naked in public for his jack-off strain.
As he watched in disbelief, she moved her pretty bare feet wide apart, put her hands behind her head, and slowly crouched, her legs turned outward. When she was halfway to a squat, she stopped and smiled at him. "Do you like this pose?" she whispered. "It's very unladylike..." She thrust her pussy forward and looked down shyly. Everything she had was on display.
And unladylike it was. It was primitive, primal, achingly sexual, as obscene a pose as she could take without lying down. He did not know it then, but that vision would be engraved inside his skull forever after and never leave him, even in his dreams.
He moaned and grunted and could hold back no longer. As he stared at his Carol, the prettiest and sweetest girl he had ever seen, so modest and proper, posing lewdly naked on a public beach in broad daylight, he made a strangled noise deep in his throat and ejaculated on the sand between and on her lovely feet.
She was a good eight feet away, but his jets and arcs of flying sperm flew high and far, and Carol squealed "Ooo!" like a delighted child and held the pose for him as he stared and spurted high.
His eyes were wet with his love for her. He had never come so hard and so long and so much in his life, and his heart had never been so full. She loved him this much...
She held that feral pose till he was done, and just a little longer; and then she ran to him, breasts bouncing, and kissed him deeply as he knelt there with his dripping dick still in his dripping hand.
"That was fun!" she trilled. "Do you want to do it some more?" She crouched again and began to hunch her naked hips sensuously, pumping her pelvis at him as if she were being fucked.
"I'm naked, Chahlie!" she squealed. "I'm naked in PUBLIC! Ooo, jack OFF to me, love! Make it squirt again!" She turned and undulated her pale, bare ass in his face...
And he was hard again in seconds, jacking off to her without thinking. Only staring, and marveling, and loving her for giving him such a priceless gift.
She made him shoot three wads before she lay down naked beside him so he could kiss her neck and feel her off. She came hard, thrilled and frightened and hot all at once at being naked in public.
It became a regular thing for them, and fun for both; she would strip and pose naked for him and giggle with delight when he ejaculated, staring. In the car, in a motel room, and most memorably on that public beach.
One warm day, she shocked and thrilled him by going to the beach without bothering to bring a swimsuit. Under her beach coverup, she wore only a pair of tiny lace bikini panties. He shot his wad ten feet that day when she finally peeled them off and struck his favorite pose.
Later, Charlie remembered looking at those panties, discarded on the blanket next to her, as he fingered her while licking her pussy to a delicious climax--and then leaving them there as they went for a swim. Prim and proper Carol went skinny-dipping and lay naked in the sun, and Charlie was content to just sit nearby and look at her.
So beautiful, he thought. So perfect. And she loves me.
The happiest day of his life? Maybe it was. But there would come another day, much later, that rivaled it.
He loved seeing her naked, and she loved that he did; she loved knowing she looked so pretty that way. She was usually so prim and modest--she knew it shocked Charlie when she displayed herself openly, and she reveled in shocking him by suddenly pulling her knees back and wide open, blatantly exhibiting her tits and pussy and giggling as he stared in astonishment. It was so unladylike!
She felt beautiful and wicked and sexy, and she loved it. If she was naked, and he was masturbating to her at the time, it never failed to make him shoot.
They finally took the ultimate step. They were both vaguely religious and a little old-fashioned, and had hesitated far longer than others might have done; but they talked about it, long and often, and decided that since they were definitely getting married after graduation, there was nothing wrong with premarital sex.
And, too, they wanted it so very much, both of them...
Their first attempt was a fiasco, and I will not tell of it here. Condoms were not an option for them, they learned. Carol went on the Pill right away, and after that they persisted till they got it right.
The first time that it was good, they were in a motel room they had taken for the purpose. They had a quick and hurried dinner at their favorite restaurant, where they usually lingered to talk; but that night, they wanted to get back to their rented private space and enjoy each other's love. Somehow they both sensed that that night, it would be as wonderful as they knew it could be.
They were two children still, teaching each other. Between Charlie's shy, gentle patience, and Carol's stunning beauty and blossoming sensuality, they were learning.
When they got back to the room, Carol undressed slowly. Charlie helped, taking pleasure in unfastening her bra for her, then standing behind her at the mirror and fondling her breasts as they both watched each other's faces and his hands on her body.
"Let's take a shower, love," she whispered.
How he loved it that she called him that.
He kissed her and nodded, a little overwhelmed. This would be new.
He stepped into the tub. Carol was already there, the almost-too-hot spray turning her pale, perfect body a lovely, rosy pink.
As always, he was stunned at the sight of her naked. Her body seemed incandescent, radiant and perfect in the light from the vanity. "God, you're beautiful," he said.
She smiled at him and held out a bar of soap. "Here, love," she said. "Lather me up. All over."
A little dazed, he reached for a washcloth. "No, silly," she giggled. "With your hands..." He turned the shower head aside and began.
It was shattering, mind-wrecking, wonderful. Smooth, slippery skin, slick, heavy breasts, taut soapy nipples, foamy, softly parted pussy lips--she shuddered and mewed like a kitten when he stroked them, letting his fingers slip inside her. Deep wet kisses under the hot, pounding spray, her wet hair in his face.
Her soft and soapy hands all over him, caressing his ass, fondling his wet balls, and gently but insistently soaping his iron-hard dick from base to head with her knowing, teasing fingers.
Their whole bodies pressed together, bare and slick with foam, his pinning hers against the tiles, their hips working against each other in rhythmic anticipation.
Finally, with their bodies clean and warm and still moist even after drying each other, they got in bed, still naked. Charlie pulled the covers over them and they snuggled for a few minutes. It seemed cool in the room after the warm, steamy shower. Under the covers, it was Paradise; clean cotton sheets and bare, smooth skin.
It began with kissing, of course. Deep, passionate kisses, hands roaming over each other, breathless words of love.
"I need you so much..."
"I'm yours, Chahlie..."
"Oh, Carol... Tell me again..."
"I'm yours, love. I belong to you... Take me..."
He kissed and sucked that secret spot above her collarbone, and she sighed and gasped. He held her breast and sucked at her stiff nipple, biting it lightly and making her squirm and shiver. He felt her pussy, so warm and wet for him, twisting and rotating his finger deep inside her as she hissed and moaned with her need. They kissed, their mouths greedy for each other and wide open, tongues wrestling as he squeezed her tits and she held his balls.
Finally, he lay on top of her and moved upward. Her smooth legs were wide open for him, and his dick was pressed downward between them; it was nestled in her warm crotch, his leaking dickhead almost at her asshole, the top of his dick lying pressed against the length of her oozing, all-but-hairless slit.
She rolled her hips upward, opening herself wider--And his cock slowly levered upward, entering her by itself as if it knew the way.
"Oh, Chahlie..." she breathed. "Oh, Chahlie, you're going inside me..."
She was so smooth, so slick, so warm and wet as her tender membranes parted for his smoothly sliding dickhead. His mind, his heart and soul, and all his senses were in her pussy as his quivering cock slid deeper and deeper, questing for her center, seeking to touch her soul in the warm, slick darkness.
And he found it. He was all the way inside her, their pubic bones pressed together, her sweet vagina impaled completely on his bare, sensitive, and steel-hard dick.
Carol was trembling, clinging to him and breathing in short puffs. "Oh, Chahlie--Oh--Oh, it's so BIG... It feels so GOOD..."
What could be better for an inexperienced boy to hear? Charlie didn't feel like a man. He felt like a god.
As he slowly began to fuck her, she moaned and moved with him. "Oh, yes," she gasped. "Oh, yes, Chahlie... Slide it in and out..."
"What do you have on, Carol?" he gasped.
"Nothing... Oh, nothing at all.... I'm naked, Chahlie... Naked for you to fuck..."
"I love you," he breathed as he did that. "I love you, Carol. You are my life."
"I love you too... Oh, fuck me, Chahlie... Fuck me, love... Fuck me good..." And he did.
It was easy for Charlie to come when he masturbated to her, but when they fucked, he had a problem with delayed ejaculation. This was frustrating for him--but Carol, of course, rather enjoyed it.
He could fuck her for an hour at a time, then do it again a half-hour later. That first time, he fucked her for forty-five glorious, marvelous, wonderful minutes, and she came in his arms a dozen times or more, shuddering and jerking in her intense orgasm, each one harder and deeper than the last.
When he finally came, it felt like his very soul was shooting from his cock to mix with hers. He fucked her three more times before morning.
As time went on, they got even better at it. She loved to take him from behind, lying on her face and knees with her precious, perfect bottom high in the air and quaking as he slammed into her pussy, his balls slapping her clit with every impact.
By April, they were comfortable and confident lovers, and knew each other's bodies intimately. Charlie grew more assertive and dominant, and Carol found she liked being made to submit. Being held down and fucked hard, Charlie's big dick slamming into her deep and fast, left her breathless and weak with repeated orgasms, and she slept in his arms afterward with his cum leaking from her pussy.
She never learned to feel comfortable with sucking his dick. She kissed it now and then, but she just never got there.
Before she could--it was over.
Carol had grown up a lot in those two years, and she knew what she wanted. By the end of their sophomore year, Carol had decided that Charlie would never have any money. And that, for her, was the end of it.
Charlie was sweet and loving and devoted and sensitive, always gentle, more dedicated to her pleasure than his own, and a sensational lover--but he planned to become an actor, and he was always broke. She knew that she would always be loved if she married him, but--secure? That was another question.
He had taught her how to love, and how to make love, and that she was beautiful and special and sexy. She knew that she could get another guy without much effort. Whether it was cold or not, whether it was fair or not--Carol decided to move on.
She never faced him, though; she never told him straight out that it was over. Indeed, when he sensed that she was growing cold and distant that spring and confronted her with it, she simply lied and told him everything was all right. He wanted to believe that so much, he'd always accept it.
That was fine with Carol. She didn't much care about his pain and worry. She really just wished he'd take the hint and go away. It was such a bother to have to deal with his feelings; it made her uncomfortable, and she didn't see why she should have to.
When school was out, she made the break. All that summer, she put him off with excuses and pleas that she was too busy to see him; finally, she just stopped taking his calls. When she heard his voice, she'd hang up.
She knew it was hard on him. When he came to her door and she refused to open it, she could see him through the peephole, standing there and weeping, pleading with her just to talk to him for a minute.
Too bad. But it wasn't her problem. He'd just have to get over it.
She turned away without a word, every time; and she never shed a single tear.
For his part, Charlie was far beyond crushed. His world had ended; Carol's love was more important to him than air or food, and she would not even speak to him. He was plunged into despair.
Though he tried, hard, and many times, to shake it off, a song would come on the radio, or he would see a woman with a familiar walk, or long brown hair, or a pair of sandals he recognized, and everything he had lost would come crashing down on him again.
For two years, the happiest of his life, his every waking moment had been filled with Carol. If not beside him or in his arms, she was on his mind and in his heart. After a lonely childhood without brothers or sisters, with distant parents, and only a few close friends, all male, he had finally found her.
Not only the girl of his dreams. A kindred soul, someone who really knew him and accepted him and loved him for who he was, with whom he could share everything. She was not only his lover; she was his closest friend, his confidante, his partner, his lifemate, the other half of his soul.
She was his life. Nothing else in his world was important by comparison, or ever had been.
If she had died, he would have been devastated; but he could have healed after that. She had not been taken from him by cruel, impersonal fate that strikes quickly and cleanly, though. She had left him, and slowly; deliberately giving him hope and promises till he knew that hope was dead in spite of her words. She had gradually abandoned him, and the wound was long and slow in being inflicted, and tore him as deep as his soul.
There were so many facets to the pain. Where once they could sense each other's thoughts, there was a closed door. He had once been her life, too; and now he didn't matter to her at all. Where once love and deep friendship had been, now there was only cold indifference. She knew him better than any living soul ever had--and she had pronounced him not good enough. And never, not once, had she expressed the least hint of regret, sorrow, or compassion.
Nothing else mattered. Carol didn't love him any more.
Being left to die with a bullet in his belly would have hurt him less.
He tried to kill himself four times, and almost a fifth. He cut his wrists, but couldn't dig deep enough with the dull knife he had; he drove his car into a bridge abutment, but had forgotten to unfasten his seat belt and walked away with only bruises--and without a car. He got drunk and took a bottleful of sleeping pills, but they were over-the-counter pills and he woke up the next day with only a headache and a stomach that could hold nothing down for a few days.
He had gotten a summer job and rented a small apartment for the summer, to be near Carol and where he had hoped they would make love and laugh and enjoy each other in privacy and comfort. She never saw it, and he sat there alone and dreamed of her arms and sweet death and an end to the agony of living another day without her love.
The absolute bottom was a day in early August. He had no car, and so had lost the silly summer job he had taken to pay for his apartment; he had no phone, and he had no money.
There was a pay phone at the gas station on the corner. He panhandled a dime from a stranger, then got himself ready.
He wanted to sound okay; cheerful, positive, friendly, not pathetic or pleading. When he felt he would sound upbeat and happy, he called her.
She picked up the phone.
"Carol? Hi, this is Charlie. I just wondered if--"
He didn't have another dime. He didn't have another plan. He didn't have another hope, another moment to look forward to. He thought about tomorrow, and could see nothing but pain, and loneliness, and no Carol to turn to.
There was a large plate-glass window across the way from the pay phone. What the hell.
He walked toward it resolutely. He saw hope there. He did not slow down a fraction or hesitate a step as he walked through it.
Tempered glass was not common then. It shattered in large, jagged sheets, and they fell into him and on him--
With not enough effect. Lots of blood, scars he would carry forever, but nothing deep or wide enough to let him bleed to death. He had failed again.
With some assistance from the gas-station clerk, who was terrified of being sued, he bandaged himself up and limped back to his apartment, where he sat and stared at the wall.
There was nothing to do, so he did nothing. He just sat.
A few days later, his landlady called his parents.
He had no clear memory of the following few days or weeks. He next remembered the hospital, and being drugged and sleepy. When he was awake, he thought of Carol and ached; when he slept, he did not dream. He mostly slept.
He eventually was released to his annoyed parents' care, with a bottle of pills and an appointment for therapy.
He did not register to return to school in the fall. How could he? Every square foot of that campus held memories if the two of them together, and every human he saw would ask why they were not together still.
He sat in his father's study all one night, holding his .32 pistol. It was a Colt Pocket Model, almost an antique, but he had fired it and knew it worked. He put it in his mouth, over and over, and took it out again.
He thought of her, and the joy he would never know again for as long as he lived--not just the sex; of knowing Carol loved him--and he cried, and stopped, and cried again, and put the gun in his mouth, then took it out again and looked at it.
Each time, something stopped him:
His mother would be so angry about the mess; but then, if that's all she's worried about, piss on her anyway.
Maybe he should write Carol a letter and tell her why he did it, and lie and tell her it wasn't her fault so she won't feel so bad; but she wouldn"t blame herself anyway, so it's pointless.
Still, a letter might be good; but then it's not like she'll care all that much anyway. I'll just be out of her hair.
His dad would think him a loser; but then, he did already.
What if she decides to come back to me? Nah. That ship has sailed. False hope really isn't better than none at all.
Finally, he was ready; he said his final prayer, and closed his eyes, and lifted the gun--
And then he thought of something that stopped him for good.
What happens after you die?
Hell didn't matter. He was in Hell now.
But what if he had a chance to see her in the next life? What if he could make her understand? What if he had a chance to have a place in her heart again, in some other world?
And what if he'd be screwing that chance up if he killed himself?
He put the gun away and went to bed, just as the sun was rising.
Before he slept, he prayed. He prayed that God would let him die and end his pain, since he dared not do it himself for fear of losing that tiny chance to touch her heart again someday.
Carol heard later that Charlie had been hospitalized with a nervous breakdown. Too bad, she thought. Then her thoughts turned back to Larry.
Early that summer, Carol met Larry at her part-time job. He was ambitious where Charlie was laid-back, he was tall and athletic where Charlie was short and pudgy, and he always seemed to have money. She decided to go after him.
Carol was beautiful, and knew it; and Charlie had taught her how to flirt and tease and be seductive. She had learned well, and it wasn't long before she had Larry wrapped around her pretty finger.
True, Larry was a mediocre lover, and he was a little self-absorbed, and more than a little boring; but Carol felt sure that her future would be secure with him. It seemed like the thing to do.
It was a wonderful summer for her. The flirting, the dropped hints, the first date, the second, the kissing, more. Before the summer was out, they were engaged.
Not long after that, Charlie called. It had been a few months, so she listened.
Don and Lisa, some friends that they had often double-dated with, were getting married. They were still as totally committed to each other as Charlie and Carol had once been. At one time the four of them had talked about having a double wedding.
Neither Don nor Lisa had any idea what had happened between their friends that summer, and they had sent Charlie and Carol a joint invitation.
Did Carol want to go to the wedding with him?
Charlie sounded drained and a bit numb, but not particularly shaky or upset. And the bride and groom had been good friends. Carol thought.
"Sure," she finally said. "But no crying, OK?"
It would be hard, but just to see her again.... It would be worth it.
They agreed that he would pick her up the following Sunday.
Charlie was, in fact, numb. He had only the week before found his reason not to kill himself, and now here was a chance to see her again. It would hurt, and terribly, but how could he not?
It was Carol.
That day came. It felt strange to ride in Charlie's car again--sitting by the passenger door, instead of snuggling up beside him as she used to do. They hardly spoke on their way to the ceremony.
Carol tried not to give Charlie the least opening to talk about how he felt. She didn't care, and she didn't want to know. It was his problem.
Charlie tried not to look at her too much. She looked as beautiful as he had ever seen her, but she had no smile for him. He drove in silence and tried to look at the road.
It was a predictably hippie-flavored service, in that fall of 1970. The bride and groom had written their own peculiar vows, which played more like speeches; and both were barefoot in the grass as they spoke them. After the service was completed, the newly married couple sought out their friends.
"So when are you guys doing it?" asked Don, the groom, his shoulder-length red hair billowing in the light breeze.
"There's not going to be a wedding, Don," Charlie said shortly. "We broke up."
Both Don and Lisa, his bride, were thunderstruck. "No!" "Can't be!" "Whose idea was it?"
Carol and Charlie looked at each other. He saw the plea in her eyes.
Without taking his eyes off Carol's, he said, slowly, "It was a..." He hesitated. "...a mutual decision."
No one else saw her small sigh of relief, but he did. For a moment, he wondered why he had let her off the hook; but only for a moment.
He loved her. He would do anything to keep her from suffering the slightest discomfort. Even now.
She took his hand and squeezed it as they continued to talk to the happy pair. It felt like the hand of God.
On the way back, Carol found herself sliding over next to Charlie, as she always used to do. His arm went around her shoulder automatically, and then he felt his eyes filling.
That feels so right, he thought. I miss it so much.
He shook it off. He had promised; no crying. But the lump in his throat felt like a baseball. He tried to hang on.
"Thank you for what you said back there," she said quietly.
How he loved her voice. "They didn't need to know," he said. He was proud that his own voice didn't quite crack.
She rested her head on his shoulder, and once again he had to fight back the tears.They passed a bridge abutment, then another. Carol did not notice them, but Charlie did.
Then--incredibly--her hand was in his lap. She was seeking something--and in very short order, she found it. She gave his sudden erection a squeeze through his pants, and he gasped. She kissed his cheek.
He felt fuzzy, dizzy, like reality had come unhooked.
He found his hand slipping down to her breast, and she undid a button so he could slip it inside her blouse and bra--all movements that were, to him, at once sweet, familiar, till that moment all but forgotten--and heartbreaking beyond word or thought. It had been so long.
As he touched her nipple, she nuzzled his shoulder. "Let's go to your apartment," she whispered.
Half an hour later:
"Oh, Chahlie, slide it in and out..."
How he loved her voice.
She was naked in his arms again, her own arms--and her legs--wrapped around him. She was moving her hips in that sweet familiar rhythm that he had taught her. His hurting-hard dick was being lovingly caressed by her warm, wet, slippery-squeezy pussy--his first, his best, and forever the only one he wanted or would ever want. Her lovely breasts were bare and pressed against his chest. Her mouth was locked to his, their tongues wrestling in ways that had no name, but that he knew like his own.
His cock, his arms, his mouth, were home. And so was he.
But it was as much hell as heaven. She had told him:
"Charlie, this doesn't mean we're together again. I'm engaged to Larry, and we're getting married after we graduate. But I want you to make love to me."
He held her smooth bare ass in his hands and fucked her deep and cried into the pillow over her shoulder, praying she wouldn't feel his tears.
He didn't understand. He didn't want to. He only wanted to have this moment go on forever and ever--or die here and now, in her arms.
"Oh, Chahlie, I'm coming--I'm coming now--oh--now--"
He had taught her to say that too.
She shivered in his arms, and her pussy was suddenly wetter, pulsing and fluttering around his plunging dick. She clung to him and shuddered, half a minute, maybe more, naked and beautiful and trembling under him in her creamy, cock-churning climax, still whimpering, "Now--now--oh, now... C-coming now... Oh, FUCK me, Chahlie... I'm coming all over your dick..."
Carol finally relaxed, but Charlie kept fucking her. She shivered and tensed again and moaned, "Oh, Chahlie... you're not going to stop, are you? You never do... Oh, Chahlie, you're HUGE... Oh, you're FUCKING me so GOOD--oh, Chahlie, I'm going to come AGAIN..."
He felt half insane, demented, torn between mind-breaking joy and hellish agony. She was here, he was fucking her, but she loved someone else.
He somehow remembered what to do and say."What do you have on, Carol?" he asked breathlessly as he pumped his dick in her gushing, twitching pussy.
"Nothing," she gasped. "Nothing at all... I'm naked... All I have on is your dick... I'm naked for you to fuck..."
Another half an hour passed, the strangest and best and most painful of his life. It seemed to last forever, and at the same time to be over in seconds.
Charlie finally let it all out, sobbing and shaking, crying in her hair, inhaling its familiar, aching scent and keening in despair even as he was shooting his heart out into her wet, grasping, squeezing pussy.
She only held him after, stroking his back and saying nothing as he cried into her bare breasts. There was nothing to say.
Carol did not analyze what she had done. It felt good, and Charlie was a good fuck. She had not yet made love with Larry, and he was far away at his school anyway. She knew that Charlie would put up with anything just to be near her. If it hurt him too much, well, he didn't have to do it.
It felt good. It was fun. And Charlie was probably grateful for it anyway.
They met every weekend to fuck, and little else. Charlie took what he could get.
When they talked, it only hurt him; Carol was transferring to another college in January, to be with Larry. When she spoke, she talked about him.
He was not allowed to speak of his pain and how he missed her love. She would frown and refuse to comment, sitting in silence and not looking at him.
There wasn't much to talk about but fucking, and that didn't require much talk.
She refused to pose for him any more, as she once had. She knew he liked that, but what of it? She wasn't there because she wanted to make him happy. That didn't matter much. He should be happy just to be with her, anyway, let alone to be allowed to fuck her.
She didn't seem to be aware of his feelings at all, or care that he had any.
Once, in the car, he said that the past one had been the worst summer of his life. In reply, she chirped happily, "It was the best summer of mine! I met Larry!"
He could only look at her. She looked back, utterly oblivious. "What?" she said. "It was!"
Another time, he was standing in her apartment near their college, where she had returned till January. He had just driven her back after two days of nonstop fucking. They were chatting for a moment before he drove home, talking of friends still at the college that he had not seen since May.
And the phone rang. It was Larry.
"Hello, love!" she said, in the sweet and intimate tone she had once used when speaking to him. She had called him that, once, too--"love.".
He was standing right in front of her, and she spoke words of love and passion to another as if he were not even there. He tried to wave at her as he left, but she did not even acknowledge his leaving. She giggled and whispered "Ooo, love, I can't wait!" into the phone. As far as Carol was concerned, Charlie did not exist.
He left with another halfhearted, unacknowledged wave.
He often drove home crying. That day, he did not cry; but his face was that of a man long dead.
He understood the gift, if gift it was, that he had been given him. They would make love till January came; then he would go back into the cold and the dark, and she would be with him.
The last day finally came. A week before Christmas, it was; the next day, Carol would go home for the holidays, and from there to her new school and into Larry's arms.
Charlie fucked her like a man eats his last meal. He savored every sigh, every whimper, every touch of his tongue on her nipple or her clit, every kiss and touch and caress. He tried, so hard, to fix every detail in his mind; but afterward, he could hardly remember anything.
He thought later, and for a very, very long time, that it was the last hour that he had really been alive.
He drove home, thinking:
I'll never make love to her again.
He was wrong; but it would be twenty-seven years before it happened.
(to be continued)
Read 11679 times | Rated 87.2 (133 votes)
Vote list (Close) :
CuriousKat : POSITIVE
Please rate this text: