Eli’s serve ripped past my outstretched racket. “Ace, game, set, match,” he cried. “Another triumph for the old professor.”
As we bumped fists and headed for our cars, he complimented me. “You played good today. We both did. It was about as close as it comes. And speaking of aces, matches and coming, I’ll use another sports analogy — sounds like you pinch-hit pretty well for me last week.” He smiled.
“I tried to fulfill your request,” I responded, somewhat sheepishly.
“Rachel confirmed that,” he said. “When I got home I was quickly put to work trying to match your prowess in various activities and postures, and treated to a full description of your efforts. She even pointed out the come stains on the sheets.” He shook his head. “She’s insatiable. Anyway, it seems like you showed her a good time, both at the river and in my bed.”
“I hope you’re not pissed. I had the feeling that some of your hard serves today were calculated to lodge in my throat.”
“Nah, no more than usual. You only did what I asked to keep her out of the clutches of some other fucker while I was gone.”
We reached our cars and stashed our tennis gear inside. Then Eli said.
“I do think, however, it’s only fair if I return the favor some time,”
“Huh?”
“It’s actually Rachel’s suggestion. During a breather in my welcome home sex marathon, she speculated it would be nice to draw Lila into our activities, make it a quadrangle rather than just a triangle. Instead of a ménage à trois, a partie carrée.”
“Get serious,” I said.
“Rachel is very observant. She detects some heat when we’re all together, start joking around, and Lila and I get into dancing. Frankly man, she’s right. Lila is a babe. Both these girls are prime real estate. Rachel thinks it would be another good chapter for all of us if we change places a little.”
“Fat chance,” I said. “Lila would never play along with that. She’s come a long way from her Baptist upbringing, but it would probably be the end of our relationship if I suggested she bunk down with you while I bang Rachel.”
Eli shrugged. “We all have these desires. You think Lila doesn’t fantasize occasionally about making it with me or other guys?”
I thought a moment. Lila and I sometimes spiced things up discussing other people we found attractive and how we might consummate an affair. I once said I could visit Rachel when Eli was away at the university, and she admitted to being a “little turned on” by Eli. saying she could pay him a visit at his office and put the fabled foldout couch to use. We finished the fantasy with some great sex, doing it “reverse cowgirl,” and afterward she confessed a little guiltily that while straddling me, facing my feet and rising and falling on my cock she was imagining I was Eli. Looking very serious, she emphasized that it was just a game and she would never “cheat” on me.
“It’s true she finds you attractive,” I told Eli. “But she sticks to the straight and narrow.”
He nudged me in the ribs. “That doesn’t jibe with what Rachel told me. She confirmed you’re straight, but she didn’t describe it as narrow, and neither is mine.”
* * *
I went home and showered before driving the three hours to the international airport. This was a big day for me. Lila was coming home after more than two weeks in California visiting her sister. My heart beat a little faster as my tall, lovely girl come bounding out of the gate and into my arms, a broad smile on her face. We kissed passionately, the public be damned. Then she brushed her long dark hair out of both of our faces, and we started jauntily for the parking.
“Miss me?” she asked.
“You’ll never know how much. But I’ll try to give you a hint when we get home.”
“I can hardly wait,” she said squeezing my arm as we walked.
The homecoming celebration was every bit as good as anticipated. First thing through the door, we began pulling each other’s clothes off, and soon were deep in missionary style. Some 20 minutes later, we climaxed in unison, her feet drumming on my butt, fingernails digging into my back as she cried out her pleasure. We stayed locked together several minutes more, enjoying the afterglow, making small talk.
“Oh, how I needed that,” she said.
“Really? I thought your sister would have introduced you to local studs to take care of you.”
“Oh, she didn’t hide them and there were some tempting opportunities, but I declined,” Lila said, smiling playfully.
“Did your fingers get some use?”
“Yes, and I bet you did some hand exercises, unless you were too busy scoring bimbos at the tennis courts,” adding with a stern smile, “and you better not have.”
Finally we disengaged and she went to shower as I lay on my back contemplating how good life was. I really loved this girl, and had even considered proposing. I felt bound to her in a crazy sort of way. She was a 22-year-old virgin when we met, which I found hard to believe considering she was as sensitive, smart and talented as she was beautiful. I was four years older, an experienced man of the world in her eyes, and we had not dated very long before I emancipated her. We had been together most of the five years since, interrupted by a short break up during which I had missed her more than I thought possible. Since reuniting, things had been so good that I entertained thoughts about this being a romance for the ages, one approved by destiny.
She unpacked and we whiled away the afternoon by a walk in the fields and along the river. That night we fell into another embrace, which led to more physical intimacy.
* * *
Friday night we went out to one of the better local restaurants, where Rachel and Eli had reserved a table to welcome Lila back to our fold. They waved as we entered the dining room. I felt vaguely uneasy as we approached them. This was the first time I had seen Rachel since she and I had our sexcapade the week before, while Lila was away. And there had been that discussion with Eli just the day before, when he volunteered to “return the favor.” I didn’t want anything to mar Lila’s homecoming. They stood up to greet her and exchange the requisite hugs and kisses. Rachel gave me a sultry smile and winked as Lila hugged Eli.
“I bet there was a touching and exhausting reunion at your place yesterday,” Rachel joked as we all sat down. “We thought it might continue right through the weekend, and we’d have to eat alone, but here you are. You two aren’t fighting, are you?” We all laughed, and I relaxed some. The friendly banter continued through several beers. Eli recounted his latest story about helping a lonely co-ed advance her education on his legendary office couch. Lila offered that she had to fend off advances from a medical marijuana pusher in California but still managed to secure samples of his products which she would share with us later.
“Did getting those samples involve any trading? To prove you could handle the product did you have to suck his bong?” Rachel asked, with a straight face. Lila snickered, reddened a little and looked away while the rest of us laughed. Lila’s sense of humor was traditional, but Rachel and Eli could make ribald jokes like that without offending her. Embarrassing maybe, but not offending. She accepted their raunchy nature and uninhibited lifestyle, knowing they were, as she put it, “good souls and good friends, and if it works for them, and doesn’t hurt anyone, who am I to object.”
Later still, we took to the small dance floor, Eli and Lila teaming up for the faster numbers. They were the better dancers, getting into the whirling and twirling, while Rachel and I sort of winged it. There were even some cheers from the regulars at the bar, Rachel said to me, “Danny, I think there’s a good chance to get those two together. There is definitely a mutual attraction there,” adding, while winking and squeezing my shoulder, “just as there is one here.”
“Don’t get me excited, lady,” I told her, twirling her around so that her short skirt rose indecently high. “There’s nothing to be done for it tonight.”
“No, but I’m still going to feel out Lila about doing a tango with Eli. If that’s a go, then it would be open season for you to waltz me around more often.
I felt myself stiffen a little at such banter, thinking about how pleasurable it would be to occasionally waltz Rachel. At the same time I was a little uneasy at how she might express her “tango” idea to my monogamous girlfriend. Lila and I had discussed my philosophy that one could be attracted to other people and enjoy sex with them while still remaining committed to the primary person in one’s life, but talk was one thing, while accepting and tolerating was another. She had reacted badly to a previous indiscretion of mine, and I had been wrestling with the question of how to disclose my recent tête-à-tête with Rachel.
Later, the girls teamed up for a trip to the lady’s lounge, while Eli and I sipped our beers at the table. He was perspiring from the fast dancing.
“Lila is so hot,” Eli declared, as if I had never noticed. “I really want to return that favor, Dan.”
“You have my permission if she has an epiphany and is willing,” I said, confident that any tango by Eli and Lila would be limited to the dance floor.
“Aside from the physical benefits, Rachel also thinks it would be healthy for our friendship to have everything out in the open, no secrets.” Eli said. “And I think she’s right.”
On the drive home, Lila seemed a little moody. “Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s just that Rachel got me thinking about a few things, and it sort of relates to something that almost happened in California.”
“Oh?
“I wasn’t sure how to tell you, Danny, or even if I should. You know that joke Rachel made about the bong?” I felt a tightening sensation in my gut. A little hypocrisy surfaced: It was no big deal if I did a waltz but I felt uncomfortable at the suggestion my girlfriend might have done a tango of her own. This momentary anxiety may have showed, as Lila quickly went on.
“It didn’t happen that way. It was a party, and the guy shared his stuff without any conditions attached, but after I got high I found myself sort of… well, turned on by him. He was good looking and smart, told funny stories like Eli does, and he came on to me.” She paused, looking at me soberly. “We actually kissed and started running our hands over each other, and I almost found myself agreeing when he suggested we go into the bedroom.” She showed a tinge of guilt. “The room was so sexually-charged. People were smoking and making out and some had already used that bedroom. And I may as well make a full confession — seeing all that sort of turned me on too.” Another pause. “I feel so shitty about this. I wasn’t going to tell you because nothing really happened, at least not with me. I backed out at the bedroom door.” Her emotion was evident.
“Wow, okay, I believe you. Don’t be upset on my account. These things can happen. Pot parties aren’t your usual scene, the sexual mores out there are more relaxed, and the novelty of it probably helped turned you on.” We drove in silence for a while. Then I had to ask. “What else did Rachel say to get you thinking about things?”
“She was pushing their lifestyle again. She said I really turn Eli on — as if I hadn’t noticed — and it wouldn’t bother her if I was to hook up with him because we’re all friends. She also said that you really turn her on, and she suspects the feeling is mutual, which was no surprise either. I’ve seen the way you two survey one another.” She looked pointedly at me. Before I could say anything, she went on. “Anyway, she got me thinking about what almost happened in California and that maybe I’m more susceptible to things like this than I like to admit. Eli does turn me on a little. Maybe I’m a slut at heart.” She looked pensive.
We reached the house and pulled into our driveway. I shut the motor off and put my arms around her. “Honey, you couldn’t be a slut if you tried. You’re just catching up with another stage of growing up. Most people experience these temptations in their late teens, early 20s, but your folks down south had you still singing hymns at that age.” She laughed. I decided to make my speech a little self-serving, in case she had got wind of more than she was letting on.
“Really, as we’ve discussed before, it’s not unusual to be attracted to more than one person at a time, and it doesn’t mean you’re a slut or love me any the less. Even if you had gone to bed with that guy in California, I,… well, wouldn’t be happy, but I would still love you and understand that it must have been a real strong need you had at the time. Same goes for Eli. If you were to hook up with him, I’d understand. In fact I’d feel a lot better about that than I would if you did it with the California pusher or some other stranger since Eli’s my friend, really likes you and wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or me.”
Of course, I was making an excuse for my own involvement with Rachel, the names changed to protect the guilty. I was sort of priming Lila to hear my own confession. It did not occur to me then that I might also be advancing the fulfillment of Eli and Rachel’s fantasy, my speech acting as a catalyst for Lila’s evolving world view. Yet in thinking about it, then and now, I realized that I did believe what I said.
She looked softly at me. “Thank you for being so understanding, Danny,” she said. “How about making love to this slut right now?”
Who could resist an invitation like that from a beautiful babe like my Lila. We were in the house and out of our clothes in less time than it takes to tell about it.
Afterward, listening to the heavy breathing of my love sleeping soundly, I lay awake reflecting on our early time together.
* * *
I was virtually entranced the time I first saw her, at an open mic performance in a student night spot near Eli’s university. She was playing guitar, singing folk tunes from the middle to late “19s.” I could not take my eyes off her, and remarked so to my friend.
“I know what you mean,” Eli said. “Her name is Lila D’Ambrosia. She’s an undergraduate music major, transferred in from some podunk born-again college in the south, and evidently has a lot of talent they were unable to stifle.”
“So you know her?”
“I heard her here a couple of times. I suggested she enroll in one of my courses since advanced mathematical concepts are an unrecognized but fundamental underlying component of good music that might enhance her depth of understanding in her chosen art form.”
I questioned if he had an underlying motive for trying to advance her “understanding.”
“I’m never short on motives around a beautiful woman, but it is true,” he shrugged. “The ancient Greeks investigated the expression of musical scales in terms of numerical ratios. Their central doctrine was that all nature consists of harmony arising out of numbers.”
“Two is a great number and I could make some natural harmony with her,” was my response.
The object of this discourse soon finished her performance and left the stage, to a vigorous round of applause, which she modestly acknowledged. She took a seat at a larger table with some other co-eds, all of them chatting and laughing. She stood out from the rest of her friends, looking as beautiful and radiant as she had on stage, as if still bathed in the footlights.
I had to make an attempt. Reconnoitering her table on my way to the men’s room I saw that the girls were sipping margaritas and ordered a couple pitchers for their table, giving the waitress an ample tip and asking her to point me out as a fan who wished to express gratitude for the lady’s fine performance. The waitress flashed a knowing smile, and soon brought the pitcher, motioning toward our table, apparently taking care to differentiate me from Eli. The girls showed their appreciation, smiling in our direction and hoisting their glasses in a toast, which we returned.
Over the next few minutes, I noticed some of them, including the center of my attention, renewing short glances in our direction. It had been a respectable enough interval, so I told Eli, “If you don’t swing, you don’t hit,” and walked over to the table. The girls vocalized greetings. Lila pointed out an empty chair next to her, and asked me to sit down. Introductions were made, and she thanked me for the “liquid encouragement.” I told her that the patrons of the place should be thanking her for providing such great entertainment, and that I really enjoyed her singing and choice of material from a previous generation’s folk music. A polite but skeptical smile indicated she had heard such prattle before from bewitched fans trying to make an impression.
“I feel many of the songs from the 1960s to the millennium capture the range of human emotions and aspirations better than those before or since,” she said. “Many of them are classics that will never become dated. I’m happy you think I did justice to them, Dan.” She was so beautiful, with poise beyond her years, I thought. Then, probably to screen a serious music lover from a guy just out to score, Lila asked, “What are some of your personal favorites from that era?”
Fortunately, I was not just bullshitting about my taste for late 20th Century folk music, although I was so distracted by her close presence that memory almost failed. But I came through, naming several songs and artists, some lesser known even in their own time, and probably beneath her radar, I thought. Her eyebrows rose and the skeptical smile was replaced by one of genuine warmth. She knew them all, and added a couple that were new to me. She also seemed to regard me with new interest, surprised as she later told me that she had actually met a predatory male who could talk knowledgeably on a subject near and dear to her.
Eli sauntered over to the table about then, perhaps to renew his math course offer at a suitable opportunity, but he succeeded only in diverting the attention of Lila’s friends, at least one of whom, Brittany, evidently had already met “the prof,” and seemed to know him quite well. The other students also seemed flattered to be receiving the attentions of an esteemed faculty member, one who was still youthful and handsome, and plied him with conversation designed to demonstrate their learning while respectfully asking his opinions. Before long, Eli’s ego was stoked, and he was expounding not only on musical mathematical theory but delivering witty discourses on a number of topical issues, to the acclaim of his audience. I was glad for this, as it allowed me to concentrate on improving my own good start with Lila.
As Eli enthralled his audience with the wisdom of Isaac Newton and Archimedes, Lila and I discussed the work of Collins, Baez, Ian and Sylvia, Lightfoot, Denver, the Kingston Trio, The Eagles, Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt. I mentioned Kate Wolf, an obscure California song writer/folk singer as one of my favorites, and when it was time for Lila’s next set of songs, she included a couple of the singer’s ballads. I was impressed that Lila even knew of her by reputation, let alone could interpret her works so well. I was becoming as enraptured by Lila as her friends were by Eli.
“Dan, we should take her to The Enigma,” Eli suggested after Lila had returned to the table.
It was a good idea. The Enigma is an open mic night club in the city frequented by musicians, actors, comedians and those aspiring to the big time, who take the stage to strut their stuff before a melange of agents, producers and others involved in the arts, as well as ordinary fans. Lila seemed a little timid at the suggestion, but Brittany and the other girls also encouraged her, and she agreed to let Eli and I escort her there the following weekend. Brittany also came along.
At the Enigma, we coaxed Lila into taking the mic and performing some of her favorites, which she did to general acclaim.
I noticed an older man at another table staring intently at her. He finally came over to our table, complimented Lila on her performance and said she reminded him of someone. At first, I considered this the not so clever opening line that older guys often use, but he seemed sincere, saying Lila was “the image of” country artist Emmylou Harris in her 20s. He added that he noticed Lila’s speech had a slight southern twang, and asked if by any chance Lila was Emmylou’s granddaughter.
“Oh, she’s one of my favorites from that era,” Lila answered, smiling brightly. “I often sing her songs, but can’t claim a relationship.” She invited him to sit down and join us.
The old man stayed a long time, overstayed in my opinion, but Lila was polite and gracious to him, asked his name and even returned to the mic once more and dedicated her cover of an Emmylou song to him. When he finally left it was on the proverbial cloud nine.
“You made his day,” I said.
“He was nice,” she said. “And he has good taste in music.”
I was curious enough later to look up early videos of the singer, and had to admit the man was correct — the resemblance between Lila and the young Emmylou was uncanny.
Our relationship blossomed, and Eli respected that, backing off from his own attempts to further Lila’s education and career. He began concentrating on Brittany’s education instead. Eli was also heavily involved with Rachel at this point, but he was always magnanimous in his attentions to other promising prospects.
In addition to music, Lila and I found we had similar world views and tastes. Her parents were another story — introverted fundamentalists, against dancing and other worldly sins. There had been continuous clashes while she was growing up. She had finally been farmed out to Bob Jones University, which would keep her in check, the older generation theorized. However, even in that conservative cradle of learning she developed her natural proclivity for music, not just the Christian kind.
“Worse, unbeknownst to my folks,” she said, whispering with mock seriousness, “some of the students were under the devil’s influence. They exposed me to wine and even popular dancing, and tried to lead me into other temptations of the flesh.” She laughed.
“I trust that you were delivered from evil and remained pure,” I joked. She looked so sexy and enticing there was no way she could have, I thought.
Lila shrugged and ignored the probe. “It was a strange place. Many of my friends started out as iconoclasts, free-thinking and full of curiosity, but it turned out they were just rebelling against restrictions at home, making a temporary foray into the forbidden to get it out of their systems before morphing into zombie-like younger versions of their parents. It was almost like that old movie about aliens spinning pods that turned into human forms identical to real people by sucking the life out of the original humans. Or that other movie about a town where women were all replaced by submissive robots who looked identical to the real people.” She shook her head.
“Life imitates art?” I ventured.
“I couldn’t understand it,” she continued. “Weren’t they listening to the lyrics, feeling the emotional chords of life? Well, they regressed and I decided to transfer out before I was taken over too. I wanted to pursue music and education in a more open atmosphere.”
“So you came to our university,” I said. “Your parents didn’t try to stop you?”
“They threatened to cut off my funding, but relented when they saw I was serious. I told them I was 21 and was going, with or without their approval. I had already saved a bit from a few gigs at dances, weddings,…” She put her hand to the side of her mouth, leaned forward and whispered, “… even bars.” We both laughed. “I told them I could always wait tables if I had to. I would pay my own way. They said the devil had hardened my heart and my soul was in jeopardy, but they saw I was serious. I think Father had visions of me becoming a hooker to pay my tuition. He thought if they humored me and continued to cover my costs, I would be beholden to them and not forsake the good Christian upbringing they had exposed me to. I would soon see the error of my ways and come back to North Carolina to lead the church choir.”
I could not help respecting and admiring this girl’s independence and determination, becoming even more fascinated and linking up with Lila at every opportunity away from my job on a daily newspaper. We went out to movies and university events, social as well as educational, took in concerts, music festivals, an off-Broadway play, went on drives and hikes in the country. Sometimes we double-dated with Eli and Brittany, or Eli and Rachel, and sometimes we just hung out by ourselves.
She had previously told me there was no serious relationship in her life. Still, anyone so beautiful was a magnet for erotic interest. Guys were always buzzing around, and her phone ringing. I had recently broken off a relationship with a live-in, so my apartment was a convenient and secure place to be alone with her. Something warned me not to rush things with this girl, however.
The pace picked up about three weeks after meeting. I walked her back to her room at the dorm, and decided to extend the kiss beyond a good night peck. I put my arms around her, planted my lips on hers and held the pose for a long moment. She did not resist. When we finally broke for air, she looked at me so seriously that I thought for a moment I had jumped too soon. Then she put both hands behind my head and pulled my face into hers. Soon our tongues were entwined as well as our arms. I was overcome by the warmth of her body and the subtle feminine fragrance. When we pulled apart again, her eyes were slightly glazed even as she looked at me intensely. We promised to meet again the next evening.
After an early movie — a rather superficial and disappointing romantic comedy — we went to my apartment. Wine juiced up our conversation as we sat on the small couch. We made jokes about the hapless characters in the film, and their situations. At one point, I must have said something exceedingly amusing, as she burst out laughing, then threw her arms around me, bringing her face close to mine. Our second passionate kiss resulted, and when we broke for air, she was looking at me so intensely I felt we were not going to stop at kissing. My hands caressed her beautiful breasts, first through her top, and then, ascertaining there was no bra to get in the way, up and underneath it, finally pulling it up and over her head. She did not resist, and indeed her hands were on a similar journey. My shirt came off too. After more French kissing and clinching, our exploration invaded the lower parts of our anatomies, meeting little logistical problems as the night was warm and we were clad only in floppy shorts and brief undergarments. My hands went underneath her panties and fondled her warm, moist femininity. She applied pressure to the bulge in my shorts and helped me off with this last encumbrance.
She immediately dropped to her knees, gazing at my firm erection, admiring it for a moment, then wrapped her hand around the shaft and her lips around the tip, kissing it as passionately as she had my tongue a few moments before. I was in ecstasy, and part of me just wanted to enjoy this, but another part nagged at me to pleasure her as well. I made her stop and sit down on the couch, and kneeling before her, removed her panties and began kissing and tonguing her feminine parts. She vocalized her enjoyment as I nibbled on her clit and my tongue found its way into her love box. After a few minutes, she seemed as hot and ready as possible, so I asked her if she wanted to go in the bedroom and carry this to the next level. It was then that I got the shock.
“Oh, Danny, I can’t,” she gasped, voice husky. “Much as I would love to, I don’t believe in doing it before marriage.”
At first I thought she was joking, as her enthusiasm up to now had pointed to a different path. But she was serious. The sadness and regret on her face was genuine, not put on.
“Lila, you’re… a virgin?” I asked.
She nodded, smiling sadly. “Maybe my Daddy was right. I was brought up to respect the sanctity of the marriage bed, and to think of sex as… oh, God’s gift to further the race. The church says virginity is a woman’s holy gift to her husband…” As she recited the litany, her eyes took on a glazed expression, as if she was falling into a hypnotic trance. I remembered her description of fellow students at the southern college morphing into younger versions of their parents.
I interrupted with a sermon of my own. “Honey, you’re not at Bob Jones any more,” I said, looking up at her while resting my elbows on the naked thighs of her legs spread on either side of me. “I mean, look at us. This ain’t exactly a Baptist Bible Study pose we’re in. We’re into those Seven Deadly Sins, especially the one called lust. And it isn’t so bad, is it? To me, it’s an expression of love that’s closer to God than what you’ll find at any prayer meeting.”
She appeared nonplussed for a moment, then laughed and slid off the couch, kneeling on the floor with me so we were face to face. She ran the fingers of one hand through my hair. “If there’s anyone who can crowd out the holy teachings and win me over to the devil, it’s you,” she said. Her expression was somewhere between whimsical and sober.
“Okay, let me continue playing devil’s advocate,” I said. “What if you never meet your preordained husband, or don’t hook up with him until you’re both over 60 or some ancient age when it’s too late to have the children that God devised sex for. Will you believe it was God’s will that you became an old maid or went all those years without physical pleasure and love-making? Or might you think maybe the church fucked up royally, and you actually desecrated a great gift?”
“I’ve been having that discussion with myself for a long time now,” she admitted, “more and more since I met you, Danny,” she added, tracing an outline on my chest with one of her slender fingers. “Please just try to understand that it’s not easy changing a mindset that’s been drummed into you since puberty.” She leaned forward, her bare breasts pushing against my chest, and we kissed again, deeply and passionately.
“Well, you keep thinking about it,” I urged her, after we broke for air. “In the meantime, I’m going to continue giving you a taste of the rapture, to the full extent you allow.” In a moment, I had her seated again on the couch and kneeling before her, continued to pleasure her with my mouth, playing with her clitoris, inserting a finger into her love box to simulate a male organ sliding in and out, a flexible organ that could bend and massage her G-spot. Soon she was writhing and moaning again, spreading wide, one leg over my shoulder, her foot moving back and forth across my back. The other leg followed, and she closed her thighs squeezing around my head and probing finger, as she reached an orgasm, screaming out her pleasure. She yelled for me to stop.
“That was wonderful,” she gasped, misty-eyed. “Wonderful.”
She said for us to change places, so I took the couch as she fell down on the floor before me and proceeded to give me head once more. This time, I sat back and enjoyed it. She did it as well as any girl I ever had, nibbling on the nut sack, licking up and down the shaft, sucking the knob, even deep-throating, looking up at me occasionally with those dark, doe eyes. This went on a long while. Eventually, I felt compelled to notify her that my moment was approaching. She did not stop the magic she was performing, just looked into my eyes, her expression saying to discharge at will. I complied. It was magnificent. As the waves of pleasure receded, Lila rose and went into the bathroom, where I heard the water run as she rinsed her mouth.
When she returned, I held out my arms and she sat her beautiful body down beside me. I kissed her lightly and she gazed at me with an expression both shy and sophisticated at the same time. I could not help the following comment, hoping it would be interpreted as a compliment as well as a question.
“You may technically be a virgin, but your oral skills indicate great sensitivity to what a man likes,” I ventured. “I’ve never been with anyone who did it better.”
“Not everyone at Bob Jones attended prayer meetings all the time,” she replied, shyly. “I met a few boys, three to be exact, who gave me the opportunity to practice extra-curricular learning in worldly sins of an oral nature.” She smiled. “They wanted to take it to the next level, just like you do, but I could take only so much education at one time.”
“Well, I appreciate their instructional efforts,” I said, stroking her long, fine dark hair, “and whenever you consider sufficient time has gone by, I’d like to expand on your good basic education, and help you get your degree. You’re too much a woman to be ignorant of all the joys and pleasures of love. Think about it.”