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“Unless it’s immoral, I think you should try just about anything,” she had told him earlier. It was a good philosophy, he agreed. He still had three or four morals left — but aside from those, he’d try just about anything.
They had been sitting on the couch, watching the movie for the University of Indianapolis course. It was pretty slow, but the scene had raised Jen’s curiosity and she asked Jeff the question. She did it because she was feeling a little wanton, and thought it would be a good icebreaker to a little sexual play.
But she didn’t expect the answer she received.
Jen leaned forward, her eyes widening at the comment.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“You’ve never masturbated?” she asked him again. Her head was leaning to one side like she was a curious animal in a zoo. And this statement raised her curiosity. “Why not?”
Jeff was uncomfortable with the questioning. For 22 years, he thought he was not dirty because he didn’t touch himself, and now this friend of his was making him feel like an idiot for not taking in the self-pleasure.
“Never felt the urge, I guess.”
He looked around the room for some kind of comforting reference point. Perhaps a movie poster of a flick they both liked or a band they both listened to. But only tapestries were hung in the television room — like the ones he’d seen while stationed in the Far East.
He never talked about his masturbation habits — or more accurately lack of — to any of the girls over there. Jeff had a lover and that was that. Good, hard sex the old fashion way — with her climaxing four times before he came once.
And this girl — what was she even 19? — wanted to talk about him and his desires to break off a piece.
“No. I swear I don’t.”
“I thought every guy did?” she asked confused. “I know my brothers did. Hell, I think my dad taught them.”
“Yikes. That might fall under ‘TMI.'”
“Too much information.”
She laughed. “I don’t know that he did. We’re not an incest family, but I always assumed every guy masturbated. Most girls do. That’s a little secret we don’t like to share, though.”
“Well, not every guy. Like 90 percent of men do, if I recall a survey right. Hell, I was raised Catholic. The way I was brought up, I’m not even supposed to know I have a penis, much less a prostrate and testicles.”
“So, what, you walk around with blue-balls all the time?” Jen asked, trying not to laugh.
“No. Blue balls is a myth. I mean, when I’m not in a sexual relationship, I still have ‘moments’ where things are drained.”
“Things? You mean your cum, spunk, sperm, right.”
“You know, you’re kinda crude. Kinda evil.”
“I know,” Jen smiled. “But I’m honest.”
“I guess.” He felt boyish talking to her, and it annoyed him. He was far from a boy.
Jen and Jeff met in Modern Theatre 101 at the University of Indianapolis. She was a member of the tennis team there, while he had returned home after spending four years in the Marine Corps as a combat photographer. They were watching some artsy European movie where the lead actress started satisfying an urge bursa escort — all underneath the letterbox border — when the topic of masturbation came up.
“Wait, how did you cum?”
Jesus, this girl is a little wanton, Jeff thought.
“Nocturnal emissions is the proper name, I guess. Wet dreams. Some guys jacked off in the Marines. Hell, some guys were proud of it. I just never had to.”
He recalled some great wet dreams. In a dream while in basic training, he was making love to his female friend Leah — she was wearing a white teddy as they laid their bodies bare on a white sheet in a white room. It was like a room of Heaven.
And then he work up with a fresh, warm batch of white in his skivvies.
“Wet dreams? Jacked off? I’m offended,” Jen smiled. “Loosen up, Jeff. You’ve done your time for God and country. Now enjoy the pleasures of freedom.” She moved closer to him. There had been definite flirting in the classroom, and Jen licked her body lip, placing it on his and kissing him.
She felt him respond, soft lips but firm placement on her mouth. She was 19 and hadn’t been properly laid in seven months — but she no longer wanted to get laid. Well, not right away. She wanted to be crude, evil and honest. Jen inhaled his scent and looked at his eyes as they glazed over. His lips raised in a suspicious smile like he knew there was something more in her sexuality’s desire.
“I don’t want this to go too far, too fast,” Jen said. “Anyway, I have a match tomorrow, and I haven’t had sex in a while, and if you’re half as good as I bet you are, it would affect my play,” she commented.
Her cheeks and ears were flush — a part of her body chemistry she didn’t quite understand, but she knew happened when she was wanting. She wrapped her fingers around Jeff’s bicep and kissed his neck — then pulled away, crossing her legs and lifting her “Greyhounds Tennis” T-shirt. Jeff momentarily pulled her chest to his mouth and tasted her skin. Her legs were crossed and she felt the wetness of her passion seeping within her. She wanted to feel his body penetrating her — but she wanted something else.
Something he’d never done before. Thinking about it make her nipples rise and her ears and cheeks grow hot.
“Jeff, Jeff, Jeff. Wait, wait, wait.”
He was no idiot. He was a gentleman who had no desire to upset this beautiful, if not crude and slightly evil, girl.
“I want to do something,” she said, pulling down her athletic shorts and revealing her purple satin panties.
“That thought is going around. Feel free to do something,” he smiled.
She took off her sports bra, showing him her firm 34 inch chest. She wore a B cup when not in a sports bra, but that was growing into a C cup she hoped — she was at the edge. Too big, and they would get in the way of her game — but she was envious of how guys looked at busty women — but that was the way Jeff was looking at her.
He looked at her chest, and her waist and then into her eyes.
“This may be obvious but you are beautiful.”
“Thank you. That’s sweet. Now, take off your clothes, Jeff.”
He felt butterflies dance escort bursa as he stripped off his polo shirt from The Hard Rock Cafe — Tokyo. The bulge pushed through the front of his jeans. He unhooked his belt. Normally, in his relationships, this was something the girl did. People only removed their own clothes in bad teen movies and — well — here in Jen’s apartment.
She admired his body. He was strong — stronger than any boy she had dated. On his upper arm, three blades of scars streaked across his bicep. Above, a tattoo with three numbers: “7-21-99.”
“What’s that?” she said. “Code to your high school locker?”
“No. Just a scar,” he responded.
“The numbers are a scar as well.”
“In a way.”
“Explain that,” she asked.
“We were doing an exercise off the coast of Hawaii. I was on a helicopter with three of my best friends in the — well, unit, let’s call it. The bird went down — the helicopter. We hit hard. Somehow, me and four other guys were pushed out of it when it crashed — but everyone else — my three best friends and 12 other guys — drowned or was killed on impact. It was July 21, 1999.”
“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Anyway, I think they’d all be happy for me right now,” he said, kissing Jen’s lips. The life tragedy was his, but it was also his past — a past that wasn’t ever far from him — but he put it in perspective. He had survived, and his friends would want him to live. To love. To experience crazy nights and funny jokes. And hell, sexy women.
“Take off your jeans,” she asked. As he did, she saw his boxers — Indianapolis Colts.
“Cute,” she laughed.
“Well, I didn’t think I’d be losing my pants today.”
Jen spread her legs against Jeff’s knees — then pulled back to her side of the couch.
“I want to watch you,” she breathed. Her fingers — nearly unconsciously — were touching herself. Her arms, her shoulders, her breasts. Her skin was warm under her fingertips, the trimmed fingernails racking under the caress.
“I want to watch you masturbate,” she stated clearer.
He looked around, cautious this might be some crude, evil trick.
“When I think about you,” she smiled, “I touch myself — just like that song.” Jen slipped her left hand into her purple panties and stroked her pussy and clit inside. Her right hand went to Jeff’s leg. “Babe, I want to watch you so bad.”
So this is what college is all about, Jeff smiled, trying new things. Hell, it’s not like I’d be the first guy to masturbate — and how often would the first time of doing it be with such a beautiful girl?
He dropped his shorts down, exposing his half-erect cock. He felt nervous when looking at the situation, but he also felt her desire at eroticism as she looked at him. One nympho girlfriend had measured him at 8 inches — and it has always seemed enough to please his girlfriends.
“Oh, Jeff. You’re cock is nice.”
He didn’t know what to say. He tried to get into her erotic mindset and out of his awkward boy mindset.
“You’re sexy, Jen. Touching yourself is really sexy.”
“Touch escort bursa yourself, Jeff. Look at my lips, and imagine I’m sucking your cock.”
He braced one leg under his ass — his other leg on the floor. He looked at her lips and did as she said, thought about her tasting his body. Her eyes stared at his hardness, darting from time to time to his eyes. He was clumsy at first, trying to figure out how it would feel — trying to adjust his right hand to the touch of skin.
“Do you like that?” she asked.
“I like the idea of you sucking me, yeah.”
She removed her panties and tossed them at him. They landed next to his leg and he slowly touched the moist fabric with his free hand.
Jen was leaned back, one leg on the floor, the other against the back of the couch. Her fingers glided over her pussy, and slowly touched her clit. She licked two fingers and pressed them down on her clit, encircling it — pressing it — pleasuring it. Her other hand explored her body — from her neck to her sensitive breasts to her extra sensitive nipples. All of her senses were nearly overload as she heard Jeff’s breathing narrow, felt the touch of her body, and her visual senses were in paradise. She saw the intensity of his eyes, saw his lips quivering, his hard cock fully erect — going from skin tone to red and now to a dark red and purple. His hole on the head was opening and precum leaking from it. She sank a finger into her pussy and felt dizzy as she pleasured her G-spot and her clit at the same time.
“What a view,” Jeff managed. “Did I mention you are beautiful?”
“Yes, Jeff. I’m so close to cumming, babe. Cum with me, okay.” The heat that had started in her ears and cheeks — the heat that had migrated to her passion — now had her body inflamed. Quickly, like an unlit match stuck in a candle, she erupted in orgasm — her body shaking, her voice squealing in pleasure, her wetness seeping from between her legs and onto the couch. It was too much for the first-time masturbator to take. This had never been a fantasy of his, but he was enjoying living it out anyway. It has been almost a month since the last time he came, and he knew it wouldn’t take long.
“Damn, I’m going to, Jen. I’m going to cum.” He was worried. He didn’t want to climax on her couch. Just not very gentlemanly of him — especially when they were dating. “God, I need to cum, Jen. Where should I cum?”
She leaned forward and picked up her purple satin panties — she glided her fingers against his 8 inches and held the underwear in front of his stroking motion.
“Cum on my panties, babe,” Jen said staring at his cock. Jeff’s breathing was frantic. Two strokes later, like on command, he was climaxing. Three large streams of cum flew against her purple panties, and afterjuices leaked out from his cockhead. He leaned against the couch, looking at the 19-year-old who had taken him where no military deployment or exercise had taken him before — to masturbation. Mutual, at that.
She looked at him, smiling, kissing his stomach and chest and up to his lips. They laid next to each other on the couch.
“You know,” she said, “unless it’s immoral, I think you should try just about anything.”
“I agree,” Jeff said, wrapping his arm around her waist. Credits were rolling on the movie they were supposed to watch. They’d have to rewind it and see if they could pay attention to it again.
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