The Freshman

I was a dork during high school. Not in looks, or in personality really, but I studied a lot. That was my parents’ expectation. So I got good grades. I didn’t party. I had a few friends, and they studied a lot and got good grades as well. We were all going to be successful. Of course, I was a little pent-up, so the summer after graduation I had a beer, tried marijuana, and kissed a boy.

All of that made me feel like I had “caught-up” to my peers by the time I got to college in the Fall. But I hadn’t. And it was evident a month or so into the semester. I hadn’t been to a party. I hadn’t really made any friends, and I spent a lot of time in the library. That’s not to say I didn’t have any friends. I knew one girl who was similar to me, and there was this sort of shy boy that hung out with us too. We ate dinner at the dorm cafeteria, and sometimes we’d all go to a movie together, mostly on campus.

The lock on our the door to my dorm room stuck. I remember putting the key in one afternoon, fumbling with it, and then stopping when I couldn’t get it. I could hear my roommate. She was talking about me. I didn’t like what she was saying. And when I finally got into the room, it was awkward. She was off the phone, sitting at her desk, chatting with someone on her computer. I’m not a confrontational person, so I didn’t say anything. But that person she was talking about, that wasn’t me.

I thought about it more. It was nearly distracting. Did other people see me like that? A quiet, dorky loner? And worse, was I going to go through this whole experience and make no friends? I thought about all the times I had been to various colleges, or to football games, and seen the alumni, all with their good college friends. Was I going to be without that? That wasn’t me.

A week or two later, I had heard my roommate planning something. A little party, in another girl’s room. It wasn’t going to be big. Just a couple of girls. I didn’t want to seem like I’d been eavesdropping, but I mentioned it to her, and I told her that sounded like fun. I remember her trying not to look like I must have been kidding. And later on I found out she was really sweet, and we turned into really good friends. But she hesitated before she asked what I was doing, and eventually invited me to join them. I told her I wanted to.

There was no drinking in the dorms, so I was a little surprised when one of the girls in the room had a bottle of vodka. And, of course, something to mix. We all had a little drink, and the girls started talking. Mostly I listened. They talked about how hard classes were, missing home a little. After a couple more drinks, the conversation got a little racier. Cute professors, cute boys, and one of the girls even used a phrase I hadn’t heard before, “fuck buddy.” It didn’t take me long to figure out what it was. But the concept was new to me. One of the girls complained that bahis firmaları she had a wedgie, her thong was riding, and I thought then, I didn’t even own a thong. All this was floating in my head as I fell asleep that night.

The next morning I decided to catch a bus to a nearby Target. I needed some things. And, while I was there, I walked past the underwear section. I saw a thong, it was blue, light blue striped, cotton. Nothing fancy or racy. I bought it.

I started hanging out with the girls from that first party a little more. They were all nice, and we got along. There was no cattiness, and no mean girl-type behavior. In fact, we were all almost supportive of each other. And I’d started wearing the thong. I remember sliding it on after a shower once, feeling the string slide up between my butt cheeks. It felt strange, a little uncomfortable almost. But I got used to it.

And we started hanging out with boys, too. One or two or three would come to our little gatherings. We’d all drink, flirt. One in particular I remember, he was a little shy, seemed almost uncomfortable, like me. But we started talking. And I could see that maybe he was a little homesick, felt a little out of place. And that attracted me to him, and he was cute. One night I’d gone back to my room a little earlier than my roommate, and as I lay in bed, in the darkness, I started to think about him. I wondered about him, what he’d be like alone. Maybe unconsciously almost, I started rubbing my tummy, then my bare tummy. My hand moved over my shorts, and I pressed myself through them. I’d touched myself before, but this time was different. I had him clear in my mind as I pulled my shorts down. I was careful not to make too much movement under the covers, should my roommate re-enter the room. But I started rubbing myself over my panties as I imagined his face. I thought about his body, and I inched my panties down, my sex now bare under the covers. I touched my wet lips with my index finger, slowly sliding up and down them. I’d done it before, but I was always a little shy about penetrating myself. I pressed on my lips, and soon I had my finger inside myself.

I pushed it in slowly, deeply, imagining his face, his cock. I moved my finger in and out of myself, imagining it was his cock. I figured it was smooth, not too long, but thick. I was wet, hot, and tight around my finger. I explored myself a little, pressing on the walls, moving my finger in different directions inside of myself. My finger was wet as I pulled it out of me, and found my clit. I pressed on my clit, then began to rub it slowly. I moved it up and down at first, but then settled on a slow, circular motion. I felt the tension build, then release in orgasm, and I found myself mouthing “I want your cock,” as I pressed my hips up against my finger. I bit my lower lip.

Around this time I sort of splintered away from kaçak iddaa my two other, more bookish friends. It was probably for the best. I didn’t dislike them, but they almost seemed to quietly resent my new friends and my new habits. Not that I was studying any less. I wasn’t. I still had my priorities straight. But I was beginning to see that it wasn’t an all or nothing proposition. I could have a little fun and still get my work done.

One of the girls suggested we take a short trip, overnight, Friday-to-Saturday to a house her parents owned on a nearby lake. Not all of us were invited, which created a bot of drama with the non-invitees, but I was invited. Of course, I called my parents to ask first. But they agreed I could go. Some of the boys were coming along as well. My crush was one of them.

The drive was short. We went in two cars. We didn’t really swim, but we had a fire, and someone had brought a bottle of liquor, and we were all joking, chatting. It was basically like the dorm thing only outside, and away from everyone else, or I assumed, until I noticed couples splitting off. They did it quietly, never mentioning that they were leaving, but soon I was left alone with my crush. We kept talking, and he moved a little closer to me. Him and I were on a bench, by the fire. And just like that he kissed me. His mouth was warm, his lips soft. I kissed him back, and it didn’t take long before we were in full make-out mode. But it was different than the previous boy I’d kissed. My arousal was deeper inside of me. I didn’t stop him when he started to touch my breasts over my tee shirt.

His hands were strong, firm on my breasts. And my nipples were hard under his touch, even though it was a warm summer night. He squeezed my right breast as his mouth worked on my neck. I moaned, softly, to let him know it felt good. And the moans seem to give him confidence, because soon his hand was on my tummy, my bare tummy. It was the first hand I’d felt there. And he was rubbing, much like I’d done to myself. But I stopped him when he went for the button of my jeans. No boy had done that, no one had ever touched my panties. This didn’t stop him, and with his lips suckling my ear lobe, I relented, took my hand off his wrist and parted my legs a little for him.

My jeans were tight, and first he had difficulty getting his hand inside my pants. But he made space, and soon he was pressing the crotch of my panties. I was wet, fully aroused for him. It felt so much better than when I’d done it to myself. My moans were a little deeper now, hot puffs of breath out into his ear every time he hit the right spot. I knew he wanted my bare pussy. He kept pushing at the front of my underwear, trying to move them aside. I wanted it too, his fingers inside of me. I was bored with my own. So after a couple tries, I moved my butt up and slid my jeans down a little. This free me, and soon kaçak bahis his hand was inside my panties.

Whatever hesitancy I had about penetrating myself, he didn’t share. He quickly had one finger inside of me. It was something so completely different that having my own finger inside of me. He was foreign, different, his finger pushing inside and out of me like a tiny, nimble cock. I flexed around him, gripped his finger and moaned into his ear. He found my clit, but he was quickly back inside of me. I kept wondering what his cock would feel like. The closest I could come was touching his, so I moved my hand over to his lap.

It was fully hard under his jeans. And I heard him moan for the first time as I squeezed it and rubbed it over his pants. He didn’t waste much time, and soon his jeans were undone. I’d never been this far, but I rubbed him over his boxers. And then, almost taking control, went underneath them.

It’s one of those things I’ll never forget, that hot, hard but soft erection under my hand. I moved up and down it. The hard shaft, that supple head. And the pre-cum. I was almost squeamish about it at first. But then I figured it out, sliding my hand from the base of his shaft up over his head, taking a bead and sliding it back down. His fingers, still between my legs, began to suffer as I picked up steam, stroking his throbbing shaft. And I started to feel like things had shifted, and this was about his pleasure now.

“Would you suck it a little?”

A little. Like it would just be a little. And could I say no? Probably. But I wanted to. I’d thought about it. And I was about to do it. My first. The first time I was going to let a boy put his penis in my mouth.

His head slipped between my lips leaving a salty residue over them. But once it was inside my mouth, I’ll admit I was a little lost. I sucked a little at first, and he responded, but what he seemed to respond to most was my tongue. So I used it on his shaft, and then on his head. My hot, firm tongue swirling over his head. And I could taste him, leaking out onto my tongue. Salty, almost a little bitter. The taste of a man’s arousal. His desire for me, or, at least, his desire to come. I alternated. Sucking, swirling, pressure, and then I added my hand. Stroking it up and down as I worked it with my mouth. I don’t know how long it took, but I heard him say it. He was coming.

And he did. I road his pulsing head with my mouth, feeling the bursts lose their speed against my tongue, or the roof of my mouth. I swallowed, mostly because I didn’t know what else to do. I remember puckering my lips when I took it out of my mouth. And then I kissed him. He kissed me back, hesitant at first, unwilling to taste himself, but then more when he realized it was all gone. I wiped my mouth on my arm, and then I wiggled back into my pants. He kissed me, and he put his arm around me, and we both watched the fire a while before going our separate ways.

We did it a few more times when we got back to the dorms. But then it was Christmas break, and we didn’t really talk and things just sort of fizzled out.