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I’m writing a series of accounts about my life in England; mainly true accounts, with just a little embellishing here and there. They’re about my sex life to be precise, but then what other type of life is written about on Lit?
A biography I suppose, but a short one and an unfinished one. Is it arrogant for a, nearly, twenty one year old to write a bio? Probably, but then, hey, what the hell, I want to tell my short story so let’s see just how many want to read it.
How many want to read about how I lost my virginity when I was eighteen, had an affair with a thirty something man just after that and how since then I’ve been strongly attracted to older men. About my time at university, learning about girls and how male lecturers ignore the no fraternising with female students rule. How I became a photographic model, part-time and my conflict over what goes on in the studio when there’s just the model and the cameraman there.
The accounts flow naturally and are intrinsically linked. I strongly urge you to read them in the sequence I wrote them. Whatever way you do read them, though, enjoy them, leave whatever comments you wish and e-mail me if you’d like to discuss anything.
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There were only three things I enjoyed at university. The drama club, Mr Deekin and Stephanie Gordon’s tits; actually that’s four isn’t it, if you include both of her tits, which I most certainly did?
So I didn’t last. I made it through the first year and a little way into the second, but that was it. I left. Mum and dad went absofuckinglutely ballistic. They tried to persuade me to go back, threatened to ground me, cut off my allowance, send me to Coventry and also, probably, looked into the possibility of having me flogged or hung drawn and quartered, fortunately that sort of sport has declined in London in recent years. I didn’t care, well I did care for I badly needed the allowance, but there was no way I could go back.
It was the childishness of my fellow students and the way we were still really treated as kids that mainly got to me. I felt so much older than them all, other than Steph. I related much easier to the lecturers and even their wives in social situation than I did my fellow students, I hated having to continue studying and the typical night out, pints of beer in a grotty pub did little for me. So I was miserable, demotivated and unhappy.
I tried to suffer it for a while but during the holidays at the end of the first year I tested the water with my parents.
“Thinking of leaving, what the hell you talking about,” my dad almost screamed looking angrier than I’d ever seen him. Angrier that is other than during the first week of my hols when they came home early and found me in, shall we call it, a compromising position? Well I guess lying on a hammock in the garden, topless with the zip of my shorts undone in the arms of a naked aroused boy is compromising isn’t it? So when I made my announcement I was already in everybody’s bad books, especially mum’s for I think she quite fancied the guy. After all the way she glanced (leered??) at him as he pulled his shorts and tee on was far from the disapproving look of a parent!
“You can’t just bloodywell leave. It’s bloody university not a tennis club, you know.”
Mum joined in along the same lines but with more emphasis on what her golf and bridge club friends would think. I tried with her alone knowing that if she wanted to she could persuade dad to do anything; probably by rationing her favours with him, I always thought.
She was, well is, an amazingly attractive woman. She’s only nineteen years older than me, so now and then we’re taken for sisters, although as that’s usually by waiters or men such as golf or tennis coaches or pool attendants when we’re on holiday, I have my suspicions that they’re may be a degree of flattery involved. And I’m by no means certain that the flattery doesn’t sometimes work.
Anyway, whether their flattery works on them getting into her knickers or not, mine didn’t work on persuading her to try to get at dad.
“I’m afraid he’s totally made his mind up. You know how he so much wants you to have the education he didn’t, there’s no way he’ll agree.”
So that effectively ended that little plan. So, in late September there was I bowling down the M4 in my new MINI Cooper, going back to studying English, attending my sanity check, the drama club, seeing what would happen with Mr Deekins and learning more about Stephanie’s tits.
We have some unfinished business don’t we? Remember I was bent over the kitchen table being shagged from behind by Richard, or dirty Dicky as I now think of him? And remember also that he’d just ejaculated into me, shot his sperm into me and not one of those nice little rubber collection bags. Yes when we last chatted I’d just been fucked, unprotected.
I was as worried as hell. Not pregnancy for I was, of course, on the pill, but from the disease angle. I was güvenilir bahis petrified of catching something whether it be VD., herpes or the big one.
As he slipped out of me and we both realised what we’d done, he was immediately full of remorse. He cuddled me, apologised profusely and said how sorry he was. As scared as I was I couldn’t completely blame him could I? After all a girl has to take some responsibility doesn’t she? I mean we claim that we have the right to change our implied yes to a categorical no even when a man’s buried deep inside us. If that’s the case then we should be aware enough to remind our fellow that he’s riding bareback shouldn’t we? Yeah, right! You show me a red-blooded woman who can change her mind with six inches or so of hard man inside her or can think to say, “hey you’ve forgotten the johnny” and I’ll show you a liar or an ice maiden, more likely both!
I washed very carefully trying to clean myself, even though I knew full well that would be to no avail if he was affected with anything. I managed to put it out of my mind, though and after a bath I slipped into a clean pair of tight, white CK boxers and a loose tee that I sometimes wear as my PJs.
In spite of the unfortunate incident and the rather surprising, I thought at the time even though subsequent events have shown Rick not to be unusual, lack of stamina on his part, I was looking forward to sleeping with him. I’d never yet slept with a man; in fact earlier this evening was the first time I’d actually been in a bed with one! The idea of being held and cuddled, of pressing my breasts against his back, of feeling his body against mine was so romantic as well as hugely sexy that I so wanted that to happen. The fact that almost certainly we wouldn’t have sex before going off to sleep was ok by me, for the potential thrill of being woken up by an erection being pressed against my bottom was more than ample compensation.
“What’s happened?” I stammered as I walked into the kitchen. “Why are you dressed?”
“Sorry babe, something’s come up, I have to go?”
“Go? Go where? Where do you have to go?” I, almost, whined with disappointment.
“There’s a problem at the flat, my flatmate just called.”
I was perplexed. I was confused and becoming angry for I just couldn’t comprehend how there could be a problem at the flat that would make him have to leave. I asked him about the problem and what it was, but he was evasive. I asked him when his flatmate had called and he said a few moments ago. That made me suspicious for I was sure I would have heard the phone.
I’d obviously had suspicions about Rick. I couldn’t completely explain what mine were but inevitably when a girl is never taken home by a man there’s some form of problem, isn’t there? Well it stands to reason, doesn’t it? Maybe not the kind of girl to take home to mother? Although mothers didn’t actually feature in my suspicions of him, funnily enough!
“So you’re just going, are you?”
“I’m afraid I have to?”
“Will you be back? I mean it’s only twelve thirty,” I asked feeling a little foolish standing there in what I thought was my sexy night gear almost pleading with him.
“No, it’ll be too late, I’ll call you tomorrow.”
A little evil streak came into me.
“No tell you what let me call you when you get home.”
“Ok,” he answered just before I added.
“On your house phone.” I didn’t have that number and had never called him there. Hmmm why?
“No call on the mobile.”
“No I’d prefer the landline Rick.”
“Why not?” I retorted, “unless you’ve something to hide.”
“What could I have to hide?” he asked.
“I’ve got no idea,” even though I was more and more developing an idea.
“Well there’s nothing to hide.”
“Ok so what’s the number?” I asked flipping my phone open. He said nothing.
“Rick? Come on I’ll call it now, chat to your flatmate,” I told him mischievously.
“Fuck you,” were the last words I ever heard him speak as he walked out on me.
Of course the woman he sometimes brought to the tennis club wasn’t an old flame. Of course he wasn’t doing her a favour and of course he was living with her. Making wedding plans I subsequently learned.
I couldn’t understand it. I had no comprehension. I just couldn’t see why the other girls I hung out with during that first awful year thought a man of just over forty was ancient.
“Far too old,” one said “makes my skin crawl,” said another, “can’t see how any girl of our age could want a man old enough to be their dad,” chimed in yet another. They all seemed to agree that older men that went with girls of our age must be some sort of perv and that the younger girls that went with them were, at the least, odd.
Sitting sprawled around in the flat I was renting with six or seven other female students I said nothing. I said nothing for even as they all talked about David Deekins I was almost wetting my pants for him.
He was a lecturer, in History actually, and one of türkçe bahis the four or five who gave their time and services to the university drama club. That had become the only place in the entire uni where I felt comfortable and where I enjoyed myself; I hadn’t got to know Steph very well at that time so the other place where I felt the same, in her arms, hadn’t yet been experienced.
As we lay around drinking beer and smoking, Marlboros not dope, well mainly, so I’d said completely innocently.
“That David Deekin’s really dreamy isn’t he?”
To say the least no one agreed so I kept quiet. See the juvenile attitudes I had to contend with?
I’d somehow, probably because I had more time than anyone else for I hadn’t bothered to start studying yet, given that I thought I wouldn’t be returning, been elected the 2nd Year’s Drama Club Representative, a bit like being a school prefect I suppose, but without the silly blazer that dirty Dicky loved so much. All that meant was that I represented the 2nd year on the uni’s Drama Club Council for university wide projects and acted as the gofer on events put on by the 2nd year. Largely that meant getting agreement on the plays we would produce at Christmas and end of the year and then liaising with the lecturer who would vet what we proposed and then help us produce it. And would you believe who I had to liaise with? You got it.
“You really want to do What the Butler Saw?”
“Yes we do?”
“Hmmm,” David mused as I sat across his kitchen table from him almost quivering with excitement at being alone with him. “You’re aware of its reputation?” he asked referring to the furore that greeted its staging in the late sixties when it was booed by some audiences and condemned by many critics as being obscene.
“Of course,” I beamed, looking as coquettish as I could before adding softly in what I thought was a you can have me voice. “That’s why we want to do it.”
“What to shock?” He asked not seeming to realise my availability.
I explained that it was a lot more than to shock and with the seriousness that university applies to such topics we had an hour so discussion on the merits of Joe Orton’s rather risqué play.
“Well I’ll put it to the council, as I have to but I can’t see they’ll turn it down so I guess you can carry on with the casting and all the other arrangements.”
“Great, thank you er,” I paused before saying, “David,” as I stared rather intently at him.
He held my gaze. He held it for just that second or two longer than was necessary. That very brief time that tells a girl so much; those moments when a woman feels that she knows what’s going through the man’s mind.
Although, I’d only got one more notch on my gun handle of sexual conquests during that first year at uni I felt so much more a woman than I had when I arrived. Why? I’ll tell you that soon, but I’ve given some clues already. Anyway with my new-found worldlywisewomanliness I could tell. I knew now what men were after and how they went about getting it and so often that began with holding a girl’s gaze for just that few seconds longer. And that’s exactly what DD was doing right now. He was undressing me and thinking, “would she?” He was imagining having me in his bed and considering, “should I try?” He was fantasising about us having sex and conjecturing, “what if I try and she turns me down?”
As he was doing that and I was clearing up my papers I was trying to silently say. “Yes.” Trying to convey to him that my answer to whatever he wanted from me was affirmative. Yes to can I see you, yes to can we go out and yes to can I kiss you, caress you, undress you and take you to bed. And of course yes to can I fuck you.
But somehow ten minutes later I was outside his house, the door shut behind me with none of those questions asked or answers given.
Most of the girls I was friendly with, and some of the guys come to that, were amazed at how close to us the lecturers and even the professors were. We’d all heard stories of affairs, quickies and one-night stands between students and the teaching staff, mainly female students but some men with female lecturers.. Actually come to that there were stories of male students with male lecturers and girls with women who were on the uni staff. But then so what? That’s life and in fact it was one of the few parts of college life that actually appealed to me, for that aspect did treat as adults.
So that gave me some assurance that my fancying of Mr Deekins wouldn’t necessarily end up as a finger job, alone in my bed.
He was married, but as his wife had some high powered job in the Civil Service she lived in London and he went there most weekends, not all, though, I noticed, encouragingly.
“So you’re not playing the female lead then, Geraldine something isn’t it?” he asked as I leaned forward in the rather low cut top to pick up the tea he’d made me. I wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Yes Barclay, the doctor’s wife, I’m playing the secretary, Lisa Emery.”
I looked at güvenilir bahis siteleri him and noted that as I did he turned his head away from where he’d obviously been staring at my chest. I smiled.
“Well you’ve read Joe’s notes to the script haven’t you?” I asked again leaning forward a little.
“Yes, yes of course I have,” he replied, again looking away, out of the window.
“Then you’ll know, won’t you, that I don’t quite have the build for that part?” I sat up straight pushing my breasts out and smiling as he laughed.
“Oh yes I see what you mean, she’s supposed to be quite large in that area isn’t she?”
I paused. I thought a moment. I actually considered taking my top off and making some smart ass remark, but I didn’t.
“Yes, not like my tiny ones,” I said as a compromise.
David seemed to somewhat blurt out his reply as he stared at my chest.
“Well they’re not that tiny Sam.”
“No I suppose not,” I replied plucking up my courage and actually crossing my fingers as I, probably croaked, so nervous was I? “Some men prefer smaller don’t they?
“Yes, yes they do.”
I didn’t have the nerve to say what I was thinking and that was to ask what he preferred. That, I felt would have been too much, too soon.
He went on. “So who’s playing the wife?
“Stephanie Gordon,” I told him.
Smiling he responded, “oh well yes that makes sense.”
I smiled back as I stared right at him, with my vampish look on my face.
“Well she has got the right equipment hasn’t she………” I asked, pausing before adding softly, “David?”
He looked to be getting wonderfully flustered as this female student verbally flirted and duelled with him.
“Er yes, yes, she has got, er um, er,” he stumbled.
“Big tits,” I blurted out.
On something of a roll I went on. “Do you like that David?”
“What?” he said sharply.
“I don’t mind either?”
“What big or small?”
“Well you’ll have the best of all worlds in the nude scenes won’t you then?”
“Are you actually going to be naked in them?”
“Yes of course that’s how the play was written wasn’t it?”
“Yes but the scenes are in bed so there’s hardly any bare flesh shown.”
“But Joe’s notes say that’s what he wanted and the scenes were censored weren’t they?
“Yes they were, remember the play was first produced not long after the outcry about Lady Chatterly’s lover; things were so much different then.”
I was very aware of the situation then and how society’s views had changed. I was also aware of what Joe Orton had wanted from the play, for I’d studied him at some length during my A levels.
“It’s rumoured you know that he wanted the wife and the secretary to have a full on lesbian scene,” I told him.
“Yes I’ve heard that and it is strongly implied in the script.”
“Well we’re going to do that?”
“No,” he, almost, gasped.
“Well if Brookside, Emmerdale and Eastenders can have girl on girl kisses, we’re sure Bristol can, can’t we?”
“I suppose so, but maybe I should check first.”
“You mean the university might censor it?”
“No not censor.”
“Well what then?”
We discussed it for a while and he agreed that he wouldn’t mention it but reserved the right to ask for changes if he felt it was out of character for the play.
I crossed my legs knowing full well that the short denim skirt would shoot up my thighs and I lit a ciggie as I mulled over what to say next. Sitting there with him in the kitchen of his house talking about sex had got to me, as I hoped and felt it would have done to him as well. Lifting my head and blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling caused my top to be stretched across my breasts and as I lowered my face I caught him again looking at my tits. “Hmmm, it has got to him,” I thought, feeling pleased, but still unsure how to proceed, well after all I’d never really tried to pull a guy before had I? But I knew that it had to be down to me to, at least, show him a very green light. It was just too risky for a member of the university to chance it.
“Well David,” I started hesitantly, “you could always have a preview of any of the scenes that you have a concern over. Shall we run through the script and decide them now?”
“How do you mean a preview?”
“A private showing, I suppose.”
“What just us and Stephanie?”
“Yes, where she’s in the scenes, but where she isn’t it’ll just have to be me, I suppose.”
I moved round the table and sat next to him the one copy of the fairly dog-eared script in front of us. My leg was almost touching his and our shoulders brushed against the other several times as I turned over the pages.
“I guess this is the first scene you might need to preview,” I told him opening the script.
His eyes dropped to the script and I watched him read.
Her hands slid the panties down her legs and she stood before the mirror naked. Her hands went to her small breasts and cupped them as she stared at her image in the mirror.
“I’d forgotten that,” he said croakily.
“I hadn’t,” I replied looking at him, our arms touching our faces close. I took the bull by the horns. “Would you like a preview of that scene David?”
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