I was eighteen. It was my freshman year in college and I felt very far from home. The state is divided into east/west 'halves' by a range of mountains and my home was on the other side.
I lived in a dormitory, as was required of first and second year students who didn't live with parents or guardians at the time. The first semester I made the error of rooming with my buddy from high school. We soon came to despise each other, as we'd been warned we would.
The second semester, I was assigned a roommate who I was pretty sure was gay, but fortunately he never made any moves toward me. My scholastic performance was horrendous and socially I was self-crippled, due to a preternatural shyness. Even back in high school, I hadn't been comfortable with girls because I didn't feel I had anything to offer them. I was short for my age and athletically challenged. Everybody said I was smart, yet I neglected to apply myself to my classes. I'd like to think my instructors failed to challenge me, but the truth was that I was simply lazy.
The first semester I went out with one girl. She was a cute redhead from some class of mine – I forget which class. We went to a movie and I walked her home. I didn't even have the balls to kiss her. I spent most of my time hanging out down the hall from my room with a group of second year guys who – like me – were disillusioned with society and life in general.
I wasn't a virgin, as my social behavior might indicate. I'd gotten laid the summer after I graduated and it was fantastic. Susie and I hung out most of the summer, but she was a year younger than I was and I had to leave for college. She wasn't even from my home town, but lived in the town where I had gone to work for the summer. My success with her should have given me the courage to step up to the plate with other girls, but it didn't. I didn't feel like I could trust the inner voices that told me I was 'okay'.
Along about April of that first year my roommate (who was a music major) asked me to do him a favor and volunteer as a blind date with the roommate of a girl he planned to take to an off-campus party. The idea of a party sounded fine to me, but I was reluctant about the date. I'd never met the girl (thus, the term 'blind', I suppose) and told him I'd rather not go. He persevered and I finally gave in.
I knew he wasn't 'going with' his date, since, as I said, he was a little light in the loafers. He actually wore loafers most of the time. I knew the girl he was taking but I was mortified when I met my date for the evening. To put it kindly, she was unattractive. To me at eighteen, she was ugly as a mud fence. She was overweight and had a few zits (of course, so did I, so that wasn't too bothersome). But her face looked as if it had been put together in the dark by an idiot.
My mother had raised me to be a gentleman, however, so I didn't make a break for the stairs and the safety of my room. I was polite and breathed a sigh of relief when we escaped the lights of the dorm common room to the dark of night. Unlike me, my roomie had a car at school, so he drove us to the apartment where the party was being held.
At the party there were only a few people. Our dates were two of the three girls present with four or five other guys. As I recall, most of the people there were music students, though I didn't really care what they were. All I was interested in was the bottle of rum they had available. I wasted no time in drinking as much of it mixed with cola as I could swallow. In about an hour I was pretty wasted.
By that point, I convinced myself that the girl I was with found me attractive, no matter what I thought of her. As I said, I was nice to her and I guess she found it a rare thing. She laughed at my lame jokes and we pretty much maintained our own conversation while the others played whatever social games they were playing.
A few of the people left a while later and I got drunker. We were sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. My date was drinking along with me, though she kept to a slower pace. She was wearing stretch pants and a sweater, I recall and as we were sitting there, I leaned back against the couch for a minute. She was sitting forward listening to something one of the hosts was saying. I glanced down and noticed that her spine was like a shallow valley between the fat on either side of it. I mean, it was the same as everybody's back, except her fat made hers appear deeper than most.
Then my eyes fell on the waistband of her pants, and the top of her panties – pink nylon – that were exposed due to her excess of 'love handles'. Suddenly she became more attractive to me. As long as I had to be there, I decided, I might as well make the most of things. I moved my hand to her back and she looked at me. I smiled (I think) and she smiled back at me. She leaned toward me expectantly so I puckered up and kissed her.
From that point, all the others in the room ceased to mean anything to me. We started kissing and my hand explored her back. She was all in favor of it all -- for a while. After a few minutes of making out I glanced around the room. At some point, all but the two guys who owned the apartment, my roommate and me and our dates had left. My roommate was sitting in conversation with the others and I thought nobody was paying my date and me any attention. Probably I was only embarrassing myself – and her – but I guess she got so little of that type of attention she didn't discourage me.
I slid a hand around in front of her and subtly cupped one of her tits. They, at any rate, were quite large, owing to her being overweight. She didn't stop me so I moved under her sweater. She still didn't stop me, she just kissed me harder. I managed to slip my hand inside her bra and she gave a little moan. I broke the kiss and looked around. Everybody else had adjourned to another room – no doubt embarrassed by my drunken actions.
That was fine with me anyway, and I convinced the girl to let me raise her sweater, unhook her bra, and suck one of her nipples. So far, so good, I thought and I started to move on. It wasn't until I slid my hand down and into her pants -- going straight for the goal line inside her panties. My fingertips had barely connected with her wiry pubic hair when she sat up and grabbed my wrist. She jerked my hand out of her pants and moved back.
The last thing I remember before I passed out was her frantically trying to straighten herself up, reaching behind to hook her bra. I was a relatively inexperienced drinker – among other things – so I suppose I hadn't had more than four or five drinks. The speed with which I'd drunk them, however, caused my overreaction.
I think I was having a great dream. I woke up just a tremendous orgasm roared through me. In the first two seconds after my eyes opened I went from disorientation there in the darkened room, to the memory of drinking and getting rejected by my ugly date, and then to the warm, wet feeling surrounding my cock. I'd never had a blow job before and I must have gasped. The mouth left my cock and I closed my eyes and pretended to still slumber on. The person got up and I peeked. It was one of the guys who lived there!
He tiptoed to the hall and disappeared into what I guessed was a bedroom. Probably, I thought, he went to rejoin his (probably sleeping) boyfriend. I felt violated and nauseous. As soon as I was alone I buttoned up and zipped up. I grabbed the sweater I'd worn and removed earlier and bolted for the door. I didn't know or really care when my ride had left. I had a general idea of the direction of the campus so I just set out walking.
It was about twenty years before I ever told anybody about that night. I never mentioned what happened to my roommate, but I knew for sure he was gay by then. I never saw the girl again. I took some ribbing from the other guys in the dorm who had seen us together before we got out of the place. All I could do was blush and shrug it off.
I think it was the nature – and gender – of that first blow job that has made it extremely difficult for me to reach orgasm from the oral attentions I've received from the women I've known. It always feels good, but I just can't seem to let myself come, except rarely. I feared for a while that I'd 'caught' homosexuality from the guy, but after a few relationships (and successful sex acts) with girls, I stopped worrying. If anything, it gave me a deeper homophobia than the times had instilled in me. Then I finally even got over that.
Anyway, all that happened almost forty years ago. Every word of it is true – which you should know because I didn't mention my ten in cock and because I didn't get laid. I hope you got a good laugh out of it all. I can even laugh about it after all these years.
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