Barbara's Sex Lives

(Note to Readers: This is an entry in the Pink Orchid 2024 event. All characters engaged in sex acts are at least 18 years old. Because the main character is followed through many years, this story is posted in Mature, even though the story begins when she's young. The sex is varied, and the details are in the tags, for anyone who might be triggered or turned off.)

==1974==

The top floor of Gamma house was a large open space, with plenty of autumn daylight streaming in through dormer windows. Barbara, three other seniors, and two juniors sat on the carpeted floor in a circle, polishing their finger- and toenails. As they painted and chatted, Barb heard a voice behind her: "Oh, sorry."

Barb turned towards the stairs and saw a head just above floor level. It belonged to Junie, a sophomore, who said, "I, uh, I didn't know--"

"It's okay," said Barb, smiling. "We do this every Friday. You have a date tonight?"

"Um, well, yes."

"Come on up," said Barb. "We call this 'Nails Before Nailing.'"

The other women snickered. Junie looked puzzled, and said, "What?"

"Virgin alert!" said Rhonda.

Midge said to Barb, "She's an underclassman."

Barb rolled her eyes at her. "C'mon, Midge, this isn't an official activity." To Junie: "You can join us. You don't have to do your nails."

As she climbed the last few stairs, Junie said, "I heard that there are magazines up here."

"On the shelves there," said Barb, gesturing with her brush. "Cosmo, Glamour, and Ms. It's okay to borrow some of each."

Barb watched as Junie stepped around the periphery of the group seated on the floor. The sophomore had a lean frame, and the shag cut of her caramel-colored hair didn't make her look more feminine. But Barb observed Junie's big blue eyes and sculpted jawline, and decided that plenty of men could be attracted to her.

And maybe more than men, Barb thought.

The radio started to play "Kung-Fu Fighting." Two women hummed along. Kelly, always serious-minded, said, "Doesn't anyone think it's weird that somebody who never ran for President, or Vice-President, is now the President?"

"Ford doesn't figure to be any different," murmured Doris, trying to get her fraying brush back into the polish bottle.

"General question," said Barb to the rest. "How drunk are you getting tonight?"

"Plastered!" said Charlene giddily.

"Only a little," said Kelly. "I still have to be able to dial a phone and talk to a cab driver."

"Good point," said Barb. To Junie, who was getting cross-legged to Barb's left, "You?"

"Oh. Um, I don't like beer."

"And you're too young for the hard stuff," Barb added.

Rhonda offered, "We can get you a fake I.D."

Junie looked alarmed. Barb said to Rhonda, "Let's not start her on a life of crime." Then Barb sighed. "Trouble is, I have to get three sheets to the wind, to keep from noticing the pain."

"Vaseline?" asked Kelly.

"It's really messy," said Barb, "and once things are, um, hot and heavy, it doesn't seem to help much."

"Try this," said Midge. She pulled over her purse, wrapped extra tissues around her hand, reached in, and pulled out a plastic bottle a bit larger than the glass ones that held polish. "You won't need much, and it'll stay slick."

"Hmm," said Barb, taking the bottle as Midge reached it across the circle. The label referred to the contents as 'personal lubricant.' "I've heard about this. Thanks."

"Better than being drunk," said Midge with a smirk.

"Says you!" declared Charlene.

"Char," said Kelly, exasperated, "not everybody is here for an M-R-S degree."

"You can spare this?" Barb asked Midge.

"Yep. Anybody else want a sample?"

"It's like a naughty Tupperware party!" crowed Rhonda.

Junie didn't ask for one. Barb couldn't tell if Junie even knew what it was. When the session ended, Barb quietly told Junie, "Don't let anyone rush you. Have fun tonight, but only the fun that seems safe."

***

There was enough time that afternoon for Barb to get to the library. She looked up the company that made the lube, and the chemistry of the substance itself. Everything seemed to be on the up-and-up.

Barb had started doing this sort of research in high school, when pimples ravaged her face. She asked her biology teacher about all the treatments advertised on the radio, and what they did to pimples, skin, and health generally. The teacher gave her some advice, but also told her what to look up in the library. Once informed, Barb carefully applied a product--and cut back on chocolate. Within a year, Barb's face was smooth, allowing her fine features to shine through. She enjoyed her popularity, but was never arrogant. She remembered too well how she'd been treated when her most prominent aspect was her zits.

College, and living away from home, took Barb beyond heavy petting. Her excitement for boys ramped up in the presence of older ones with their more mature bodies and, in some cases, personalities. Her Gamma sisters educated her about condoms, but their advice on the best ways for a woman to breach her hymen was less persuasive. A library trip gave her a method that was sanitary and, it turned out, not terribly painful.

To Barb's relief, many boys pursued her, even in the bigger pond of college. This helped prevent her from focusing on one guy. She liked the attention and affection--but she also liked what she learned in her major, French literature, more with each passing semester. She hadn't thought much about marriage, but what she did think, more and more, was that it could wait. Especially because sex didn't seem to be this glorious experience some girls claimed it was.

As a senior, Barb continued to have sex, but without much hope that it would feel better. By this time she had heard and read about various kinds of foreplay. She was able to take in her hand, and even stroke, a penis, when that seemed to be what a guy enjoyed. She also accepted some fingering on and inside her vulva, but if it was too deep or rough, she shied away. All of this happened under covers, or in very low light. She really didn't want to see, or be seen, during sex.

As for any involvement of a mouth, anywhere near genitals, the very thought made her cringe. Fortunately, so far nobody had asked.

***

Roy was an Omicron Tau. That fraternity was rarely a factor in the campus pecking order, but Roy himself was pretty sharp, majoring in electrical engineering. He did his own repairs on his Honda Civic, and described the work in lavish detail. Barb couldn't follow all of it, but when she admitted this, he explained until she caught on. Unlike all of her previous boyfriends, Roy didn't treat her like an idiot for not knowing about traditionally male topics.

As usual, he took her to the pizza place two blocks off-campus. She had eaten almost nothing since breakfast Thursday, so she could indulge in a slice or two without panicking over her waistline. She had spent more time on her hair than on her studies, and was pleased with the results, the rich dark brown in thick shoulder-length waves. She liked how she contrasted with the attempted blondes all around.

Roy listened politely to Barb's recounting of her latest paper on Proust. He complimented her appearance, showing that he knew how important it was to say this in the bright light of the pizza joint, rather than in his car.

As they were finishing, he asked, "Shall we go to Drayton's?" The dance club, with its full liquor license, was their usual next stop.

"I think I've had enough," she said, with a mild smile. She held up her nearly-empty beer stein.

He frowned. "Um...are you okay?"

She thought he was wondering if she was on her period. Feeling wicked, in a good way, she smiled wider. "Yes."

He looked a bit off balance, which she enjoyed. "Well. Good." He summoned a smile, while leaning to reach for his wallet.

***

Omicron Tau wasn't a hugely pledged frat, here or anywhere else. The upside was that upperclassmen didn't have to take roommates.

Seeing Roy's room for the first time without being tipsy, Barb had to smile. In the dim light of a small shaded lamp, the day-glo poster of Jimi Hendrix was the only distinguishing feature.

They sat side by side on the bed. It was how they always started. Even when she'd been drinking, neither undressed the other. Hugs and kisses were interspersed with leans back to unbutton or unzip. Barb thought that she shouldn't intrude on what she'd lately heard called the 'personal space' of someone else, and she definitely didn't want him to tear at her clothes, as if this were a trashy romance novel.

They kissed, frenching a fair amount. Barb didn't much care for it, and didn't know if Roy did either. It was as if each thought doing that would drive the other wild, and make the sex great.

They got under the covers before their underwear was doffed. He kissed and squeezed her breasts as much as she let him, which wasn't very. She was convinced that they were too small. When he fingered her vulva, she held steady, because he wasn't rough. She was still embarrassed, despite knowing that she wasn't 'dirty' there.

She had thought that not being drunk would make her eager and excited. So far, it only made her anxious. So many things could go wrong.

She realized that booze did more than defer the pain. It lowered her inhibitions. Now, sobriety made her judge herself the way she thought people would judge a loose woman. That's ridiculous! Loose woman? Am I my grandmother? Yet the anxiety kept building.

She even worried that the lube might tear the condom, or make it slide off.

But as Roy knelt to roll on the condom, she told herself, I didn't come this far just to scream in pain.

"I'm going to try something," she said quietly. She leaned her arm past the side of the bed and brought the bottle out of her purse. "Just give me a second."

With two fingers she rubbed the fluid on, and deep between, her labia. It didn't seem like enough, but everything she'd read insisted on only this amount.

She didn't try to put any on Roy. Barb worried that doing that to him would turn him off.

Tonight, it's enough, she thought, to see if sex can be better.

"Okay," she whispered.

Roy nodded.

He moved between her spread legs. At her cleft, she felt his bulb. She was about to cringe, but the expected pain didn't arrive. There was pressure, but when she shifted her weight, the pressure eased--and she could feel Roy's thickness inside her. She relaxed, and he filled her further.

Then he held still.

"Go ahead," she said.

His thickness receded. Then advanced.

"Oooooh," she said. There was nothing bad. Just some tingling.

She found that the tingling felt good.

He drove a bit faster. The thickness advanced deeper.

"Oh," she said, and gulped. "Yes yes keep going."

He complied, and got thicker.

"Don't go off yet!" she said, and gulped again. "Can you do more?"

"Uh, I'll try." She felt his gut muscles clench on her belly.

He rested his elbows beside her torso, and reached to grip her shoulders from beneath. This held her still, so his drive didn't push her away. He pistoned steadily. He breathed heavily as he did, and soon grunted in the rhythm of his thrust.

"Oh yeah!" she yelped. "Roy! Can you be my hero, m-my, yeah!" She felt a thrilling contraction, like when she fingered herself--but then, she had always stopped, ashamed, even though she was alone in bed.

Roy nodded, and wheezed. Barb's thighs tightened on his hips.

This stuff is amazing! she thought. Ten times better than Vaseline! She was glad that she'd never tried sex on marijuana. Her only time taking a few puffs of a passed joint had her nearly fainting.

"Isitgood?" Roy gasped.

"Yes, so good! You're a stud, Roy!" She laughed, at herself, while marveling at how good she felt. There were more contractions from her, her, vagina, and she felt wild thrills from the rubbing of his flat belly, his, his pubic hair, on her throbbing clit, clitoris!

"Yeeeaaaah!" she started, head tipped back. Then her mouth was blocked with Roy's hand, and he froze in mid-fuck.

"I'm not alone on this floor!" he rasped. "Somebody might call the cops!"

"Sorry," she said quietly into his hand. Her ecstasy faded, but she still felt wonderful. Even weak contractions, with his penis inside, sent waves of heat through her. This is what it's like to have something I can squeeze!

Tentatively, Roy pulled his hand away. Barb whispered, "You can finish, I'll be quiet."

And finish he did, maybe fifteen seconds later, pumping hard and fast, biting a pillow to mute his own cry of joy. Pleasure bloomed in her again, but she set her jaw and stayed silent. Then he vacated her, and flopped to the far side of the bed.

When they again breathed normally, she showed him the lube bottle. "Somebody who knows so much about cars," she said, "surely understands the importance of lubrication." Then she convulsed into giggles, which infected him. They then shared their first-ever relaxed, happy, hug-and-kiss.

"Speaking of that," she went on, "will you be okay to drive?"

==1980==

"I guess I just don't see the point," said Barb as she arranged her bento box on the table before her. "By the time the guy's pants are off, he's erect. If I lick it, he might just go off right then. No gain for either of us."

"Have you ever asked the guy?" Moira sounded exasperated. The ambient noise in the tiny restaurant made it possible to talk, in normal volume and expression, about fellatio, in public. This was, after all, New York.

"He might be able to hold back," Moira pressed on, "long enough to enjoy your lips, your tongue, your suction!"

Barb managed not to say anything, but in reflex she winced. That was enough of a reaction to make Moira and Chelsea laugh.

Nora's choice was to sneer, at Barb. "Some people have the kind of looks, that they can get through the night without having to put a dick in her mouth."

Barb snapped, "Some people in publishing wouldn't jump from 'they' to 'her.'"

"Ooooh!" said Chelsea, "Nora, you've been edited!"

More laughter from Moira and Chelsea. Barb, however, looked at Nora and sincerely said, "Sorry."

"So am I," said Nora. "Which doesn't change the fact of your looks."

Fortunately, Moira changed the subject. This appeared to be so she could stay in charge of the conversation, rather than reduce the tension. Eventually she concluded, "I don't see how Carter can get re-elected if the hostages are still stuck in Tehran."

Back at the office, Barb again settled in to her work. She translated to English the text from French newspapers that didn't have English-language editions, with the compiled text mailed in a newsletter to subscribers. The job made use of her education and skills, but the novelty had worn off, and it was no longer interesting.

Still, her life after work was even less interesting. Much of New York was dangerous after dark. Once she reached her apartment, in a residential area in Queens, it was easiest just to stay there.

To Barbara, the most important phrase in what Nora said at lunch was, 'get through the night.' Even for Barb, whose attitude towards marriage was the same as it was in her college days, the loneliness of the single woman sapped her energy.

On this particular Wednesday, however, there was still daylight in the evening, and Barb had enough cash to use taxis instead of the subway. When she asked the driver to take her to the New York Public Library, she knew that there was a lilt of excitement in her voice.

The main reading room may not have been the most famous library space on Earth, but it was surely the most photographed and filmed. The long tables with their green-shaded lamps, the tall windows, the artwork on the distant ceiling, never failed to thrill Barb. She didn't care how much she must look like a rube as she stood there. For someone who prized the availability of knowledge, this place was Nirvana.

She was more self-conscious as she pursued her task. Every few minutes she had to tell herself that nobody else in the busy space knew her, or knew what she was researching. She nonetheless tried to arrange herself, and the coat on her shoulders, to block anyone's view of the microfiche files that she examined.

She read up on the biochemistry of semen and vaginal fluids. By themselves, they were unlikely to cause actual harm if they were ingested. But the venereal diseases she had thus far been able to avoid could be transmitted orally. There was no way to be sure that a lover was, or wasn't, a carrier.

Would a guy be satisfied if she sucked his dick while he wore a condom? Would she be able to do that, if the odd smell of the condom was accompanied by a comparable taste? She suspected that the answers to both would be no.

Would a quick spit of a mouthful of semen keep her safe from those nasty VDs? The safe-than-sorry tone of the available information was such that one could never be sure.

As for whether she could receive oral sex safely, her experience with men so far was that they were extremely reluctant, and it had nothing to do with VDs. She had been kissed, and even licked, on the crotch a few times, but just when it started to feel good, the guy stopped and wanted to screw.

She hadn't begged for longer licking, and now saw (as she had worried) that VDs could actually pass from a man's mouth to a woman's genitals. But she also saw that there was a condom-like way to avoid this.

It was called a dental dam.

It was invented in the nineteenth century as a means to focus dental work on individual teeth. The dental dam's more recent form, in the era of plastics, made it possible, allegedly, for kisses and licks to feel about the same without actual contact between giver and receiver.

She finished her research with a scan of medical supply houses in the vicinity. That night at home, she put together a mail order request, and wrote a check to include with it.

Barbara wouldn't have lacked for male company, if she had wanted it under male-defined circumstances. As Nora had pointed out, Barb had looks. Barb even worked at maintaining them, and not only because they worked in her favor professionally. She actually appreciated her appearance, in esthetic terms. But there was insecurity about herself below her face and hair. Not only did she consider her figure to be slack, but she was convinced that the appearance of veins on her legs--two years before she would turn thirty!--should keep her off of beaches, and covered up in the big cities of the north.

When her parcel arrived, she set up an experiment, alone in her bedroom. As she had matured, Barb had become less skittish about solitary pleasure. She shied away from the word 'masturbation,' associating it with men yanking their penises, an image she found repulsive. But the act of stimulating her own genitalia, bringing herself to a climax, gave her not only pleasure but a sense of control over her body. My body controls me every twenty-eight days, she thought with a smile as she slid down her underwear. So if I take control in the rest of the month, I'm ahead of the game!

Now nude beneath the oversized New York Jets jersey that was her at-home casual wear, she dampened a soft washcloth with warm water. Normally she would slide it gently between her legs, and then less gently as she became aroused. Usually she would cum easily, although there were times when getting to orgasm would take so long that she'd be sore, often into the next day.

Lying on her back in bed, her torso propped up on pillows, she unwrapped a dental dam and examined it. The thin plastic rectangle was smooth and slick. It seemed to Barb as though it might not stay in place during sustained action.