Carol Ch. 01

Chapter 01: The Beginning

They met in early September, on their first day in college. The year was 1968.

Her name was Carol, and his name was Charlie.

Charlie had always been shy with girls; he had hardly dated before college. He was still a virgin, though he did know what a girl's breast felt like and how to feel her pussy to give her pleasure and make her come. He even knew that he was very good at that.

He had never wanted to date a lot of girls, anyway. He only wanted one, a girl whom he could love and who would love him, and who would be his soulmate forever. Just one.

And when he saw Carol, he knew beyond doubt that she was the one he wanted.

Carol was, simply, beautiful; clear and creamy-white skin, sparkling green eyes, a smile like an angel, and long brown hair that fell in soft waves to her waist. Her breasts were full, her hips generous, her bottom round and perfect. He could not see much of her legs; she wore a slightly old-fashioned skirt that covered her knees, but what he could see was wonderful.

Indeed, Carol had a slightly old-fashioned air about her that he found charming. She tended to stand with her feet primly together, and even a little pigeon-toed, with her feet turned inward, like a child's. Her hands were normally clasped together in front of her in a shy, endearing sort of way, and her eyes were wide and bright; but her smile was always reserved and proper.

"Ladylike" was the word that came to mind. He thought her amazing.

For the first time in his life, Charlie made up his mind to pursue and win a girl. In the past, he had tended to hang back and hope for a signal; but not with this girl. He knew he had to make the first move--and quickly. When the upperclassmen saw her, she would have plenty to choose from.

He managed to maneuver himself till he was beside her in line as they filed into the auditorium for their first orientation lecture.

"Hello. My name is Charlie," he said.

"Hi. I'm Carol."

She smiled as he knew she would; friendly, but reserved. Up close, her skin was so clear and perfect it almost seemed luminescent.

"Boy, wasn't that opening convocation boring?" he said.

"It sure was. I kept yawning."

Charlie knew this. He had been watching her from the balcony for the whole hour. "I hope this thing is better," he said.

"Oh, me too. If it's as boring as that was, I'm going to fall asleep." Her voice was enchanting; low and sweet, Southern honey with a charming hint of New England. Charlie had never heard anything like it. He later learned that she had grown up in South Carolina and had just graduated from a private school outside of Boston.

"It should be better," he said. "This is where they give us all the rules and regs."

"And pass out the student handbooks," she said, nodding.

He looked at her hands, holding a binder against her chest. She could be a hand model, he thought. She wore no nail polish, and needed none. You don't paint lilies.

They were going into the auditorium. "Do you mind if I sit with you? First day, I don't know anybody," he said with a grin.

She smiled. "Okay. I don't know anybody either." Then, "What was your name again?"

"Charlie. And you're--?" As if he'd forgotten.

"Carol."

"Carol."

He did not know it then, but that name would echo in his heart for the rest of his life.

---

After it began, Carol not only loved Charlie; she was grateful to him, and would be forever after. He taught her so much, and so patiently and lovingly and well.

She was totally naive and a little fearful of sex when they met, having grown up with a stepfather whose treatment of her bordered on sexual abuse--never quite overt, but always intimidating. He and her mother were divorced by then, and she had not spoken to him in years.

Carol was more than innocent. She had dated a little, but sex frightened her and she was still very much a virgin--and in fact knew very little about the subject. It was a different time.

But Charlie took it slowly with her. He was always so gentle and patient, she gradually began to relax and trust him. He didn't even try to kiss her till their third date, and he never, ever, pressed her for anything. It was as if he knew how fearful and fragile she was.

The truth was, he was as shy and unsure as she was; but he knew to conceal that and feign confidence. That he was exactly what she needed was an accident, but a happy one for both of them.

Charlie was not only gentle and patient to a fault; he was easier to talk to than anyone Carol had ever met. They talked for hours, those first few days and on their first few dates. Charlie was very intelligent, and had many interests; he seemed to know everything without being conceited or nerdy about it. She found him fascinating.

More importantly, he really listened to everything she said with total attention instead of planning what he was going to say next. He didn't seem anxious to impress her at all.

She liked him.

It was the late 60s. Their place to be alone was the back seat of Charlie's Chevy II at the local drive-in movie or various "lover's lanes," and that was where he taught her about love, and sex, and even her own body.

On their sixth date, they went to see "Romeo and Juliet" at the drive-in. Olivia Hussey, playing Juliet, was radiant, a classic beauty; Carol breathed, "She's so pretty..."

Charlie was sitting beside her with his arm comfortably around her shoulders. She had come to like that; it was warm and affectionate, and Charlie never acted like it entitled him to anything more.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear: "She is. But you're the prettiest girl I ever saw."

She turned and looked at him. He wasn't watching the screen. His eyes were on her face, and she sensed that they had been for some time.

"You're just flattering me," she said archly, "and flattery will get you nowhere." Then she laughed.

He only smiled a little, his eyes still roaming her face. "No," he said. "I'm not. You really are."

She looked down. "Thank you," she said quietly. "That's very sweet."

She felt a finger at her chin. Charlie turned her face toward him, and when he was sure he had her attention, he said, "Carol, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever met. But that's not what's important."

"It's not?" She blinked at him innocently, a little puzzled.

"No. You're smart, you're funny, you're kind, and you're as sweet as you can be."

She smiled, a little cautiously. "You sound like you're in love with me."

He smiled too, and warmly. "Not quite yet. But I'm for sure in 'like a whole lot' with you."

She laughed, and so did he.

Then, he lifted a finger in front of her face, pointing downward, and moved it in small circles. "Turn around," he said softly.

She did, turning to kneel on the seat with her back to the screen. Then she leaned to her right and found herself in his arms. She stretched her legs out on the seat and reclined against him, a little timidly.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked.

She examined her feelings. "Mmm. Yes. This is nice," she said. She snuggled against him contentedly. This was new.

He kissed her. She kissed back, and they did not speak for a few minutes. Sweet kisses, mouths closed, but warm and meaningful even so.

"Do you like this?" he whispered.

"I do," she whispered back, and kissed him again.

After a while, she breathed, "We're going to miss how the movie comes out." He was stroking her face.

"They both die," he said, deadpan.

She laughed, as did he--and when he kissed her again, she felt a tiny, tender swipe of his tongue against her lips. Just once.

She hesitated, then opened her mouth to him. Just a little; then more. Then more than that.

Soon their mouths were locked together, and their tongues were getting to know each other, exploring this new world. Even then, Charlie was gentle and undemanding. Their kisses were deep and intimate, but he never tried to overwhelm her. His arms supported and protected her, and she felt safe.

"I think maybe I am falling in love," he said a little later.

She clung close to him and whispered in his ear: "Me, too."

Their next few dates were similar. They held each other and kissed, deeply; they talked quietly, about nothing, about how they felt, about each other. They held and felt and stroked each other's bodies, tentatively, shyly, their hands never straying into the most intimate areas--not yet.

"I love how you hold me, Charlie. I feel so safe and warm."

"I love how you fit my arms."

"Mmmm. Me too."

He found a spot on her neck, above her collarbone, that made her gasp and writhe when he kissed her there. He remembered it, and kissed it often. She would lift her chin for it when he moved his head that way, and she hissed and clung to him and whimpered as he sucked her smooth skin there.

The first time he held her breast, he actually asked her: "Do you mind?"

She quickly said, "I don't know..."

He left his hand there and continued to kiss her.

She left his hand there too. The question was strange, but somehow it made her feel safe, too. Charlie would never push her, never give her anything she didn't want.

Her breasts were full and lovely, and he slowly taught her to love having them fondled and sucked. Soon she was adept at slipping her bra off as soon as she got in the car with him--and she loved thrilling him by sometimes not wearing a bra at all.

When they were at the Park--their name for a little undeveloped area at the end of a street far from the school--Carol would take her blouse and bra off entirely, and snuggle in his arms bare to her waist. He would stroke her smooth back as they kissed, her heavy breasts pressed against him; sometimes he would take his shirt off too, and she would rub her nipples against his bristly chest and purr like a kitten.

Then she'd turn around and lean her back against him, arching her back as he took her bare breasts in his hands. She shivered as he felt and hefted and played with her lovely tits; and there was a lot to play with. Carol said she was a 38-D, but her bras seemed too small to him. 40-DD would be closer, he thought.

"Mmm, I like that.... Ooo.... Ooo! Oh, pinch my nipple again like that... Mm! Yes..."

She liked it when he held her breasts in his hands and sucked her tender nipples. "Squeeze me just a little, Chahlie... Oh, Chahlie... Suck me harder..."

When Carol was aroused, her time in Boston came out and the "r" in his name disappeared. He found it endearing and entrancing.

Each night when they met, they embraced--and she giggled at the times he gasped to find no strap across her back.

From early on, Charlie adored her hands--and her feet. She never wore nail polish on either, and he was glad; they were too pretty bare to paint them. If Carol wanted him to want her and get hard, all she had to do was slip off her shoes and go barefoot, especially if she was wearing shorts.

It was a secret joke they shared, and an intimate one. The first thing she did on getting in his car was throw her shoes in the back seat and smile.

It took longer to teach her to love being touched more intimately. It was long before she opened her legs so he could stroke the crotch of her panties, and they stopped there for quite a while; he would caress and stroke and knead her pussy through the thin nylon till it was soaked and she was gasping, and finally one night he made her come like that.

She shivered and tensed in his arms--and when she relaxed again, she clung to his neck and said nothing for long minutes. He kissed her cheeks and found them wet.

But the next night she whispered, "Put your hand inside," as he stroked her panties. He kissed her gently as he did.

"Oh, Carol--" His hand was exploring her soft, hidden hair, and she opened her thighs wider than she ever had. "Feel me," she breathed.

Her sweet slit was warm and humid, and he stroked her outer lips ever so gently, till she was subtly moving her hips and breathing a little faster.

"Oh, Chahlie--feel me inside," she whispered. "Please..."

His finger slipped inside her trembling pussy with a tiny pop, and he kissed that secret spot above her collarbone as she moaned. She was so smooth, so liquid, so warm and wet--

And so sensitive. She began to shudder almost immediately as he felt her most intimate secrets, and he brushed her swollen clit and felt her spasm in his arms. "Oh, God.... Oh, do that again..."

He took it slowly, barely touching her clit now and then as he slid his finger in and out of her quivering, slippery hole. She grew more and more excited, and soon he was frankly sliding his finger over the stiff little button, rubbing one side, then the other, then right across the tip as she gasped and whimpered.

As she rose toward her most intense orgasm yet, he massaged the hidden shaft of her clit, deeply, rubbing just beneath it, up and down, and stroking the tip of it as he did so.

Finally, she gulped and gasped, her ass rising from the car seat, and he whispered, "Tell me when you come--I want to hear you tell me--"

"I'm c-c-"

He slid his finger all the way inside her, deeper than he'd felt her yet, and pulled back to press his palm against her clit as he held it there. He massaged her whole pussy deeply and explored her with his finger, wriggling it inside her.

"Ggg--I'm coming," she grunted.. "I'm cooOOOMMING..."

She cried after that first hard orgasm. He held her and kissed her tears away until she stopped shivering.

"Why do you cry?" he asked. She didn't know.

She grew to love it, and soon she surprised him by getting into his car wearing maroon cutoffs and a matching sweatshirt--and no underwear at all. She giggled at his shock and excitement.

They didn't always just "make out," as it was called then. She fondly remembered a night when they hardly even kissed. She began asking him questions, and he had "the talk" with her that her parents never had.

Some of it she knew, but there was much she didn't. He told her about eggs and sperm, ovulation, pregnancy, contraception, and even how her period worked and how it affected her moods. He told her about her clitoris and her labia and explained the things she had been feeling when they were together.

She asked many questions, and he answered her seriously--without making fun of how naive she was or how little she knew for an 18-year-old. She adored him for it.

One night at the Park, a smiling Carol said she a surprise for him. She climbed into the back seat and told him to wait and not look till she told him.

"You can look now, Chahlie," she cooed, and he did.

She sat there smiling at him shyly. All she was wearing was a pair of tiny beige bikini panties and a matching half-bra.

Charlie was stunned and thrilled and shocked all at once. Till that moment, he had never seen her in anything that was designed to be "sexy"--she was so modest! He stroked her all-but-bare body for hours, and made her come many times. Carol was learning to tease and be seductive.

He had taught her to be multi-orgasmic, and she would get off many times a night. He made sure that she was never unsatisfied, but never pressed her to take more when she had had enough.

He grew adept at eating her sweet pussy; he would lick her tiny labia-she was very small theremmm, like a child--and lap at her clit till she was whimpering, in a tiny voice also like a child's, then suck on it till she came. Just as she peaked, he would slide a finger in, or two, and she would come with even greater intensity.

More than once, she fainted from it. Charlie would hold her till she came to. She would be disoriented and frightened, and he whispered reassurance and cuddled her till she relaxed again in his arms.

t was harder for her to please him and make him come, though. She was still reluctant to touch his penis, and sucking it was out of the question, even though she loved feeling his tongue in her pussy. She just wasn't ready. Charlie was patient, and never made her feel bad about it, though she knew he was frustrated.

They finally hit upon a compromise; she would pose and show off for him, and he would masturbate and look at her. It pleased them both. Charlie enjoyed what Carol gave him, and let her progress at her own pace. She felt no pressure, and that too made her feel safe.

This stage lasted a long time. In the warm months that spring and fall, they often went to a nearby lake; and one day she surprised him there. When she took off her coverup--a sort of short coverall, usually of cotton terry--she was wearing a bikini.

A modest one by the standards of today, but in 1970 it was shocking. He stared at her belly, his mouth open. He had never seen her more beautiful. "Like it?" Carol asked melodically, delighted at his wide-eyed reaction.

Charlie nodded. "Uh-huh," he said, staring.

"Want me to take it off?"

Ten seconds later, he was stroking his cock hungrily as she posed and postured coyly, barefoot in the sand. He was staring at her lovely bare legs when she reached behind her and whispered, "Are you ready, love?"He nodded, pulling his dick slowly, and she smiled and dropped her bra on the blanket.

He moaned. It was the best view he had ever had of her lovely tits, and they were far more beautiful, more perfect than he had thought. Heavy and firm, sweetly rounded, softly pointed and tipped with large, pink nipples.

Carol preened before him, turning this way and that, showing herself off. In broad daylight, on a public beach. Charlie was already close to coming, sooner that he had ever felt it. She leaned forward, and her heavy breasts swung slightly as he stared and jacked off.

He expected no more; he knew how modest she was, and it was incredible that she would even go topless for him in this deserted but public place. He was staring at her hanging breasts and stroking, pre-cum dripping from his steel-hard dick.

"Chahlie..."

"Mmm?"

"I've got them all the way down in back."

He suddenly saw that her hands were at her hips. "Sh-show me," he stammered.

She turned around and showed him. Her big, perfect, pale and deep-split ass was completely bare, her bikini bottom at her thighs. He gasped and stroked, struggling to hold back his steaming sperm.

Quickly, she yanked the garment to her ankles and off and dropped it by her bra. Charlie glanced down; the sight of Carol's swimsuit, discarded on the blanket, was exciting by itself.

He looked at her, hardly believing his eyes. His sweet and shy, prim and proper Carol was stark naked on a public beach, just for his pleasure.

He bit his lip and jacked off to her as he stared--at the long, long sweep of her beautiful bare skin, from her bare pink heels, up the bare, pale curves of her perfect legs, over her heartbreaking bare ass, and up her pale bare back--to her twinkling green eyes.

"I'm going to turn around now, love," she cooed coyly. "Get ready..."

She slowly turned, and Charlie moaned with passion and wonder. She stood there like a goddess, bare from toes to hairline, and he could hardly comprehend her beauty. Carol was creamy-white all over, so pale she almost glowed. There were highlights of peach-pink here and there, in her sweetly blushing cheeks, at her large, excitingly erect nipples, and beneath her belly--he was thrilled to see the blushing skin of her pubic mound and the sweet crease of her vagina through the thin veil of her small and sparse patch of pussy hair.

The swell of her large breasts, the soft curve of her belly, the flare of her hips, the curve and taper of her legs--she was perfection, sexuality personified, the most beautiful and most exciting thing he'd ever seen. She smiled at him innocently, turning slightly to make sure he could see her from all angles.