tagLoving WivesGoing to College

Going to College


It seems life has always been a struggle. Coming from a poor family, I tried to be a good daughter. Married at 18, I tried to be a good wife. Pregnant a year later, I tried to be a good mother. Now I'm trying to get ahead.

It hasn't been easy. When I married my husband, he was a high school football star. We dreamed his talent would take us to bigger and better things. When he tore apart his knee, our dreams were shattered. Instead of going to university on a football scholarship, he became an apprentice at a local factory.

My husband never approved of my efforts to resume my education, so it was hard to earn my General Equivalency Certificate but I finally did last spring at the age of 26. This led me to apply to the local college where I began taking courses two nights a week this fall. No one from my family had ever been to college before.

I was really nervous the night of my first class. Everyone else seemed younger, better dressed, and more confident than me. I had tried to dress 'young', but I guess I came off looking like 'trailer trash'. I was so relieved when one of the students - Roger - came over to talk with me during the first break.

Over the next few weeks I began to look forward to seeing Roger as much as I did going to class. He was mature for his age - 19 - and was living in the college dormitory. Tall and muscular, I found him very handsome. I was flattered that, with so many other attractive young women in the class, he seemed interested in me.

My husband begrudged every moment I spent at college. He wanted me at home, serving his needs. We hadn't made love in months and had recently begun to sleep in separate beds. Married life had become like a prison whereas my time on campus, especially my moments with Roger, were a release.

One night after class Roger asked if I would join him for a drink at an on-campus pub. Oh, how I wanted to say yes, but I knew my husband would be furious if I arrived home late and smelling of alcohol. I declined and said I had to hurry home.

Later that week, at the Thursday night class, I felt that Roger was acting a little distant. I feared that my rejection the other night had upset him. I didn't want that so after class, when he offered to walk me to my car, I gratefully accepted.

It was cold outside as we walked along, and I suppose I complained a little. Roger then put his arm around me to keep me warm. I did not object. We walked through the shadows like teenage lovers. In my heart, I knew I was courting trouble.

Sure enough, when we got to my car, Roger tried to kiss me. It was wrong, but for just a moment I let him. In a rush of naughty pleasure, I even put my arms around him. When I felt his tongue on my lips, though, I pushed him away, got in the car and left. Of course, I fretted endlessly over the weekend. Why did I let Roger kiss me ... but the devil in me wanted to know why I stopped him?

Next week at class I wasn't sure what to expect of Roger, but I found him to be as gracious as ever. When class was over, I again let him walk me to my car and again we ended up kissing. I was prepared to push him away if he tried to get bold but instead he took his time, giving us both a chance to savor every delicious sensation. As my body pressed against his, I felt him become hard.

This time I confess that it was my tongue that sought out his. Our kissing soon became hot and wet ... and I knew it would soon have to stop. When he moved his hand near my breast I whispered, "Please don't." He stopped. Not sure what to do next, I said, "Roger, I can't." Then I kissed him deeply, broke our embrace and left.

I couldn't wait for class two nights later. I hadn't felt like this in years. I loved the way I felt in Roger's arms. After class he again offered to walk me to my car ... and again we made out, this time on a moonlit park bench. When he tried to fondle me, I let him do so briefly before pushing his hand away. I was acting wickedly.

I thought about Roger all weekend. I couldn't wait to get back to class on Tuesday. After class he asked if, on the way to the car, I wanted to stop by and see his dormitory. I'd never been inside a dormitory before. I was worried about where this might lead, but I gladly accepted.

It felt strange: the kids all seemed so young compared to me. Roger's room was one of six rooms attached to a common lounge. This was where Roger introduced me to his friends. By their comments, it was clear they knew all about Roger and his 'girlfriend'. As we sat and talked, Roger put his arm around me and began nibbling on my ear in full view of his friends. I felt uncomfortable and whispered that we should go somewhere more private. Without another word, he led me to his room.

Once insider his room we tumbled onto the bed and were soon locked in a passionate embrace. In no time at all I felt one of Roger's hands slip under my sweater and move to my breast. I should have said something to stop him. I didn't. We kissed madly. Eager for more, I confess I parted my legs and guided his hand to my hip. He needed no further encouragement and soon began feeling me up through my jeans. My hips responded as if on rollers. I was panting in excitement.

I wanted him with an urgency I had never felt before. I reached for him and felt his hardness. In no time at all his member was out ... and there I was, a mother of two, in a college dormitory with a teenager's cock in my hand. He was so hard ... and so large. Even as I played with him, I let him remove my clothes. He soon discovered just how wet I was with desire.

Without waiting any longer, he rolled me onto my back and climbed between my legs. He brought the head of his cock to my pussy lips and, after teasing my clit for a few minutes, he aske me, "Do you want this?" I nodded. He continued to tease me with the bulbous head of his cock. "Do you want this?" he asked again. "Yes," I whispered. In slipped the head and I let out a gasp. He was the only person other than my husband ever to be inside me like this. He withdrew, teasing me again: the head of his cock throbbing against my clitoris; his fingers playing with my nipples.

"More?" he asked. I nodded again, closing my eyes and spreading my legs wider. He slid back in, this time deeper. He again withdrew again, brushing the head of his cock against my stiffened clit, his fingers dancing on my inner thighs, urging them even farther apart.

"Tell me you want it all inside you," he said. "Oh God yes," I sighed, arching my hips. Slowly I felt him slide deep inside me. He went deeper into me than anyone had ever gone before. At first I couldn't take his whole length, but the more I relaxed, the deeper he went ... and as his rhythm increased, I began to moan.

To encourage him, I reached around with my hands and cupped his buttocks, trying to pull him close. God I loved the feeling of him inside me. As I approached orgasm I heard myself call out "Oh God. Yes. Fuck me." He came right at that moment, bringing me to the brink of my own orgasm. "Oh please don't stop," I begged him. He kept sliding the full length of his shaft into me until I too reached a loud climax.

After a few moments I began to regain my senses. Shocked at what had happened, I scrambled into my clothes and went to leave. Roger wanted me to stay longer, but I declined. If we began making out again, I might arrive home so late that my husband would become suspicious. As I left the room I found that Roger's door was ajar ... I was sure Roger had shut it ... and I realized that his buddies had listened to our show. Part of me was embarrassed, but deep down, I didn't care. I felt great. I felt more alive than I had in years.

It soon became our habit to slip away from class early and go back to Roger's room where I experienced sensations I had never thought possible. I hit the books hard to make up for lost class time but, in truth, getting laid by Roger was really all I thought about: I found myself sleepwalking through the rest of my life.

I increasingly fell into the habit of arriving home after my husband had fallen asleep. Once he asked why I was getting home so late. I told him that, after class, I did research in the library until it closed, then went to an late-night coffee shop to complete my homework assignment for the upcoming class. That way, I told him, I could be there at other times for him and the kids. He bought it hook, line and sinker.

One Thursday night in mid-November I arrived at class to find that Roger wasn't there. At the break I made way back to his dorm, where I found him helping his buddies prepare for an impromptu party. He seemed really glad to see me. Once the party started, all the guys wanted to dance with me. At first I was the only woman there. I enjoyed being the center of attention.

Mainly I danced with Roger. Between dances, we would sit down on one of the sofas in the corner of the lounge and make out like teenage lovers. With the lights down low, Roger couldn't resist feeling me up discretely, nor did I attempt to stop him.

After one such make out session I was ready to go back to the dance floor but Roger was not. He beckoned to Hank, one of his roommates, and asked him to dance with me. The suggestion caught me completely by surprise. Hank was black. Never in my life had I been held by or danced with a black man. I had always been afraid.

We danced for three songs. The last one was a slow one. Hank held me close; close enough that I could feel his growing excitement. I felt him blow gently in my ear. I felt his lips nibbling on ear lobe. Then he tried to kiss me. I liked Hank: he was a very good looking Negro ... but I told him to stop. Then the song ended.

I told Roger about what Hank had done. Roger said he had seen it all and, to my surprise, was disappointed that I hadn't kissed Hank. The authority figures in my life, from my father and my mother to my husband, had always steered me away from having anything to do with black men ... but not so Roger. "Ask him to dance again and this time give him a little thrill. If he tries to kiss you, kiss him back."

"But if I encourage him, he'll want to go further," I countered. "You're in control of the situation, and I'll be here to keep an eye on things too. You decide how far to let him go," he said. "Won't it bother you?" I asked. "No, it'll turn me on," he replied.

I'd kissed lots of boys before I got married ... and I had always wondered what it would be like to kiss a black man, so I agreed. I went over to ask Hank if he wanted to dance. He seemed surprised by my invitation but eagerly agreed.

I guess Roger had spoken to the guy playing the music because the next two songs were slow ones. Just moments into the dance I again felt Hank's lips brush against mine. Now it was my turn to surprise Hank by returning his kisses. His big black lips were incredibly soft and sensuous ... and when I felt his tongue brush my lips, our kissing became soft and wet.

Hands on my hips, Hank steered us to a shadowy corner of the dance floor, away from prying eyes. Playing the vixen, I raised my arms and placed them around his neck. With arms raised, I knew I was inviting Hank to take liberties. His right hand soon found its way under my sweater. The sensation was electric. When I did not protest, he moved his hand to my bare breast. I enjoyed letting him fondle and massage me discretely like that in a public place. I was also asking for trouble.

When the song ended, I returned to Roger, breathless and excited. Roger, of course, had watched all of this and was eager to hear the details. "In private," I said, and so we went to Roger's room. As I related every detail of how Hank had touched me, Roger became more and more excited. We ended up having the hottest sex imaginable, and then we must have fallen asleep in each others' arms.

I awoke a few hours later. Gathering my things I left the room only to run into Hank sitting alone in the darkened lounge. "I was hoping I might catch you on your way out," he said. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know else to do so I sat down on the coffee table opposite him. "I enjoyed our dance," I said softly. "So did I," he replied. He leaned forward to kiss me. I kissed him back.

Then I felt Hank place his hand on my knee. I should have stopped him right there, but instead, as we continued to kiss, I felt his hand begin to wander up my skirt. It felt great the way he caressed me, especially the soft skin of my inner thighs. I was initially determined not to let him touch me more intimately than that, but my will was weak and my legs soon parted.

In no time at all his fingers had found their way to my magic button. The sensation was electric. After a few moments of being pleasured like this, I could not help but moan. I soon abandoned any pretext of resistance. As Hank came onto me, I lay back on the table and let my legs fall wide open. He quickly removed my panties.

First he slipped one finger into me, and then two. Then he began teasing me, running his fingers, wet both with my juices and Roger's seed, up and down my slit, one on other side of my distended clit, gliding along the slippery folds until they disappeared inside me. Each time he did this I moaned. The feeling was exquisite.

The next thing I knew he was kneeling at the foot of the coffee table, sucking gently on my clit and teasing it with the tip of his tongue. "Oh God yes," I heard myself say. When I was sure I couldn't stand it anymore, he pulled my hips up, legs wide apart, and began running his tongue from my asshole all the way to my swollen clit and back. It felt so sinful to have my most private parts licked in this way

How could a mother of two let a black teenage like Hank do this to her ... and of course, inside I was still charged with Roger's semen. As I approached orgasm, I wrapped my legs around Hank's head in an effort to bring his big lips tight against my bucking hips. I tried hard to contain myself, but when the orgasm at last washed over me, I fear I made quite a bit of noise.

As the waves of orgasm subsided, I lay there, fearful that others might have been awakened. I knew it was time to leave, but there was Hank, standing over me. He had removed his cock from his pants. I had really let things go too far and now Hank was in desperate need of release. Thinking that maybe I could get away with just blowing him, I sat up. Cradling his balls in one hand and holding his shaft in the other, I began pumping him gently. His cock was big, black and beautiful. Then I took the helmet of his cock into my mouth, sucking him deeper and deeper into me with each stroke. This just worked Hank up even more.

Hank was not going to be satisfied with a blowjob ... and deep down inside, I was glad. Part of me was flattered: I'm sure Hank had his pick of women. Part of me was also deeply ashamed: I knew I was about to let myself get fucked not only by the second of two teenagers that night, but for the first time in my life by a black man ... and by now I was equally certain that doors were ajar and that we had an audience. Being watched was bad enough but if I wasn't careful, some of those other boys might want to do more than watch.

If I were going to let Hank take me, it would be standing up. That way I could keep most of my clothes on and limit what our audience might see. His cock still in my hand, I stood up and placed one foot on the armrest of the sofa. I then brought his tool into contact with my cunt, sliding it up and down the slippery surface until I was sure it would slide in easily. While I did this, his hands danced all over me.

Then, slowly, I guided him inside me. As I felt a black man's shaft slip inside me for the first time, I felt my eyes go wide with excitement. God he was big. Being just a young man, I figured he wouldn't last long. For some reason, I also wanted to put on a show for his friends who were watching in the shadows. Loud enough for them to hear, I said, "Oh God you feel good inside me" and I moaned as if I were on the verge of an overwhelming orgasm. I was sure that this would push him over the edge ... but I underestimated his stamina.

The next thing I knew he had backed me up against a wall. Reaching around behind me, he grabbed my ass, lifting me off the ground. Then he began plowing into me. In the space of just a few moments, I found myself overwhelmed by desire. I drove my hips forward, eager to meet his thrusts. I heard myself grunting and urging him on, no longer caring that others were listening ... and watching. When Hank's fingers found their way to my anus, I trembled in anticipation. When a finger slipped inside that dark place, my muscles clenched ... and an orgasm washed over me in waves. This was too much for Hank. He came as well.

I knew I should leave, but was ravenous with desire. Into his ear I whispered, "Take me into your room and fuck me again." With his prick still buried deep inside, he carried me to his room, laid me down on his bed and removed the remainder of my clothes. After playing with me a while, he positioned himself between my legs and slid the full length of his shaft slowly all the way inside me. The he began to stroke ... back and forth ... back and forth. I began to pant. I could feel another orgasm welling up inside me. Grunting with each thrust, I rotated my hips to take him as deeply inside me as I could. He picked up his pace and was soon driving me wild. I heard myself calling out, "Harder, harder, harder."

I left soon thereafter. Arriving home after 3:00 that morning, I crept into bed beside my husband, the seed from my two lovers buried deep inside me, my mind crowded with doubts. From that day on, I was Hank girl ... and being Hank's girl meant that I had to become a party girl. A few years later I graduated as a divorcee with a diploma ... and some amazing memories.

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