Liquor in Front, Poker in the Rear

Soon she began running her fingers through my pubic hair, across my balls and then up and down my limp, but rapidly recovering dipstick. As soon as I was about three quarters back to full strength, she wrapped her fingers around Little Tom and began to slowly stroke him back to a full erection. All the while, she was softly blowing in my ear while nibbling on my neck and ear lobe, which was utterly driving me crazy.

Once she was satisfied that I was totally hard again, she sat up, dragged her long blonde locks across my chest one more time, and dropped her mouth over my fully erect manhood for two more good long deep throat sucks before sitting up and reaching over to the bedside table and pulling a condom from the table drawer. We called them 'rubbers' back in those days, and I had actually never seen one, but I knew what it was and what it meant for me at that moment.

She tossed her hair back and placing the foil pack between her teeth, ripped it open. Then using both hands, she quickly placed it over the top of Little Thom and expertly rolled it down my shaft like a fireman sliding down a fire pole. As soon as my throbbing little man was safely encased in latex, she dragged her hair one more time across my chest before whispering in my ear, "Do you want to be on top?"

Up until this point, Lynn had done an absolutely spectacular job of directing the action, but now it was my opportunity to take charge, or at least add some input. I was afraid to break the mood, but after swallowing hard, I was able to utter, "Sure, I'll do top."

She smiled as if she seemed to have anticipated my answer and quickly rolled across me and settled on her back with her legs spread, knees up and feet flat on the mattress.

This was nothing like what I had expected, but then I'm not sure what I was expecting in the first place. This gorgeous blond lay naked beside me, legs spread, knees raised waiting for me to please her. My mind swirled with doubt. Oh, no doubt as to what I wanted to do, but just how to do it. She had pleased me way beyond my wildest dreams, and now it was my turn to return the favor. I felt a little like Zsa Zsa Gabor's seventh husband on their honeymoon, I knew what to do -- I just wasn't sure how to make it interesting.

I awkwardly climbed between her legs and positioned myself over her glorious body. Her cute breasts had spread into magnificent little mounds of succulent flesh, each topped with a perky little nipple. This sight alone was worth the sixty bucks, but to think that I was about to fuck this goddess almost brought Little Thom to a premature climatic conclusion. 'Whoa boy,' I kept telling myself; don't do anything stupid before you actually get a chance to fuck her.

She used one-hand to help guide Little Thom in (I should probably stop calling him that, as he was bigger than I'd ever seen him), and the other hand she held to my chest to keep me from laying all the way flat on her. I think she wanted me to watch the first time my dick slipped between a set of pussy lips -- and I will forever be grateful for that opportunity.

Once I was fully embedded, she took both hands and slowly pulled me down onto her chest. She didn't kiss me but placed my head next to hers and whispered in my ear, "Slow and easy Thom -- slow and easy. We've still have plenty of time -- make it last."

That was absolutely the sweetest thing she could have possibly said. It gave me the confidence that she actually liked me and that she was in no hurry for our little session to end. Of course, I didn't know how much time we had in the first place, and I had no idea how much time was left. But just her compassionate remark put me very much at ease.

The issue now was that I didn't exactly know what to do. I realize all animals are hard-wired knowing how to fuck, but humans are the only species that treat sex as an art form, and I felt like the novice being handed the paintbrush by the great master. I started slowly rocking back and forth, hoping and praying that I was doing it right. I was so eternally grateful for her sweet and tender handling of my first sexual experience -- I sincerely wanted to make her experience with me as pleasurable as possible. But jeez, she had set the bar so damn high and I just didn't want to fuck-up my first fucking experience.

She never did kiss me, but through the tender touch of her hands, her moans, and mostly through subtle movements of her body, she tactfully directed the action and provided much appreciated non-verbal assistance.

Through her skillful guidance, and of course, the fact that she'd sucked me off first, I think I lasted almost five minutes. And when I did finally reach my release, I recognized it as absolutely the most amazing experience of my young life. Whether she reached orgasm or not, I wasn't sure. I wasn't trying to neglect her in any way, but I was so busy concentrating on what I was doing; in my naiveté, I may have not put her pleasure first -- as I should have.

She certainly didn't seem to complain however, and as the dead weight of my exhausted body slowly settled on to hers, she wrapped her arms around me and sweetly whispered, "Good boy -- good boy Thom."

She allowed me to relax on top of her until my dick was no longer able to hold a tight seal on the condom. At which point, she gently slid out from under me and retrieved another fresh hot towel from the crockpot. As she used the towel to clean me up for a second time, it occurred to me how much nicer this was than the paper towel Brian had endured back in Laredo. I was so happy now that I'd skipped that whole experience, as I think it would have scarred me for life.

Once I was all cleaned up and able to breathe normally again, she donned a robe that had been hanging on the back of the door, and with her hand on the doorknob, said, "Once you're dressed, I'll meet you downstairs." And with that rather unromantic comment, she opened the door and swished out -- wagging her tail behind her.

I sat there for a few minutes, trying to take in the whole experience. I looked down at Little Thom, and he looked very satisfied. I slowly managed to stand and though my knees felt like I'd just water skied for two hours straight, I did finally manage to get dressed and headed downstairs.

Lynn was standing at the bottom of the stairs, I guess waiting to show me out. The middle-aged woman was still sitting on the couch watching TV, exactly where she was when I first walked in. The Hispanic woman was gone, so I assumed she may have been with a client. As Lynn led me to the back door, we passed through the dining room, which now had the table set for four, and the older woman was sitting at a little kitchen table nursing a beer as their apparent dinner had just recently been pulled from the oven.

As we approached the back door, Lynn reached up to hug me around the neck, and I thought for a moment to kiss me. I tried to meet her lips with mine, but she dodged that and kissed me on the cheek. I guess it's the working girl's etiquette, never kiss a John (or even a Thom) on the lips. But I still loved the peck, and she said sweetly, "Thank you Thom, I hope you come again soon."

She deliberately drew out the 'come again,' making sure the double entendre was evident. And as the gravel crunched beneath my feet on the short walk back to my car, my mind raced with every possible scenario of how and when our paths might cross again.

I never went back to the Apache that semester. Sixty bucks was a lot of money for a student who was basically working his way through college. My parents paid my tuition, but not my living expenses, and even though I lived in the dorm, it was still expensive when I was only making $1.78 an hour as a part-time grocery store stocker.

As the spring semester started, I was still not dating anyone on a regular basis, and my only sexual experience remained the one upstairs at the Apache. So, with each new class, as the roll was read for the first time, I would purposely take note of each female name as it was read, and I'd try to quickly connect a face to the name. I figured that if I knew their name, I'd at least have some sort of way to introduce myself if the situation ever occurred.

There were probably sixty or so students in my second-semester Freshman English class. I was sitting near the front of the room, trying to keep mental notes on each face as their names were called. No face or name seemed particularly promising, until near the end of the alphabet when the professor called out Gwendolyn Watson. A female voice answered from the back of the room, "Ginny -- here."

I spun around, and to my shock, it was her. She didn't make eye contact with me; she didn't even look up. But it was definitely her, no doubt about it. She was wearing a sweatshirt and a ball cap pulled down hiding her eyes. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail that was sticking through the opening in the back of the cap above the hat adjustment band. I couldn't see her full face, but there was no doubt -- it was her.

My heart pounded, and I kept looking back over my shoulder hoping to make eye contact. But she never looked up and probably would have ignored me anyway. When the bell sounded to mark the end of class, I jumped up and tried to meet her at the door, but she was sitting in the back of the room, near the door, and was long gone by the time I got even close.

Turning back to the front of the room, I noticed the professor was still standing at the podium. She was gathering up her papers and stuffing her briefcase as I approached. I introduced myself and asked if I could see the roll really quick as I was trying to put together a study group. Realizing that I was probably just trying to suck up to her the very first day of class, she slid the rollover to me without even looking up.

I quickly dropped my eyes to the bottom of the roll, and there she was, Gwendolyn Watson -- Ginny Lynn. It was her, now my heart was really pounding.

Wednesday (the next class meeting), I sat near the back of the room eager to make some sort of contact with her. She never showed. My heart sank as if my dog had just died. But it may have been a good thing as I have no idea what I would have said to her.

Again, on Friday, I sat near the back of the class hoping she would return, and there she was. She didn't sit in the same seat as Monday, but at least she was there. I didn't want to stare, so I tried to be as nonchalant as possible, just managing to keep her in the corner of my eye.

The moment class was out, I dashed for the door, trying to just casually bump into her, but she beat me out again. I saw her walking down the hall, and without being too obvious, I raced to catch her. Finally pulling abreast, and of course, trying to stay as laid-back as possible, I said, "Hey, aren't you in my English class?"

She looked over at me, but quickly looked away without saying anything.

"Montag's freshman English," I asked again.

Still walking a pretty good pace, she glanced over at me again and simply answered, "Yeah."

I had made progress -- I had to keep the conversation going. "I'm trying to get a study group together -- can I interest you in joining us?"

She kept looking straight ahead as if I was some sort of intimidating paparazzi trying to get a photo or an aggressive reporter trying to force her to comment on some embarrassing situation. But I was determined, and I continued to trot along beside her. "Can I give you my number and you can think about it?" I finally said as she turned and headed towards the woman's restroom.

Not breaking her stride, she nodded a passive acceptance. I quickly jotted down my name and phone number on a scrap of notebook paper and stuffed it into her hand. She grunted an abbreviated thank you, stuff the paper into her purse, and before I knew it, she ducted into a nearby Ladies' Room, and was gone.

Over the next several weeks, if she made eye contact with me at all, it was all I could do to get in a few friendly nods and an occasional smile.

Ginny was absent the entire week before mid-term exams, and I was afraid she might have dropped the class and I would never see her again. I even fretted to the point where I was blaming myself for driving her from the class. Obviously, she recognized me and didn't want to be labeled or identified as a prostitute. I should have just left her alone, I felt like such a jerk.

The exam was Monday, and I spent most of Saturday morning studying as I was scheduled to work that afternoon. By the time I got back to the dorm that night, it was already ten o'clock. I was exhausted and just wanted to hit the rack, but just as I landed face down on the bed, my roommate said, "Hey, some chick called for you."

Still face down on the pillow, I said, "What chick?"

"I don't know man, some chick named Gin or something," he mumbled.

"Ginny," I said as I shot out of bed and landed upright on both feet.

He didn't say anything, he just pointed to my desk. I dashed to read the hand-scrawled phone number written on the top of an old pizza box. My hand was shaking as I dialed the number. It rang about eight times, and I was about to hang up when she answered. "Hello," a weak but familiar female voice said.

"Ginny," I said nervously. "This is Thom, did you call?"

There was a moment of silence before she slowly answered, "Yeah Thom, you said something about a study group -- the English class."

There was no study group -- never was. It was just a ploy to get to know her, so I had to think fast. "Uh Ginny, the study group never actually got going, but I'd be happy to share my notes with you," I said.

"I missed all last week," she said. "Do you have any notes from last week?"

"Yeah, I was there all week," I responded. "Did you have a chance to read the assignment -- Fahrenheit 451?"

There was another pause on the other end of the line. "No," she said, "I haven't read it yet."

"Well, the mid-term is going to be three essay questions based on the book," I explained. There was another short pause before I added, "I have a pretty good idea what the questions will be. If you want to meet tomorrow in the library or someplace, we can go over them."

"How about Dos Gatos at ten o'clock," she answered.

"Sure," I said, trying to hold back my excitement. "Ten tomorrow morning, I'll meet you there -- I'll bring my notes. See you tomorrow."

I was so giddy with delight after hanging up the phone, I danced around the room like some kind of five-year-old on Christmas morning. I'm sure my roommate thought I was nuts, but he probably already assumed that anyway.

Dos Gatos is a Bakery and Kolache shop on the square downtown. I deliberately tried to get there early, but as I turned the final corner onto the square, Ginny was walking up the sidewalk toward me. I was working so hard to be cool, but I'm sure my childish euphoria was radiating from every pore of my body.

We arrived at the bakery door at about the same time, and as I held the door open for her, we exchanged friendly greetings. I was very pleased to see that she had an old paperback copy of Fahrenheit 451 in her hand, and in fact, it looked very well-read.

I bought us both a coffee and a couple of kolaches before setting down to go over what I was hoping would be the exam questions. Ginny had apparently speed read the book the night before, and I was very pleased with how seriously she took my suggestions as to what we might expect on the test. I had no idea why she hadn't been in class the previous week, and she didn't offer any hint. But apparently, it wasn't for lack of interest in passing the course as she was clearly cramming hard to catch up.

I had to work that evening and as I was shelving cans of beans and boxes of cereal, all I could think about was, 'where had she been?' I knew it was none of my business, I wasn't dating her, she wasn't my girlfriend, but the unknown was killing me. I just hoped and prayed it had nothing to do with the Apache, but whether it did or not was absolutely none of my concern -- at least that's what I kept telling myself.

Monday morning, I got to class early, hoping she would sit next to me, and I could ask her if she had any final questions. She slipped into the room at absolutely the last second and found an empty desk across the room from me. She had remembered to bring the obligatory Blue Book with her and started writing the moment she had the test paper in her hands. My excitement grew as I read the questions, for they were almost word for word what I had predicted. I was convinced Ginny would be extremely impressed and grateful for my clairvoyance, or at least I was hoping so.

I was somewhat surprised when she stood up after only forty minutes and walked to the front with her exam booklet in hand. I thought maybe she was going to ask Dr. Montag a question, but instead, she was the first in the class to turn her paper in. I kept one eye on my paper and the other on her as she walked back up the aisle. I was afraid she had bombed it, but as she passed my desk, she shot me a big grin.

I didn't see her or talk to her before the next class meeting, and I was dying to see how she did. To my utter amazement, as she walked into the room, she headed straight to the seat next to me and sat down. That was the first time she had ever done that, and it wasn't for lack of other available seats.

When the test booklets were handed back out, I was pleased to see that I'd received an A-minus, but I was even more delighted to see that the cover of her booklet was marked with a big A-plus. "Oh my God," I whispered to her. "You aced it!"

"Thanks to you," she responded, looking straight ahead, but with a massive smile on her face.

Over the next several weeks, our study dates became a regular thing. We also discovered we were taking the same Political Science course with the same instructor, just at different times, so we added that to our study sessions. She was actually very smart, and I just loved that. However, we never went out on a social date -- because I was just too Chicken Shit to ask her. I was scared to death I would screw up the relationship we did have, and though I would have loved more, I was satisfied with the foothold I had.

That changed about a month before the end of the semester when she invited me to go tubing with her and some of her friends. I didn't know any of the other people, who all seemed to be several years older than me, but there was no way I was going to pass up an opportunity like this -- no matter who else was included.

Apparently, one of the guys she knew (I never asked how) had access to a university twelve-passenger van and was planning a tubing trip on the nearby Guadalupe River. It was my good luck; he still had two empty seats. The plan was that we would rent tubes from one of the river outfitters and park the van there. The outfitter, via a fleet of crappy old school buses, would drive everyone with their rented tube upstream and drop you off. Then we would leisurely float back to the outfitters, turn in our tubes and drive home.

We actually rented thirteen tubes as of course, we needed one for the beer. I didn't know any of the ten other people in the group, and I'm sure I was the youngest guy there. But they were all old enough to buy beer, so what did I care. Besides, this was my first social date with Ginny, and I was absolutely on cloud nine.

Once in the water, it was clear neither Ginny nor I had much river experience and it showed. We were usually trailing the group, but as Ginny was the only one in the group I knew and certainly the only one I cared about, so I was okay with that. The first mile or so, the river moved along rather slowly, and we all stayed pretty much together. The advantage of this leisurely section of the river was that we got to familiarize ourselves with the art of tubing and, of course, easy access to the beer tube.