Love Street Ch. 01

I'm still unpacking when there's a soft tap at my door. The girl who introduces herself as Gretchen, my Residential Advisor, has blond ringlets, pale blue eyes, and a willowy frame that accentuates coltish legs that go on forever.

Even in her Pine Creek Academy polo shirt and plaid skirt, Gretchen is achingly beautiful.

We're both new post-grad students, which gives me hope I can get to know her much better. But Gretchen carries herself with a remoteness that suggests she's miles out of my league. She's all business reviewing recycling rules, laundry services, quiet hours, and co-ed bathroom etiquette.

Not that there's a lot to review. Pine Creek Academy is known for its gothic architecture, serious academics, and liberal outlook. So liberal that any post-grad student or senior with an honors grade-point-average is eligible to live in a mixed-sex dormitory, known as Chastity Hall, where there's no prohibition against consensual sex, or even nudity in the common rooms.

Gretchen consults her clipboard, then breaks into a welcoming smile. "Cool! You're on the football team," she says enthusiastically. "I'm captain of the Girl's Soccer Team. The shuttle bus to the Athletic Center leaves the dorm at 2:15. Don't be late. It won't wait!"

She turns to walk down the hall, but glances over her shoulder at me. Her hair forms a perfect golden halo in the afternoon sunlight. "I'll save you a seat," she says with the kind of smoldering look that turns grown men into groveling fools.

The 15-minute shuttle bus ride becomes the highlight of my day. The real Gretchen is as empathetic as she is hot. She takes genuine interest in my silly anecdotes about growing up in "Smallville," Pennsylvania. Her descriptions of coming of age in New York City sound like some kind of impossible alternate universe to me.

By the end of September, we are saving each other seats on the bus and even taking short walks around campus just so we can keep talking. It's on one of those walks that she asks, "Are you in a rush to get back?"

"For what?" I reply. "Frozen pizza and calculus?"

"OK, then. Let's explore," she grabs my hand and pulls me across the highway to an abandoned dairy farm. As soon as we're out of sight of the campus, Gretchen pushes me against a barn, looks up into my eyes, and presses her lips against mine.

"I've been wanting to do that for days," she tells me when we finally come up for air. At this point, the most important thing of my young life is to find a way inside that barn.

The front is securely chained, but a firm kick forces one of the side doors open. Inside sunlight streams though chinks in the siding, revealing an old jalopy with no tires or engine, but a rear seat that's miraculously intact.

With the next kiss, Gretchen literally melts into my arms. I feel her lips part and her tongue caresses my mouth, sending a cascade of shivers down my spine. A mere glimpse of Gretchen's naked thighs, or even the sweet scent of her perfume perfume, has been enough to arouse me, so you can imagine the impact of a deep french kiss.

When we finally separate, Gretchen is panting and looking me up and down through half-opened eye lids. In panic, I realized the outline my hard cock is plainly visible through the front of my khakis, and I shift my weight in a futile effort to conceal it.

"Are you trying to hide an erection?" she giggles.

"Ummmm... guilty," I blush.

"Don't be embarrassed," Gretchen says, her eyes searching mine. "I'm glad you're aroused."

I don't know what to say, so I just relax, and unclench my legs. Gretchen looks at my lap and smiles.

"Look," she says, stretching the fabric of her white Pine Creek polo shirt against her breasts. She's not wearing a bra, and her stiff nipples poke against the soft pima cotton like a pair of hard, pink pencil erasers.

"See what you've done to me?" she whispers. With that, Gretchen slides down on the seat, her plaid skirt riding up her thighs until I can see the front panel of her white cotton panties.

"Come here, Horn Dog," she laughs, tugging my shoulders until I roll over and my crotch presses between her legs. "Haven't you ever seen panties before?"

"Not... on... you..." I stammer.

"Kiss me again, and maybe you'll get to see underneath them one of the days," she teases, pressing her mouth against mine.

As our kiss deepens I feel her hips undulate beneath me, and I answer by rolling my own hips against the warm softness of her crotch. Gretchen moans and her tongue plunges deeper into my mouth, her fingers stroking the back of my neck. I can't stop thinking about what she's just said, about me seeing what's under those sexy white panties.

Soon, all that matters is the delicious feeling of my cock humping the moist gusset of Gretchen's panties. Knowing all that separates me from the wonders of her pussy is a thin layer of fabric causes an almost unbearable excitement in me.

We start slowly, savoring the new sensations of our entwined bodies. As the heat rises between us, our hips grind faster and harder until with muscles clenched, we hover at the edge of orgasm. Only then we relax, catch our breath, and begin another slow climb toward ecstasy.

Eventually, Gretchen's moans turn to whimpers that catch in the back of her throat. We are no longer kissing, just grinding with primal urgency. As we near another peak, Gretchen goes rigid in my arms and cries out with enough force to scatter a flock of pigeons from the rafters. And instant later, I ejaculate, my cock throbbing as warm cum gushes into my briefs. I'm dimly aware that Gretchen has wrapped her long legs around my back and is rocking me tenderly.

It takes a long time for our breathing to return to something like normal. When Gretchen gently rolls me off her, she takes my fingers in her hand.

"Feel me," she whispers, guiding my fingertips between her legs. I'm not surprised by the heat radiating from beneath her panties, but I'm shocked by the amount of slippery liquid.

"Is that from me?"

"No, you big dork!" she says, swatting the side of my head with her free hand. "I came. That's my wetness."

Before letting go of my hand, Gretchen presses my fingers until I find the groove at the entrance to her sex. Taking the hint, I force my middle finger as deep as her panties will allow, and am rewarded with a gentle shiver and another satisfied moan.

"Can I touch you?" she asks. Following her example, I guide her fingertips until they brush against the outline of my cock. She explores it eagerly, squeezing me softly through my pants. When she reaches the tip, her fingers stray into the wet spot. She runs her fingertips across it and then lifts them to her mouth.

"Mmmmm... not bad," she says, running her tongue across her lips.

I reach back between her legs, draw my fingertips along the slick liquid on her panties. I'm amazed to find my body shudder with pure pleasure as I lick her juice off my fingertips.

"You like my taste?" she asks with a naughty smile.

"Apparently, I do," I answer.

Gretchen kisses me. "That's good, because there's plenty more where that came from."

* * *

The next afternoon, as we step off the shuttle bus at Chastity Hall, she whispers into my ear, "Stop by my room after 10." We both knew there's no need for me to reply.

The rest of the day drags on forever. My heart's in my throat when I finally knock on Gretchen's door.

"It's unlocked, Jason," she calls out.

The only light is from a couple of flickering candles on her desk and it takes me a moment to realize that Gretchen is sitting cross-legged on small sofa, watching me with that mischievous smile of hers. When I see her, she pats the cushion next to her in an invitation for me to join her.

"Do you ever imagine what I look like naked?" she asks out of the blue, catching me completely off guard.

"What? No... no... of course, not!" I stammer unconvincingly.

"Liar," she smiles. "Tell me how you think I look without clothes."

"Well, tan lines," I begin. "Bikini lines, actually, that draw my eyes to your breasts and the triangle between your legs."

"Mmmm... I like that."

"Your breasts are small and firm. About the size of tennis balls. With puffy pink nipples that get very stiff and erect when you're excited. Your torso is long and thin, so thin I can see your ribs. Your stomach and abs are absolutely flat and end in sharp V covered in pale blond pubic hair. Your legs are also thin, and impossibly long. And where they join there's a visible gap..."

"You must be psychic," Gretchen says, standing up and peeling off her tank top and shorts. It is hard to tell in the dim light, but I'm correct about almost everything except maybe her public hair, which is so fine and blond as to be virtually invisible. Few things in life, I've discovered, are as memorable or as arousing as watching your exquisitely beautiful 19-year-old girl friend seductively undress herself for you.

"My turn," Gretchen begins. "Wide shoulders and with muscular arms and pecs. A narrow waist and hips with a tight butt. No wonder you play 'Tight End.' Flat stomach and abs with fading tan lines from a Speedo, no, make that Jams. A thick patch of curly dark pubic hair, I think. A pale penis, not too long, but not too short, and it sticks straight out when and bounces up and down when you're aroused... Am I right?"

"I suppose there's only one way for you to find out," I reply. I pull my shirt over my head, then unbuckle my belt and in a single motion, pull down my shorts and briefs. My cock is rigid and, indeed, it bounces up and down as soon as it's free.

"I AM!" she exclaims, clapping her hands in delight, her eyes locked on my cock.

With that, she gently pushes me back into a sitting position on the sofa and lowers herself onto my lap. At first I think she's going to guide my cock inside her, and I twitch in anticipation. But that isn't Gretchen's plan.

Instead, her fingers reach between us and part her pussy lips, spreading them over my cock shaft. By rocking our hips, we make my cock slide between her moist lips without actually penetrating her. It's a sensation unlike anything I've ever felt before.

We start slowly and gather speed, cock gliding effortlessly between the moist heat of her clinging lips. Soon, the sweat rolls down my torso as our bodies flow together almost as one.

Gretchen tilts her head upward and whispers, "Squeeze my nipples." How can I resist?

I start by rolling her nipples between my fingertips, but soon find I can do an even better job by cupping her breasts with my hands while pinching her nipples between my knuckles. What I can't control is the sensation building in my balls.

"Ohhhhh, God!" I yell. "Gretchen, I'm cummmmmmmming!"

Gretchen gives one of her signature squeals of delight and cups her hand in front of my cock just as the first blast shoots from the tip. With her other hand, she presses me even more firmly between her legs so that every twitch of my ejaculation vibrates against her swollen lips.

When I finish, she she scoops up a few drops of my cum with the tip of her tongue before wiping her hands on a beach towel and cleaning off my cock.

Then, once again, Gretchen slides herself along my still very firm erection while at the same time, tracing her hand down the front of her stomach and over her abs. To my astonishment, she continues until her fingertips slip between her pussy lips.

I'd never seen a girl masturbate and as her head leans back against my shoulder, I peer down, watching her fingers rubbing small circles around her clit. Not only am I seeing this private act for the first time in my life, I can feel her finger moving provocatively against my cock shaft. After my initial surprise, I resume toying with her tits and nipples, trying to match my movements to Gretchen's increasingly feverish fingering.

Soon her breathing grows shallow and raspy. Her body stiffens, a long moan emerges from deep in her throat, and she clings to my naked shoulders with her head pressed into my neck. I realize I am still gently rocking my cock back and forth against her pussy lips. As her orgasm subsides, we collapse onto the sofa.

When her eyes finally open, Gretchen looks down at my cock, which is as hard as ever. "Your turn," she whispers to me, motioning toward my erection.

"My turn for what?" I asked naively, although I have a pretty good idea what she has in mind.

"To show me how you do it, Silly," she replies. "How you make yourself cum."

Up to this point, no one had ever seen me jerk off. At least, not that I knew about. But I can't deny Gretchen, so with my cheeks burning from embarrassment I reach down and wrap my thumb and forefinger around my cock, which is already well-lubed with her juices.

"Wait," she says, pushing me off the sofa. "Do it standing up so I can see better." As I get to my feet, she pulls herself upright, bringing her eyes level with my cock. Even in the flickering candle light, I can see the intensity with which she watches my hand slide up and down the shaft.

To my complete surprise, watching Gretchen's eyes watching me jerk my cock is an incredible aphrodisiac that delivers a fresh jolt of excitement through my already overloaded nervous system. In what seems like no time at all, I am fucking my hand and my cum is splashing across Gretchen's tits.

"Oooohhhhhh! Wow!" she exclaims, scooping up a few drops on her fingertip. "That is sooooo cool... and tasty!"

Gretchen's sexual inventiveness is boundless. Almost daily we seem to find new ways to masturbate each other, or for each other, often falling asleep in each other's arms afterward. Sometime before Thanksgiving break, we add oral sex to our repertoire - which Gretchen takes as much pleasure in giving as receiving.

By unspoken agreement, we manage to refrain from intercourse. Although if either of us had wanted it, the other would have surrendered without hesitation. It was the worst day of my life, when Gretchen tearfully told me that she'd been accepted at UCLA and intended to go.

Despite all that's happened since, we remain friends. Ironically, I now live in NYC, and Gretchen in West LA. We share our triumphs and tragedies, and sometimes talk long into the night. From time to time our whispered conversations even lead to mutual orgasms that bring back bittersweet memories.

I suppose the good news is that although I've never found a partner as sensual or as uninhibited as Gretchen, the things we did paved the way for a lifetime of other sexual adventures. In a perfect world, everyone would have a first love like Gretchen.

* * * *

Postscipt:

"Gretchen" is the first in a 12-part series that recalls a dozen early, formative sexual experiences and the women I shared them with. "Love Street" happens to be the address of the summer cottage where many of these erotic adventures occurred, including the next chapter "Tracey's Mom," about a lonely single mom whose beauty is surpassed only by her sexual appetite.