My Number Ch. 02

It's about an hour from my dorm to Red River Gorge. While Dave had a fairly decent car, a newer Ford, it had bucket seats and a center console, which kept us physically apart. The wicked thought of giving him every guy's fantasy, a blow job while he's driving down the road, crossed my mind, but the center console just wouldn't let that work. Then I figured, as much as he seemed to like just being with me, just a hand across the console and touching his side or his thigh was all that was needed to keep him completely elated.

And then I realized: it was doing the same for me. Dave had his hand over the console as well, just brushing my thigh, so lightly I could barely even feel it, yet I was absolutely in heaven. All of those other guys, the ones who wanted just to fuck, and the big 54 I let do it, all of a sudden, they just paled in comparison to this one shaky guy, who'd been a virgin less than 24 hours ago. I guess that I was just now learning that there was more to making love than just fucking, and it took a guy like Dave to teach that to me.

I'd never been to the Gorge before, but the Red River Gorge turned out to be Red River Gorgeous! The leaves were just beginning to turn, still mostly green, but with a few trees showing red or gold. I had picked out a sleeveless shirt with big cut out armholes, one most girls would have worn with a contrasting sports bra underneath. I had skipped the sports bra, skipped a bra altogether, because I liked the idea of flashing Dave with a little bit of sideboob -and in my case, little bit was definitely all there was! - and now I was wondering if maybe it'd get too cool for me. It turned out that I was plenty warm enough, because constantly hiking up hills and down hills was keeping me warm.

Dave was obviously used to hiking here, knowing his way around, seeming almost tireless, and ready to help me over any obstacles I found tough. He was wearing a small back pack with some sandwiches for us, and a couple of spare water bottles. Then, once when we got fairly high up, he led me to this small waterfall, really not much of one, that Dave said had the best tasting water in the world. He stood back and filled an empty water bottle with it, before stripping off his shirt to lean close enough to drink directly from the falling water. He looked kind of comical with half of his face wet, but he just gave me that Tom Cruise smile of his, and I loved it.

He pulled his shirt back on; I guess that he'd just taken it off so that it wouldn't get too wet while he was drinking from the fall. Well, at that I had to tease him a bit, so I pulled my shirt off to drink from the same fall. I handed him my shirt, and held my ponytail with one hand while I stuck my face sideways into the fall to take a drink.

The water was cold and clear and sharp, with just enough of a mineral water tang to be really, really good. If we could bottle this stuff, we could make a fortune. It'd have to be glass bottles though, not the plastic ones that just seem to make things taste not as good. When I said that to my boyfriend, he said that yeah, it was great, but part of it being so great was the way we were drinking it, straight from the waterfall. We got closer, and he hugged me, while I was still standing there topless. We kissed a few times, just soft, gentle ones again, when I realized what I had thought a moment ago: I had just thought of Dave as my boyfriend.

It was almost a shock to me. I'd screwed 54 other guys, yet never once had I really been so close to anyone that I regarded him as my boyfriend. And I never heard any of the Other 54 refer to me as his girlfriend before. Really, all that I had ever been before was just some chick - or some bitch, more likely - that those guys had fucked. When I thought of it that way, I started thinking that my attitude that women are just as free as men to screw around, as some sort of feminist political statement, might have been true enough, but it also put me in the situation I'm in today. I managed to be just as free as the hit it and quit it guys, but now it somehow didn't seem to be so much fun anymore.

I took another drink from the fall, and then Dave did something completely gentlemanly, something I'd never have expected from anyone else: he handed me my shirt to put back on. All of the other guys would have just tucked it into their belts and tried to persuade me to spend the rest of the day topless. Yeah, Dave liked what he saw, and there was a definite bulge in his hiking shorts, but he was still trying to be considerate of me. I didn't know that God made guys like that anymore.

One of the things for which Kentucky is famous is Natural Bridge, and Natural Bridge State Park was only a few miles away. But while Natural Bridge is the most famous, there are several natural bridges and arches in the Gorge. Dave took me over to the one called Rock Bridge, which crosses over Swift Camp Creek, and it was just so beautiful. It pissed me off just majorly to see that some assholes had smeared it up with graffiti, some of it carved into the sandstone. Dave pulled off his shoes and waded into the creek, but he was wearing shorts, not long jeans like I was. "What's this," I asked him, "just an evil plot to get me to take my pants off?" I teased him.

"Well, . . . . " he answered, giving me an aw shucks look, and I couldn't resist: I took off my hiking boots, and pulled off my jeans, and waded out into the creek in just my shirt and grey cotton thong. There wasn't anyone around, but, you know what, at that point I wouldn't have cared if we had been being watched. The rocks underfoot were slippery, and Dave had to take my hand to steady me a couple of times, but soon enough we were standing in the creek, hugging and kissing. The more I thought about it, the more I knew: yes, Dave was my boyfriend!

Still, that water was cold, with fall coming on in Kentucky, and as much fun as it was to be hugging Dave out in the middle of the creek, we couldn't stay like that for long. We got out and I pulled my jeans back on, and then dried my feet with the outside of my socks before putting them and my hiking boots back on. Yeah, there had been some sexy teasing going on, but all in all, I couldn't remember when I had had so much just plain fun.

"You know, Dave," I said, "if I had known that this place was going to be so awesome, I'd have asked if you had any camping gear. I'd love to spend the night out here, in a tent, near one of the creeks."

"Marcy, if I had known that would interest you, well, I've got the equipment, but it's back at my apartment. Maybe next weekend, if the weather holds up?"

"Why, David, did you just ask me out on a date?" I tried to say it coyly, but I was happy about this: Dave had gained enough confidence with me that he was not only able to ask me out for some future date, but he was able to do it automatically, without having to think about it and fret about it.

"Yeah, I guess I did. Is that OK?"

"It's very OK, and absolutely, I'd love it.

Maybe I was imagining it, but it seemed like there was a bit more spring in Dave's step. He realized what he'd done, and I'd said yes, and that meant a new-found confidence for him. And I meant it for me as well. I mean, I found his shyness and innocence endearing last night, but now he was being strong and confident, and I really liked that.

But a lot of the guys I've known, and screwed, have been strong and confident, yet Dave was subtly different. With so many of the others, strong and confident was more like strong and arrogant, but Dave didn't seem that way. I never really thought that it took that much courage for a guy to ask a girl out, but maybe it does, and it seemed like Dave was seeing what he had just done as an accomplishment, and accomplishments breed confidence. What it didn't seem to breed, at least in this man, was arrogance.

The more I thought about it, the more amazed I was. I had been doing the fetching little things that girls do to keep their boyfriends - there's that word again! - happy, but now I was realizing: Dave was doing little things to try to keep me happy as well. Once I thought about it, I realized just how different that was from all of the guys before who just wanted to get into my pants.

"How 'bout a couple of those sandwiches?" I asked him, as long as we were still sitting down beside the creek. Dave had made some tuna salad sandwiches that he brought along for us to eat, and the water we'd caught from the fall was perfect to drink.

That was another difference. A lot of guys would have brought beer, but Dave didn't seem to think that he needed to get me drunk, and he didn't. I had started out pretty tipsy last night, but by the time we were going to bed, I was sober as a judge.

After we ate, we hiked some more, enough that my calves were beginning to hurt. I wasn't used to this kind of exercise at all! Eventually we made our way back to Dave's car, and it was already past 6:00 PM. I knew that we'd been out here a while, but I was having so much fun that time really flew by. As we got back into Lexington, I told Dave that I needed to stop at a grocery store or something, for a couple of things I needed.

"Anything special?" he asked me.

"Yup! I need a toothbrush and some cream rinse and a hairbrush, and maybe we should pick up something for dinner tonight?"

It was kind of funny. He was trying to seem all cool and calm and collected, but my 'shopping list' made it obvious that I was planning to spend the night with him again, and cool, calm and collected Dave was smiling from ear-to-ear. I hadn't thought of all of this as some confidence booster for Dave - it was just stuff I'd need if I was going to stay with him - but once I said it, I realized that that was just another small thing that made him see this as normal, as the way things should be. Just this morning, I did something I've never done for a man, and that was cook for him. Now, Dave and I wound up shopping together for something for our dinner, and breakfast in the morning. It just seemed so strange to me, but, to Dave, well, he looked like it all seemed normal. Yeah, I'll just have to send him to the store sometime to pick up tampons for me, and then we'll see if he can treat this as normal! But my period's a week away, anyway.

We got back to Dave's place, and put up the toiletries and groceries we bought, dancing around the kitchen like, damn, like my mother and father do. Whoa! That's a scary thought. I was worried that Dave might be getting ahead of himself with me, but maybe I need to worry about that for myself.

Supper was kind of simple. I had planned on cooking for Dave again, but he beat me to the punch, and started working on the food. We'd gotten some frozen green beans in a steamer pack, which he put on, and then he sliced up, breaded, and started frying some zucchini, a dish I'd never had before. That, and some pastrami on rye with Swiss cheese and Thousand Islands dressing sandwiches, and we had plenty. It was really good, but I'm glad that I picked up a toothbrush, because it sure leaves you with funky breath! Since Dave had done the cooking, I jumped up first to start cleaning up after we were done. It was kind of hard to wash the dishes, though, because Dave kept kissing the back of my neck.

I was really enjoying this! It was all simple stuff, just hanging out with each other, no booze, no pot, and no intense party. I know that Dave had homework - and so did I - but I guess that he figured he'd put that off until tomorrow. I had taken off the hiking boots and socks, and we were just sitting on the couch, talking, with my feet up in his lap; he was gently massaging them, and we started talking about things to get better acquainted. I found out about his family, apparently a thoroughly normal bunch who did everything by the book: his father owned a small insurance agency, while his mother had been a stay-at-home mom until the kids were out of the house. Dave was the youngest of four, and the only boy. I kept thinking that explained a lot, both his shyness around women he didn't know, but the fact that, once he got past that, he seemed to know more about women than I had expected. It was a strange combination.

Still, it could be a problem. Maybe Dave hadn't figured out what a slut I'd been before, but three older sisters? Girls just seem to be able to tell when another girl has slept around, and if this lasted, if he ever asked me to meet his family, those girls just might be able to tell.

As for me? Only child, and overly pampered, rebellious, disobedient, and always on the edge of trouble. My parents were divorced - fortunately, Dave didn't inquire why, because it involved my mom screwing around on my dad, a lot, and that might have led to uncomfortable questions about me - and I pretty much got anything I wanted, often by playing one parent against the other. Maybe I should have brought up the subject of my past, because he'd have to find out eventually, but I avoided it, and Dave wasn't into asking too many probing questions.

"So, what's Marcy short for? Marcella?" he asked me.

"Yes, but I hate that name, and if you start calling me Marcella, you are going to be minus one girlfriend!"

"Are you saying that you're my girlfriend?"

Oh, my God, I was busted! That's exactly what I said, and I didn't mean it, but, damn it, maybe I did. Then I got stupid, put my arms around his neck, kissed him once and just said, "Yes."

And that was where he was just so different from the guys I've known in the past. The Other 54 would have laughed at that, and then said something stupid to prove that I was just one more in a string of girls they'd fucked. Dave? He just kissed me and smiled, that winning Tom Cruise smile, and I knew that I was hooked. How the Hell did I get here from laughing at the nerd with Amanda just yesterday?

"So, am I your first girlfriend?" I pushed on, though I probably shouldn't have.

"Well, I don't know, I guess so. I mean, I've had a few dates, but they never really went anywhere. You're certainly the first girl who ever said that she was my girlfriend, and I like that, I like it a lot." There was that killer smile again; how the Hell didn't he get laid every weekend in high school, with a smile like that?

Then I teased him. "I guess it's official now. After all, I've got my own toothbrush and conditioner and a hairbrush here, so you're hooked now. It won't be long before I'll have a box of tampons in your linen closet."

The conversation got a bit more light-hearted after that, for which I was glad. We took a few goofy pictures of each other with our cell phones, just to have them for when we weren't together. I thought about pulling my shirt off for a topless photo, but then thought better of it, and Dave never asked for anything like that.

That impressed me! He has to be the only guy around who wouldn't have been pushing for a topless or nude photo at this point. Dave was just so different that I was having a really hard time figuring out just how he was different, and just what was happening to me.

You know, I can't remember what it was that he said, but suddenly I knew what the difference was: he respected me. It wasn't just the formal type of 'being respectful, but actual, real, deep-down respect. All of those guys who used me for an easy fuck, none of them cared about me, none of them thought of me as an equal, or Hell, even as a human being. To most of them, I was just a fuck doll, another notch on their bedposts.

That thought made me smile inside, and it made me just nervous as can be. What would happen to his respect for me when he found out my 'number?' What would happen when he found out that I had pulled a train in the Sigma Chi house when I was a freshman.

This was tearing me up inside. I wish that there was some alcohol here, to steel my nerves, because Dave was figuring out that something was bothering me. "Marcy, what's up? You look like you're all tied up in knots inside?"

I was trembling, absolutely physically trembling, as I answered his question. I hesitated for a few seconds before I could say it. "Look, Dave, I guess that I have to tell you this. You do realize that you weren't my first?" I kept hoping that I wouldn't have to mention my number, and wondering if I should lie about it if I had to.

"Yeah, I pretty much figured that out, but, you know what? I really don't care. You're here with me, now, and that's all I care about, that's all that matters."

For a second I just sat there, practically shocked, that this nineteen-year-old was so very mature. Once the shock passed, I just threw myself at him, hugging him and kissing him, before he literally picked me up and carried me to his bed.

OMG, Dave was wonderful! He had picked me up and carried me right into the bedroom, just like in an old movie, and gently laid me down on the bed. He stood there, taking off his shirt, smiling at me, like a knowing lover rather than the guy who lost his virginity just 24 hours earlier. Well, I quickly peeled of my shirt and jeans as well, though maybe a little more thought would have said no, let him undress me.

But I wasn't going to wait for that. He had my emotions on a roller-coaster all day, with so many highs the way he treated me, and so many lows when I couldn't shake the images of my past, and I wanted him to make love to me, I needed him to make love to me, right then.

And he did. There weren't any 'preliminaries,' there wasn't any foreplay, because we were both so completely turned on and ready. He got into bed with me, and I just pulled him close, and pulled him inside of me. He was on top, typical, laughed-at missionary position, resting his weight on his elbows and kissing me while he kept thrusting deeper and deeper inside of me. I was just so ready and so worked up that I felt my climax building up inside me, fast, and it took me, hard, in less than a minute. It was so awesome that I was actually trembling when it hit me. And then it hit me again and again. I tried wrapping my legs around Dave, but I couldn't: my orgasms had me stretched out, with all of my muscles tensed, straight as a board as he kept thrusting into me.

I don't know how long we were actually screwing; it seemed both hot and quick, and like it took hours, both at the same time. Really, the next thing I knew, he was laying beside me, both of us on our sides facing each other, laughing and kissing. Somehow, the band holding my hair back in a pony had broken, and my hair was all over the place, and it looked like Dave loved that. He took his fingers to pull a few strands away from our mouths, smiled, and kissed me some more.

And he has such marvelous eyes! His glasses kind of hid them, but with them off, I could see these sparkling eyes of his, neither wholly grey nor wholly blue, looking into mine. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and looking into his, it was like looking deep within him, like looking into his heart. To me, this was as much making love as was actual sex, maybe more.

My own eyes? I've always been disappointed that I have brown eyes, dark brown eyes. Blue or green eyes are supposed to be the prettiest, but that's not how my DNA chose to work things out. I wondered: with my dark eyes, could Dave see as deeply within me as I could see in him?

This was just nuts! I'm the hard girl, I'm the tough girl who has screwed her way through the last three years, without getting caught up in the syrupy romance crap, and here I was, thinking like a love-sick fourteen-year-old. Heck, I wasn't thinking like this when I was fourteen!

I had just barely caught myself. Last night, I shushed Dave when I thought he was going to tell me that he loved me, right after the first time we fucked - check that, right after the first time we made love - because hard-hearted me knew that was just the typical reaction of a guy who'd just gotten laid for the first time. I mean, there was just no way he could be in love with me at that point, and it seemed like I had gotten through to him: he realized just what had happened, and that there was no way it was love.