Naked Coed Freshman Welcome Party

I stared down at her soft hand wrapped around me. She was not meeting my eyes— she also was determinedly staring at my cock.

"You can put your hand down there," Beth was whispering, "if it helps." I put my left hand over her lower ass cheeks in a state of disbelief. Beth reacted by opening up her legs, very slightly. My hand slipped in between her thighs, my fingers instinctively curled up... And my middle finger found its way inside her.

Beth gasped. Now we looked up at each other. "I—" she started. "You..." Beth grabbed me harder and stroked me faster. Was one of us watching the time? I sure as hell wasn't. "Your finger is pushed up against my— my hymen!" Beth finally gasped out.

Well. That was it. To say I exploded is both a cliche and an understatement.

I exploded.

Miss Beth was obviously unprepared for the propulsive power of a teen male ejaculation. We were standing only eighteen inches in back of the potted palm, and if the arc of my semen didn't splash against a frond, there would have been a sticky trail on the floor for Ms. Mackle to spy.

As I was convulsively pumping and pumping, Beth was pulling me by the penis closer and closer to the wet gravel inside the pot. It was a clever plan— except for the gooey seminal string that was dripping down from that unlucky frond.

"Shit," I heard Beth mutter. It was the first bad word I heard emanating from this sweet girl's mouth. Yes, she was naked. Yes, she had just jerked me off. But Beth was somehow still an innocent in my teenage mind.

As I was finally calming down, Beth moved to cup my scrotum, still expertly moving me and my remaining drippings closer to the white gravel.

Sometime in the middle of cumming, my finger had slipped out of Beth's blockaded opening. I was now uselessly patting her left butt cheek. She looked at me quizzically. I stopped.

Beth dropped my cock and simultaneously threw what looked like a cloth napkin at me.

"Clean yourself up— quick! Then pull up your clothes!!" She was dabbing at the drippy frond with her own cloth and I heard another muttered "shit." She sighed and turned the plant around slightly. "Best I can do," she said. Beth checked my watch. "Shit, shit, shit. Sit down on the sofa—now!!"

She stood about three feet in front of me, throwing both cloths into a wastebasket. She turned around, put her hands on her knees, spread her pretty legs and presented her open bottom.

"Shit!" I exclaimed. It was my turn.

Ms. Mackle strode in and Beth quickly stood up, blushing. Mackle looked around.

"You two are good. Whatever you were up to..." She gave a big sigh. "There's one couple every year who get to me. Elizabeth: you are a very special girl. You didn't think you could this? You can do anything!"

She stepped right up to me. "James: you made me happy that I got naked for you. You've been a true gentleman: you try not to stare, but I know you love my every inch." Mackle got really close. "You young men keep me going; you keep my older heart beating, year after year. Here—" She reached down and took my hand. She pressed my hand directly over her heart, inches away from her rising and falling and quivering mounds of flesh. "Can you feel my heart beating?" I could only nod, mouth dry. She gave me back my hand, she bent down and gave me a very soft kiss. Her breasts brushed my dress shirt.

Ms. Mackle abruptly straightened up "Alright you two: time to go. James: take her out on at least three dates before you get her naked again. Elizabeth... I don't need to tell you what to do."

She motioned us to follow her out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We did have three clothed dates that weekend. We explored the nearby quaint touristy town, we had gourmet lunch on a picnic table, and we hiked to take in breathtaking scenic views.

To be honest, the third date was mostly clothed. We arrived at Beth's dorm just after 9:30 at night. (They were very lax about male visitors.)

Beth's roomie was always in bed by 9:30, so we had the kitchenette and living room to ourselves. In what was to become commonplace for us, we made love for the first time on a rug between the sofa and the T. V. It was fast, it was ripoff clothing time; but we just had to get our first time out of the way.

I was as gentle with her as an overly-excited, incredibly hard eighteen-year-old could be. Beth held me so tight her hands were claws on my back. "Just keep pushing... it's okay— I need you inside me!"

And there was only an "Oh!" and a single tear as I pushed into her. I tried my best to make up for her moment of pain as I kissed away her tear before I made myself happy.

My own dorm was better as in I had a separate tiny bedroom, but my roomie was always next door. One can't always stifle their cries of passion— and sometimes Beth got noisy too!

Then Beth got a job working part-time in a trendy boutique. They sold stuff that college girls loved putting in their hair or around their wrists. She wasn't making much money but she was very excited about it.

"My boss has an apartment she intends to renovate over her shop. She says we can use it as long as we don't mess it up." I never met Beth's boss but I wanted to kiss her.

This is where we spent most of our naked time together. We weren't allowed to stay at night so we adjusted our schedule to afternoon— and even morning delights.

We explored every inch of each other's bodies. We experimented with different positions. We made up some pretty weird stuff to do naked.

There was a bed with no linens: only a mattress and box spring. We brought towels with us to make love— and do other things— on top of.

There was an ancient record player from maybe the 1970s. We played and danced naked to old Beatles and Sinatra records. We did a very dirty naked 'Twist and Shout,' and we tried to slow-dance naked to Sinatra without making love.

Not possible.

There was a three-day weekend in the middle of a semester and neither one of us could afford or had the time to go back home. So we foolishly splurged on a rustic (falling-down) cabin in the deep woods.

Can you guess that we spent every minute naked? It saved on packing. We walked out naked to a pond. Too cold and filled with potentially slimy creatures for swimming.

It rained our last day into the night. We found some old board games and played naked in front of a fireplace.

I vividly remember Beth coming back from what passed for the kitchen with a glass of red wine. She happened to be holding it in front of her breasts and the firelight through the wine made her nipples glow like smoldering embers. "Would you like me to curl up next to you?" she asked innocently.

"No," I answered huskily. "I want you under me in bed right fucking now."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Of course burning embers eventually cool. Our hot romance had to cool one day. The closer we got to freshman year-end, the cooler we got.

Teens aging from eighteen to nineteen are like adults aging from thirty to forty. We were both changing and growing and learning at variable and dizzying speeds.

By the time we hugged and kissed goodbye in June, we knew it was over.

We each had approximately one new boyfriend/girlfriend per subsequent year... and that was just at college. I'm not counting the desperate search for dates (read: sex) the summer months I was home.

My last night in my off-campus apartment after graduation... Graduation... it was such an anticlimax: no real girlfriend at the time, and... Beth wasn't there. I looked for her, her name was announced... I didn't know until later that she had received permission to leave early and was skipping the ceremony.

Who was there? Ms. Mackle: completely dressed, of all things! When I walked up for my sheepskin she actually stood up for me and her eyes seemed all shiny.

Everything packed and the apartment empty— except for sheets on the bed.

The doorbell... and naturally I imagined it was Elizabeth (call me Beth), one last warm goodbye for old times sake.

It was Ms. Mackle.

She burst on in and checked out every room as in one of those cop shows where they yell 'clear!' with guns pointed.

I was frozen.

"You're no longer a student. I need someone to hold me through the night who won't ask dumbass questions like 'why are you sad?' or 'why are you crying?'

She took my hand and led me into my bedroom.

All I can say about that night is that her body surrounded me: her breasts, her legs, her everything. She pulled me in and literally would not let me go until I came three times... she came once.

I woke around 4AM when I thought I heard sobbing but I was alone. In the morning, I found it when I did one last check of the closets: her bra, neatly hanging.

That bra is a holier than holy, sacred relic. I have successfully hidden that massive undergarment from women who've moved in as well as women I moved in with. I believe that even if specially-trained, snarling, bra-sniffing dogs entered any of my domiciles to search for that brassiere, they would have been confounded.

I didn't get that proficient at Internet sleuthing until a few years ago. I googled Miss Beth, found her married name, and promptly located her on Facebook.

She's had two children. There's a picture of her three months pregnant with her first child. She is so much more rounded in so many ways— aside from the obvious. This is a mature, womanly version of the sweet girl I spent so many naked hours with.

I admit it: I used that picture and I thought about what it would be like to make love to this new, revised version of Beth; pregnant Beth; Beth 2.0.

Why have I become so obsessed with her now, fifteen years after that party?

Because one late afternoon as we cuddled together naked on that towel-covered mattress above the boutique, we seriously pondered the fact that old vinyl records came in three standard speeds. Not a normal preoccupation for naked eighteen-year-olds, even fifteen years ago— but who said anything about 'normal?'

We decided there was some deep significance to the numbers 33 1/3, 45 and 78. Beth said that— no matter what— we should agree to meet each other and have "one more for the road" at each of those three ages.

We kissed while we were cuddling naked. I foolishly thought back then that made our agreement binding.

Have you figured it out yet? I'm turning 33 1/3 very soon... and of course I am apparently the only one who remembers.

It is such bullshit that we are told that women are dainty little creatures who hold on to every lovely romantic memory like dead flowers pressed into books, while men are lumbering brutes prowling from sexual conquest to sexual conquest.

Beth has moved on. She's found or she's settled on one man who meets her requisite combination of temperament and genetics to be worthy of giving her babies.

She's happy... beyond happy. And I love that she's happy.

So Beth:

I will raise a glass of wine to you on the appointed day. Believe it or not, my memories of our crazy naked times together are the touchstones of sanity as I navigate my own crazy life:

My first sight of you, naked and glowing on a loveseat in the sunlight;

The warmth of your blush as I untied that silly ribbon from around your neck;

You: jumping up and down naked after you deposited one banana in that silly bucket from between your sweet ass cheeks;

Your big eyes as you realized my finger was pushed up against a part of you that you wouldn't even let your doctor see;

The tear on your cheek as I finally pushed my body inside yours;

And the glow of your body in the firelight as the red wine in your glass turned your seashell nipples into embers burning for my touch.

Here's to you: Elizabeth (call my Beth); you will always be a naked part of me.