Paul and Paula - Her Story 01

She gave me a lot to think about, and we talked more about what sexual stuff I had tried while away in college. Then Marisol turned to look at me, seemingly thinking of her following words.

"Have you tried doing girls?"

"You mean sex with women?"

"What else?"

"Some kissing during a threesome," I replied. "A bit of touching boobs, and that's about it."

"We have the bedroom to ourselves," Marisol said, placing her hand on my knee.

My answer was to lean in and kiss her.

***

Sex with a woman was entirely different than with a man. And not for just the evident body differences. No. The difference is mental. With a man, we either make love or fuck. Sometimes both. But with a woman, the intensity of pure fucking is not there. Girl-to-girl sex play has a different intensity and dynamic. Since there is no penetration and you are having sex with someone of the same sex, you focus on what you would want and give it back as you receive it.

As for love, neither Marisol nor I wanted or were looking for that in each other. While she was openly bi, I was only bi-curious then. And both of us were the type that experimented in girl-on-girl sex but did not connect emotionally with a woman. You could say we were typical of many bi women that dabble in lesbianism but fall in love only with men.

Until that day, I only had sex with guys. Men with mostly hard bodies and stiff cocks. I had never experienced touching another woman's soft and inviting body. Even when I was in charge with a man, he would eventually penetrate me in one way or another. With a woman, there was a sense of equality in the play. I think the dynamic of penetration is the key. Take that away, and the sex becomes a long foreplay session with orgasms from oral and some fingering.

But even the use of fingers on each other was equal as both Marisol and I gave and received equally. And while we did frig each other, the non-penetrative aspect of our encounter still stands out in my mind.

Marisol and I kissed a lot, sucked each other's nipples, fondled each other's breasts, and went down on one another more than once. But the most... interesting aspect of girl-on-girl play she introduced me to was scissoring.

For those of you that don't know, it is a form of tribbing, the act of two women rubbing their clits together. A word derived from the Greek word for rubbing. In ancient Greek, another Greek word was Thirbades -- those who rub. The ancients were kinky, I tell you.

Look, I read a lot and remember shit that most people don't. So bear with my obscure knowledge stuff. See what I mean? Imagine being in my head with all this crap. I can actually remember the entire passage in the book I read this. Photographic memory. A blessing and a curse. I mean, who wants to have the whole text of Shakespeare's plays in their head? But I digress.

As you have probably imagined, Tribadism or scissoring involved us crossing our legs until our pussies came together and thrusting toward each other until we both found clitoral stimulation. The orgasm from that position was so intense that I had to stop after.

"Did you enjoy that?" Marisol said as she took a swig from her water bottle.

I waved her to pass it to me as I tried to catch my breath.

"It was good," I said. "That cum was out of this world in the end."

"But..." Marisol said with a snicker reading into the way I had replied.

"It was fun, and I did cum twice, but I'm not ready to give up, men... if you know what I mean."

Marisol laughed at that.

"Oh, I hear you, sister," my older neighbor replied. "I think Garry has me under his spell."

"I envy you, Marisol," I replied.

"You are younger, have firmer titties, are prettier, single in college, and have your whole life ahead of you," Marisol countered. "Why would you envy me?"

"Marisol, you have a good lover for a husband. Garry worships you and lets you have men on the side. How many women can say they have that?"

"There is more to marriage than sex and fun, Paula," Marisol said in a serious, far-away tone. "Garry and I have no children. I can't have any. Your parents, on the other hand, have two and still love each other."

"And they are divorced," I replied.

"I know," she shook her head. "They have everything, Garry, and I wished we had. But your parents tossed it away because of their stupid thinking. Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude about them."

She had not offended me as I knew my parents had been too quick to split up.

"You could have adopted," I replied and realized right away that it was a sore point with Marisol.

"It's not the same, Paula. Garry suggested it, but it would be a daily reminder that I can't have kids. My uterus can't handle pregnancy. I miscarry every time. Ten years ago, the last time we tried, I was in bed for four months and still lost the poor kid."

"Ever think of a surrogate?"

Marisol smiled at that.

"We did."

"And?"

"We could not afford the fees for in vitro fertilization. It was expensive. So we tried something else."

"What?" I asked curiously.

"More like someone else," Marisol replied. "A family friend."

"Wait!" I exclaimed. "You what?"

"Garry got her pregnant," Marisol replied quickly. "They had sex - more than once in her fertile period. You could say that this was the beginning of our open marriage."

"What happened?"

"Oh, she had the child," Marisol replied, staring into the ceiling. "Then she changed her mind and kept it."

"Where is she now? What about the child?" I asked, feeling sad for Marisol and Garry.

"It was a nine-pound boy. And she ran off with him. The child would be eight or nine by now," Marisol said with a slight smile. "Let's go get something to eat downstairs."

I didn't press her after that. Marisol seemed deep in thought as we made an omelet and shared it in her kitchen. Then she placed her fork down and gazed at me.

"Garry used all his police contacts to track her down. No luck at that. He still checks from time to time, but the kid's mother had no family here in town and was an orphan. She could be anywhere. We contacted her foster mom in Virginia, but she said she had not seen her or the baby."

"I'm so sorry, Marisol."

"It has been rough on Garry. On both of us, really. And there was the fact that Garry had been screwing another woman for two months until he knocked her up. That kind of started it all."

"You mean the open marriage?" I asked.

Marisol nodded with a slight smile.

"Despite all the stress of losing his child, Garry was thinking of me - asking if I was OK with it and all that. The thing is, I was not angry with him for it. The fault was the woman's, not ours. I mean, she reneged on the deal after we paid for her doctor bills. And the baby would have been Garry's. A part of him in the boy. Still, I was annoyed at it all... and I was short-tempered all the time."

I let her go on.

"Garry was the one who suggested that I should have another man to even things out," she giggled at that. "As if I was mad at him for screwing the baby's mom."

The fact that Marisol never mentioned the woman by name spoke volumes. There was still anger toward the woman for what she had done to them both.

"Anyway, Garry told me that if I wanted to have another man, he would not get in the way. I asked him what 'would that fix?' And he just smiled and said 'I won't feel so guilty for doing another woman. And you can use a distraction.' Can you believe that?"

"Wow!" I replied, knowing my parents and most people would have never suggested, let alone allowed that.

"Paula," Marisol said, taking both my hands in hers. "Garry did that because he loves me. I know that if he had to, he would lay his life down for me. No, we don't have the privilege of children your parents take for granted. But we have each other. We do what we do as a gift to each other. Do you understand?"

"It's why I envy you, Marisol. Garry loves you to no end," I replied. "He has told me so."

"I know," she chuckled. "He tells every woman he screws that he loves me. Silly, isn't it?"

"No," I replied. "It makes me respect Garry more - both of you. I hope someday I marry someone like Garry. And that he and I will have a strong marriage. Kids or not."

***

Who am I?

1984-85

When I returned to UF Gainsville, I was still a horny little sex minx, but I was a bit smarter and more discriminating. And the conversations I had with Mom, Dad, Gary, and Marisol gave me a window into adult life that I sorely needed. Like what was to come after college and what kind of life I wanted. Not something a nineteen-year-old thinks about, no matter what her IQ score and 4.0 GPA.

Unlike other freshmen, I had not pledged to a sorority. Yet once it got around that I was a "fun" girl, I found myself invited to many frat parties. Guys vied for my attention with hopes that I would pick them for my after, or during-party, sexcapades. And as I was young, unattached, and borderline hypersexual, I indulged my whims with whomever I found attractive and sexy at the time.

Once again, I found my classes easy to pass and focused on aceing them. While my photographic memory and high IQ, combined with my ability to speed read, memorizing and understanding the content in the textbooks was a breeze. Now, all I had to do was attend the lectures for the class notes, which any college student and graduate will tell you are priceless.

One of my electives was a psychology course. And the professor and I had an attraction that was clear to us both. Dr. Jeffers was a light-skinned African-American from Texas of all places. His penchant for cowboy boots, bolo ties, and an occasional cowboy hat initially intrigued most students, but the novelty wore off after a few lectures. He had discussed something I was not clear about one day, so I stayed after class to ask.

"Paula," he said, looking at his wristwatch. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"I had a question about...."

"You all ready to know the answer," he replied. "I've checked up on you. Professors gossip, Paula, and you are quite the sensation in our small community."

'Shit!' I thought. 'My sexcapades are common knowledge.' I should not have been surprised, truth be told. But then I thought it through. We were discussing something academic, not my sex habits. Still, when you talk to a psychologist, they can be talking about anything the way they analyze people by habit.

"Excuse me, Dr. Jeffers, but what are we talking about here?"

"All your professors from last year are talking about the'Wunder-schülerin'of the year. You."

I knew what the word meant. While not fluent in German, I had taken it as an elective language in high school. And yes, I had read the German textbooks on the language but had not memorized the entire dictionary. Don't judge me. I'm not perfect.

"Wunder... schülerin?" I asked. 'wonder... school? No. School in German is... Schule. Yeah, what does that word mean?' "Professor, my German is a bit rusty."

"What? You haven't memorized the book like you do with your other classes?"

I smiled at that. Dr. Jeffers referred to my academic abilities, not my campus sexual reputation. Something that made me feel proud yet curious.

"That comes naturally," I replied, "but I never memorized the dictionary."

He shook his head at me with a smile.

"It means wonder-student in the German feminine form. Wunder-shülerin. Most of us mortals do not have your abilities, Paula. I wonder what it must be like in your mind with all that knowledge. Is it an issue?"

"How so?"

"Are you ever overwhelmed by your abilities?" he said, waving for me to sit. "Do you have time to talk?"

"I do," I said, taking a seat near his desk. "This was my last lecture of the day."

He waited for me to answer his question, I guess because he looked at me expectantly with a polite smile.

"I have always been this way," I continued. "So I don't question it now. But I learned early that it unnerved others and kept it to myself."

"Were you a late speaker? As a toddler?"

"Yes," I replied. "I'm familiar with the signs of the... condition, as you professionals call it. Children with high intelligence start to speak late."

"I don't think you have an ailment, Paula. Please don't misinterpret my query in your psyche. It's not often I meet people who qualify as genius level on the intellect scale."

I scoffed at that to put him at ease, but the professor was not an idiot and understood what I was doing.

"You must know that you are up there on the IQ level. What is it, if I may ask?"

"175," I replied, as a matter of fact, not bragging. "And I did nothing to make that happen. I was born this way."

"Only unlike some other "Wunder-kinder" wonder-kids, you have not let it mess you up. You must know that is rare, don't you?"

"I've read up on the subject," I replied cautiously.

He was right about everything. I had been a "strange child" to my parents, extended family, teachers, and fellow students. I didn't start speaking in complete sentences until I was three. Something common to high IQ children. But by four, I could read and write. Other kids shied away from me, calling me a freak. But some teachers had been helpful and guided me into self-educating, as my first-grade teacher called it."

"Have you had issues fitting in?" Dr. Jeffers asked. "Or did you learn to hide your abilities?"

He spoke with a calming voice to make me feel at ease. Practiced psychologists are good at that. My first instinct was to deflect and try to be secretive. But I took a chance.

"Both," I replied. "Fitting in as a child, until I learned how to hide my... abilities."

"You've done well from what I hear from your professors. 4.0 GPA so far?"

I nodded.

"So, you will probably ace my course and the rest of your classes," he said with an approving smile. "That leaves you with time for other activities."

I tensed at that. 'Here it comes.'

"Oh, come on, Paula. People talk. Your sexual exploits are known as much as your academic success."

"I'm single and free to choose who I am with and what I do," I replied defiantly.

"No question there from me," he replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But I have some questions. On the professional level."

"And what might they be?"

"You obviously have a healthy sex drive," he continued. "On the high end of the scale if what I hear is correct."

"True," I replied. "Does that make me a nymphomaniac?"

"The term is Hypersexual in my profession. Nymphomaniac is kind of dated and a bit... droll."

I snickered at that.

"And your question is?"

"Have you ever let your heightened libido get in the way of a task or responsibility?"

"No. I don't let it control me."

"Never?"

"Not once."

"I see," he replied thoughtfully, then smiled as if he was interviewing a patient and taking notes.

"Is that it? No questions about what I do and how often?"

"Well, the frequency and details of your sex life may interest others, but I was more interested in who controls whom? You the condition or the condition you."

"I'm in charge of it," I replied. "I know my sex drive is higher than others. I crave sex more so than other women, but I refuse to let it control me. Does that answer your question?"

"Indeed it does."

"Why did you ask?"

"Because my dear, some women with a very high libido have little control of it. Often much to the detriment of their personal life."

"I'm not those women."

"Clearly so," he replied as I wondered where this was going -- why was I allowing it and feeling comfortable with him.

"Can I ask you one more question?"

"Sure," I replied.

And right then, I found myself aroused by his manner and voice.

"Have you ever had a steady boyfriend? Ever been in love?"

"That's kind of personal. Don't you think?"

"Yes, but very pertinent," Jeffers replied.

"You are analyzing me, aren't you?" I asked.

"You are quite a fascinating personality case, Paula. I hope you indulge me."

"A case?"

"All people are a case to people of my profession, Paula. Some more... much more, interesting than others."

We stare at each other for a few seconds.

"I have never been in love or needed a steady boyfriend."

"May I ask why?"

"No one has ever made me feel that way on the love front? And steady boyfriends just get in the way. They become possessive and cramp my style. I like to have sex with whom I want when I want."

"You never had a crush?"

"I never said that. I did in junior high with one boy. But I thought it through and realized it was silly and never did that again."

"You... thought it through? At junior high age?"

"Yes," I replied. "Doesn't everybody?"

He scoffed and shook his head at my response.

"Most early teens lack the maturity to 'think' a life problem through. Especially a crush on a boy. How did you control your emotions?"

I was thinking through that when he continued.

"Paula, do you have emotions?"

"What kind of question is that?" I asked. "Of course I do. I'm not cold-hearted."

"I didn't say you are. But your thought process intrigues me."

"From an early age, I thought problems through. And if I do not know something, I either research it or observe, then learn."

"Amazing. What about the concept of right and wrong?"

"I told you, I'm not a psychopath. There is right and wrong."

"Some people would say your libertine sexuality is wrong. What do you say to that?"

"I say that is rubbish. A person decides what they will do sexually. So long as it is consensual, that is."

In that instant, I debated telling him about my family and neighbors. But I had enough for the day.

"I need to get going, professor. This has been a fascinating conversation."

"Maybe we can continue this another time?"

"Maybe," I replied cautiously. "Is my grade tied to this conversation continuing?"

"Oh no. You are already on your way to an A. Ace the midterm, and you don't have to take the final."

"I'll take you up on it," I replied with a smile and stood.

***

I took his midterm and indeed aced it. And true to his word, Dr. Jeffers gave me the A I needed for my 4.0 that semester. We had a few conversations after that, but we never continued his questioning as others were always present. But that day had gotten me thinking.

My sexual lifestyle was indeed libertine. I had sex with whom I wanted, if I wanted and when I wanted. That was why I had no boyfriends. My goal in college was to get a 4.0 GPA and have as much sex, and sexual experiences, before I eventually settled down. If I settled down, that is.

"Don't be like me. Have fun in college before you settle down," my mother's advice always came back to me.

I had to admit that I venerated my neighbors, the Sanchezes, but I also loved my parents and how they raised me. I idolized my neighbors for their open sexual relationship and trust in each other. And I had similar feelings for my parents because of their love and devotion for my brother and me. I so wished they had stayed together. There were times I missed the four of us at dinner and going out as a family.

But I also learned from my parent's mistakes. Unlike them, I intended to have as much fun before I got married and not break up my family as they had done. While I understood why they had broken up, I knew they loved each other still and missed the security of them together in our home.

Why was I like this? Always observing. Always learning. Avoiding problematic situations and always methodical. Was I a freak of nature? High IQ, photographic memory, a speed reader, a fucken human calculator. I mean, who does calculus in their head? That's not normal, is it?

But for me, it was. It was my normal -- my standard. It was who I was. Academically brilliant. Sexually near nymphotic. And... as Dr. Jeffers had gotten me to admit, emotionally remote.