The Campus Woman

"Oh Cathy, Cathy. Oh my God, Cathy."

I was taken a little by surprise. I had not expected him to come so quickly. We were lying naked on my bed, and I had just been gently stroking his penis, when he began. I had been expecting full penetration, but he was too needy, too desperate, and probably too inexperienced, to hold back. Perhaps he was the sort of young man who did not masturbate, or he produced unusually large amounts of sperm. Certainly, when I briefly fondled his testicles they seemed very swollen, and now I found out why.

With his calling out of my name I realised he was about to come, so I speeded up my stroking, and suddenly great globules of thick creamy sperm exploded out of him. It spouted upwards and cascaded down to soak my hand, my face and his belly. He writhed in ecstacy, still calling out my name, and I thought he would never stop. I had received the sperm of young men before, but never in this quantity.

He came to an end with a last cry of "Oh Cathy," then he snuggled into me between my breasts like a child. He seemed almost a child. Not more than eighteen and his first year on campus, he had aroused the mother instinct in me.

He had seemed so shy and withdrawn, yet when I invited him to come home with me, he accepted eagerly. I don't think he expected to make love with me, but simply have a cup of coffee and company to assuage his loneliness. When, seated at the kitchen table with his cup of coffee, I had kissed him softly on the lips and said, "Come to bed with me," he hesitated. He was very shy and I think, immature, so I tried to reassure him like a mother telling her son that all would be well. "It's all right, Martin, I'll see to everything for you, I'll make you feel so good."

Now, as he lay close to me, the mothering instinct took over again and I grasped one of my breasts and drew the nipple to his mouth. He might have been sated by the outpouring of his semen, and no longer interested in my body, but no, he took the nipple and began to suckle me like a baby. I felt a wave of regret that I had no milk in my breasts that I might nourish him with it, as I had once longed to nourish my baby.

We lay together, he at my breasts, for almost half an hour. I felt his penis rising again, and this time I determined that he should penetrate me. I withdrew my breast from him, turned over on my back and parted my legs saying, "Come into me, darling."

He came over me in a rather awkward manner, and I felt a wave of love at his innocence. I guided the tip of his penis to my opening, feeling it throbbing to the rapid beat of his heart. I could tell that he had never had a woman before. I thought to myself, "There's nothing more wonderful than a sexually untutored young man with his fresh hard youthful penis, and an older, experienced woman. The boy with healthy ardour, the woman with knowledge of how to give and receive the joys of sex. I had been with such young men before, but, as it turned out, never one I felt such love and compassion for as Martin.

He slid into me whispering diffident words of passion, trying to express what he was feeling, I responding with words of encouragement, reassuring him that I felt his manhood and desired it. Yet in truth, it was once again almost a motherly feeling. I wanted to comfort and sustain him, to pour myself out for him, to let him have from me all he could desire.

In all the times I had been with other young men, I had never felt quite the same as I would come to feel with Martin. I wanted to yield to and indulge him. In all sincerity, I wanted him as my child, which according to our ages would have made me a very enterprising little girl of nine. Never the less, on this first occasion of our loving, that is how I felt.

Having mentioned that there had been a number of other young men, I suppose I have made myself sound like something of a slut. I do not seek to justify myself to you, but I do wish you to understand how this came about.

I met Roy on campus when we were both eighteen, he studying engineering and I education. It was, as they say, "Love at first sight." Very quickly, we became lovers, and, eventually married.

I suspect that there are few couples as devoted to each other as we were, and our great longing was for a child. It was a great joy, therefore, when I was able to tell Roy I was pregnant.

As Shakespeare wrote, "One woe doth tread upon another's heels, so fast they follow." The first "woe" that struck us, was the death of our baby son a few hours after his birth. I had barely held him and Roy not at all, and he was gone. People tried to console us, telling us, "You'll have others." It did not help. We grieved for our lost baby.

It was possibly this grief that brought upon me the next "woe," only seven months after the first.

Roy was by then employed with a civil engineering company, and was working on a bridge construction site. Probably he was not concentrating properly, and during an inspection he slipped and fell off a high part of the structure. He was killed instantly.

I was totally distraught, and for months had to undergo psychiatric treatment. People say, "Time heals," and no doubt, this is true, but scars remain. There was a large financial compensation payment for Roy's accident, but money did not alleviate my grief. At the age of twenty-three, I was a childless widow. I heard people whispering, "She's a good looking girl, she'll soon get someone else," but I didn't want "someone else." I wanted what I could not have, Roy and my dead child.

It might have been best if I had tried to take up some professional work in teaching, but the compensation money lured me away from this. Being without things to occupy me, and as the worst effects of my bereavement diminished, I began to visit old haunts -– places were Roy and I had met and loved.

One such "old haunt" was the university cafeteria. It was here that we first met over cups of the awful cafeteria coffee. It was to the cafeteria I often resorted, trying to relive a past that was literally dead. It was here that I began the trail that led to Martin.

One day, about the third or fourth time I had gone to the cafeteria, I found myself sitting at a table occupied by a rather melancholy looking young man. I recalled how it could be in one's early days at university. The enormous pressure of the studies, the confusion about one's values, often being away from home for the first time, friendless, and struggling with one's sexuality in often frustrating isolation.

I think my own unhappiness had made me sensitive to unhappiness in others, and seeing the woebegone expression of the young man opposite me at the table, I tried to make conversation with him.

It was not an easy task to get him talking. After verbally circling round each other for some time, I learned that is name was Barry. He began by talking about the battle he was having with his studies, but soon went on to complain about his loneliness. I ended up inviting him to my house, and I swear that my intention was no more than to give him a bit of company for the evening, and to reminisce with him on my own days at university and my meeting with Roy.

As you have no doubt guessed, we ended up in bed for the night. His loneliness and my need for consolation translated itself into sexual desire. Surely, this is not so surprising? Sexual contact can be one of the most beautiful human experiences, but, I hasten to add, it can also be one of the ugliest as well. It seems to me in the nature of things, that what is most beautiful and good, carries within itself the potential to be the most ugly and evil.

I was not in love with Barry, or he with me. We were simply two people finding mutual comfort in each other.

Other nights followed until Barry met a girl he did fall in love with, and his nights were from then on spent with her. I had sought no long-term relationship with Barry. I suppose I would have to say we used each other for mutual comfort and sexual gratification. I did, however, miss that comfort and gratification, and the thought came to me, "If I did it once, I can do it again. The university is swarming with lonely, sexually frustrated young men, so why not?"

Thus began what might be described as a career in giving, and hopefully receiving, solace and sex.

I soon found another young man to invite home and quickly got him into my bed. This relationship also came to an end, and I found yet another to take his place. I chose very carefully. I seemed to have an instinct for selecting lonely, unhappy young men, and never once did I have one who was violent. The main danger was the possibility that they would fall in love with me. This I did not want at that time. My love was still with my dead Roy and baby.

Eventually, however, the solace aspect of my need diminished. I began to relish the sex for its own sake. I had always enjoyed sex, and now I gave myself over to it. I even risked group sex on one occasion, when I entertained four young men at once, enjoying the multiple orgasms they provoked in me. This excess of orgasms was brought on by a game of rape we played as they tied me to the bed. They tormented me with a dildo, and took it in turns to penetrate me briefly with their penises, bringing me to the edge of orgasm, then withdrawing from me. This nearly drove me mad, and I begged and pleaded with them to let me finish.

They laughed at my dire sexual arousal, but finally decided to be merciful, and actually drew lots to see who would finish me off.

When I did come it was the most incendiary orgasm I had ever had. It raged through me like a grass fire, consuming me as I screamed with anguish and delight. The big surprise, however, was that the other three boys all made me climax, and all four of them having finished, they came into me again.

Delightful though this group experience was, I have never repeated it. I think what I needed was the one to one relationship with that special intimacy your cannot have with a group.

As I have said, I escaped violence with my boys, and disease was unlikely, as most of them were "first timers." Yet looking back I am surprised that I did not get pregnant with the first two. No contraceptives were used, but after those two, I put myself on the pill.

I was twenty-five when I began with the first boy, and over the following three years I think I must have engaged in every sort of sex imaginable – vaginal, oral and anal sex. Sex in bed, on the floor, on the edge of tables, sitting on chairs. With the four boys I was tied down and raped (pretending), as I was with a number of other boys on their own. I had sperm ejaculated over my face, breasts, and in fact, over almost every part of my body.

Sometimes I would masturbate the boy first, so that he would take longer when he finally penetrated me. Nearly always, I had to be the teacher, the initiator. I was determined now to experience every possible form of non-violent sex. I sometimes wonder how I thought up some of the things I did with the boys.

In mentioning non-violent sex, I should add that I am not adverse to a little sexual pain, so I was tortured occasionally with a dildo and nipples and other parts of my body were bitten. I returned the compliment with my own bites and by doing something rather special with a thin stick to the little slit in the crown of the penis. I had many a boy howling for mercy with that one.

A few times I ended a session with a some bite marks, bruises and sore nipples, but gave as good as I got. I must have experienced every size of penis possible, and some that people say are impossible. A couple of the boys declared themselves to be in love with me, and wanted to marry me. I was not ready for this and did not desire it. I had to get very stern with them.

Most of these relationships lasted for a few months and ended usually by the boys taking up with a girl on campus. After their time with me, they were highly desirable lovers, and starting out as they did as shy boys, I turned them into ardent young men.

I was happy with things that way. I thought that after Roy I would never commit myself permanently to another man. This, however, did not take account of the woman lurking deep inside me. My brief time with Roy had been wonderful. Sex with him had been spectacular, and in addition, our mutual love and caring drew us together in love until death parted us.

Therein lay my dilemma. Whilst refusing to accept a long-term relationship, my happy experience with Roy made me want it. It was a struggle between the fear of being hurt once more and the desire to love and be loved as Roy and I had.

This was the situation at the time Martin came into my life. He is a lovely looking man, and I fully expected him to end up with a campus girl.

The problem was, after he had pierced me the first time, it seemed as if a sexual demon was let loose in him. He could not and would not leave me alone. Not that I objected, but I was astonished at the rapid rate at which his erections occurred, and the amazing amount of sperm he produced.

Starting out with hardly any knowledge of a woman's body, on our second night together, I instructed him in the anatomy of my vagina. I recommend that any older woman taking on an inexperienced boy carry out this little piece of education. You will find that he will increase your pleasure and derive far more satisfaction for himself if he knows what he is doing. After all, the vagina is a complex organ, and unless instruction is given, can remain something of a mystery to the poor male.

I went about teaching Martin with few words and much showing. I spreading my legs so he could see my genitals clearly and pointed first to my mons. "Darling, if you massage that gently the woman will begin the first stages of arousal." I went to the outer lips. "You can sensitively rub and squeeze these but they are really like the outer petals of a rose, and if you gently pull them apart like this," I opened them, "You see the inner bud or lips."

He gave a little gasp of surprise. "That's beautiful," he said. I was delighted by his response. Not all men, unfortunately, respond to the sight of a woman's genitals in so positive a manner.

I pointed out that the inner lips were more sensitive than the outer ones, and were very like our mouth. "Would you like to kiss me there?" I asked. He leant down and pressed his lips to them.

I invited him to pull the inner lips apart and in so doing, he could see clearly my vaginal opening. "That's where your penis goes into me, darling. Just carefully push your finger in and feel." He did so for about a minute before I stopped him. "Would you like to put your tongue in there?" I asked. He did not hesitate, and thrust in firmly, then flicked his tongue in and out of me.

I basked in the pleasure of this for a while, then once more stopped him. "Let me show you this, darling." With that, I pulled back the little hood over my clitoris. From what I have read, I have a slightly larger than average clitoris, and it was clearly exposed to his view.

"This is a very sexually sensitive area," I told him, "and if you touch a woman there she will probably become very sexually excited." He stared fascinated at the nub of my clitoris. "Just move your finger gently round it, darling, and feel it." He did so, getting me thoroughly worked up. "Try licking it, my love." He did, and I was going out of my mind.

I decided that I had given enough instruction on female genitalia for one session, so I turned over to him.

Disengaging him from my vagina, I moved down to his penis. Before I took it into my mouth I told him what I was going to do to him, and went on, "When you want to come, just let it go. Don't worry, you just give it all to me."

Taking him into my mouth, I began to slide up and down his shaft, sucking all the while. I heard him groaning and once more calling out, "Oh Cathy, Cathy."

I had him in my power. I think he would have done anything for me just then. I tormented him by slowing down, then speeding up. I drew him to the edge of orgasm, then pulled back making him beg and plead for release. Finally, I decided to put him out of his exquisite misery and let him come. He blew up like a long repressed volcano. I tried to swallow his sperm, but it was too much for me. It ran out of the corners of my mouth, down his shaft to his groin, then on down to the bed. He was writhing sinuously still crying out my name, and as his ejaculating subsided I tried to suck the last drops out of him.

Martin pulled me up so he could bury his face in my breasts and suck my nipples. He was stupefied at what I had done to him. He struggled to come to grips with the beauty of it, and clung to me like a child that had just passed through an overwhelming experience.

Having had no orgasm of my own I was in a terrible state of lustful desire, but knew I had to await his next erection. This did not take long. His shaft rose up like a tower, and I sat over him and let it glide into me.

Speaking quietly I said, "Let me have it in me, my love. Put it in deep." He looked at me, and I had not seen such a look since my time with Roy. It was a mixture of lust and love, as if I was the only woman in the world who could satisfy his deep thirst.

I was on the very edge of orgasm and at its approach, I had that response so many women experience, of rejection and insane desire. I started to scream out, "Don't darling, please don't make me…please…the agony is too much…please don't make me…" At the same time I was thrashing up and down on him in complete denial of my pleading.

As the orgasm burst upon me my screams changed. "Oh my love…yes…yes… deeper…deeper." Dimly I felt him winding up for another ejaculation, but by now I was beyond the world outside myself. I was beating up and down on him, desperately forcing him ever deeper into me as I climaxed. We were two howling, groaning, shrieking beings, lost in the fires of an all-embracing passion.

Martin finished but the after shocks of my orgasm continued to agitate me for some time, and I gave out little whimpers and shakily spoke his name. "Martin, darling, …Martin…Oh Martin." He didn't leave me, but stayed until I had calmed down.

I had experienced wonderful orgasms before, but there was something different about this one. It was, as it were, a warning sign, which at that time I chose to ignore.

Martin visited me often after that, and I continued his lessons in making love. As the weeks and then the months went by, he became more self-assured, not only in matters sexual, but also in the whole of his life. I think I can truthfully say I made a man of him. I now waited the time when he would announce that he had taken up with some girl on campus. It didn't happen.

A further warning sign emerged when he started to bring some of his books and work to my house, and they seemed to take up permanent residence. He spent more and more time with me until he hardly used his room at the college at all. In short, he gradually moved in with me until he finally asked if it was all right if he gave up his college room and lived with me all the time.

Thus, after eight months from our first coming together, he was my live-in lover. I no longer went to the cafeteria in search of lonely young men. My time was taken up being a sort of mother-lover to Martin.

It was at that point I finally admitted that not only was he in love with me, but I was in love with him. The question that beset me was "What was I to do?" I had managed to avoid this sort of emotional entanglement until now. Should I get rid of Martin before it was too late and I made some sort of permanent commitment with him?

Martin had many times declared his love for me, even when he was not sexually aroused. This was a clear danger sign. When a young man tells you he loves you when he has just finished ejaculating in you, it is almost certain that he does love you.