tagRomanceToo Young for True Love

Too Young for True Love

byDinsmore©

This is a love story. It gets delightfully raunchy in the last third for those of you who would rather skip ahead.

"Hi, Jim, this is Mary. I really feel bad about this but I'm not going to be able to come down for the weekend like we planned. I'm way behind on a couple of term papers and exams are coming up and I'm in a total panic."

"Maybe you could come anyway and study here? I've got tickets for the concerts and the dances but you could just study during the day and well..."

"No, I don't think so. I know I'd be too tempted to goof off."

"Well, okay, I guess I understand; I'm disappointed but I guess you have to do what you have to do."

"Thanks! I knew you'd be sweet about it."

Well fuck! Not only was this one of the biggest weekends of the school year, Spring Fest, but it was always the most fun since the weather was usually warm. Everybody would have a date; it was unlikely that he would be able to find one in a little over a week.

If he'd had to do it over again, he would never had chosen an all male university in spite of its status as a top school. There were a number of all girl colleges in a perimeter of fifty to a hundred miles from the University. When he had been a freshman, there had been a requirement to live in the dorm and personal cars were not allowed. The only way you could meet girls was either as part of a school sponsored mixer with one of the female schools or if you got lucky and made friends with an upper classman who had a car.

He had joined a fraternity with the hope of establishing a relationship with someone with a car but most of the brothers in his house were ass holes who got a sadistic pleasure in fucking with under classmen. One had even gotten his girl friend to bring some young ladies to the University one weekend and pawned them off on the pledges. They were all decidedly unattractive, almost intentionally so; he had been polite and pleasant but the weekend 'date' had been dismal.

The summer after his first year, an old friend of his mom's who owned a farm barely twenty minutes from campus had offered to let him board in one of the cottages on her farm in exchange for minor chores. Hattie was getting on in years and really just felt safer having a young man around for security. His chores were minimal; he chopped firewood and kept her fireplace bin well stocked. He fed her few remaining horses. He'd use her old tractor to plow her garden in the spring and remove the snow in the winter. Having grown up on a farm, he was not unaccustomed to farm work and what Hattie expected was not remotely intrusive. He joined her for dinner one night a week and found the old girl to be a fascinating person with a sharp wit and a delightful litany of stories.

Living on Aunt Hattie's farm---he called her aunt even though there was no blood relationship---also enabled him to apply for in state tuition which saved a ton of money. It also gave him the right to a "local" automobile registration which had fewer restrictions than the typical sophomore one.

He had a scholarship which only paid the in state fees, not the out of state penalty. Aunt Hattie wasn't charging him any money for the lodging; as far as utilities, he only paid for his long distance phone calls. He'd made enough money over the summer to buy a reliable car, a reasonably late model VW bug. He also had purchased a used motor bike, a small Honda, which he often rode to class because he could park much closer to the academic buildings.

The University had a lot of guys from wealthy families with fancy cars and a pocket full of coin. Jim was not one of those; his step dad was a school teacher who also ran a marginal small farm; his mother had been elected justice of the peace and made a little money working out of her home, 'court room' in their small, very rural, northeastern Pennsylvania locale and also had some insurance from when his dad had been killed. Jim had been fortunate to have scored very well on the SATs and had a perfect high school record. An education from a top of the line, edge of the Ivy League school would provide him a leg up when it came to a career.

Jim's father had died in an auto accident when Jim had been nine; Jim had not known about the small trust fund his father had established for his education; in point of fact, his mom had not even known, until Jim's godfather had made them aware. It was not a lot of money; Jim's dad had left $28,000 in a tightly constructed trust which would pay out a yearly stipend, basically the interest, as long as he was in school. The fund had grown modestly over ten years as it had been invested very conservatively and now paid out four to five thousand dollars a year which came in a monthly check. At twenty-five, Jim would have access to the principle.

Jim worked part time as a photo-journalist for the local daily paper during the school year and full time in the summer. He had always had a gift for writing and had often written articles and taken photos for the small weekly paper in his high school town. He also knew how to process film and print photos; he had operated an engraving machine exactly like the models they had. The managing editor of the local daily had hired him on the spot when he discovered that he would require no real training. During the school year, Jim worked a night shift at the paper, to include local photo and news assignments. During the intervals when prints were drying, film was fixing or plastic photo engravings were grinding away on one of the two Fairchild machines, Jim would study.

Five days a week, he would call his editor, and get his photo and short news story assignments, which were usually covered between 4:00 PM and 9:00 PM. The paper also paid him mileage. After he was done with his assignments, he'd let himself into the newspaper building and see what his boss had left him. He'd develop film, select the best photos and then print and engrave them for the following day's edition. He'd write up his own copy, print and engrave any ad work that had been left in his bin, edit some of the copy from the less detail oriented reporters, transmit a few wire photos, clean up the photo/engraving lab and occasionally print off some of his own personal work which would often be published in a full page feature spread once a month.

The management loved him and loved his work and made it clear that he had a career with them should he want one. He'd normally log a forty hour week at the paper; during the summer he'd often log almost twice as much as vacations strained the already small staff. Regular pay was two and a half times the current minimum wage; everything between forty and fifty hours was at time and a half and over fifty hours was double. It was not a union job but management paid along union standards to keep the union out.


He loved the job; for Jim it was not remotely work compared to the arduous physical labor he had done growing up on a working farm or the crappy sales clerk jobs he had taken during his first semester in college. Additionally, while some might have found the lab work boring, that is, waiting for a process to be completed, for him it was almost like a forced study hall and he would generally get in several hours of good study time.

Jim's parents had instilled in him a strong work ethic; his step father had been almost obsessively organized. It had been a real pain in the ass for Jim when he had been a teen, but now it paid real dividends. Most students at this University despised early morning classes; as a result, most of those classes had much more favorable professor/student ratios---even more so since a lot of people cut early classes under the University's liberal class cutting policy.

Jim rose early, performed his chores for Hattie and was in class by 8:00 AM. With an eighteen semester hour load, he was done by eleven or twelve. He'd grab a sandwich and head to the massive library to do any required research. He'd be back home by 2:00 PM and catch a couple of hours of sleep before calling in for his assignments. From 4:00 PM to midnight, he was on the clock for the newspaper. He'd often catch a beer at a local road house on the way home, generally in the vain hope of finding some female companionship but that never really panned out.

He'd be in bed, alone, by 1:00 AM and up at the crack of dawn a little before six. The newspaper did not publish on the weekends so his weekends were his own. He'd catch up on the few hours of sleep he'd missed during the week on Saturday and Sunday. He almost never studied on weekends; he didn't need to, since he'd kept to a rigid study schedule during the week.

There was a local food processing plan a few miles away which sold, "seconds" for an absurdly cheap price. His job at the paper provided him a substantial discount on any photo supplies he needed. His mother had made him take typing in high school so he was a reasonably accomplished touch typist. He typed all of his term papers at the office, sometimes pulling an all nighter using the paper's advanced, for the time, word processor.

So here he was at twenty, not rich, but not hurting. He was probably the only twenty year old he knew who actually was saving money. He didn't even spend the trust fund money, electing instead to roll it over into an investment account. The mileage the paper paid covered his car maintenance, gas and insurance. He ate on the cheap and paid no rent. He was a very good student, seldom even getting lower than an 'A' in his classes. He had an inquisitive mind and enjoyed the college learning process. He had made friends with a number of his professors and had even been invited to their homes. He didn't participate in any extracurricular activities and had quit the fraternity. He loved his job at the paper. He was, quite probably, an unknown at the University, far from being a big man on campus. His only real angst involved deciding on a major, a decision that was going to have to be made by the end of his sophomore year. He was quite happy with his current life.

There was only one glaring thing missing---female companionship. He had friends; he had gotten close to most of the other people who worked at the paper and often got together with them for dinner and such. They had fun together but there were no women, attractive or otherwise, near his age at the paper. If there were any in the small college town, he hadn't met them---or even seen them.

Jim was not a virgin, but damned close. In high school, he had gotten a couple of hand jobs from Jeananne, but that was a far as she would go. Just before high school graduation, a girl named Julie, who was a cousin of a girl in his class, had given him his first blow job, but she was only visiting for a few days and it only happened once. She had encouraged him to go down on her and he found the experience absolutely exhilarating.

Working the summer after high school, he'd had his first buck naked experience with a girl who was working as a maid at a resort. They'd been naked in the back of a car and they had fondled, touched and probed and as exciting as it has been, there had been no sex. He had had a very steamy make out session with the sister of one of his freshman dorm friends; that had been his first finger fuck. She had jerked him off. He had picked up a chubby young woman, a secretary several years his senior, at the local road house one night and ultimately fucked her between the thighs, but there had been no penetration.

A woman much older than he was who worked for the paper had blown him one time when she had been drunk but it was a one time thing. He had gone to Nassau the previous spring break and he and a buddy had shared a twenty-five dollar Puerto Rican whore. It had been decidedly unrewarding as she'd laid there motionless with her cold waxy skin next to his, but he had cum inside her, or at least inside a condom which was inside her.

Another woman who worked at the paper, twenty-six with two kids, had invited him back to her place one night after meeting him at the road house. They'd gotten a little drunk and started dancing and had fucked standing up. She was horny but he was not what she was looking for; she needed a daddy for her kids and he was not a suitable target. The two had become good friends but after a couple of more trysts, never fucked again.

There had been a road trip to the big city some two hours away; had he not had three other guys in the car who hadn't gotten lucky and just wanted to go home, he was sure he would have gotten laid that night. He had dated a couple of other girls over big school weekends and they had made out, even slept together, but that damned panty girdle had never come off.

Jim had met Mary at one of the mixers at a girl's school about an hour away. She was a little over five two, with dark blond hair and probably a little too much padding, but she was cute and seemed very sweet. He'd enjoyed talking to her. They had danced together; she smelled good. She had a smile that would melt steel. He could see himself falling for her. She had seemed very interested. She seemed like the ultimate, "nice" girl. Now she wasn't coming for the big weekend. Fuck.

As depression was setting in, the phone rang. It was his mom.

"Hey honey, I was down in Philadelphia this past week visiting family and friends. I'm sure you don't remember them, but Celeste and Ozzie are two of my dearest friends from college who I hadn't seen in almost ten years. They have a daughter, MJ, short for Mary Jacqueline, who goes to school an hour away from you. She's a freshman and she really doesn't know anyone---any boys at least---down there. I sense that she's not that happy at a girl's college hidden away in the mountains. I saw her picture, high school senior, and you know how those can be, but she looked very cute and Celeste was---still is---a real looker. Have you got a pen? Good. Here's her number. Celeste was going to tell her about you and tell her you'd give her a call."

Now, most young men of Jim's age would have been highly suspect of a date referral from their mother. But on more than one occasion, Jim's mom had, "set him up" with the daughter of an old friend and, bluntly, mom, who had been a real looker herself, had damned good taste in women. Historically, Jim had little to lose. Maybe MJ didn't have a date yet for the big weekend. What the hell.

"Sure mom, I'd be glad to call her. My date for next weekend cancelled out. I'll give her a call as soon as I get off the phone."

"MJ?"

"No, this is Sally, her roommate; I think she's down the hall. Just a sec."

"This is MJ."

"MJ, this is Jim, Jim Gannon. You don't know me, but I guess your mom and my mom are old college friends, I..."

"Jim! What a coincidence! I just got off the phone with mom less than an hour ago. I'm really glad you called."

Great voice, Jim thought to himself, not a giddy little girl...playful, yet very grown up. No southern accent. For the next few minutes Jim and MJ discussed school, classes they were taking, their respective campuses and such.

"MJ, I know this is kind of short notice, but I wondered if you had a date for the Spring Fest weekend up here next week."

"No, frankly I've never been to the University and don't know anyone there."

Jim proceeded to tell her about the activities planned for the weekend.

"MJ, I need to be honest with you; I thought I had a date but she had some academic issues to deal with."

"So, you're dating someone, ah, regularly?"

"No, actually this would have been our first real date. I met her at a mixer at another school a few weeks ago."

"Where would I stay?"

Now there were a number of boarding houses in town which catered to young college girls coming to visit university men. They were inexpensive and invariably had strict curfews.

"Well, I live about twenty minutes from campus in a small cottage on a farm owned by a lady who is an old family friend. I call her Aunt Hattie but she's not really related. My cottage has a separate bedroom and bathroom but if you'd be more comfortable, I'm sure Aunt Hattie---and she is a gem---would be happy to have you stay in one of the six bedrooms she must have in that rambling old farm house. Listen, I can drive down and pick you up after class on Friday..."

"Jim, I have a car, a very serviceable Bug. Thanks to the stupid rules here, I can only drive it on weekends. My last class on Friday ends at 11:00 AM. What time?"

"Well you certainly have good taste in cars. You can hit the road as soon as you're ready to leave. Let me give you directions; it shouldn't take more than an hour." Jim gave her directions.

"Okay, I'll hit the road, probably by noon or a little after. I'll give you a call as I'm leaving."

"Sounds great! 'See you then."

Jim walked the short distance to Hattie's house to brief her. Hattie had a real romantic streak—even a bawdy side---to her at times.

"Well, Jim, I'd be tickled to have her stay here, but you have plenty of room and you're going to have a lot better chance of, what's the modern term, 'getting lucky' with MJ staying at your place."

"We'll see, aunt Hattie, we'll see. I've never even met the girl and just wanted to be sure I'd covered the options in case she'd be more comfortable with a chaperone."

Jim and MJ talked to each other several times over the next few days and even exchanged letters. They were getting very comfortable with each other; at the very least, they'd get along and have a good time. Jim's work schedule at the paper was from Sunday night through Thursday night which gave him Friday and Saturday night free. Many professors simply cancelled Friday class before a big weekend because so many students cut anyway. Jim had ample time Friday morning to thoroughly clean his home.

MJ called a little after noon to say she was hitting the road. A friend stopped by to chat before she arrived, a man many years older than Jim who was a good friend but often hard to, get rid of. Jim explained that he had a date coming for the weekend and the uninvited guess departed just before MJ called from a gas station a few miles away to ensure that she was still on track. Just before 1:30 PM, the little red VW ground to a halt in the gravel turn around in front of Jim's place.

As Jim walked out to greet MJ and help her with her bags, he was completely unprepared for the vision before him and that was just from the back and the side as she leaned into the back seat to retrieve her things. White jeans...he loved white jeans...and they encased a tight little rear end to die for. Long legs...MJ had to be five seven or five eight. She had long dark hair hanging past her shoulders in sharp contrast to the white, button down Gant shirt. Sun glasses perched on her head...sandals...and then she turned around and it was all over.

It was in that strange few seconds that a boy and girl first check each other out that both knew this might just turn out to be a special weekend. Jim was a hair under six feet, blond, blue eyed and by all estimations, a cute guy, although he didn't consider himself anything special. While it may sound terribly superficial, men and women check each other out on first meeting; it's that almost biological need to ascertain if the member of the opposite sex in question would make a good mate, whether there just might be a good gene pool in play. It would be an understatement to say that both Jim and MJ were very happy with what they saw on first meeting.

Oh, yea, this will work, MJ thought to herself. I already was prepared to like him from our chats on the phone, and his letter was so sweet but he is really, really cute. Thank you mother, you didn't let me down. Those eyes are the definition of bedroom eyes. Nice tight little tush, good shoulders, strong arms and, oh fuck, what a great smile! Shake hands or hug? Hug by all means.

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byDinsmore© 17 comments/ 53696 views/ 34 favorites

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