Beginnings - 1

[Don Jetman]

Beginnings - Part 1

by Don Jetman

L. was my girl, a fresh-faced college senior, nine years my junior. It was
Saturday night, and she had persuaded me to hang out in her dorm to meet some of
her friends. Music poured into the long hallway, a different song coming from
each open door. I'm not sure how many of her friends I met, a dozen or more most
likely, as they wandered in and out of her room where we sat on her bed,
listening to Billy Joel on her tiny stereo. Most were girls - young, exuberant,
sexy, and a little stoned or drunk. They visited just long enough to give me the
once-over, giggling and wiggling, getting a kick out of teasing me in front of
L. But L. didn't mind - they were like sisters to her, and she knew it was all
in fun. I met a few guys as well. They seemed to know L. as well as her sisters,
and I had flashes of jealousy now and then when they shared an inside joke I
didn't get. They were all so damned young.

As the hours passed, the alcohol and pot took their inevitable toll. The halls
grew quiet, candles replaced the harsh overhead lights, and people began to
crash in any convenient room, sprawled contentedly on floors and beds, their
conversations more serious, more candid. L.'s guests slowly dwindled until only
three of us were left. L. and Paul shared the same major and a few classes, and
were deep into a discussion on the fine points of a recent chapter of abnormal
psychology. Yawn. My degree was in chemistry, and the psych talk left me
teetering on the edge of a coma. Of course, I had consumed my share of the
available recreational goodies, and was somewhere between a buzz and spiritual
fulfillment.

I'm not sure when the talk turned to sex. It had something to do with
psychology, as I remember. Maybe. Paul held that men and women were basically
different, that men were hard-wired hunters, sexual predators with an instinct
to spread their seed. L. was into her feminist period at the time, and argued
that women weren't hard-wired to be cowering baby-makers. Or something like
that. I was amused when she told him women are as sexual as men. I was her first
lover. We had done it less than 20 times. So, I guess I snorted. Or harrumphed.
Whatever it was, she got the message. And she didn't like it much.

"So, you don't think I'm sexual?" she said. Her eyes were fiery. I knew when I
was being baited.

"I think you're very sexy," I answered, now recognizing that damage control
would require resources I couldn't muster at the time.

"I said 'sexual', not sexy," she repeated. I was stoned and a little drunk. I
took just a bit too long to answer. Hell, I wasn't sure she was all that sexual.
She had been pretty innocent during the time we had dated. A virgin when we met.
But I did think she was sexy. The first time I saw her. Yum.

"You honestly believe I don't think about having sex with other guys? That I
might never be tempted to do it?"

I was stunned. Paul was grinning. I stammered something like, "Um I, uh don't
know..."

"What would you think if I took off my clothes right here, right now, and had
sex with Paul?"

I grinned, snorted, and shook my head. "Oh please," I told her. "Sure. Right."
It was a mistake.

She stood up, and without a word, walked across the room to where Paul lay in
her roommate's bed, propped up against the wall, still grinning. She began to
undress.

I still remember how she did it. Each step. First, the button at the front of
her jeans, then the zipper, drawing it down, opening a V that showed the smooth
skin of her belly and the top of her pink panties. She tugged the jeans over her
hips, hooking her thumbs inside the waistband of her panties, pulling them along
with her jeans until she was naked from the waist down.  She stepped out of them
and stopped, looking straight at Paul, waiting for his reaction, as if to say,
"Do you think I'm sexual? Do you want to fuck me?" Her back was to me, and her
ass was magnificent in the candle light. Paul stared. His eyes were fixed
between her legs. I was jealous and angry. But I was also mesmerized. I knew I
should do something, that I should put a stop to this. But I couldn't. I just
stared.

She played with the buttons at the neck of the knit top. Was she uncertain, or
teasing him? The flickering candles threw shadows across the dimples just above
her asscheeks. The last thing I wanted was for her to have sex with this guy,
but at the same time, watching her, being in the same room with her as she
stripped for him, was exciting in some strange way. It was just impossible that
she was standing there half-naked in front of him.

It seemed so easy for her to peel the top up over her head, so effortless to
pull her arms from the sleeves and toss the tan ball of material into his lap.
He just sat there, still staring at her, leaving her top softly rumpled over his
erection. It was just as well. I didn't want her looking at the bulge in his
pants. I didn't want her thinking about another guy's penis. But I knew she was.
I hated it and loved it. But I couldn't explain it.

I watched her fingers undo the hooks at the back of her bra, then slide the thin
straps over her shoulders and let it fall away from her breasts. She squared her
shoulders, pulling them back, arching her back just a little, a slap to my face
for my arrogance. She knew that I would get it, that she was thrusting her small
firm breasts at Paul, daring him to touch her. It was very odd. Beneath the
waves of overwhelming shock and jealousy, I became aware of this faint ember of
excitement, just a sliver of constant warmth that stayed with me, holding me to
the bed, making me watch my naked girlfriend as she flaunted her body before a
guy I had never met. It wasn't that I wanted them to have sex - I dreaded it. It
was more like, deep inside where I was afraid to look, I was curious to know if
she would, and what it what it would be like to see them together. These weren't
conscious thoughts, but looking back, they were there, whispering to me, nagging
me, daring me to go someplace new and possibly very dangerous.

Within seconds, Paul stood and took her in his arms. They kissed, deeply, for a
long, long time. His hands roamed over her bare back, down to her ass, then up
her belly to her breasts. She gasped when he touched her there. Her gasp hit me
like a second slap. Yet, I watched, frozen there on her bed, unable to look
away.

They had stepped apart a few inches, still kissing, their hands busy between
them. Paul continued to fondle her breasts and nipples while L. unbuttoned his
shirt and loosened his belt and pants. Up until this point, I was certain that
L. would never fuck him, that it was all an act to make her point. Now his shirt
was open and his pants were around his knees. They moved closer. Her nipples
grazed his bare chest. A second later their bodies were glued together, her
breasts flattened against him, his hips grinding slowly into hers. They kissed
harder, sucking and slobbering, attacking each others mouths. L.'s back was
still turned toward me, and I was astonished to find how erotic her body looked
- her back and waist twisting as she devoured his mouth, her asscheeks clenched
into two tight, round balls of flesh as she pushed against him, her arms
sensuously draped over his shoulders, fingers weaving through locks of his thick
brown hair as she held him. It was a perspective I never got to see during sex,
and the beauty of it pushed my jealousy to a back burner. But it was simmering
just the same. This was my girl. MY girl.

L.'s little moan suddenly turned this thing of beauty into something else
altogether. It wasn't really a moan - more like a short, quiet, "nnnh". She
shivered a little when she made it, and stopped kissing him. It was then I
noticed her legs were parted slightly, and he was fingering her. He was inside
my girl now, even if it was only a finger. I was freaking a little, but still
paralyzed, unable to intervene. The final test was when she took his penis in
her hands, moving her fingers lightly over the length of his erection. I saw but
I didn't see. I believed, but I didn't believe. It was surreal, horrifying, and
amazing. Totally over the top. She would never do this. Never. Never.

They stood there, staring into each others eyes, masturbating each other. In
spite of the periodic tremors and gasps, they seemed almost peaceful, as though
they were alone in the world, simply enjoying the pleasure they gave each other.
Beautiful, but disturbing, from where I sat. They seemed so at ease with each
other I began to wonder how many times this had happened before, here in her
room (in the very bed I sat on?). Maybe she wasn't MY girl after all.

He froze for an instant, then let out two short grunts as he came in her hands.
She just kept stroking him softly until he recovered somewhat, then she pressed
her body against him again and kissed him fiercely. By this time she had more
than delivered her point, but the final kiss was almost more than I could take.
Was it just icing on the cake she was feeding me, or was it more? And if it was
more, why would she rub my nose in it? She was a tease, but she wasn't cruel. As
convincing as the kiss was, I was pretty sure she was relishing the final blow,
a lesson about smugness I wouldn't soon forget. There was no doubt I would have
to concede to her "sexuality", and to the revelation that there was a bold,
adventurous, uninhibited side to L. that I never knew existed. My jealousy soon
turned to humility. But, my god, what she done to prove her point...

Reality came to Paul very quickly. He glanced at me, backed away from L., pulled
up his pants, and headed for the door. Mumbling an embarrassed, garbled farewell
to her, he shot me a second worried look, then closed the door behind him.

L. turned toward me, her nakedness almost an assault. "So, do you think I'm
sexual?" she asked me again. I stared the small shiny patch of semen on her
belly. Her fingers on one hand were wet with it as well. I was speechless.

"Well, I guess that's a 'yes' then," she told me, grinning. Touch‚.

L. and I were married soon after her graduation. I had asked her for months
after the incident whether she had been seeing Paul while we we're dating. The
answer was always the same. "He's just a friend." She seemed convincing. But
apparently there was a lot I didn't yet know about L. I wondered what other
surprises she had in store for me in the future. Back then, I couldn't have
begun to imagine.

Not long ago, after her second session with her first lover, she admitted that
she and Paul had played out the scene in her room more than once, both before
and after that night. She told me they never fucked. To her that was too much
like cheating. Go figure. But they did get naked and masturbate each other, on
weekends when I wasn't able to visit, or when her roommate was out of town.
There was no romantic involvement, just fun, convenient, physical sex. "So, you
were just fuck-buddies," I'd said after she told me. "Well, I wouldn't put it
that way," she objected. Then she looked at me and grinned. "Yeah, I guess we
were."