College is traditionally a time for learning learning about yourself as well as others. Often, one of the most important lessons learned is that things are not always as they appear. In this poignant memoir, Sundance, a senior BMOC, comes across an unexpected pitfall when he woos a comely young coed and both get more than they bargained for.
In high school I was just another joking Joe, cracking the kids up in the classroom or scrambling down to the swamp behind the school during my free periods and in between my classes to smoke some dope with the other freaks and play Long Island roulette with our mothers’ diet pills and little yellow helpers. Up, down, what did it matter? It was 1970, it was 1971, it was 1972 and none of us were getting much further than second base.
Then I did a year at Duke University, a fine Southern institution of higher learning, set on beautifully landscaped rolling acres, where I learned how to play hearts and spades and how to roll the perfect joint and how to eat cold pizza and drink warm beer straight from the keg first thing in the morning. But the girls all kept their legs sheathed in panty hose, and on the rare occasions they deigned to remove their panty hose, they did so only for the benefit of the jocks and the frat boys who ruled the campus.
But fate had something greater in store for me. My testicles had the good sense to convince the rest of me that I should transfer to a small school up north. Formerly an all-girls school, a couple of years earlier there had been a change in policy and it was decided to admit men, and that has made all the difference.
What followed were perhaps the finest three years of my life. Several times I was able to convince myself that I was indeed in what passed for love, but much more often I found my sweating body convulsed in what no one could deny was lust. I made love, I had sex, and I screwed and I fucked and I sucked my way from heaven to hell and back again. I did short fucks in the basement of the library while the more studious types, sequestered upstairs, imagined that what they heard was simply the sounds of fictional characters who’d come to straining, bursting, jism-shooting life. I had long four-day-weekend affairs while locked in the bathroom of the girls’ dormitory with a series of transfer students from Europe, intent on demonstrating their foreign brand of stamina and proving their physical superiority to the American model. And, while there is much that can be said for the soft French girls, who do seem to have an infinite capacity for oral experimentation, there are whole books waiting to be written about parsimonious Scotswomen and their fine, furry mounds, hard bodies and curious ability to make a single erection last an entire evening.
And I learned that, while it isn’t very hard to put together the two it takes to tango, or the three you need to m nage, you must not be too hasty when going through this delicate process of selection. Because sometimes what looks like a duck and quacks like a duck isn’t a duck. Because, as Bob Dylan pointed out, even though she can take just like a woman, you had better remember that, when push comes to shove, she can break just like a little girl.
She was one of the new freshmen. When I had first come to this college, I had at times found myself hanging out with some of the school’s “older women” sophomores, juniors, even a senior or two and I was confused and amazed by the subtle and not so subtle ways these women all could find to belittle the female members of the freshman class. Then, at the start of my second year there, as I slowly came to realize with what eagerness I myself was investigating the fall season’s new crop of flesh, I could not help but smile to myself when I looked back at my former state of innocence. I was newly wise to the ways at the world I had arrived at an understanding of the age-old competition that these poor young girls were as yet not fully aware of. And, now that I was a senior, I was shocked to discover just how old twenty-one can look on a woman when a teenager is standing there beside her.
This one had the erect back, the ponytail and the outturned toes of a dancer. She would wear a turquoise leotard top and a pair of baggy gray sweatpants. Or a black leotard top and a pair of baggy gray sweatpants. Or, once, an iridescent maroon leotard top and a pair of baggy gray sweatpants. Her young breasts were small and high and pointed always upward. Her hips flared nicely. Her ass was tight, but there was meat there. This I could tell even through the loose gray fabric. I longed to see her calves.
When she went around barefoot, which was most of the time, I could see that her ankles were thin and that her feet were truly beautiful, with high arches and long toes, the nails painted a light peach color that glistened in the sunlight. Her neck was long, her lips were full, her ears were tiny, the soft delicate flesh of the lobes pierced by small silver studs, three on the left ear, four on the right. Her hair was jet black, her forehead was high. And her eyes? They were two enormous dark pools of mystery that I dreamed of diving into.
By this time in my career I was somewhat of a big man on campus this largely due to the fact that there were so few of us men there to begin with. Most of the students knew me and most of the professors knew me, and all of the security guards, cafeteria workers, building staffers and grounds employees knew me. They called me Sundance because of my long yellow hair and because I spent so much of my time down in the local pool hall, shooting straight pool with a high-school gym teacher whose students had nicknamed her Butch.
One day, after I’d been watching the girl for nearly a month, it turned out that we were both standing in the local pub, waiting to be served, and the countergirl sang out to me, “What’ll it be, Sundance?” and I ordered a large draft beer. I went upstairs to my usual table on the balcony and sat there by myself, staring down at the crowd. The place was packed downstairs but, unlike me, very few of the students ever went upstairs, because upstairs the students couldn’t be seen, and because that, after all, was mostly what the students were doing in the pub in the first place.
“Why do they call you Sundance?” she asked me, and she sat down right beside me. I watched her pretty red lips and her pretty white teeth as she took an enormous bite out of a huge green apple. She set her container of yogurt and her cup of water on the table beside my beer, and I pointed to my long golden hair and I told her the story about my friend, the pool-shooting gym teacher, Butch. The girl was new to the campus, and she asked me questions about the school, and I asked her questions about herself, and eventually, and with very little trouble, I was able to talk her into going with me to my dormitory room.
It was obvious to me that this young girl wanted nothing so much as to climb into the sack with me and jump my bones. The two of us drank vodka from a bottle I kept on the outside windowsill of my room. We were soon quite drunk and I had no difficulty getting her out of her clothes and into my bed. She rolled me over on my back and sat astride me and kissed me very deeply, her tongue sinking warm and wet into my open mouth, rolling across the surface of my tongue and up across my teeth, and lashing back and forth lightly between my parted lips. She kissed my cheeks and my eyes and my ears and my neck, and she kissed her way slowly and with great enthusiasm all the long way down my body. She ran her tongue between my toes and sucked each toe long and hard, and then started to work her slow way back up.
Not having to do anything for a while was nice, but then, all of a sudden, I very much wanted to do something, so I flipped her over on her back and held her hands above her head and thrust my tongue deep into her mouth and down her throat, and I nipped at her neck and sucked on the flesh there until blue and red and purple hickeys bloomed. She laughed nervously and then moaned as I rubbed hard at her breasts and kneaded the nipples in slow rhythmic circles until they were stiff and aching for more. I flicked the tip of my tongue back and forth across their rough tips and took great pleasure in controlling the timbre and rhythm of her gasps and moans.
I gave each nipple a kiss of appreciation and then focused my attention on her cunt. First I stroked it very slowly and very gently, and then I increased my pressure. I could feel her wetness and smell it, and she was saying how much she wanted me in her, but when I spread her wet, pink, fleshy lips, it seemed as if all of a sudden something had, with an almost audible click, shut off somewhere deep inside her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, rubbing the length of my cock against the soft fur on her mound. I squeezed her ass-cheeks with my hands and started to enter her again, but she pushed me away and said, “I’m just not ready yet.”
Jesus Christ, I thought: Is this girl for real? And I reached beside the bed and picked up the bottle of vodka and took a long swig and offered her one, but she refused. My cock was still hard and I kept pressing it at her, but, without her cooperation, it seemed obvious that I wouldn’t be getting it in
“Don’t,” she said, caressing the side of my face. My balls were full to bursting, heavy and painful. I used two fingers to rub ever harder at the wet slit. Jesus Christ, this is ridiculous, I thought: I haven’t had to put up with this kind of shit since high school’ Then, looking into hertear-streaked face, I suddenly realized how young she was. She could even have been a virgin. I didn’t like having to play teacher I missed having a woman who knew what was what. This is so fucking stupid, I thought: I really don’t care a rat’s ass about this girl I don’t even know her name.
I kissed her on the mouth, quickly, and then spit on her belly and rubbed my cock against her, very hard and very fast, until I came. My eyes were shut tight against the world and I could hear the blood pounding in my ears as the hot white spunk shot out of me. When I was done, I opened my eyes and looked at her and it didn’t seem to me that she was really there. “Come on,” I said. “Get dressed.” I handed her her clothes and watched her climb inside them. Then I walked her to the door and held her briefly in my arms and kissed her on the forehead and closed the door behind her.