Carrie Minberg, Female, 19

	- Narrator, freshman at Bitterwood

	- Beige, freckled skin, 5'6, 145lbs, curly back-length dark-red or blue hair

Jamar, Male, 19

	- Freshman at Bitterwood, Nicaraguan

	- Dark brown skin, 5'11, 195lbs, ear-length shaggy black hair

Elise, Female, 19

	- Freshman at Bitterwood, Norwegian

	- Pale golden skin, 5'10, 155lbs, shoulder-length light blonde hair

Tim, Male, 18

	- Freshman at Bitterwood, South African

	- Dark/medium brown skin, 5'5, 155lbs, short curly black hair.

I was picked up in London for a three-day orientation course before taking a ship on the short trip across the English Channel. I was a bit nervous, but excited. I felt so alive, traveling on my own for the first time. The days passed too fast in London, but it made me appreciate the opportunity ahead of me.

I made friends quickly with several people, comparing notes on our high school classes and our romances. Conversations came easily, even about sex, and I found myself fitting in well with a wide range of my classmates. There were girls and boys from all over the world. Tim was South African, Jamar from Nicaragua, Elise from Norway, and Sia (she pronounced it 'Shay') was Vietnamese. Others were from Liberia, Australia, Ireland, Canada, Russia. From India and Israel, many others, and a healthy number of Americans and Brits were there, as well. Everyone spoke very good English, a requirement for admittance.

We were forty-seven eighteen and nineteen-year olds in all. We were excited, we were nervous, and we were horny.

I flirted with so many boys that I felt a bit drunk with the joy of it. A few girls, too, and by the time we made it to Amsterdam, I really felt the urge to get fucked.

We were only on our second day of classes when I had an opportunity and took it.

Jamar was dark-skinned, Spanish and Native American blood. His smile was measured, but he was a nice guy, usually walked around with his button-up shirt hanging open, showing everyone his slight pudge and thick, curly chest hairs. I looked, a lot, thought he looked attractive, and the way he smiled at me and greeted me whenever we ran into each other told me there was interest there.

I was right. Four of us had snuck out of the coed dorm and went down to a small stream that ran beyond the top of the low rise we called 'The Hill' behind the school. Elise had brought out a joint and lit it. I'd never smoked before, cigarettes or pot, but I wasn't about to turn it down.

We sat around, getting high, and it wasn't long before stoned teenagers started to get amorous. I leaned into Jamar while Elise laughed and ran her hand on Tim's leg. The black South African was grinning, Elise's hand quickly releasing his cock. I'd never really watched anything like that before, and it turned me on to watch the thin blonde take him inside her mouth, giggling as she sucked.

I didn't wait for Jamar to start things. I pushed him onto his back and straddled his body, laughing as his hands moved over my tits. I pulled off my shirt quickly, unhooked my bra, let his fingers explore my flesh as I rocked over his body. I could feel his cock pressing through his shorts, and I reached under to unzip him.

I heard Tim moan, watched as he ejaculated in Elise's mouth, the cum running out, over her lips, and down onto her white hand and his dark balls. I pulled back and slid down, took Jamar's cock in my hands. Yes, hands with an 's.' He was huge, at least his thickness was. His penis was probably only five inches long, but around, I'd never handled one so thick.

I worked him a moment, trying to decide how to suck him. I attempted to take him between my lips and nearly gagged. I pulled back and licked his flesh, stalling for time while I got the nerve to try again. The next time wasn't any more successful, and I dropped my tongue onto his balls. He leaned up, smiled, said, “s'ok. You can just stroke it if it doesn't fit.”

A partner or three had had this problem before, and I felt relief that he offered the solution to my dilemma. I spit in my fist and pushed it up and down, holding only about half his girth in my fingers.

I couldn't fit him in my mouth, but I wasn't giving up so fast on getting him into my pussy.

I pulled out a condom, asked, “want to fuck me?”

“Want to try.”

I was determined to get him inside me. I rolled the condom over him and stroked him a bit more before climbing over his throbbing cock and pushing down so that it nestled in my vagina.

Even there, even with just the tip of his penis in my opening, he felt huge. I moved around a lot, using my slick labia to coat the condom, every minute trying to sink down another quarter of an inch, to take him inside me that much deeper.

Unfortunately, that night, I never got a chance to do much more. Jamar groaned as he released his seed into the condom. I was barely touching him with my genitals, just a half-inch, maybe a bit more of his penis inside me.

I felt his cock stretch me as he came, could feel him filling the receptacle tip inside my vagina. I kinda like that feeling, really, a more intimate way to feel a man cum in a condom than pounding inside me.

Jamar was sweating and smiling at me, a very satisfied look on his face. I curled into him and thought to settle into a cuddle, but Jamar was a man who didn't want to leave me that way. Elise and Tim had left at some point, and we were alone when his face sank between my legs. I could tell he enjoyed himself, he moaned constantly as he licked my pussy. I came on his face twice, both times barely resisting the urge to squirt or pee.

Both times, he'd worked two fingers into my hole, found my G-spot, and threatened to unlease a flood from my bladder or somewhere more mysterious. But I climaxed without showering him, and he ate my raw puss like a very hungry man.

We cuddled a while after, me a very satisfied young woman despite not having gotten Jamar inside me.

- - -

I had sex with him a few more times over the next couple of weeks. I never did manage to get him inside my mouth, but I got a few inches inside my puss once. Jamar's weakness was cumming too fast when his cock could feel the heat of my vagina. I managed to get about half of his length, maybe a bit more, stretched to my limits around him, had just started to ride him to my own orgasm when he filled his condom and grew quickly soft.

Jamar was a good lay. I never had an experience with him where I didn't cum. But he was just that, a lay. I felt completely free of the need to have a relationship that went beyond the sex. We were friends, sure, but not a couple, and not exclusive. I knew Jamar had let the short, big-butt Egyptian girl Khepri suck him. He even told me after it happened. Didn't ask permission, didn't apologize or ask if I was mad.

It wasn't like that there. Of course, couples did form and relationships were established, but in the early days at Bitterwood, there was a bit of a preseason, practice matches, young people learning about themselves and what made them feel good. We were among the brightest people on Earth, so we'd been told, and we wanted to fuck like the gods.

Jamar and I largely stopped having sex when he found that the heavy British teen Jonna wanted him one night, and he found she could take him inside her quickly and give him a bit of a ride before he shot his load. I was actually happy for him. I'd tried so hard to fuck him, to let him fuck me, but no matter what position we tried, I never got more than a couple inches slowly squeezed in before he came.

That lack of success with Jamar probably led me to try some things later in life to make up for it. But at Bitterwood, my freshman first semester, I let Jamar go from my sex life and looked for someone else.

Classes were a lot of fun. Amsterdam was beautiful and we frequently walked or rode bikes around the city to have lectures and discussions. I saw beautiful, pale people with thousands of hair colors, natural and otherwise. I dyed mine blue again and had half the other girls picking oranges and pinks and rich browns for theirs.

Elise and Tim were almost a couple but he wasn't looking for that and though they still fucked occasionally, it was nothing more than that.

Elise was beautiful. A tall, blonde Norse, thin, strong chin, thin, strong nose. Her hair fell around her shoulders and blew freely in the city breeze. I was attracted to her immediately, as I was with many of the other students. She was so different than Camila and Kona, looked so unlike anyone I'd been with except for possibly Rhodes and his golden locks.

She and I spent an evening in a coffeehouse where we picked over a menu board of marijuana before selecting one and settling down to toke it through a water pipe. Thick smoke hung in the air as we coughed and became good friends over jokes and our sex lives.

Elise was very open about her sexuality, told me some of her experiences, and she was very much bisexual. “I love girls, too. Just because I only mentioned the guys I fucked, don't get me wrong. I've just had... fewer. One, really.”

“Who was she?” My sexual curiosity for the lives of others was strong even at nineteen.

“Girl I met last year. I ski competitively, and she was one of my competitors on a downhill. I'd never met her, didn't know her much until after the race. She finished second, and I was fourth. We drank wine with some of the others and she kept touching my hand... eventually she kissed me and I let her. It was a fun night, but it was over the next day as I went back to Norway and she was off home to Russia.”

“Hot, how exciting!”

“What about you, Journalist?” They'd given me that nickname when I disclosed over a bottle of very bitter vodka that I had kept a journal since I was five. Everyone wanted to read it, and I forbid it to them all. I hope no one ever did read it, but if anyone did, it was never mentioned. 'Journalist' was a nickname I loved, though those were the first days I started to believe 'Loose Girl' might fit me, too. I wasn't ready to go that far, then, the sting not yet far away, but I'd been having casual and relationship sex for several years, and the first weeks at Bitterwood opened me to many new and arousing potential partners.

Like Elise. “I've been with two. One I was in love with and dated for several months in high school. She taught me everything, really, well, except from what I've learned from porn.” Elise laughed and I continued, sad a moment, “but she moved away and I've not spoken with her in a long time. I still miss her sometimes....”

There was an uncomfortable pause as I lost the plot. Elise said, “and the other you've been with?”

“Oh? Oh, right. Uh, a girl I knew after Camila, Hawaiian girl named Kona. Just a one-night thing. I liked it, she had some reservations after.” I didn't mention asking Kona to finger my ass. “Other than Camila and Kona, I've only been with men.”

“A lot like me, then. Who was your first?”

I swallowed and debated what to say. I sucked on the pipe and exhaled slowly. I decided to be honest with Elise. “Guy named 'Brown' when I was fifteen. It was... awful.”

“Oh, God, Carrie... did he rape you? I'm sorry, I...”

“No! No. No, it was consensual, just... awful. We went from kissing to his cock in me for thirty seconds of pounding before he was done. It hurt so goddamn bad, Elise. I bled everywhere. It really left me in a shitty way. Not a memory I enjoy thinking about...”

“Sorry. I didn't know. Now I do, I'll not mention it again.”

I nodded, recovered, asked, “you?”

“My first time? Good, actually. Not great, but good. I was fourteen and liked a boy that was seventeen. Holt was from Scotland but lived with my family for almost a year when his parents were killed in an accident. We were kinda close and as I shot up that year, up and out,” she pushed out her braless, barely covered pale breasts and jiggled them in my direction, “he noticed and at some point we started necking and petting and then he fucked me. We had sex a lot while he was there, my parents never found out. It was good, nice boy. I hope I run into him again. Got anyone like that? Someone you'd like to run into again, even if just for one night? Camila, obviously, anyone else?”

I told her about Lawton, how he'd been the one for me if I'd have chosen differently. And then, for the first time, I told someone about Henri. Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was the coffee, and maybe, just maybe, it was the way I felt liberated living in Amsterdam, felt free to tell Elise everything.

“Long before Lawton, before Camila was the first person I fell in love with. Would I like to run into him again? I don't know, Elise. I really don't.”

“Tell me about him.”

I hesitated, bit my lip, said nothing.

“Or don't... what is it?”

“I've never told anyone about him.”

“Oh, one of those. Ok, let's hear it.”

“I promised him.”

“Promised him? What, not to talk about him? How old was he, Carrie? What did he do?”

I let it all come out in a rush. “Twenty-three. I was fifteen, it was just after my first time, and I fell into him and wanted him and needed him and fell in love with him because he touched me and kissed me and didn't do what Brown did to me.” I sucked in my breath, paused at the look on Elise's face.

She asked quietly, “teacher?”

“Yeah... Spanish teacher. Substitute. I thought I loved him, Elise, and he made me feel so good and so sad at the same time.” I told the blonde about my relationship with Henri, about our first time, our second and wild night together, and the last three times I was nothing more that a lay to him.

Elise pondered what I told her before speaking. “I know this man.”

“What?!”

“Not Henri, I mean I know men like him. I've seen it. Just like a friend of mine, fell for a teacher who showed her attention. He got caught and went to prison. She was thirteen, so maybe not the same, but still... I... I don't know how I feel about that, Carrie. I mean, he had power over you, but if you wanted it, why shouldn't you have been able to have a relationship? I see the opportunity for romance and love crushed under the fear of being judged by others. I hate that, even if I understand it comes from well-meaning places.”

I nodded my head, had worked out that same idea on my own, but hearing it from Elise made it more clear to me. “So, I suppose I would want to see him again. Not to fuck him, just to talk. I'd like to know why he treated me like that. Why we'd had so much fun together and he was too afraid to do more than robotically fuck me in the park. That's the part that made it intolerable, Elise. If we'd have made love, if he'd have let me enjoy it, things would have been different. I'd not have broken it off.”

“Well, I'm glad that you did.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it frees me to do this.” Her lips met mine and for several minutes, an American redhead and a Norse blonde kissed passionately in a smoky Amsterdam coffeehouse and didn't care that several of the patrons watched and smiled.

We practically skipped back to our dorm and shed our clothes, sharing a shower. I'd already seen her naked in the communal coed showers, but it thrilled me to be able to run my hands over her lovely, pert breasts, squeezing her ass in my fingers. I couldn't wait to make her moan, slid my fingers between her legs. She was shaved, just a touch of rough stubble, mostly smooth and beige and pink. She had thin pink labia that led into a white-pink vagina, and two fingers slid in her puss easily.

I stroked Elise, sucking her breasts, her moans echoing dulling in the steamy shower. Her cunt clamped down as I finger-fucked her, and in just a few moments, Elise came shuddering and moaning.

We struggled back to her bed and closed the door to the small room. It was a bit stuffy inside, but I was lost in the passion of kneeling down and eating pussy. Elise tasted salty, sour like wine, florally, uniquely Elise. I cleaned up her thin juices, lapped at her clit, and brought her to orgasm with my tongue and fingers.

She pushed me onto my back, smiling, bright blue eyes dancing as she sank to my breasts and sucked on my nipples. In all my life, the one place I generally preferred women over men was when it came to my tits. Women just got how to touch them, how to caress them, how to suck and tease my nipples. There were exceptions, going both ways, but Elise's lips and tongue had me flushed and aching for her to touch me below.

When she did, I came very quickly. Two fingers slid in and rubbed up against my G-spot. I climaxed and she didn't slow down. I never crashed down completely, riding waves higher to a second quick one. Elise wouldn't stop, and I felt that familiar burning pressure that signaled I might piss before I came.

I tried to stop her, held her head, started to move my hips from under her. She held my waist, kept me from getting away. She attacked my clit, a third finger worked into my vagina, my juices churning between us.

I fought what wanted to happen. I tried to think about anything but the wonderful pressure between my thighs, anything but the beautiful nineteen-year old blonde Norse goddess licking my puss. I failed and gave in to the pressure. I screamed. Literally screamed. I couldn't not scream, so I let it go. Five, six long cries that became moans as I rode down from the highest high I'd ever felt. My body unleaded pressure, cast off any hesitation.

I came down slowly, took a while to catch my breath and open my eyes, Elise kissing my inner thighs.

Her face was covered. I'd done it again and I knew it.

She smiled up at me, said, “I didn't know you could squirt, very nice.”

Squirt. That was the first time I recall ever hearing that term. I smiled despite myself, completely relaxed and filled with waves of euphoria bouncing around inside my skin.

Elise crawled up next to me, let her finger play slowly from my slit to my nipples and up to my lips. I tasted myself strongly on her hand and licked away everything I found. She kissed me, shivered and smiled at once, smiled broader, said, “I've never seen that before. I heard about it, from my sister, but I thought it was just... uh.. bullshit. Can you show me how you do it?”

“I don't know... I'm no so sure I didn't just pee on you...”

“You didn't. I swear. I've tried my pee, and it didn't taste like pee. Didn't really taste like much, just watery. Not pee.”

“Really. Hmm. Good to know... Glad you didn't freak out.”

“Happened before?”

I nodded, “a guy, eating me out, squirted on his face and he freaked out.”

“Idiot. Him, not you. I loved it.”

I laughed and snuggled with her, said softly, “I love it here, Elise. I love it here and I never want to leave this place.”

“You will one day. You've got a free soul, Carrie. I can tell. No place will hold you long. I know I won't, even if I wanted to. If I tried to hold on to you, possess you, keep you from others, I'd fail. I know it. And I won't try... but... until you decide to leave one day, maybe you and I can work on teaching me to squirt?”

I giggled and rolled, felt light and happy. Elise and I became very close friends, not just intimate partners. She was the first person in my life that I tried very hard to be honest with, and I mostly succeeded. We were never dating, in the normal sense, during those months, we just spent a lot of time with each other, cared for each other, and made love like crazy whenever we could. She had other relationships, and so did I, but none of them were more important to me at Bitterwood than Elise. I loved her, in a lightly-connected way, but it wasn't a possessive or desperate sort of love. It was the right kind of love for Amsterdam, for Bitterwood, and Elise and I shared a lot over the two years there, some of which was good, and some... well, you'll see.