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Subject: {ASSM} Donna [1/7] {Jameson} (MFF Rom Oral)
Date: Sun, 6 Feb 2000 06:10:06 -0500
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Donna
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Copyright 2000, John Jameson. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction, and all characters and events are drawn from
the author's fevered imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living
or dead, is unintentional. If you think you recognize yourself here,
it's no doubt a matter of projection on your own part. (Unless, of
course, you happen to be female, are not offended by what you read, and
find middle-aged would-be authors of erotica irresistible. But we'll
save that discussion for some other time.)
Please do not reproduce this work in any form without the express
consent of the author. If you want to archive this story, you may
contact me at Jameson1780@altavista.com.
If you are offended by explicit depictions of human sexuality, you may
want to look elsewhere for entertainment (after consulting a competent
therapist). If it is illegal for you to read such materials due to
age, local laws, or other considerations (and you know who you are, so
let's not kid each other), then please go no further. Not that I can
stop you, but at least my conscience is clear now.
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Part One -- Discovery and Desire
Columbia, Missouri, the home of the University of Missouri's main
campus, has long held the reputation of being a great place to meet
women. When I first graduated from high school in 1970, the ratio of
female college students to males in Columbia was reputed to be two to
one. Not only did you have the Mizzou campus, there was also Stevens
College, an exclusive women's college (one famous alumna is Annie Potts
of "Ghostbusters" and "Designing Women"), and Columbia College, which
had only recently gone coed and was still predominantly female. I
never saw actual enrollment data, but the two to one figure is probably
pretty close. Even an archetypal nerd like my roommate Alfred could
get dates with beautiful women in Columbia; although, he only had one
date I know of through the whole first semester.
As for me, while I'd never been the great stud of Mayville High School,
I'd also never lacked for dates, but Columbia exceeded anything in my
prior experience. In the first few weeks of my freshman year, I'd
dated more women who would have looked at home on a magazine cover than
I'd met in all the nearly nineteen years before. And it wasn't just
that I was able to date them--thanks to the sexual revolution that was
finally reaching even Missouri, I got laid more in the first month at
Mizzou than in the whole of my senior year at Mayville. Bacchanalian
keggers at the quarry which had been the centers for such revels since
before my dad's college days helped, but even more was the whole "if it
feels good, do it" mentality of the late 60's and early 70's.
It probably also helped that I was co-student director of the Birth
Control and Problem Pregnancy Counseling Center at Columbia's leading
volunteer counseling agency. I met most of the women on campus looking
for a local doctor to give them a prescription for the Pill, that magic
bullet that mortally wounded the last vestiges of Victorian morality
(or so we thought at the time). While I didn't take undue advantage of
that enviable position, I certainly had a better idea than most of my
fellow male students of who in Columbia was at least considering
becoming sexually active. Then there was the opportunity to sit down
with many of these women and talk to them about the most intimate of
subjects before I ever encountered them socially. More than one of the
women whose bed I shared that fall had already spent time on the
Salvation Army couch in the Center's office discussing contraception
options.
My co-director was a sophomore named Barb Gruener, a petite blond from
another St. Louis suburb. While we had several counselors on staff,
one or the other of us was usually involved with every client, and we
were the only ones taking the risks associated with the abortion
counseling. That led to a lot of hours spent together, during which we
developed a close friendship. I found her to have a wonderfully
sarcastic sense of humor coupled with deep compassion. The two of us
complemented each other well and were an effective counseling team. We
shared a lot of laughs at some of the cases we handled and a lot of
hours reassuring each other after dealing with some of the more
distressing ones.
More than once we fell asleep together in the wee hours of the morning,
sharing that lumpy couch, because we didn't have the energy to walk
back to our respective dorms. Whether it was an unspoken agreement
that becoming romantically involved would impair our effectiveness as a
team or some other reason, we became close friends and confidantes but
not lovers.
Naturally, I fell in love with a fellow freshman who, like me, was a
dorm dweller.
The first time I saw Donna, the word that first came to my mind was
"cute." From the neck up, she could have been thirteen. Dark brown
hair tumbled in an unruly mop of loose curls to her shoulders. (She
once told me that when it was cut short she looked even more like
Shirley Temple, so she fought an unceasing battle to keep her hair
under control.) She had big, round eyes the color of a summer sky over
her native Missouri Bootheel. Her long, dark lashes were natural--I
doubt she'd ever held an eyelash curler in her hand. Freckles dusted
her pert little nose and dimpled cheeks. Her mouth was a Cupid's bow,
her lips full, soft, and red enough that she had little need for
lipstick.
>From the neck down, there was no possibility anyone would ever take her
for a thirteen-year-old. She was about five-three and had a tiny waist
that made her slender hips seem voluptuous by comparison, but her
breasts were true natural wonders. Full, round, firm, and high, they
swayed delightfully whenever she moved, thanks to the passion for
bralessness that was one of the major statements of the sexual
revolution and particularly of the women's liberation movement. (Was I
breast-obsessed? Sue me--I was a bottle baby.)
With the exception of foregoing brassieres, her usual dress was as
unprovoking as anything could be on that body. More often than not,
she could be seen in bell-bottom jeans (not too tight) and bulky
sweaters that at least partially disguised the incredible shape of the
body beneath.
We first met because we were in the same section of Foundations of
Western Civilization, one of those massive lecture hall courses most
freshmen must endure. Being in the same section meant we met with the
same small group for discussion under the direction of a teaching
assistant barely older than ourselves. As we began to realize we were
the only students in our section who had at least a passing
acquaintance with the thirteen books on the reading list even before
entering college, we gravitated toward one another in class and in long
study sessions in the Library.
Though Donna's body was the stuff of dreams, her personality seemed to
be more in keeping with her face--open and friendly, but innocent and
virginal as well. A year earlier, I'd have been begging her for a date
anyway, willing to bide my time in hopes of seeing those incredible
breasts bared to my kisses and caresses. In the flesh market that was
Columbia, though, there were too many other women who lived off campus
and who were more than willing to be my lab partners in Human Sex 101.
Some of them, sophomores and even one junior, were more than happy to
share their more advanced knowledge with a student who was eager to
learn. Before then, I thought I knew what it is to go down on a woman
(okay, I'd done that with two of them, if you're gonna insist on an
accurate count). By the end of my third week in college, I knew I had
only begun to explore the possibilities of pleasuring women with my
tongue. Thanks to the junior, Carla, I'd progressed to postgraduate
studies in that art.
Still, Donna was adorable and we were spending a lot of time studying
together in the Library. As first semester freshmen in the College of
Arts and Sciences--I was majoring in Art History and Archaeology, Donna
in Psychology--we had a lot of courses in common, even if we were in
different sections in most of them. Gradually, our study sessions for
Foundations of Western Civ expanded to all the courses we shared and
then moved beyond to include all the subjects college freshmen so love
to debate. Inevitably, that also included our views on sex.
Given her small town Bootheel roots and innocent demeanor, I'd assumed
Donna would be one of those women who are determined to save themselves
for their wedding night. It didn't take long to discover, once again,
the truth of the old adage about judging a book by its cover. I had
found my mirror image; Donna admitted she was turned on by almost every
aspect of sex, not only the meeting of hard cock and warm, wet pussy,
but all of the sensations surrounding the act from the first hesitant
kiss to the feel of skin made damp and slick by the sweat of effort as
the screwing gained in intensity. After a couple of these discussions
in the hallowed precincts of the Library, it was pretty obvious that we
weren't talking in the abstract anymore. She wanted me as badly as I
wanted her, the only problem being that both of us lived in dorms.
(For those of you who attended college in later years, there was a time
when the presence of men in women's dorms and vice versa were strictly
controlled. Shocking, yes, but true.)
This autumn had started off cool, and already the nights had moved into
the nippy range, so just finding a secluded spot in the woods and
ripping each other's clothes off seemed like a shortcut to the Student
Health Center to be treated for hypothermia. I hadn't bothered
bringing my camping gear to Columbia, so I couldn't even suggest
heading for a state park campground, even if freshmen had been allowed
to have cars on campus. I did know a few married and cohabiting
couples living off campus, but none well enough yet to ask them for the
use of their apartments so that we could rumple their sheets. We
debated getting a motel room, but frankly neither of us had much
experience in that arena nor did we have the surplus funds to pay for
both the room and a cab to get us to and from a motel, so that idea was
shelved for the time being.
Donna lived in one of the older women's dorms near the center of the
campus, and the layout ensured that the Residence Assistants (RAs)
could easily monitor the coming and going of all visitors. Also, her
roommate was a devoted member of the sex police, eagerly reporting to
the RAs whenever she suspected someone of entertaining a male visitor.
Scratch Donna's dorm as a trysting place.
I was in one of the newer dorms on the southeast corner of the campus.
These were larger structures that at least offered some possibility of
entering and exiting discreetly. While the elevators and main
stairwell door were in the lobby just outside the room assigned to each
floor's RA, there was also a stairway at the far end of each of the
three corridors where the rooms were located. We'd have to slip past
twelve other rooms between mine and the stairwell, but it was less
intimidating than trying to slip into Donna's dorm. There was,
however, the matter of Alfred (never known as Al), who was at least as
dedicated to preserving the moral standards of the student body as
Donna's roommate. Okay, so we'd have to wait for him to take the
Greyhound to Independence some weekend before my room became a viable
location. Patience wasn't high on our agenda at that point, so we also
put a pin in that idea.
The Library had a number of study cubicles and meeting rooms with real
doors on them, but we ruled those out for two reasons. First, you had
to have a minimum of three people to reserve one, and we weren't
interested in a threesome. Not then, at least, but that's another
story. Second, and more importantly, those rooms weren't very well
soundproofed, and the doors didn't actually lock. So much for the
Library.
Suddenly, it was as though a light had come on behind Donna's eyes.
She began gathering up her books and notes and motioned me to do the
same. Wordlessly, she led me from the Library and down the street to
the physics building, almost running as we got closer. Each time I
asked her what she had in mind, she just giggled and pulled me along
faster until we were standing inside a stairwell in the classroom
structure.
"There are evening classes, labs, and seminars all over this building,"
I told her in a stage whisper as she led me up the stairs.
"Do you know what's at the top of the stairway?" she asked in the same
loud whisper.
When I shook my head, she explained.
"This is where the observatory is--there are two flights of stairs
above the top level of classrooms and offices leading to the dome up on
the roof."
Apparently exasperated by the puzzled look on my face, she explained
more slowly.
"It's totally overcast tonight. How many people do you think are gonna
be using the telescope?"
Comprehension dawned; as long as we were quiet, we could at least have
warmth and relative privacy, if not comfort. We scrambled stealthily
up the long flights of stairs until we reached the locked observatory
door at the top.
Stacking our books on one of the lower steps, we huddled together on
the landing and struggled out of our coats. With the mixture of
tenderness and lust I saw on her angelic face, Donna looked like a
cherub about to play a naughty prank. Our first kiss was slow and soft
and tender. Her lips were incredibly soft and warm, and they clung to
mine gently. We teased each other endlessly with soft kisses before
our lips parted and our tongues met in light, teasing play. It seemed
that since neither of us was in doubt about where this would end, we
felt no pressure to push the boundaries. We were content, even
determined, to let our passion build slowly in hopes that the prolonged
foreplay would make our pending orgasms that much more intense.
The kisses did continue to grow more heated, and our hands finally
began to wander, tentative caresses became bolder and more forward,
moving from backs to hips to chests and from outside thick layers of
clothing to bare skin. I was determined to let Donna set the pace this
time, not to push her faster than she was willing to go. After all, I
knew I didn't have to seduce her. I did soon reach the point, though,
where I knew I'd need to make some adjustment in my clothing if I
weren't to be distracted by pain. When I tried to nonchalantly
maneuver my erection to a less confined position under my jeans, Donna
noticed and smiled.
"Are you getting uncomfortable, honey?"
"Um, yeah, a little, but I just need to shift it around, so it's not
trying to crawl down my pants leg."
"Here, let me help . . ." She made me stand a couple of steps down
and, grinning up at me, unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned the fly of my
Levi's. I moaned quietly as her fingers wrapped around the hardness of
my shaft and fished my cock from my briefs--then moaned louder when her
tongue flicked wetly over the swollen purple crown and down the
underside.
"Are you sure you want me to put this away? I don't want you to be
uncomfortable, but he sure looks like he could use some kisses," she
giggled.
"So we won't be able to do any actual observing tonight, but you should
have that much more time to get acquainted with the equipment in the
observatory," we heard, as the sound of feet--lots of feet--reached us
in the quiet of the stairwell.
Shit! I frantically buttoned my jeans and dropped to the landing,
where Donna had grabbed the nearest notebook and flipped it open. As
the evening Astronomy 110 class rounded the landing at the bottom of
the final flight of stairs, we were huddled together over the open
notebook trying our damnedest not to laugh. Since my face was no doubt
at least as red as hers, I doubt the instructor fully accepted our
explanation that we'd simply been looking for a quiet spot to study. I
know at least one of the women in the class didn't because she sniffed
the air delicately and then whispered, "Sorry about that," as Donna and
I slipped down the stairs while the instructor opened the observatory
door.
When we hit the sidewalk outside, we burst into laughter, holding onto
one another and laughing until we had to find a bench and collapse for
a few minutes to collect ourselves.
"Scratch classroom buildings," Donna giggled.
It was nearing ten o'clock, and we both had to deal with the eleven
o'clock weekday curfew at the dorms. We admitted temporary defeat in
our quest that night, and I walked Donna back to her dorm. As we
approached the ivy-covered brick building, she grabbed my hand and
dragged me behind some large evergreens.
"I can't let you go home in this condition," she whispered as she
reached for my belt buckle once more.
"What about you?" I asked, equally quiet. "If you're going to be left
hanging, certainly I can hold off for now, too."
"I can masturbate a lot more discreetly than you can," she replied,
grinning and sticking her tongue out at me. "Five minutes after
Janelle goes to sleep, I'll be enjoying a nice quiet little orgasm
under the covers."
Again my fly was open, my erection back in full force almost as soon as
Donna's hand enclosed it. We kissed hungrily, and I managed to slip a
hand under her sweater to caress a full, round breast while she stroked
me with mounting urgency. Okay, so maybe the mounting urgency was
mine, but Donna really knew how to use her hands. She dropped down to
her knees on the thick blanket of evergreen needles and flicked her
tongue up and down my shaft and all around the tip, all the while
stroking me gently in her hand. When she felt my cock beginning to
jerk and swell in her grip, she took half my length in one gulp and
drove me over the edge with the heat of her mouth and the maddening
dance of her tongue. I managed not to groan so loudly that I attracted
attention as Donna's mouth and hand milked me dry. Then she carefully
licked me clean, tucked my slowly deflating cock back inside my briefs
and stood to kiss me while she deftly re-buttoned my jeans. The salty
taste of my cum on her lips made my sleeping cock stir, but I resolved
to behave himself. Hand in hand, I walked her to the door of her dorm
where we shared a chaste good night kiss under the watchful eye of the
RA before I began the trek across campus to my own dorm.
--
New story "Donna" is posted to my Web site
----
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/John_Jameson/www
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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