Friday, September 7, 2012
Kat's blog chain is "back to school" or the one that got away/old flame.
I'll bite on "back to school", as it's something I've been thinking about. I've started doing some college visits with my oldest, and seeing college campuses has brought back a lot of memories - many good, but many bittersweet. I've written before about being terribly shy as a young man, so college for me was not the swinging good party time that it is for some people.
There's also the matter of where I went to school. I went to VPU (Very Prestigious University), and I got a fantastic education that I'm still grateful for - but while I had a small circle of very good friends, it wasn't an especially friendly place.
Many of my high school friends went to ESU (Enormous State University), which they describe in such glowing terms that I picture it as an unspoiled Eden of unicorns wandering freely through a sylvan campus, a nationally-ranked football team, and virtually unlimited beer and pussy. While my ESU buddies regarded their school years as a paradise they hoped would never end (and which they still look back at with longing), I wouldn't go back there in time for all the money in the world.
So...a back-to-school story. It won't be a story of carefree sex with smoking hot co-eds, since I wasn't having any. But here's one that might be good for a laugh.
In my senior year, we went to a party at SCGC (Small Catholic Girls College), and amazingly, a few of us came away with girlfriends. I was *starving* for a girlfriend, and for our group to be spending time with female company was a very welcome change.
In case you're thinking, "yeah baby, those Catholic girls are good to go" - let me put the brakes on right now. Some of them might have been. Most of them might have been. But mine wasn't. Mine completely believed the whole "your soul will spend all eternity in hell if you even think about it."
On one hand, I cursed the fates that had dealt me such an unfair hand. But I did like her, and I did respect her for the courage of her convictions. It was fun to hang out and go to parties and dances, and the makeout sessions that we ended every date with were *infinitely* better than the nothing I was used to.
On the night in question, we were in her dorm room at the end of the evening in a hot-and-heavy makeout session. I was half sitting on the edge of her desk, and she was standing, pressed into me. I've written any number of times about how much I adore the makeout session - slow, deep, neverending kissing. My hand was inside her sweater playing with her beautiful tits, and it was heavenly.
Let me preface the next part by stating emphatically that we were *not* grinding our hips together or dry-humping, or anything like that. It was just bodies pressed close and kissing. I don't think there was anything different about this night - we weren't going further than we had other nights. Her hands *never*, not that night or any other, went below my belt. But for reasons I can't explain, it just felt better. Much better. And then I realized with panic that I was in danger of climaxing. And goddammit if I didn't.
I tried to not move a muscle, or do anything to give away that with no touching, no rubbing, and no grinding - I had just shot a load in my pants.
I was in a panic, and my mind was racing a million miles an hour. I couldn't let her know - she'd either be mortified or angry...or maybe some combination of both. Worse, maybe she'd tell her girlfriends what had happened, and I'd never be able to show my face at SCGC again.
My fears came to naught. I broke the embrace and said I'd better go. We wished each other a good night, and a wave of relief washed over me - she hadn't given any indication that she knew what had happened. Once alone, I looked down at my jeans - thank god, no telltale stain. I ran to the nearest men's room and cleaned up as best I could. Humiliation averted.
Nothing like that ever happened to me before or since - I climaxed from passionate kissing and body closeness and nothing else. Believe it or not.