What I Learned in College – Ch. 01

Literotic asexstories – What I Learned in College – Ch. 01 by Bluepen451,Bluepen451
Everything in this story is fiction. All characters were over 18 at all relevant times in the story and no characterization of any person or organization is intended to be taken as true. It just makes the story work.

The events in this story occurred in the early 1970s when I was a college student. I am now in my 70s so everyone involved has either passed on or are so old they won’t care. Just in case someone would care, I’ve used fictitious names including my own. And as for the Church, it’s still around and doing fine. Like any church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, (LDS or Mormon as it and its members are commonly referred to) has its strong points and its weak points and the view of which is which varies from individual to individual. But this story isn’t about the Church, just some of its members and their values and what I learned from them. The Church is just background. The story is about people and their values. Oh yes, and about my first time! And all that that led too.

My father’s parting words of advice when he dropped me off at a dormitory for my first year of college were, “Richard, always use a rubber.” That was not the kind of parting advice I expected from my family. In our family the governing value was that sex was not something you did until you were married, and it wasn’t just for fun. It was for creating good Mormon babies. There was no reason I could think of why my Father thought he needed to tell me that.

I was born and raised in a small farming and ranching community in Eastern Idaho. My parents weren’t ranchers or farmers, but nearly everyone we knew was. We owned a small feed and grain/hardware store. It kept the town supplied with most of what they needed to purchase beyond food (Lavell’s IGA and back yard gardens) and major farm equipment and its repair (the John Deere franchise in Idaho Falls). Health care generally required a trip to Idaho Falls (as did beer, for those who chose to partake). Fire protection was a local volunteer force of dubious effectiveness. Law enforcement came from the County Sheriff and District Judge, whose offices were twenty miles away. There was a town council, but they didn’t really do much, other than freshly gravel and grade roads in the spring (the only paved roads were owned and maintained by the State of Idaho). The town also had the usual schools, but they were, as in any small town in Utah or Eastern Idaho, more or less a subsidiary of the Church. Most of the religious teaching was in the seminary the Church operated next door to the school but there was nothing taught in the regular school that was going to contradict what was being taught in the seminary. We all knew that the candidates for School Board and Town Council elections were selected and made known in advance by the elders of the Church. Needless to say, no one ran against them.

It wasn’t particularly oppressive because the Church provided much of the social structure needed to make a small town function. We were all, or nearly all, members of the Church. We paid our tithes, went to meeting on Sunday, and participated in the committees that ran the numerous religious and social functions. Participation was important. The role of the Church in our lives was not simply delivered on Sundays by a minister reading a text delivered from Salt Lake City. The Church provided a lot of our social structure but it was those of us who lived in the town that manned the committees and even did the preaching on Sundays. There was doctrine and support from Salt Lake, even money if needed for a new roof on the seminary, but the social interface was with your neighbors and fellow members.

For families that fell on hard times the Church was there to help. It was a smooth, frictionless, existence, or at least it appeared so on the surface. Of course if you were one of the few residents who wasn’t a member of the Church there was a significant part of the town’s social structure that you weren’t participating in, but that didn’t seem to concern anyone. It didn’t apply to anyone I knew.

Like any good church, it was a place where you learned and were regularly reminded of the rules people in the community expected you to live by and we all lived by those rules or at least we conducted ourselves in a fashion that made it apparent to the community as a whole that we lived by those rules. Growing up in my family we didn’t call the Church’s requirements rules. We called them values.

I had done well in school and the SAT exams so when it came time to go off to college, a choice not open to discussion in my family, I applied to several major out of state universities. I guess I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was because I was only accepted by two, Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah and UC Berkeley. Of course I had the option of going to Idaho State. That was the normal next step for successful kids from a farm town like ours but I was determined to avoid another four years of ‘advanced high school’ as I called it. It was the early 1970s and my parents viewed Berkeley as something like a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. BYU was the principal major university sponsored and run by the Church so my parents said I would be surrounded there by people who shared the values I was raised with, as opposed to the ungodly and wild culture of Berkeley that we saw on the evening news. So my choices were BYU or going to work on my Uncle Lou’s cattle ranch. I figured I knew all I needed to know about riding and roping, mending fence, castrating and branding cattle, and loading bales of hay on and off a flatbed truck, so in the fall of 1972 my Dad and I loaded a few belongings in the back of the family pick-up and drove down to Provo, Utah where he dropped me off at the dormitory I was to live in that year.

I learned a lot of useful things while in college and graduate school, both at BYU and later at Berkeley. But perhaps one of the most useful was that people are often not what they seem. By that I mean that the values they profess, what they tell you they believe is right and wrong, are not always consistent with the values they use to guide their conduct, especially when it comes to sex. Based on his parting words of advice my Father apparently thought my value system on the subject of sex was perhaps not quite as solid as I professed it to be, or at least there was a risk of that. If I had thought about it for a bit I might have even asked myself whether he shared the values taught by the Church. But I had just been released into a new world so I didn’t spend time asking myself any questions about my Dad’s advice, much less his values. I simply responded, “Yeah Dad. No problem,” and watched him drive away.

Of course Dad’s concern was not unfounded. Like almost any other 19-year-old male in the country my key sex value was, what do I have to do to get laid? I knew what I wanted and it didn’t mesh with the values I had been raised with. But it wasn’t the inconsistency that bothered me. The problem was how unsuccessful I was at getting laid–still a virgin. It’s not that I hadn’t tried. Like any high school kid I had done my best to pursue the girls I went to school with. My conclusion was that they took the preaching of the Church to heart. I could get them to neck with me, but any time I tried to get beyond smooching they shut me down. I got quite good at kissing, but no further.

You need to understand that bad as I wanted to get laid, I had the good sense to recognize that there were other priorities to be achieved when I first moved into college. Within my first week on campus I settled into my dorm and met the rest of the guys on my floor (a couple of jocks, a farm kid or two like me, one or two Mormons sent there by their parents from out of state, and a bunch of guys from Salt Lake City); met with a counselor; signed up for my classes; opened a bank account with a local bank; and found a job washing dishes in the dorm kitchen (Dad was willing to pay the tuition, but he still me expected me to work. Work was a core value in our family). I also checked in with the campus ward of the LDS Church, another core value in our family.

It was a busy week but it didn’t prevent me from noticing that there were a lot of very attractive women on the campus, far beyond anything I had ever seen in high school. That’s not to say that I got dates with any of them or even met them and learned their names, but that could be addressed later after I completed all the other chores associated with my arrival on campus.

It was the early 1970s but this was BYU so the girls weren’t wandering around braless in loose fitting T-shirts like I had been led to believe they did in California. The dress was stylish and conservative, skirts down to or below the knee, low heeled or flat soled shoes (made from nicely finished leather, not canvas), blouses or sweaters that showed no cleavage, but still did little to really disguise the wearer’s endowment. Hair was carefully trimmed, permed, and manicured and makeup was carefully applied. Overall the effect was stunning, not lewd as I was led to believe it would have been in California, but it was clear that the girls were attractive and anxious to exhibit their assets.

Of course our dormitory wasn’t coed like I had heard they were in Berkeley, so I had to rely on my classes as a place to meet girls. But I’m a gregarious type so that worked reasonably well and within a week or so I was on nodding terms with a number of girls and on first name terms with a few. In some ways it was like high school. The girls tended to clump together and if you paid attention you could kind of tell who was the queen bee of any given group. Of course you didn’t want to just walk up to a group and try to enter the conversation. That was too bold and would make them uncomfortable. There were other ways, like asking a girl you were walking alongside as you left class about some part of the lecture that was unclear (or at least you claimed was unclear).

There was a girl named Sandra Olsen that I met that way, a queen bee of her little clique. With a little effort I established a regular practice of having a brief discussion of each lecture with her on our way out of class. It was more her asking me questions than the way I started it. After all it was Calculus and math was my strong suit. Sandra was a beauty–about five and a half feet tall with lovely legs (to the extent I could see them below her knee length dress), nicely rounded hips, a narrow waist, and ample breasts always covered by her sweater or blouse, but far from hidden. And once I got above her neck I couldn’t help but notice her creamy skin, easy smile, and sparkling blue eyes. Her thick, dark brown, hair was cut reasonably short ending just above her shoulders. And when I was explaining some arcane aspect of basic calculus she had this way of focusing her eyes solely on me as I spoke. I told myself it was the calculus, but I hoped it was me that had her attention riveted.

After a couple of weeks of post lecture calculus tutoring I worked up the courage to ask her for a date and to my surprise she said yes. Now in most colleges in those days a first date might well be a coffee date, but not at BYU. There was no place on the campus, and in those days to my knowledge probably no place in Provo, that you could get a cup of coffee. Abstinence from stimulants of all manner was one of the values taught by the Church and coffee seemed to be the posterchild for a stimulus to be avoided. None of this came as a surprise to me. I did what a lot of good Mormon boys did for a get acquainted date. I took her out for ice cream. There was an ice cream bar in the Student Center.

The date went well and according to form for first dates at BYU. She learned about my background: growing up in a small farming and ranching community; that I had played football in high school (Six-man teams. That’s what you do in small towns); that I planned to major in Engineering or Math; and that I didn’t really want to go back to my hometown after graduation; that I liked the Beatles, the Rolling Stones; Fleetwood Mac; and the Grateful Dead.

I learned that she was from Salt Lake City where her father was a banker and her mother was a homemaker (naturally in a Mormon community) but also sold real estate on the side now that Sandra and her brother were grown. She hadn’t decided on a major, but it might be art history. She had danced in high school but her family was discouraging her from pursuing it further–not really a proper activity for a young Mormon girl and totally unnecessary for a Mormon woman raising a family.

We talked about our favorite movie stars (hers) and sports teams (mine) and what we thought about the professors we had for the two classes we had in common (Calculus and English Literature). Sandra was just starting her Sophomore Year and was taking Calculus because she needed a math credit and I was taking English Literature because I needed an English credit, not that I had a clue then why an engineer should study English. She said she would likely go back to Salt Lake City when she graduated but hadn’t given it much thought. I told her I planned to go on to graduate school to study engineering or perhaps mathematics.

It was a very typical first date and afterward I walked her back to the dorm where I kissed her, a peck on the cheek, at the door and she hugged me, a fuller and tighter hug than I expected.

We had a few more ice cream dates always ending with a chaste kiss and a hug at her dormitory front door, well before curfew hour. Then to my surprise as we were walking out of our Calculus class she asked me for a date. She said she wanted to take me to different ice cream shop that was downtown. Also I was to pick her up at her sister-in-law’s apartment which was a few blocks from the ice cream shop. I would learn later that Sandra’s sister-in-law, Lauren, was a part time professor of biology who lived in Salt Lake City with her husband and two children but maintained an apartment in Provo to allow her to do research in campus facilities without driving back and forth to Provo each day. Provo was a small place in those days so walking from the campus to the apartment and then to the ice cream shop wouldn’t be a problem.

When I rang the bell on the apartment door Sandra appeared promptly and stepped out closing the door behind her. I noticed immediately that her skirt was an inch or two shorter than usual–not really short mind you, but still breaking a bit above her knees, something not allowed by the BYU dress code in those days. After all she was a Mormon coed and even off the campus in Provo standards for conservative dress were a part of the community value structure. Still the dress was a bit shorter and I thought the sweater was tighter. Her make-up was restrained, but still stronger than it would have been in class on campus. As we walked the few blocks to the ice cream shop she slipped her arm in mine and walked with her hip bumping mine from time to time.

“It’s my treat tonight,” she said. “I wanted to go here because they have my favorite–a banana split. They’re so big we will have to share one. Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“I love bananas,” she said. “Especially when they are covered with cream.”

“Cream?” I asked.

“Oh I meant whipped cream. You know. A big, long naked banana lying between two round scoops of ice cream and covered in whipped cream. I can’t wait.”

“Naked?”

“You know silly,” she said. “With its skin off. No one eats bananas without getting them naked first.”

“Oh you mean the peel.”

“Right. It’s bitter. That’s not the part of the banana I like to eat.”

Looking back on it, she was being very lewd but I was too naïve to recognize it.

The banana split was as advertised–a peeled banana nestled between two large round scoops of ice cream and slathered with whip cream and a bit of chocolate sauce. We took our time working through it. The ice cream scoops were in the middle of the dish, but Sandra insisted on starting from one end of the banana and working our way down until we reached the ice-cream balls. That left a whip cream covered banana hanging down from a pair of balls. Sandra used her spoon to scrape the whip cream off the remainder of the banana slurping it in and occasionally leaving a bit on the corner of her mouth that she would slurp off with her tongue. Soon there was a naked banana hanging below two balls of ice cream. It had a bit of a curve to it, as bananas often do. Sandra reached down with her fingers and rotated the banana so that the curved tip was pointing upward. She slurped a bit of whip cream off her fingers pulling them farther into her mouth than was necessary and sucking as she withdrew them. Now even I could tell that this was an obscene desert.

“That is a very naughty banana,” I said.

Sandra tried to stifle a giggle and then looked at me and said, “Why Richard, whatever could you mean by that?”

I smiled and said, “So which part do we eat next?”

“I like to start at the pointed end and work my way down to the balls.” That was when I felt her reach around with her toe and caress my calf.

We finished the banana split with just a bit of additional dirty talk and further footsie. As we began to walk back I assumed that she was going to return to her dorm, but when we reached the street where her sister-in-law’s apartment was she pulled me around the corner saying, “Oh I’m staying here tonight. I checked out of the dorm.”

“Oh so your sister-in-law is here tonight?” I asked.

“No she had to go back to Salt Lake this afternoon. Her husband had a business dinner tonight so she needed to go home and mind their two kids. Nannies night off.”

When we got to the door she invited me in. I had high hopes that I would get a bit more than a peck on the cheek tonight, perhaps a full-blown kiss on the lips. But this would be my first lesson that people are not always what they seem. There was a good deal more to the sweet little Mormon girl Sandra than I had expected.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked me.

“Really?” I asked.

Sandra laughed. “Yes really. Did you think that just because I’m a good little Mormon girl I don’t drink?”

I smiled and said, “So everyone is not what they seem?”

“Certainly not. Are you?”

“Well, I know what I appear to be, but… ”

“But?”

“But I think a glass of wine or perhaps even several would be lovely,” I said. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I only knew what you appeared to be, a good little Mormon boy from the boondocks in Idaho.”

“Touché.”

“And now you offer me wine to see what my values really are.”

“And to show you mine. I’ll be back in a moment.”

When she returned she was carrying a jug of cheap white wine and a couple of glasses. It wasn’t a good wine. Just a gallon jug of the kind you drink when you want to get drunk. It was obvious that her breasts were no longer constrained by a bra. The sweater was still there but not a bra her breasts had a lovely jiggle as she walked towards me. Her swollen nipples made little points in the sweater. She also had taken her nylons off (In those days a well-dressed young Mormon woman always wore nylons).

“Have you ever had alcohol before?”

“Yes. My friend Jake had a cousin who used to bring beer up from Idaho Falls. We would drive out to the levy alongside the irrigation pond and drink.”

“So very Mormon,” she said. “A cousin who brings the beer from Idaho Falls. Did you get drunk?”

“Yes.”

She poured us each a glass of wine (in a jelly jar) and after handing me mine sat down on the opposite end of the couch tucking her legs along side her. It pulled her dress up and showing me more of her legs than I had ever seen before.

We sat looking at each other drinking the wine, not sipping but very much in the way that two people seeking to get drunk would drink. When our glasses were empty she rose from the couch and refilled them. This time she sat closer to me, her legs pulled up to her chest and the skirt sliding down to show me yet more legs. Her thighs were even sexier looking than her calves.

I was feeling the wine. It was stronger than the cheap beer my friend’s cousin had supplied. “You seem to have lost your bra,” I said.

“So you noticed?” she responded.

“Yes. From the moment you returned from the kitchen.”

“Good.” She took another long pull from her jelly jar of wine as did I.

“My tits feel so much better without the bra.”

“Is the sweater scratchy?”

“Are you asking me to take it off?”

“Hmm. That’s a nice Idea.”

“Here hold this,” she said, handing me her wine. She pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it away leaving her naked from the waist up. Her tits were beautiful–full and round, sitting high on her chest, her nipples engorged and standing out in invitation.

“Better?” she asked as she sat back and held her breasts out rubbing her nipples with her thumbs.

“Yes.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to find out you were gay. Now let me have my wine back.”

We sat drinking our wine, filling the jelly jars up one more time. Her tits bounced deliciously when she sat down after refilling the glasses. I adjusted my trousers to make room for the erection I had developed. I made no effort to hide it and she stared openly.

“Did you enjoy the banana split,” I asked. I was stroking my cock through my slacks and she was continuing to molest her tits.

“Yes, but I would have enjoyed it more if I could have sucked on the banana.”

“Really? It might have caused a bit of excitement in the ice cream shop.”

“Depends on which banana I was sucking on. Why don’t you show me the banana you are rubbing.”

I opened my trousers, pushing them and my undergarment down and off my feet so I was naked from the waist down. My cock was sticking straight out from my groin with a gleaming drop of precum on its tip. I was slowly stroking it with one hand while I took another drink of wine.

“That’s a lovely banana Richard. I think I would like to suck it.” She handed me her glass and I set both hers and mine on the end table behind me and then lay back continuing to slowly stroke my cock.

Sandra crawled across the couch so she was on her hands and knees her delicious tits grazing my thigh. Pushing my hands away she replaced them with hers, stroking my cock with a twisting motion as she stared at it.

She paused as a sudden thought struck her. Sitting back on her haunches she asked, “Are a virgin Richard?”

She saw me flinch. It wasn’t a question I wanted to answer.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to answer. I’m going to suck your cock now. Then I’ll get you hard again so we can fuck and you won’t be a virgin anymore.” She leaned forward and sucked my cock into her warm wet mouth and then I knew for sure why people’s real values about sex and the values they claimed to hold were often not the same.

Sandra pulled back letting my cock escape with a pop. “Oh fuck. Don’t stop,” I said.

“Not to worry. I’m far from done with you. I just need to get this skirt off it’s in my way. She stood and shucked off her skirt and panties so she was completely naked. “Oh that’s so much better. Now where was I,” she said with a lewd smile. She pulled my legs up on the couch so one foot was on the back of the couch and one on the floor, my shoulders resting against the arm of the couch. Then she dropped down on her knees between my legs and began stroking my cock with both hands, using her saliva for lube. “My god you’ve got a perfect cock. Did the girls in your high school tell you that?”

“Ahh… No. They didn’t. They didn’t see it.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot. You’re a virgin. Well I’m going to take care of that right now.” She leaned forward and began to caress the head of my cock with her tongue while her hands continued their twisting stroke. I gasped when her tongue hit the sensitive tissue on the underside. Then she slurped the head into her mouth caressing the head with her tongue while her hands to continue to stroke the shaft. She deliberately let saliva flow from her mouth to lube my shaft. My breathing increased and I was gripping the back of the couch and one of the cushions with a death grip.

“Oh fuck that feels good.”

Upping the ante a bit she pushed her head forward and pulled my cock deep into her mouth until I felt it hit the back of her throat. She gagged and pulled back. “Fuck. You’re too big to swallow.”

“Did I hurt you?”

She laughed. “No you didn’t hurt me at all. This is fun. I love sucking cock.” She pulled my cock back into her mouth and rubbed the head against the inside of one cheek and then the other. Then she pulled it part way out sucking until she stopped, still short of releasing it, and hummed. The vibration was fantastic. After listening to me gasp she settled into a steady pattern of pulling back and sucking hard followed by taking me as deep as she could for another round. She kept one hand busy stroking whatever part of my cock was not in her mouth. The other hand was fondling my balls.

It was only few minutes before I could feel an orgasm building. “Oh fuck. Sandra, I’m gonna cum.”

“Good, she said as she pulled back for a moment. “I hope you’re a big cummer. I love it when a guy fills me up.” Then she went back to sucking and almost immediately I felt myself lose all control. I groaned loudly as I felt stream after stream of cum eject from my prick into her mouth–all of which she swallowed with ease. When I was done I collapsed back on the couch but she leaned forward and carefully cleaned my cock of the few drips that continued to trickle out.

She sat up smiling at me. “Well how was it? How was your first blow job, Richard?”

I sat up looking at her in awe. “Oh fuck. Where did you learn to do that. That was incredible.”

She laughed at me. “A year in college silly boy. This may be BYU, but everyone screws here. I was a virgin when I started, just like you, but that didn’t last long. Now let’s have some more wine while you recover.”

We sat at opposite ends of the couch, each of us with a leg on the floor and one on the back of the couch so we were lewdly exposed to each other. One of my hands was holding my wine glass and the other was slowly stroking my recovering cock. She was idly fondling her tits.

I realized she had a fleck of cum next to her lips. “You have something on your cheek,” I said.

She flicked her tongue out and wiped it off. “Oh yummy. You have nice tasting cum Richard…. and a lot of it.”

“It doesn’t bother you to swallow my cum?”

“No. Why should it. Haven’t you ever tasted it when you masturbate?”

“Uhh. No. I haven’t.”

“You do masturbate don’t you?”

This time I smiled instead of being intimidated about her questioning me about my sex life. “Oh yeah,” I said. “I can’t remember when I didn’t.”

“Good. That means you’re a dirty boy.”

“Really?” My cock was rapidly recovering as this conversation went on.

“So tell me Richard, who do you masturbate about.”

“About?”

“Who are dreaming about having sex with while you jerk off?

“Oh. Yes. It varies.”

“Yeah that’s what I like about masturbation,” she replied. “You can pretend you’re having sex with people you will never meet.” She was stroking her pussy now. I could see that it was gleaming wet through her thin pubic hair.

“Do you masturbate about fucking your mother?” she asked me.

“What? No of course not.”

“Don’t be so shocked Richard. Lots of people do.”

“Do you masturbate about fucking your father?” I asked.

“Ummm.” She licked her lips. “I’m not answering that question. Besides you know I’m a good little Mormon girl.”

I smiled. “Well not as good as I thought when I met you.”

Now she laughed. “You know that is a front we all put on. We have to look like good little girls because that’s what the University and our parents want to believe. Well the University knows better, but they want us to look that way for our parents. And for people who report back to our parents when they see us. We’re always on display.”

“And do your parents think you are a good little Mormon girl?”

She laughed. “Another question I’m not answering.

“But tell me this, Richard. Do you masturbate about me?”

“Yes,” I whispered stroking my now fully erect cock.

“The first time you met me?”

“Even before we met. I saw you with your friends.”

“And what did you imagine we would be doing, while you were masturbating,” she asked.

“Fucking.”

“Oh you are a dirty boy, Richard.”

“I guess I am.”

“I also imagined I was watching you masturbate.”

“Oh you are nasty.” She threw one foot over the back of the couch and the other to the floor lewdly exposing her sex to me. Then she dropped her hands from her tits and began to masturbate–one hand stroking her pussy lips and occasionally grazing her clit and two fingers of her other hand invading her gleaming cunt, again and again. You mean like this Richard? Is this what you imagined me doing while you were masturbating?”

“Yes.”

We kept that up for a few minutes until she suddenly said, “Oh god I’m horny. Let’s fuck. I want to feel that big hard cock of yours all the way up in my cunt. It’s going to be even better than you imagined.” She got up and led me to the bedroom.

Halfway to the bedroom I had an awful recollection–my father’s parting advice about always using a rubber. I didn’t have one. What a dumb move I thought. Half the guys I knew in high school had carried a rubber around in his wallet unused long enough for it to dry out and become useless, but they were prepared (sort of).

Sandra flopped naked on the bed her legs spread in invitation and I stood there in near panic.

“Well come on. There’s nothing to be afraid of about losing your virginity.”

“It’s not that,” I said. My dick was still hard as a rock, sticking straight out, but I was in a state of near paralysis.

“God your dick looks good,” she said. “I can’t wait to feel it inside me.”

After a long silence I said, “There’s a problem. I don’t have a rubber.”

Sandra burst out laughing. When her laughter finaly stopped she crooked her finger at me and said, “You don’t have worry about that. Now come here and lie down beside me.”

As I dropped to my knees beside her on the bed she said, “Richard, you don’t have to worry about it because I’m on the pill.”

“Oh. Good. But I heard that was just about impossible to get a doctor to prescribe here?”

“Yes, but not so hard at Planned Parenthood in Salt lake City. My sister-in-law took me up there as soon as I moved down here as a freshman. She told me I was going to need it–and she was right.”

“Oh. Yeah. That’s good.”

“Now come here and kiss me.”

We lay next to each other kissing–long wet sexy kisses with lots of tongue and nibbling around each other’s throats. My thigh was between her legs and she was rubbing her leaking sex on it. My hard prick was pressed into her belly. Our chests were pressed together as we rubbed her tits against the hard muscles on my pecs.

“My god you’re good at that. You did learn something before you got here.”

“Where I grew up the LDS girls, which were the only kind around, liked to neck but they wouldn’t go any further.”

“Well now it’s time you learn to fuck,” she said rolling away from me, spreading her legs, and pulling her knees up. “Now get between my legs and put that thing in me.”

Once between her legs on my knees I leaned forward, my weight resting on my hands on either side of her chest and my dick just grazing her sex.

“Yes. That’s it.” She reached down and grabbed my cock and slid it back and forth between her pussy lips to lube it up. Then she lined me up and said, “Now push it into me–but slowly. You’re big.”

It didn’t want to go in at first. “It won’t go,” I said.

“Yes it will. Just push harder.”

I did and my cock pushed aside the muscles ringing her cunt and slid slowly into the warmest wettest place I had ever been. She gasped, and I said, “Oh fuck.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Now keep pushing slowly until you are in as far as you can go.” She pushed back with her hips and my dick slowly filled and stretched her cunt. “Oh fucking hell. That’s so good. No one fills me like that.” Eventually I reached full penetration. “Now kiss me again,” she said. I let my weight down to my forearms and we resumed the lustful kissing of before, except now she was squirming her hips causing my cock to rotate about in her cunt.

I guess fucking comes naturally because it was only a few moments before I began flexing my hips and slowly stroking my cock in and out of her. “Oh god yes,” she said. “That’s it. Now just a little faster.” It wasn’t long until we had reached a coordinated pace with her thrusting up with her hips as I pushed in.

“Now twist your hips while you do that.” I could feel my cock rubbing against all the parts of her cunt. We were both panting now and I could feel another orgasm approaching.

“Oh God, I think I’m going to cum again. Should I pull out?”

“Fuck no. I want to feel that big hard cock of yours flood my cunt with cum just like it did my mouth. Go ahead. Don’t hold back. Let it cum. Flood me with your cum Richard. I want you to fuck me harder. Just pound me. Really pound me. Make me cum with you.”

So I did and she did–both of us cumming with a groan of ecstasy, for her the first of many that night and for me my second, of several. My climax in her mouth had been good but this was better. I could feel the walls of her cunt milking me with her orgasm as stream after stream of my cum rocketed up my shaft and out into her cunt.

We spent the night in her sister-in-law’s apartment with a lot of fucking and very little sleep, sometimes synchronizing our orgasms and sometimes not. I learned of positions I had never imagined. She taught me how to get her off with my fingers and my tongue (no, my own cum wasn’t so bad tasting).

The next day we walked back to the dorms through the nearly empty early morning streets and I gave her a peck on the cheek and a hug when we got to her dorm.

The following Thursday and every Thursday after that we were at her sister-in-law’s apartment. We dispensed with the banana split, but not with the fucking. The sex was fabulous and I think she even learned a little Calculus and I a little English Literature, but that was almost coincidental. At 19 I recovered quickly enough so there was no real time for a study date.

After our third night she paused outside her dorm. “Richard there is something I have to tell you. This is great fun, but that’s all it is. Please don’t fall in love with me. I can’t with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I am betrothed to another.”

“What? You mean engaged? Who?”

“His name is Andrew. He is away on his mission.”

Young Mormon males are asked to spend up to two years on a mission proselytizing for the Church. I had told my parents I had no interest in doing so.

“When will he back?”

“He left just before I met you. He went to Germany.”

“That’s a lot better than someplace in Africa,” I said.

“His family is important in the Church, just like mine. My brother didn’t go to some emerging nation either. He spent two years in Zurich.”

“How old is he?” I asked.

“Twenty three. He finished his college degree last year and went straight out on his mission.”

“Are you in love?”

She made a sour face. “No. We have been committed to each other for years. It’s something his family and mine agreed to.”

“Really? How does he feel about it?”

“I don’t know. We don’t talk about it. It just is, and we both know it.”

“Do you have sex with him?”

She laughed. “With Andrew? No he is saving himself for marriage.”

“So he buys the Church values about sex–only between married couples and then only for the purpose of making babies?”

“Hook line and sinker,” she said shaking her head.

I looked at her in surprise, eventually asking the obvious question, “Why don’t you just say no. As far as I know arranged marriages aren’t Church doctrine are they?”

“Not for most people, but Andrew and I are different. Our families are very important to the Church.”

“Are you related?”

She laughed. “Isn’t everybody in the Church. Some sort of cousin I expect. But it’s not incest if that’s what you are asking. At least I don’t think so.”

I stood looking at her in silence in the dawn light. “So for the next couple of years we can keep doing what we’re doing, but then it has to end so you can marry some guy who won’t go near you until you are married?”

“Yeah sounds kind of dumb doesn’t it. But that’s a part of my life I can’t ignore. If I am careful I can ignore the rules about premarital sex and sex with other people than my intended, but I can’t ignore a marriage that was preordained by my family and his. Not in our families.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. I didn’t know whether I was disappointed or pissed.

“There’s one more thing.”

“When I’m here on campus I have to act like I’m dutifully waiting for my betrothed to return from his mission. That means no public displays of affection with you. In fact it’s better if the world here on campus thinks we are only vaguely acquainted.”

“So here on campus we present an appearance of following the values of the Church which in your case means abstinence, but on Thursday nights we can continue to fuck like rabbits for the next two years and then it’s over?”

“Yeah pretty much.”

“Will you invite me to the wedding?”

She snickered and shook her head. “Don’t be a smart-ass Richard. There is no we except on Thursday nights.”

I looked long and hard at her and then said, “I’ll think about it.” Then I walked away. There was no goodnight peck on the cheek and hug that morning. I was pissed.

I spent the weekend feeling sorry for myself, but by the following Thursday night I was back in bed with Sandra in Lauren’s apartment. We were lying naked in the bed recovering from our first round of screwing for the evening.

“What made you come back?” she asked. “I thought you were through with me.”

“I thought about it,” I said.

“And decided that fucking me was just too good to give up over our little spat?”

“Well that was part of it,” I said. I was laying behind her and I could feel my cock beginning to grow, as a 19-year-old cock will do when lying in a spoon position with a warm, naked and very beautiful girl.

“What else?” She wiggled her ass against my growing prick. “Ooh you’re getting harder aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She wiggled her butt again. I reached over her and cupped a breast.

“Mmm. That feels nice.” There was a long pause while I fondled her tit. “But what else?” she asked returning to her question.

“I had a long talk with Lauren.”

“Lauren? You talked to my sister-in-law? How did that happen? What did she tell you? Did you fuck her too?”

“What? No. We were in her office. She sent me a letter via campus mail. You know those funny reusable pale brown envelopes that close with a little string around two buttons. She asked me to meet her during her office hours. I certainly didn’t fuck her.”

“Well she is kind of horny. It wasn’t a dumb question. She might fuck a great looking guy like you in her office. But what did you talk about?”

“You.”

“And what did she tell you?”

“That you are horny.”

“Duh. You already knew that.” She wiggled her butt against my cock again. “What else did she tell you?”

We moved a bit and I slid my now fully recovered cock into her warm and wet pussy.

“Oh so nice.”

“Yes.”

“But what else did she tell you?”

“About your family and why you have to marry Andrew.”

“What?”

“She said you are Mormon royalty. His Grandfather and yours both served on the Council of Twelve (the Mormon Church’s governing body). She explained how for generations the Church’s governing body has come from a small number of families–bankers, lawyers, big ranchers, and businessmen that control Utah. She said these families intermarry and new members of the Council of Twelve always come from one of the Founding Families as they are called.

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“Bullshit,” she responded.” I started shoving my cock into her–not hard, but long slow strokes. “Oh fuck that’s good.”

I paused and said, “She told me a lot more.”

“Like what?” She squeezed my cock with her cunt.

“That your Brother and your Father are both on a list of future candidates for the Council of Twelve. But there is no guaranty so it’s essential that they and their families live their lives as exemplary followers of the values, the Church values.”

She laughed and started squirming on my cock. “I told you Richard, not everyone is what they seem. My Father and my Brother both whore around. They just do it down in Las Vegas where they aren’t seen. You know that line about ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ I think it was made up for Mormons from Salt Lake.”

“What about your Mother and Lauren?” I asked. “Do they ‘whore around’?”

“I’m not answering that question. You’ll have to ask Lauren.”

I was stroking her hard now and she was groaning with every stroke. “So you really are Mormon Royalty and you and your whole family lead double lives?”

“Ugh, ugh, ugh. Not double lives. We just fuck around a lot. Ugh, ugh, ugh, and keep it to ourselves. Oh fuck I’m going to cum. Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop.”

I was twisting my hips now as I fucked her, driving my cock as deep as I could. “Yes, yes, yes. Oh fuck yes that’s it. Don’t stop just… don’t… don’t… Aiiiiigh,” she screamed as her orgasm tore through her body.

She collapsed, her orgasm finished and we lay together my still hard cock buried in her still spasming cunt.

“So you and Lauren and your Mother all fuck around a lot but no one can know because you’re all in one of the Founding Families and you have ambitions for the males to run the Church someday. So that’s why we have to be secret and stop when Andrew gets back?”

“Yes,” she said, still gasping from her climax.

“And after you get married you’re going to stop fucking around?”

She laughed. “Probably not. But I’ll make sure no one knows about it.”

I laughed at her and then I picked her up by her hips and put her on her knees so I could fuck her from behind, doggy style. I had already learned a lot from her not only about people but about fucking. But there was more to learn.