Masturbating Was a Better Idea, After Al

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I wrote about reaching puberty in a tight-wound little backwater town, and the remarkable level of ignorance we lived with. Well, it hardly got better when I went off to college and got my first serious girl. We made out in the park a block from her place (she grew up in that college town) and under a blanket on the band-trip bus, and even in the ladies room of the engineering building after hours (Hey, there were only two girl engineering students, so it wasn't hard to find the room empty.) But eventually, the time came when we both seemed to want to Do It. My place was out...I lived in a dorm. Her place, too: it was small and she had 5 bro's and sisters. But she finally had this idea.

Seems her garage had this little storage loft. She climbed up the ladder and dusted it, then informed me she had a place fixed up. OK, I figured I better get prepared.

Now, The Pill didn't exist yet, and this was a state full of that old-time religion and morality, so she couldn't have got it anyhow. State law also required that condoms be kept behind the drugstore counter, and you had to guess what kind they stocked, because they weren't about to help you out by telling anything useful. Not only that, but I suspect it was also a state law that the counter was tended by a middle-aged lady who knew all the parents in town, and was slightly deaf so you had to ask loudly. The college town was far enough away from home that the clerk probably didn't actually know my mother, but old habits die hard. I had to find another solution. OK, I hadn't actually seen a condom but once, but I knew what they should be like theoretically. Like a balloon. I could buy a balloon without someone telling my mother. Off to the five-and-dime.

I tried one on my flaccid penis. Seemed to go on OK. It stretched over the glans and part way down the shaft. OK, now I was ready to lose my virginity.

Came the appointed evening, and we headed home from the movie, and instead of her front door, we slipped into the garage, and climbed the ladder to the loft. Not exactly a candle-lit boudoir, but it would be a good place for this. I pushed her sweater up and unhooked her bra then started kissing and touching. She laid back and I moved my attention to her breasts and kissed my way back and forth between them, then started kissing and licking and sucking on her nipples. She began gasping and moving her hips in little spasms. (I learned later that she was very, very responsive.) She rolled up her skirt and pulled off her panties, and I moved my kisses to her stomach and worked down to the line of her curly hair, just teasing along and not touching with my hands yet.

Now, talk about ignorance, I was not aware that the clitoris was the place to really bring on the pleasure. All I knew was what the vagina did, so that must be the place to go. (Hey, don't blame me. Sigmund Freud thought the same thing and he was world-famous.) So I started working my finger inside.

She was nervous, tight, and dry as an Oklahoma dust-storm. And I was horny as hell, by now. I unbuttoned my fly and pulled out my cock and fumbled for the balloon. Hm. I had not tried it on while hard. It barely stretched over the head. OK, it was on, let's go. I rolled over on top of her and started probing for the place. She was dry, she was tight and the balloon had a rough surface compared with a condom. It would not go in. We had no baby oil, no KY, no Wesson oil, not even any Crisco. Maybe if I climbed back down the ladder I could have found a can of Quaker State, but that somehow didn't sound cool. She fumbled around trying to get herself opened better, and I tried again. I pushed harder, and she gave a little yelp and pulled away like I was a dentist approaching her teeth with a drill. I followed and she pulled away again, then rolled out from under me and sat up, without a word. She pulled down her sweater and skirt, threw her jacket down the ladder and climbed after it. I caught up just in time to get the house door closed in my face. And there I stood with a hard-on that barely let me stand up. Nothing else but to go back to the dorm, following that damn pointer with the balloon still stretched over it.

Trouble was, Little Dick really wanted to come out to point the way for me, and I had to do something. A block away was the park. I sat down at a picnic table, got Him back out and set out to fix the problem by jerking off. Ahh, that's better. I felt the familiar tingling spread from my penis out through my pelvic area and down to my toes, and then the tightening of muscles and the big deep breath and I knew I was starting my cum. The first squeeze filled the balloon with my thick, slippery juices. The second squeeze was the big one. It popped the balloon off and flung it somewhere into the grass, and the next half-dozen laid a little trail that glowed in the streetlights. I didn't look for the balloon, just put my dick away and headed home.

I figure that girl had more brains in her pussy that night than I had in my whole body. If I had been able to get into her vagina, I would have pushed a couple of times and popped off the balloon inside her. By the time I had groped around and pulled it back out, I would have already been an expectant father and our college careers would have ended after our freshman year. You hear lots of folks these days that want to get back to 'the old-time morality', whatever and whenever that was. I'm sorry, I lived with it. They can keep it if they want it, but as far as taking the country back there, Attorney General Ashcroft and the rest of them can stuff it in their ears. For all the troubles of the world today, for all the risks of the internet, we are still better off than we were 45 years ago when I was an ignorant and clumsy kid.


[Webmaster's note: It has to be said: Don't substitute anything for a condom, and don't use anything oil-based (like Vaseline, oil, Crisco, etc.) for lubrication with a condom. Check out this link for more information: http://www.plannedparenthood.org/bc/condom.htm]

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