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Recent stories I’ve posted about my experiences with my wife Lucy have got me thinking about the past. Lucy and I met in school and were married shortly after we graduated, and we’ve had an amazing (if sometimes bumpy) relationship. But I did have one or two notable experiences before her…

In high college I was pretty shy. My best friend Gary was the more outgoing of the two of us, and he often took the lead on social activities. Looking back, I think I spent a lot of time in his shadow.

It wasn’t until I got to school that I began to come into my own. I was tall and thin and not completely unattractive. I liked to socialize, and soon I had created a circle of friends that I was comfortable hanging out with—a little bit nerdy, funny, and full of pop-culture references and historical trivia. Our close-knit group consisted of me, Dan, Arnie, and four women—Christine, Lea, Becky, and Hannah. We didn’t become a truly cohesive group until spring semester of sophomore year. The four girls had been roommates since they were freshmen and they kind of adopted us guys.

No one in the group dated any of the others. It wasn’t an explicit rule; rather, there was a kind of unstated understanding. I think we didn’t want to ruin the dynamics that made it so easy for all of us to hang out together. I admit there were times when that unwritten rule felt rather arbitrary. Those four girls were the sort of good-looking women who didn’t get much attention in high college because they weren’t blonde busty cheerleaders, but in school they really came into their own.

Of all the women in the group I was probably closest with Hannah. She and I took a Shakespeare class together (one of my “out of major” requirements) and we ended up acting in a few scenes. She was an English and Music double major with a great sense of humor and an impressive musical talent. She played cello, and I often saw her sitting in the quad on her portable stool, wearing the cotton peasant skirt that was her trademark, her legs spread to allow space for the cello to rest between her knees. She would close her eyes and get lost in the music and I would tell myself, “I could love this woman.” But something at all times brought me back to my current reality and I’d lose that wondered.

This was also a time in my life when I was dating a lot of different women. The group used to tease me about it. “Who is it tonight?” Hannah would say, or, “Who’s the girl of the week?” I would simply smile and shrug. What could I say? After 18 years of unwanted celibacy, when the opportunity presented itself I definitely tried to take benefit!

Hannah and I became confidants. We would stay up late at the local cafe, chatting about anything—love, life, friends, whatever. Hannah introduced me to literature and we compared our thoughts on the books we read. Our cafe nights became second nature, and often they would end up with one of us at the other’s place, talking until dawn.

During spring of our junior year Hannah started dating a guy. He was an art history major named Eric, frighteningly good looking but sort of a douche—any time I’d make a opinion about art he’d look at me condescendingly and smirk, “What, you’re a Modernist?” or “That’s a bit facile, don’t you think?” The other folks in our group wondered he was something of a twat, too, and we used to tease Hannah about him, but she said that he was sweet to her. OK.

Hannah realized that Eric wasn’t a great fit with the group so she stopped bringing him around so much, but she didn’t break up with him. We just saw her a little less frequently. Of course, our late night Platonic cafe dates became less frequent, too. I did know that Hannah and Eric hadn’t had sex. She wasn’t a virgin, but she preferred not to sleep with a guy right away.

One weekend in late May we decided to throw a party in the house that Dan, Arnie, and I shared. We invited a ton of different people—music majors, engineers, drama folks, all types. It was one of those swelteringly-hot Midwestern afternoons, and we filled kiddie pools with ice water to help people cool off.

We also had pitchers of margaritas, and lots of ice cold beer. I started drinking pretty early in the day so I was already rather buzzed around 5PM when Hannah and Eric showed up. I was standing in one of the kiddy pools, barefoot with my pants rolled up, holding a bottle of beer. I remember seeing Hannah walk around the corner of the yard toward our house. Eric was behind her, but he turned to chat with one of his artsy friends.

I watched Hannah as she strolled across the lawn. Her skirt swayed with each swing of her hips. She kicked off her sandals and bent down to pick them up. She was wearing a cream-colored halter top. Her breasts were petite enough that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and when she bent over the light hit her just right and I could see her curves perfectly. She walked with easy grace towards the kiddy pool. Without pausing, she let her sandals drop to the grass and stepped into the water, standing opposite me, face to face.

“Hey there,” she said.

“Hey yourself,” I said.

“I think you might be a little on the drunk side,” she said.

“I’m *serfectly pober,*” I said.

She gathered her curly brown hair into a bun and reached up to secure it with a scrunchy. With her arms raised up like that, her small breasts pushed against the halter. I admired them. She smiled at me.

“Watch it, fella,” she said.

“I am watching it,” I said. “Or rather, I’m watching *them*.” Hannah shook her head.

“Oh, boy. You *are* drunk, Romeo.”

*”In vino veritas,”* I said, and raised my bottle.

Hannah suddenly looked serious. “Don’t say what you don’t mean,” she said, and stepped out of the pool. She walked over to Eric and gave him a kiss.

I tried to ignore that interaction and focus on other people at the party, but I couldn’t get Hannah out of my head. Throughout the evening I was constantly aware of where she was, who she was talking to, what she was doing. And I couldn’t stop checking her out—her bright eyes, her long hair, the shape of her body and the way her outfit draped her curves just so. She would be standing in a circle of people in the yard, the setting sun casting amber light on her face, head tilted up with laughter. She turned and met my gaze, then looked away.

Christine came over to me. “What is up with you and Hannah?” she asked. I shook my head.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I *mean?* Like the two of you should get a room.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t spoken to Hannah at all.”

“Exactly. You guys have have been circling each other like electrons and positrons all night. You’re about to cause a reaction.”

Later that evening I saw Hannah and Eric talking in the corner of the kitchen. He kissed her cheek and turned to go. Once he had left the house I walked over to her. “Is everything OK with Eric?” I asked.

“Actually, yes,” Hannah said. She paused. Her cheeks turned a bit pink. “I’ve decided to sleep with him,” she said.

I looked at her. “Congratulations. When?”

“Tomorrow night,” she said.

We looked at each other, neither of us saying anything for what felt like a century but was probably less than a minute. Finally I just said it: “*I* want to sleep with you.”

She sighed. “I know,” she said. “Fuck.”

I waited a beat. Then, “and you?” She looked down, then raised her eyes to meet mine.

“Yes. Me, too.”

My heart was beating harder than I had ever felt before. Hannah reached out and took my hand. We walked together out of the kitchen, through the dining room, out the front deck past folks doing keg stands, across the lawn with the banjo players and fireflies, and over to Hannah’s car. She opened the passenger door for me, then went around to the driver side. Hannah started the car and we drove to her apartment in silence. I think both of us were afraid to say anything for fear that it would break the spell. We both understood this new unspoken rule—if this was gonna happen at all, it had to happen tonight.

We arrived at her apartment and Hannah fumbled for the key. She unlocked the door, we walked inside, and immediately we grabbed each other and started kissing intensely. We stumbled down the hallway, a tumbling tangle of arms and legs and lips and tongues, feeding our desire. Eventually we made it to her bedroom and broke aside. Hannah started laughing.

“Oh my God,” she said. “Oh my God.”

“Why haven’t we ever done this before?” I asked.

“Because you never asked,” she said. “Now let me lick your chest.” With that, she started unbuttoning my shirt. I fondled her breasts through her halter top, cupping them and pinching her nipples.

Hannah had removed my shirt and was kissing my chest. I was still rubbing her tits over her halter. She pushed me back and lifted her shirt above her head. I leaned in to begin tonguing her nipples, flicking them lightly back and forth. I rubbed my hands across her bare back, softly stroking her shoulder blades and moving down to her hips. I brought my hands around to her ass and squeezed.

“My big fat ass,” she said.

“It’s fucking perfect,” I said.

She hiked up her skirt, then reached with both hands to pull her panties off, letting the skirt fall back down as the underwear dropped to the floor. I unbuttoned my jeans, shucked them off and stepped out of my underwear. I forgot to take my shoes and socks off, but Hannah just chuckled and knelt down to take my cock in her mouth. She squeezed my ass while she licked me up and down.

I admired her lovely face for a while, stroking her hair, lost in the sensations. My eyes wandered to the bookshelves lining her room. Camus, Woolf, Milton, Derrida, Beckett, Sontag — I concentrated on the writers to keep myself from coming too soon.

Hannah stood up. I held her chin as she looked at me. “Can we try 69?” she asked. “I’ve never done it before because I’ve always been too self-conscious. But tonight feels like anything goes.”

“Hell, yes,” I said. “How do you want to do it?”

“How about you on your back and me on top?” she said.

I jumped onto the bed and stretched out, my head propped on the large throw pillows by the headboard. Hannah climbed over and somewhat awkwardly maneuvered her body so she was on her hands and knees, facing away from me with her head by my cock and her legs straddling my chest.

“Maybe I can leave my skirt on?” she said. “Like a dirty kitchen wench.” She hiked it up so I had a perfect view of her ass and pussy. With one hand I felt down for her tits; I licked my other hand and rubbed her clit, then stroked the folds of her pussy. She arched her back and pushed her ass toward me.

“I want to take my time with this,” I breathed. “Don’t do anything with your mouth yet.” Hannah was stroking me softly, using a feather-light touch on my shaft. She blew gently on my balls.

“Nothing?” she whispered.

“No,” I moaned. “Not yet.” I kept playing with her clit and cunt lips, keeping my finger moist with her juices, every so often putting a finger or two deep inside her. Hannah sighed, rocking her hips.

I pressed my thumb against her rosebud asshole and she shivered, then pushed it against me. “I’m clean but I didn’t wash completely, absolutely, 100% clean,” she said. “I wasn’t exactly expecting this.”

I pressed my mouth firmly against her warm pussy so my nose was right next to her asshole. “I love it,” I said. Then I started to lick her pussy. Hannah moaned.

“Oh please, lick my cunt,” she whispered. Then she started licking my shaft, mirroring my movements—if I tickled her clit with my tongue, she used her own tongue to play with the tip of my cock; when I dragged my mouth over her pussy lips, she did the same with my shaft. And when I buried my tongue as deep as it would go into her moist pussy, she opened her mouth and deep-throated me completely.

She pulled her head up for air and panted. “Keep doing that. Fuck me with your tongue. Fuck my wet pussy. I’m sucking your hard cock and it feels so good.” She dropped her head back down and sucked me even harder.

I was getting ready to burst. “Hannah, wait,” I pleaded. “I don’t want to come yet.”

In some kind of animalistic, hypnotic trance, we repositioned ourselves from 69 to having Hannah on her back, legs wrapped around me. I looked in her eyes, whispered, “I love you,” and pushed deep into her warm and waiting welcome.

We both came, collapsing into each others arms, holding each other until we dozed off.

Every so often during the night we would wake up and fuck, trying different positions, exploring each other’s bodies, reveling in the understanding that all of this was a sort of dream. Then morning came and she drove me home.

That was the only time we ever did anything together. She and Eric fucked the next night; three weeks later they broke up.

The next year Hannah spent the fall semester in Chile and I met Lucy.

NSFW: yes

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