More of my beautiful friend’s story. This was the first. Her name was Ann…
Most of what I describe happened because I started late. This is what I tell myself, this is what I think. Which is my polite way, although as you are seeing, not very direct, not very to the point at all way, of my beginning to say I started late. I started when I was 23, in college, in Florida. That’s where this begins. It’s as good a place as any, except of course lot’s of things happen in Florida, so much so you’d think things didn’t happen at all in say, Georgia. Except don’t think that, because what I have to say is very boring, except here and there.
A friend of mine, an astronomer, actually an astrophysicist, he had a girlfriend, Ann. She was older, probably ten, maybe twelve years older than him, and since she was his girlfriend, not mine, once I looked I pretty much forgot her. Oh, she was interesting, but she was attached to someone else. I remember they would laugh together and they seemed to be good friends to each other, for each other, quite good friends even. Which just shows you how much I knew. Well it was a long time ago, I know more now. Here it is: If anyone had asked me I would have said they were good friends, that’s it. I was innocent, I really was. That way at least.
My guess, I think she just wanted to be young. That’s not wrong or bad. It is foolish, but not unusual. Of course she wasn’t young, and not just because of her age. She did a few things, different things, she was a business student, near graduation. Those things she did? Not good. Not for her, not for anyone. I didn’t know. I found out but I didn’t know, not for months. And, very informally, Ann taught. In her home, she taught. Not accredited, not the way the university was. It wasn’t official, but she taught just the same.
As college students we were pretty much, socially, nearly indeterminate. At least I was. And allowing for Ann’s age difference, we were all just random college students. We’d have lunch maybe one day a week, just casually. I might see them in the cafeteria and go over to talk. Nothing planned. They were friends. After a few days I began to see they were a couple, my friend and Ann. Weeks passed and I observed more and more they were friends, more than friends, an actual couple. It was weeks before I began to get it, they were a tight couple. Because you know, there’s a difference between love and sex and just sex. That’s what this is about. Love and sex, but not love with sex together, which is the stuff new people should be made from.
Actually, not love. Not exactly. This is more about anti-love, or maybe non-love, but don’t think it’s the usual love and sex because it isn’t. For me that was years away. But that is what this is about, transitioning from sex to love and sex, learning about love.
All of this happened while Richard Nixon was President of the United States, except I’m pretty sure my friends didn’t discuss such things, not with each other, and most especially not with him. I’ll try to get into the political stuff later if we have the time. For now though, recognize that he was a man cheated, that he had won that first election, the 1960 Presidential election fair and square, and been cheated. Such things change people. Don’t forget that, because that’s what this is about too.
You think I’m just saying this, but no, this is part of our story. You’ll see. Just wait two years. Key Biscayne. You’ll see.
So getting back to Ann. Ann enjoyed dating college men. No, more precisely, Ann enjoyed doing college men, one at a time. Initially I didn’t know this, I was, well, I was beyond being merely oblivious. But that’s what else this is about, because I was next on her list and I didn’t even know she had a list. But that’s how it was. Ann looked demure, and indeed she was a very sophisticated woman, and she gave lessons. How do I know? I attended her classes. her advanced classes, and I did very well in them.
Remember? I mentioned that she taught. What she taught, the subject, wasn’t sex. No, she taught a kind of anti-love, although yes, some sex was involved. I mean now that you mention it, sex was involved. Okay, it was 100% sex. No love. Sex. Just sex. Because she taught her class of willing students how to avoid falling in love, how to avoid being in love, how to avoid love entirely. How to have sex. How to have sex.
One day, it was the late fall of 1969, my astronomer friend came to see me explaining that he and Ann were breaking up. He must have said this two, no, three times. Three times, minimum. He was expecting me to ‘get’ something. As things happened though, he had to spell it out.
It was later, literally, years later that I discovered some girls didn’t like to swallow. But this woman, and the girls at college, well, as I say it was years later that I discovered some don’t. We don’t have to discuss this now, we can wait. We can do this another time, really.
I didn’t want to pressure my friend at the time, and I didn’t say any of this to him, not with his date in the lunch-room, but looking back I would say their breakup must have been for an actual reason and I doubt if it was a loss of intimacy. Not that I was prepared to discuss the habits of the girls on campus. Interesting? Compelling? Worth all my attention? No question. But some times the right way to proceed is not to look head on, it’s complicated. I just had nothing to contribute, not to that conversation.
Some things, if you want to really look, you have to kind of glance out of the corner of your eye. No, I’m not talking about looking at girls. Not regular looking, at least not the same way a high school kid might do. No, I’m talking about a different kind of looking, looking at their lives, looking at who a couple are, how they fit together. The habits of the girls on campus, that was one of those things. It’s this way, you want to know, you have to experience it. I know, lot’s of things are like that.
It had been his idea, the breakup, no reason given. And then it came out, kind of all at once. She had asked him, as his going away present to her, to set the two of us up, her and I. He agreed to ask so now he was asking. Once he had spelled it out things progressed quickly. We established that I would be where I was most of the time, in a particular computer lab, and that she would come by at 5PM. I could be there or not. My choice. So that’s where I was, in that computer lab.
She and I went to the student union. We just talked, quietly. No under the table feels, no kissing. Maybe one serious but also brief kiss, I think so, but I don’t really remember. This was a long time ago, over 40 years, nearly 45.
We had made a date for a day or two later, for Friday dinner. I’m generally not a fan of organizing one’s life around the weekend and adhering to protocols of business unless one is actually in business but what could I do, it was already Wednesday or Thursday, so Friday it was.
Swallowing is important. Did you get that? Swallowing is pretty important.
Do you realize that each woman is a work of art? They are wonderful creatures, soft, normally pretty wise, comforting. Plus, they swallow, most of them, and they are wonderful to love. They really are. They are wonderful to love, to care for, to come home too. To be so aggravated from work that you can’t talk and then you come home and your wife meets you at the door and changes everything for you. Wonderful creatures.
So after that date, which was a very formal getting to know each other dinner, she invited me to take her home. We drove to her house where, at her door, she invited me in for coffee. She made a big deal of this, telling me that she didn’t want to have to fight me. Of course I assured her she wouldn’t, that it wouldn’t come to that and that was true, I wasn’t about to force her. I couldn’t. I didn’t. Within a few minutes, less than half an hour, after some easy necking on the sofa, Ann invited me to stay and we went into her bedroom. Ann was a slender woman and she wore an attractive night gown to bed, which was utterly wasted on me as I’ve never wanted a woman to wear more than very simple panties and if she wanted to, a bra. But a man can adjust. I did.
She spent the first few months I knew her teaching me bad habits. I never mistreated her, not those kinds of bad habits. A couple of times she might have been encouraging me to do such stuff, it was very subtle, I’m not sure, but whatever she might have wanted, or not wanted, whatever, what we did was old-fashioned fellatio. Nothing else. politics.
I’m not sure. She said something, that I could hit her. I was unclear, asked her what, and she said something else. No, that’s just not how I was brought up.
This much I’m certain of: she enjoyed kneeling. I say this because she set us on this course from that first night. I didn’t understand at first, and she talked like it wasn’t sexual at all, that it was complicated, with far reaching sexual and even political implications for our relationship and possibly for the world. Possibly she was right, considering that here I am writing about what she did for me so many years ago. She didn’t seem to think our man-woman thing itself was particularly noteworthy, only that she had decided to be completely sexually compliant, that this was important. Indeed.
The second, maybe the third time I came over, afterward, after taking the time to give me all the pleasure I could realize that night, she explained she was sure no other woman I would ever meet would take me in her mouth whenever I wanted. I let her talk a bit, and every time I came over, she demonstrated that she was serious about her promise. Whatever I asked of her, not that my requests were difficult or unusual, they were, I suppose, very routine, but what she had said, anything at all, that’s what she did.
She was older than me, she was experienced, and I was close to being a virgin, but she had chosen me and that’s what she did, she gave me as much sexual pleasure as I wanted, as I could contain.