Physical Co-education: Part 2

Attempting intimacy and Experiencing Euphoria.

Based on a post by Hector Bidon. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

When we got back to our room, Gretchen went into the bathroom and changed into her pajamas. I changed back into a t-shirt and basketball shorts. She sat up cross-legged on her side of the bed, leaning back on the padded headboard. I stretched out on mine.

"Pretty spectacular day," I said.

"It really was," she agreed. "I hope I didn't ruin the evening for you."

"Not at all. I had fun at the pool." It had been sort of obvious that she hadn't really wanted to hang out with Tom and Melissa, any more than we did. I could understand. I've never fantasized of doubles matches either. Besides, it had been a long day.

Changing the subject; "Are you about ready for bed?" I asked.

I thought she would be, but she gave a noncommittal shrug. That was fine too. We could talk a while. Maybe I could swing the topic around to plankton again. Her subtle body language indicated she mindset was different than last night, when she already had the covers over herself.

"Did you like the play?" I asked.

"I loved it, actually." She smiled, pleasantly.

"That look in Miranda's eyes; when she got her first glimpse of her fellow creatures." I kept the conversation going.

"How beauteous mankind is!" she quoted. "O brave new world, that has such people in it!"

"And Prospero, waving his staff around, trying to keep everything on course. Reminded me of Mr. Palmer’s Phys Ed. Class.”

"Ha-ha! And what did you think of Caliban? He kind of reminded me of you."

"Me?" I retorted.  “How so?”

"Big, brutish guy, slunking around."

“Slunking?” I laughed. "And you know who reminded me of you?" I tried to remember the name of the drunken servant. "Trinculo!"

"What?" she laughed. "Trinculo? I pictured myself more of an Ariel."

"Ariel was a guy."

"A fairy!" She debated, while sliding down to lay on her back.

She leaned over mischievously and tickled me right in the ribs. "Whatever. But a guy."

I was kind of astonished that she'd done it.

"Where the bee sucks, there suck I," she teased. Then she lay back on her pillow, all innocent and guileless. "In the cowslip's bell I lie."

So maybe she wasn't really ready for bed yet, at all. Maybe I'd underestimated her willingness to have a little fun. I turned toward her.

Bucket list Items.

"Do you know what they say? That everyone should do at least once in their life?" I asked.

"What's that?"

"Well, according to this magazine article I read once, anyway. It listed a bunch of things that everyone should do at least once in their life. And one was to sleep in the nude in a hotel in Paris."

"And? So, have you?" she asked, a twinkle in her eye.

I laughed. "I'm working on it. I've slept in a hotel now at least."

"And what were some of the other things that everyone should do?"

"Hmm. I can't really remember any of the other ones."

"So; the only one you remember, is the one about sleeping in the nude," she teased.

"Well, it kind of struck my fancy. I don't know, it just sounded so;"

"Bohemian?" she suggested.

Not the word I was searching for, but good enough.

"On the Rue de Barres," she went on. "With the gardens right outside your window."

"You've been to Paris?"

"Not yet. But I've dreamt about it." Gretchen said, earnestly.

"Just like the people there; probably dream about coming here."

"To this hotel?" she teased.

"Don't you think?" I challenged her.

"And sleeping In the nude?" Gretchen played the skeptic.

"That's the way the French sleep, isn't it?"

She laughed. "Well, I guess Melissa Paxton is going to be one step ahead of you, tonight."

"Oh, she's been way ahead of me for ages." I concurred.

"So now's your chance to catch up." Gretchen blurted out.

I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that one.

Then, miss merit scholar sat up, and began to unbutton her pajama top.

"Now wait. I wasn't trying to."

"Oh come on," she said. "I hear it's something that everybody should do at least once in their life." The two sides of her pajama shirt parted to reveal her two perfect tits, firm, symmetrical, and proud. She slipped her top completely off, and tossed it on the floor. "Besides," she continued, laying back and arching her back, plus wriggling down her pajama pants.

"Last night we did things my way, so it's only fair to do them your way, tonight." Gretchen played it off as my initiative.

She looked up at me, all innocent and guileless in her plain white panties. "Et tu monsieur? Tu ne vas pas te déshabiller?"

Pardom Muah? I said in my best effort to not appear uncultured.

“And you, master; Are you going to undress?” Gretchen said with a wink.

So maybe she really had a headache, last night? And maybe she'd been just as turned on by Melissa's disrobing as I'd been. Maybe she just preferred singles to doubles. Like I did.

I stood and made a show of it. I turned off all the lights but the bathroom, allowing just enough glow so she could see me. Then pulling my own shirt with my back toward her. I displayed my red-neck seduction by letting the shirt slide down, off my back.

Still with my back to her (but I could see her through a wall mirror); I bent over, then wriggled off my own basketball shorts, sliding them to my knees. I paused a second; what the hell; I reversed then raised the waistline up so I could hook my elastic brief waistband, then pulled off my briefs.

“Oui, oui!” she cheered me on. It wasn't like she hadn't seen what was under them before.

I jumped backward into a back somersault, onto the bed; and rolled to a landing with my head on my pillow. Then I stretched out my arms and legs in a luxurious Da Vinci stretch. It did feel good to be naked in a hotel room, even if it wasn't in Paris.

“Look, Gretchen! I can see an Eiffel Tower!” I said as my cock pointed skyward.

"How beauteous mankind is!" she cooed as she wriggled her own panties off, too.

 “Our own, one last field trip, tonight? Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Portland?”

I turned toward her and she turned toward me. There was absolutely no doubt about how pretty she was. Her attractive face, her proud tits, her taut stomach, her perfectly rounded hip. Not only pretty but eminently desirable. As my cock was now frankly announcing. As she was now frankly aware.

"Sorry," I blushed.

But she didn't seem at all offended. In fact, she seemed flattered.

I got up and pulled down the bed linens on my side. She helped, working them under herself. I got back in beside her, the sheets were silky smooth against our bare skin.

Another Item on the list.

"I didn't tell you everything that was in my article," I said.

"Oh?" she replied.

"It's who you're supposed to be sleeping with. In that hotel room in Paris. The one on the; Rue de Whatsit, with the flowers all around. You're supposed to be sleeping in the nude with your lover."

She didn't respond right away, but she didn't turn away her gaze. "Mais naturellement, monsieur. Ce serait très bohème, non?"

“Okay, you gotta help a poor guy out, mademoiselle” I pleaded. “I feel like I’m missing the best commentary.”

“I’m saying; “But of course, sir. That would be very bohemian, wouldn't it?”

I reached over and touched her shoulder. She let me do it. I scooted closer and ran my hand over the soft perfect curve of her hip. Then I picked up her hand and kissed it while saying; “I hope you like my Bohemian just as much as I love your French?”

She closed her eyes. I buzzed in even closer and kissed her perfect nipple, sucking it gently into plumpness, licking it like an ice-cream cone, up and up, all the way around, greedy not to lose a single drip.

My hand, meanwhile, continued its exploration: her posterior nether regions, her lower thigh, the long, lovely valley between her legs. And at its head a trim, tidy meadow, smooth and soft. And running the length of the meadow, a pleasant little valley of delights. And as my fingers probed, the banks of the valley gently yielded to reveal a secret pathway, warm and moist and promising. And as my fingers explored, the pathway got deeper and moister; until I found myself at the entrance of a secret cavern, warm and slippery, deep and exciting.

“Belle, mademoiselle, Oui.”

She was swooning.

I rolled onto her and laid my chest on her tit’s slowly. I kissed her neck gently and nibbled her earlobe while the weight of my body settled upon her. She spread her legs wide and wrapped her arms under mine, then pulled me up, while wrapping her calves around my thighs. My stiff cock was at the right place.

Now; I know you're supposed to go slow, but sometimes you just can't help yourself. I hoisted myself up her and she guided my turgid cock to her warm, slippery entrance. In I plunged. She clamped her thighs, she clamped her arms. I scooted myself a little further up, the way Miss Latimer had taught us.

Her thighs were so warm and welcoming, her nipples so insistent against my chest, her cavern so tight and yet so slick. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the task at hand. I was the brawny foundry man, thrusting my ingot of steel into the insistent slippery squeeze of her rolling mill, thrusting it in; and drawing it out. Thrusting it in until it finally exploded in a hail of fiery sparks, a blissful shower of molten droplets.

I couldn't really tell if Gretchen had come or not. She'd gotten wet, she'd let me in, she'd rolled my steel. But whatever she'd felt herself she'd kept to herself. One of the main lessons that Miss Latimer was always trying to instill in us was to be aware of our partner's response.

Her Failure to launch.

"Did you come?" I asked.

She didn't reply. I figured she hadn't. But when I reached over to pet her again she stopped me.

"It's okay," she said.

I cuddled closer. She turned to let me spoon against her back. I pulled the sheet and blanket up over us and put my arm around her. But the question still bothered me.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked softly.

She didn't say no.

"When we had sex in class those times I couldn't really tell either. It always felt like I wasn't doing enough for you. Was it that way tonight?"

She still didn't reply. She just lay there, soft and warm in my arms. Okay; if she didn't want to talk about it I wasn't going to make a federal case. But then she squeezed my arm, ever so slightly.

"It wasn't you, Colt. You’re an amazing lover.” Then she kissed my hand and laid it to rest on her navel.

Not entirely convincing. But if that was her story, I wasn't going to argue. I'd just try harder next time. The long day was catching up to me. The bed was so comfortable. My wrung-out phallus was already snoozing there between us. I could see Matisse's open window in my mind's eye, the geraniums, the sailboats rocking in the harbor.

"There's something wrong with my wiring," she said quietly. It took me a second to bring my faculties back online.

"I don't feel things the way I'm supposed to." She was facing away from me, I couldn't see her face.

"When you're inside me I can feel that you're there, but it doesn't feel special at all. It just feels; regular, like if you were touching my arm or my elbow. No 'sexy' feeling the way there's supposed to be."

She was speaking softly and impersonally, like she was embarrassed, maybe even a little ashamed. I tried to understand what she was saying. No 'sexy' feeling. "But you get wet. Your nipples get hard."

"It's like my body knows what to do, but I don't."

I tried to think. "Have you talked to anyone? Miss Latimer? Don't you guys have a special doctor for your girl stuff?"

"She says it's psychological. She says there are other girls who have it too. Some boys even. She says I'll probably get over it eventually."

I tried to think. Some boys even. I pressed my lap more closely against her ass. I felt her warmth, her softness, but there were no 'special' feelings. They only came when my cock was hard and 'in the mood.'

"What about all the rest?" I asked. "Do you get turned on when you think about guys? Or when you think about girls even? Do you get excited watching them take their clothes off? Stuff like that?"

"Only sort of," she said. "I guess my hormones don't work right either. Not like other girls' anyway." She was still speaking flatly, unemotionally, as if she'd long since come to grips with the fact that people's wiring wasn't always the same, and that hers was defective. "I like cuddling here with you though," she said.

It was a lot to take in. "So why did you want to do it tonight?" I asked.

She took her time in answering. "It's not that I don't like it, it's just that; I have to kind of make it all up in my head. You know? Like, I'm the beautiful princess, and, princesses feel things the way they're supposed to."

I was rocking her now gently in my arms. I'd always taken it for granted that if she sometimes seemed a little out of place among her classmates, there were other, more sophisticated circles where she did fit in, and where she found her real happiness. But maybe it wasn't that way at all. Maybe even in those more sophisticated circles, she felt she didn't measure up.

The technician goes to work.

I lifted myself enough to see her face. I wanted to do something, to say something, to make it better.

"In case you didn't know it," I told her, "you are beautiful. Devastatingly so. And you are devastatingly desirable. And I'll tell you one thing for sure. The guy you marry better be a big, slunking brute of a guy, because when your circuits do kick in you're going to wear him out making up for lost time."

She listened attentively, then looked into my eyes. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

It was all I could do to stifle my laugh. "Busted," I deadpanned. And then I kissed her on her cheek. I adjusted the blankets. I put my arm around her. We settled down to sleep.

Faulty wiring. What do you do when someone shares a secret with you as personal as that? Do you just keep it to yourself, never telling anyone, never bringing it up, but always knowing that you know and knowing that she knows that you know? Or does the fact that she told you and the fact that you listened somehow now make you parts of each other's lives in a deeper way that won't ever be able to be undone?

Changing Shopping Plans.

The next morning when I woke up Gretchen was in the alcove, fiddling with the coffee maker. She was still nude. She was facing away from me, looking so sexy with her curvy split ass and her graceful naked back. I snuck up behind her and gave her a little kiss at the base of her neck. She bent her head to give me a little caress. I put my arms around her and drew up against her, letting her feel that my cock was waking up too.

We looked at each other in the mirror, our heads side by side, her perfect tits, her attentive nipples, her taut tummy clasped in my arms.

"Do you drink coffee?" she asked.

"Only when I stay in fancy hotels."

She gave a little laugh. "Me too," she admitted. She rested her hands on mine and looked back at us in the mirror.

"What's on the schedule for today?" she asked. "Do you remember?"

"Shopping. The miracle mile."

"Wouldn't want to miss that."

"Breakfast first, though," I said. "We'll have to go down pretty soon."

"Let's order room service instead. Want to?"

I didn't have much experience with room service. "Wouldn't that be extra?"

She leaned back against me. "So we pay extra."

The bellboy who rolled in our breakfast cart was a bell-girl, actually, wearing a bellboy's trousers and with her hair in a tight bun. She could tell that Gretchen and I didn't have anything else on under our bathrobes. But she just smiled, not condescendingly or judgmentally, just friendlily, as if she'd slept naked in hotel rooms a few times before, herself.

"So whose turn is it to pick what we do next?" I asked after we'd eaten.

"I picked room service," she said. "So I guess it's your turn now."

"So how about this? What if we trim our shopping down to a miracle half mile and just hang around here a bit more?"

She shrugged. "Even just a quarter mile would be all right with me."

"So listen," I said. "So here's what I've been thinking. Circuitry problems are kind of tricky, kind of hard to troubleshoot. There are a lot of things that can go wrong. But maybe I could give you a little inspection. You know, take a little look to see if there's anything I can see."

"You want to troubleshoot my wiring?"

“I want to devote my day to patient, sensitive affection to the most loving, beautiful, cultured young woman at Rhode Heritage Prep. You’ve been so considerate to me. Please let me just take a little look. With wiring problems, if you just sort of work your way from connection to connection you can usually at least figure out where the problem is." I tried to sound like I knew what I was talking about.

For whatever reason, she was willing to play along. "So what do you want me to do?"

I reached toward her sash. She unfastened it, and I helped her out of her robe. I smoothed the tumbled sheets and she lay down on the bed. God! Her curvy ass is a luscious peach, her graceful back. I spooned her and put my hands right where her hips started to flare, right at the skinniest part of her waist. I wasn't really sure how to proceed. I glided my hands reverently along her sides.

"Mercedes-Benz," I noted. "CLS class. One of the finest automobiles ever built." My hands were spread wide, half hovering, half caressing. "Not stodgy at all. Sleek. Sexy. Guys get hard-ons just leafing through Car and Driver magazine. But the wiring on that auto is complexed. Only the best mechanics try to solve wiring issues on those German masterpieces."

I touched my hands to the subtle dimples on either side of her tailbone. "An automobile fit for a princess, that's for sure. A modern day, real-life princess, of course. In a pillbox hat, motoring down a Parisian boulevard."

I ran my fingers lightly up the dimple of her spine, feeling the subtle modulation of her vertebrae, trying to sense the electrical pulses zinging up and down. "Umm-hmm," I noted.

I traced the paths that the nerves must take as they branched out at every level. I tried to feel the complex web of muscles under her skin—muscles for arching, for shrugging, for wiggling. I tried to make out where they were anchored and which way they ran. Down onto her pelvis. Up into her neck. Out to her shoulders and arms.

I tried to visualize the intricate lacework of fibers that must connect to every square inch of her skin, the fibers through which she was feeling the figures I was tracing. And were some of them 'special' fibers, specially woven in to light up and glow to the tingle of a lover's caress?

I had an idea. There was one little piece of anatomy that, even in our mixed gym class, had always remained somewhat private. One little patch that Miss Latimer and Mr. Palmer never talked about, but just left us to believe was personal and meant to be left alone.

I wet a washcloth with hot, hot water, wrung it out, and wiped it across the soap. I touched it to the cleft of her ass. She tensed. "Shush," I whispered. "Shush." I gently cleaned the full length and depth of her crevasse, the way her mother must have done when she was little. Then I gently spread her cheeks.

Her anus was daintier than I would have thought, more just a pucker than a real opening. The hole itself was just a shy, pink pinprick. You could see little creases where the skin tucked down inside. I traced a gentle spiral. There were supposed to be lots of nerve endings there, 'special' ones even. I stroked lightly around and across, using the pad of my finger and the back of my nail. She clenched slightly, gently squeezing my finger between her cheeks.

"Just like that," I told her. "Wherever I touch you, you let me know just like that."

It was like a testing setup for wiring inspection, my one finger docked to her private data port, my other hand a moveable sensor. I brought the palm of my sensor over the knob of her shoulder blade. Her data port quivered. I touched gently down. Her data port gently squeezed. "Umm-hmm," I noted. "Umm-hmm."

I brushed the tip of her shoulder with my fingernail. She clenched again. I brushed the margin of her side, her bottommost rib, the meaty pillow of her ass. She clenched each time, repeating back to my finger the sequence I had played with my hand. "Umm-hmm," I assured her. "Umm-hmm."

I traced my sensor slowly up her ass crack. She was confused at first, but then contracted, hesitantly. She was learning to do it more subtly now, not so much squeezing my finger as just kissing it with her pink pinprick. I traced my sensor up her spine. She reported back the modulation pattern of each vertebrae. "Umm-hmm. Umm-hmm."

She had her head to the side, her eyes wide open, her look directed off into the distance. Whatever it was we were doing, she was involved. I felt a wave of tenderness for her, my pretty classmate, her pennies always so brightly polished, her wiring always so artfully concealed. I kissed her softly, on the nape of her neck, right at the fringe of her hair, imagining I could taste her zinging pulses, wishing that my kiss could reconnect her faulty connections. She registered the contact with a gentle kiss of her own.

More Circuitry.

"So let's have a look at the other side."

She turned over, a bit embarrassed to be lying there nude, on the bed in front of me. But if I was going to keep on playing doctor, she was going to keep on playing patient.

She also couldn't help but notice that my cock was sticking straight out. What I wanted to do was to just keep on kissing her, all over, to carefully reconnect every one of her connections, to be the Prince Charming, to awaken her sleeping passion. Ha! Me a prince. But I had another idea.

"Let's put you up on the lift."

I rolled to my back and lay down beside her. She wasn't exactly sure what I had in mind. I directed her to lay on her back, up on top of me, as if I were a lumpy examination table. She arranged herself there with her back on my chest and her legs on my top of mine, my cock poking up between her thighs. It was good to feel her weight on me. Our heads were side by side. I pulled the other pillow over to give hers a bit more support.

"So now you just mirror what I do," I told her. Manual reprogramming; that's a thing, isn't it?

I brought my right hand up and laid it on her stomach. She brought her left hand up and laid it opposite mine. "That's it," I told her. "Just like that."

I started to explore her body, moving my hand diagonally down from her stomach, across the subtle ridge of her pelvis, then down the long, broad curvature of her thigh. She mirrored my movement with her own hand on her other side. Since she was lying right on top of me, it felt to my hand like it was my own body I was exploring. There was my leg, right where it should be. But the skin was softer, silkier, and, strangely, my leg seemed to have gone numb somehow. It couldn't feel my hand at all. I glided my hand back up to her stomach and nuzzled the indentation of her belly button. She brought her own hand back and nuzzled her fingers over mine.

I explored downward. There was her pubic hair, right where mine should have been, but wirier, more carefully groomed. And then, miracle of miracles, her soft open meadow, somehow now magically transplanted right where my cock should have been. And there was the exciting valley, already opening, already moist and slippery. I ran my fingers down inside it and felt her fingers slip in alongside them. So this was what it was like to reach down and find a vagina instead of a cock.

Aha! There was my cock after all! Why had I never realized before that between the two of us we had the full set? The moist, yielding vagina above, the firm, stalk-like cock below. She was exploring too, and she seemed to be finding our shared double organ as wonderful as I did. I pressed the stiff circumference of the stalk more firmly against the silky softness of the gully. The cock, at least, was not numb. It could feel itself being played with, and by more fingers than mine alone. It could feel itself being nestled against the soft lips of her cunt. She must be feeling all this too, though differently, though somehow just the same.

I brought my other hand up from the bed to play with my nipple, but I found her tit instead. It was lovely, soft, palpable. I'd never felt a girl's tit from this perspective. It felt as if it were projecting from my own chest, the way it projected from hers, whenever she sat at her desk or stood at the board or walked down the hallway. I fondled it the way I could only imagine she must fondle it herself.

Her nipple was firming up, even as I ran my thumb across it. It was so much plumper than mine. Surely its 'special' feelings must be plumper too. But why couldn't I feel them? My own nipples ached with envy. Were her nipples aching with envy too?

I brought my hand up to her face. I traced my fingers lightly over her forehead and nose. She brought her own hand up and traced my features as well. It was hard not to feel that the face I was exploring was my own face, and that the fingers I was feeling were my own fingers. Was it the same for her? Was she having the same trouble keeping track of which of us was which?

I found her lips and gently traced their outline. Her fingers found my lips as well. I opened my mouth and sucked one in. She sucked in one of mine. The illusion was even stronger now that it was my own finger I was sucking. And then she put a second finger in, and my tongue conformed to it so naturally, and; my God! I remembered so clearly the direction my bed had faced in the old house, the window right there, the big kids' voices drifting in from the yard, the coziness of my little nest under the covers, the comfort of fingers in my mouth.

I blushed in shame. Was Gretchen aware what I was doing? Sucking my fingers; her fingers; like a little boy? But she was lost in feelings of her own. I hesitantly extended my second finger into her mouth. She welcomed it in. Had her little nest been as warm and as comfy as mine?

My cock twitched and she must have felt it. She reached down curiously to grasp it. The 'special' feelings were coming on. Could she feel them too? Another house, another room, the bed facing this way instead of that way, the darkness much more palpable, much more velvety. I put my hand over hers to fine-tune the pressure and the trajectory. Had her bedroom faced the same way mine had? Had she lain there on those same velvety nights, with one hand between her legs and one hand on her tit, trying to conjure up the magic she knew was supposed to be there? Had she dreamt of lying in someone's arms the way I'd dreamt of holding someone in mine? Had she dreamt of skin on skin, of cheek to cheek, of everything laid bare, of nothing held back?

This was what the magic felt like. Fiery sparks against the velvety darkness. Molten droplets shooting blissfully up from our shared pussy cock, shooting wetly up through our interwoven fingers.

I don't know. You get these ideas in the middle of the night, and they seem so brilliant at the time, but they end up not even making much sense.

Gretchen’s work around theory.

She pressed my cock into her cunt. It was hot, wet, and very arousing, to me.

After she squeezed her Kegel muscles a few times, she pulled my rocket out. Then she did the most amazing thing. She scooted up just a bit and pressed my cock tip against her anal opening. I felt my tip and crown go inside, but just a bit.

Gretchen grabbed my hands and had me pinching her nipples, hard. I was kissing the side of her neck, and nibbling her earlobe.

“Bite my earlobe, Colt.” She pleaded.

While I focused on her lobe and two nipples, her ass opened up and she reached both her hands under my ass, Her pelvis rocked in reverse and my cock was halfway into her ass.

“Oh, God! Oh, god!” she shouted as her breathing became more rapid. “Pound me, Colt! Pound my ass with your Johnson, Hard!”

Off I went, with abandon; pistoning into her ass. My fingers were twisting her nipples.

Then she stiffened like a board. Her thighs began to spasm. Her hands slapped hard over my hands, signaling me to stop the sadistic nipple assault. Her ass tightened on my cock. It felt like it was going to burst. Then I felt my balls tingle and a load of cum was eminent. I shot three blasts into her ass while her thighs were still spasming.

Then she went limp. I softly kissed her cheek and neck. My hands softly ran along her belly, thighs and arms.

We laid there, silent. For perhaps five minutes.

“You are a marvelous mystery, my lovely Gretchen. Thank you for letting me be a part of this amazing discovery with you.” I whispered.

Soon she arose and took me by the hand. “Shower time, you fucking sex god!”

Oh my god! I quipped. “I created a slutty sex nymph.”

She giggled; “Who knew that this prim and proper prep school girl, loves nasty fucking and sadistic arousal.”

In we went, and she insisted on cleaning me thoroughly. I tried to return the lathering favor. “No time” she insisted. “The bus departs in 20 minutes.”

“Rain check?” I asked.

“Oh, gawd yes!” she declared as we dried off. “I want you, Colt Johnson. You make me enjoy things I thought we beyond my hopes. I want to keep discovering, and you’re the best lab partner in the world, Colt, ‘the sex god,’ Johnson.”

 The truth is that we didn't really know the cause of Gretchen's wiring problems after the inspection. We just found new ways to arrive at our desired destination.

So maybe the morning wasn't a total waste.

Nobody sat with their partners on the way home. Girls sat with girls, and guys sat with guys, just like we had on the way up. There was quite a bit of giggling, though, and quite a few glances and teases across the aisle when a girl would whisper something in another girl’s ear, then glance to a particular guy. Our co-education program is pretty good at getting us to see each other naked, but it doesn't really encourage us to pair up into boyfriends and girlfriends. It's just kind of awkward when you never know who your next gym partner is going to be. Funny how folks revert back to our old ways and routines. By the time our bus drove into Providence, I thought I’d become Gretchen’s forgotten memory.

You might say that no one in my class was a virgin. The Phys Ed class required us to copulate with multiple partners. But that trip was the first time I made love to, and with; a woman. I didn’t get graded on technique or told to hurry. I didn’t have an audience gawking. It was an emotional bonding, born of attraction and mutual desire. I gave her something she’d given up on ever experiencing. She gave me purpose and genuine acceptance. In that sense, I truly had my first time that weekend. I’ll remember it, more than any day in Phys Ed class.

When we got back to the school parking lot, though, I went over to say goodbye to Gretchen.

"I had a really good time," I told her.

She was squinting slightly into the sun. "Me too."

I wanted to say more, but I didn't quite know what. "So, I'll see you in class, tomorrow, I guess."

But she put out her hand to detain me. "Can I ask you a favor? Maybe two?"

"Sure," I said. "Anything." I'd have given her the moon if that's what she wanted.

She was holding both my hands now. "Will you give some more thought to your plans for next year?"

I was taken aback. I just looked at her. That was not the type of thing you asked someone. What about the plans I'd already made? Just because she was a National Merit Semifinalist she could decide my future better than I could? I must have been glaring, but she didn't flinch. She just held my hands and waited for my answer.

She wasn't looking at me like a National Merit Semifinalist, though. Not even like the classmate I thought I knew. She was looking at me like my bohemian lover from the Rue de Barres, the slutty girl who'd slept naked in my arms, the girl who discovered her own nasty torrid proclivities just hours ago; whose life had somehow gotten inextricably intertwined with mine.

And what she was asking was for me to take my future as seriously, as she was taking her own. Was that too much to ask? From someone whose future was perhaps now somehow inextricably interwoven with mine?

She broke the silence; “The engineers who design those German autos. They are special and their work is so valuable. I think you’re in their league, Colt Johnson.”

"Not fair, Gretchen Portland. No fair debating with German Auto metaphors.”

“The State U has a solid program in electrical engineering?” She giggled, then leaned in with her eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer.

“Okay," I mumbled. I would. I'd give some more thought to my plans. Just because she was asking me to. Yet part of me wanted something in return. I added; “But Gretchen, will you look into their career options in sex therapy counseling?” I joked. “I know there will be scores of young girls who need help from someone with enough empathy, patience, and gentleness; to help them overcome intimacy issues.” Now I wasn’t joking.

She leaned in and kissed me, right on the lips. ”You know, I just might want to. I know how important it is to have a lover who is devoted, patient, and giving. There isn’t a sex toy on the market which can do for me, what you do, Colt Johnson.” Then she ran off to her car, like the girl with the new penny loafers who maybe kind of liked me.

“What’s the second question, my French princess?“ I asked as she was opening her car door.

“Are you interested in doing anything with me, next weekend?”

I raised my hand to ask her to hold up, a second. When I came to her car door, I said; “New weekend is Mother’s day. Dad asked me to do something for her, as a mother’s day gift. “I’m supposed to go to the family cabin on Friday night and get it ready for the summer season. I’m wondering if you’d like to give me a hand? We’d have the place to ourselves until Sunday afternoon, when Dad brings mom up there.”

“That’s an incredible gift, for your mom.” She observed.

“Yeah, we don’t believe in always buying gifts. We were taught to give of ourselves, so this is what my dad and I came up with.”

“Ah, that explains why you’re such a considerate lover.” Gretchen concluded. She leaned over the open car door to kiss me. The kiss lingered on. Then she pulled off and looked me in the eye. “Colt, I wish I had a mother. It’s just Dad and my younger brother, at our house. I don’t have a mother to spend next weekend thanking. I’d love to help you, and I have my own reasons to be thankful to your folks.

“Oh, this is going to be awesome!” I smiled.

“Gretchen started to say something, then paused. Finally she asked; “Do you think the engineer might have time to further investigate the wiring configurations in a German vehicle?”

“Oh, yes! And that shop has all the best diagnostic machines, too.”

“Machines?” Gretchen started to quiver.

“Yep! A great hot tub, a double hammock, a king size waterbed, and that’s without even getting creative.” I winked. “I also know where dad and mom stash their collection of; oh, let’s call them educational & therapeutic adult cinema.”

 Based on a post by Hector Bidon, for Literotica.