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There just comes a point where a girl knows it is time to give it up. Maybe it was the sunrise peeking into my dorm window that morning that did it, maybe it was Nadine's enthusiasm about her last fuck-session with that asshole boyfriend of hers. Maybe it was nothing more than my urge to pee that focused my attention between my legs. I just knew that I was ripe and ready.

I hated thinking of myself as being a late-bloomer, and what the hell does that mean anyway? Just because I wasn't ready to give into the demands of Bob or Mickey, or any of the other guys I dated occasionally, why does that make me different than someone like Nadine?

I wondered, how did I manage to pass my twenty-second birthday without ever having had sex?

Warning: Material intended for adults 18 and older.

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A Look Inside the Story

There just comes a point where a girl knows it is time to give it up. Maybe it was the sunrise peeking into my dorm window that morning that did it, maybe it was Nadine’s enthusiasm about her last fuck-session with that asshole boyfriend of hers. Maybe it was nothing more than my urge to pee that focused my attention between my legs.  I just knew that I was ripe and ready.

I hated thinking of myself as being a late-bloomer, and what the hell does that mean anyway? Just because I wasn’t ready to give into the demands of Bob or Mickey, or any of the other guys I dated occasionally, why does that make me different than someone like Nadine?

I still hadn’t climbed out of bed yet and in fact, I’d pulled my blanket over my head just to blot out the morning light. I kept thinking, close your eyes, your first class doesn’t start until nine this morning and this will pass.

Five minutes later, I knew that the cacophony of birds outside my window plus knowing I’d already achieved my normal night’s sleep added to my awareness that further time in bed wasn’t going to happen.  Dammit! Regardless, I stayed burrowed under for a few extra moments to listen for sounds coming from Nadine’s side of the room.

I suppose I should say something to her about bringing Tim into our dorm room for sex, I really don’t appreciate it when I hear them screwing. You’d think he’d have the decency to get motel room somewhere, even if it was just a cheap one. Tim was on a full academic scholarship and his family oozed money so what the hell? He could certainly afford a room over at the Motel-6 now and then.

What pisses me off the most is when I wake up in between my two sleep cycles and stumble into the bathroom and there’s Tim, sitting on the toilet buck-ass-naked taking a dump. Why doesn’t he lock the fucking door? And, what’s with that silly grin he always has on his face when I open the door? Is it because I’m also naked?

Mom always made me wear those flannel pajamas to bed when I lived at home. Hell, she still expects me to when I go home for weekends. I think I’d fall over with shock if just once, I didn’t find them folded neatly on my bed. I understand of course, having a kid-brother that’s on the verge of puberty is more than enough of a reason to stay decent around the home.

The thing is, and I’ve never really understood this, is that I do find a bizarre pleasure in exposing my body to men.  I enjoy it when my skirt rides a bit high when I sit at a desk in class. I’ve loved catching one of the boys staring and I’ve been like that since my sophomore year back home. I even managed to secure a reputation back at Jefferson High.  However, I made it a point to always change into a pair of jeans as soon as I got home each day so Mom wouldn’t see how exposed my legs were when I plopped down on the sofa.

Right after I graduated, my best friend asked her parents if I could go with them to the beach with them. Christa’s parents always spent at least one week at Paradise Beach each summer for as long as I can remember. This time, her Dad let us have our own room at the hotel. Other than meeting at the agreed time each evening for dinner, Christa and I did our best to avoid being anywhere near the same stretch of beach for the whole week.

The first thing we did after arriving at the hotel that summer was to hit the first beach shop we could find so I could leave the grandma bathing suits my mother had packed buried in the bottom of my suitcase. I remember how shocked Christa was when I came out of the dressing room to show her what I’d picked out. Seeing what I’d selected made her go for something a bit more revealing than what she had intended but regardless, her bikini required twice the material to make as mine did.

 

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