My second college roommate was as exciting and adventurous as my first one was dull and introverted. I was actually glad my first roommate decided to ask for a room change halfway through my freshman year. She and I had never really gotten along. My new roommate, Carrie, was a petite blonde, and I knew the minute I walked into the room, seeing her laying with her head hanging backwards off the side of the bed watching Chuck Woolery hosting Scrabble, that we were going to be great friends. I was half right.
We were wonderful friends-but we also became much more than that. It wasn't my first experimentation with another girl. I'd had plenty of sexual play time with other girls as a teenager. I think it's more common today than it was then, or at least, it's more talked about and accepted, now. I had a boyfriend back home-1,000 miles away.
Carrie didn't have a steady boyfriend, but she dated-a lot. And she talked about her dates. She liked to give me detailed accounts after we turned the lights out and snuggled under covers in our narrow twin beds.
She never failed to turn me on. Carrie had a knack for story-telling. Especially sexual story-telling. Her favorite thing in the world was cunnilingus. She called it by its technical name, as if she was saying something exotic and exciting. If a guy wouldn't go down on her, she cut him loose faster than Donald could bark, "You're fired!" She wasn't averse to returning the favor. She loved cock as much as I did.
But it was Carrie who really taught me all about pussy worship. And she had one of the most lovely, amazing pussies I've ever had the occasion to adore. Carrie was a tiny girl, only about five feet tall. She had high, perky breasts with dark, fat nipples, and the tinest, pinkest, sweetest pussy in the world. Her hair there was blonde-this was in the days before shaving was in fashion. Blonde and curly. We liked to rub our pussies together, my dark red hair meshing with her light pubes, the wet slip and smack of our flesh filling the room as we played with each other's nipples.
But Carrie loved most to be licked. She taught me just how, just where. She taught me, also, to ask for what I wanted, to direct with a moan and a shift of my hips, to not be afraid to whisper, "Yes, there! Keep doing that, just like that!"
We spent hours-literally hours-licking each other at night in the dark, making each other come so hard our ears rang, our pussies and mouths smeared with juices. It wasn't every night, of course. We were usually drinking, and it almost always began with Carrie telling me a story about some dating escapade. I remember the first time, we just masturbated together.
"Are you as hot as I am?" she whispered.
"Yeah."
"Are you touching yourself?"
"Are you?"
"Yeah."
"Me, too."
"Feel good?"
"God, yeah."
"Do you want to come?"
"Yessss…"
"Come with me… come on… oh… god…"
We did that for a while. Then one night she decided to slip into my bed. We'd been drinking a lot. Even now, the details are fuzzy to me. We were kissing and touching each other in the dark, my heavy breasts rubbing against her little ones, her thigh sliding up between mine. We tumbled and rolled on the little bed, and before I knew it, she was on top of me, turning herself around and burying her face between my legs.
There was no way to say no to that sweet, lapping tongue, no way to ignore the heat of her pussy against my cheek, the way her hips rocked as she begged me, "Lick it, please. Lick it, lick it, lick it!" I licked. And licked, and licked. I licked her until my tongue ached and my face was smeared with her come. I licked her until my own hips rocked with my climax and she sucked on my clit like a tiny little cock as if milking it for all she was worth.
She always knew when I wanted her, because I'd whisper in the dark, "Carrie?…
Tell me a story…" And we would begin. I hated for that year to end. I ended up leaving school and moving back to go to school closer to home-closer to the boyfriend. Who I later married. He never knew about Carrie. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd stayed…
When I was sixteen, I started babysitting for a young couple who lived in the apartment upstairs from us. They went bowling every Friday night, and I'd watch their nine-month-old. It was one of the easiest babysitting jobs I've ever had. Their baby was already asleep when I got there, and never peeped once, although I did go check on him now and then, just to make sure. They were a very nice couple, they paid well, and they always said I could use the phone or watch what I wanted or eat whatever was in the fridge. Still, it's strange, being in someone else's house, watching someone else's television, eating someone else's food. It's easy to get bored while you're babysitting, and it's actually a little lonely, sitting there by yourself all night.
