Before that, high school boys always wanted to feel my boobs.
It was okay with Robbie, and after that we fucked a lot. It got better when I went away to college, and started seeing other guys. Not that I'm some kind of slut; I mean I didn't fuck every guy I dated.
Unlike high school boys, college guys wanted what was in my panties. Not that they didn't feel up my tits, but they wanted more. Like I said, sometimes I let them.
Oral sex wasn't something that happened very often. Robbie Phillips my high school boyfriend never went down on me, and sex was much too new to me for me to go down on him.
In college, some guys wanted a blowjob, but I rarely did that, and it was even rarer for any of them to eat my pussy.
I'm about 5'3", with blonde hair that I usually wear in a pony tail when I'm at school or work, but when I go out I just let hang straight down to my shoulders. My boobs aren't really big, but guys seem to enjoy playing with them. I'm not sure why, but I've never had any pubic hair. Once I reached puberty, I'd make sure it was always bare. It was just something I always did like shaving my armpits and my legs. I never really gave it much thought.
I didn't date too seriously. It was mostly casual dating that on occasion ended up with sex. Most of the college guys didn't really excite me.
Then there was my 60-year-old Literature professor Davis Corcoran.
Among the required courses was a literature course. I was a Biology major. To get the Lit requirement out of the way, freshman year I took Dr. Corcoran's English Literature course.
I expected it to be totally boring. I could not have been more wrong, and it was all because of him. He was so enthusiastic about the subject which infected the forty-two of us in the class.
I'd gone to an all girls' Catholic high school where even using ‘damn' or ‘hell' could get you in trouble. Dr. Corcoran wouldn't have lasted ten minutes. In one novel he had us read, he asked us, "why did the author write ‘they fucked and then they fucked some more?"
We were all silent. It wasn't the language; it was that we just didn't know what he was asking. He answered: "sometimes a writer spells it out for you as clear as day. He wrote, ‘they fucked and then fucked some more,' because that's what they were doing. When you write, write what you mean."
It was such a fun course. I loved it, but I had to concentrate on my major. However, senior year I'd fulfilled all my requirements, and saw that Dr. Corcoran was teaching the Sonnets of Shakespeare. I signed up.
He was just as amazing. I felt a real connection to him as we read the sonnets, and even wrote our own. This time there were only twelve of us in the class. I did okay in the class, but spent those class hours fantasizing about what he might be like in bed.
I know, I know he was over 60 years old, but still, he intrigued me. I was twenty-one.
The weekend after the last class I was in bed with some guy whose name I've already forgotten, and all I could think of as he was fucking me was what would it be like with Professor Corcoran?
Like I said, I know, I know he was over 60 years old, but still as I said, he intrigued me.
Although I found a job with a bio-tech company, I worked part-time on weekends as a bartender at a bar not far from my work in the same town as the college.
One day about a year later a group of people came in, grabbed a table and ordered drinks. One of them was Professor Corcoran. I'm sure he didn't recognize me, and even if he did, I'm sure he didn't remember my name.
When the group left, he came over to the bar and sat down, "I want to watch the end of the game. I'll see you Monday," he said to his friends.
For a while the bar was crowded, but as it thinned out, I had a chance to talk to him. "Professor, you may not remember me, but I was in your Sonnets of Shakespeare class last year."
Of course, working at the bar, I wore the required clothing. A black top, which showed a lot of cleavage; not that I had a lot to show off. A black skirt, much shorter than I'd wear to school or work. Underneath, I wore contrasting panties: white, pink, baby blue. It was a trick I learned from an older waitress. At the end of the night, my tip jar was always full.
He looked at me, and I was sure he didn't remember. "Umm, Miss, I'm sorry." He always called the female students Miss, not Ms. I wasn't offended.
"Allison Grantham, Professor."
"Oh, yes. Sorry, I have so many students . . ."
"I understand." When I wasn't busy making a drink, pouring a beer, I'd come over to him. I didn't want to interrupt the game he was watching, but he still fascinated me.
When the game ended, and I handed him his tab, I did something I'd never done before. I mean, if I liked a guy a school or at work, I'd let them know in subtle ways I was interested. But this was a man older than my father; almost as old as my grandfather. Along with his tab, I wrote my name and phone number on a slip of paper. "I'd like to see you again, Professor."
I really didn't expect to hear from. I mean, I didn't even know if he was married, and secondly, why would he think some 22-year-old was interested in him romantically?
Three days later, as I left work my phone rang. "Miss Grantham," my heart skipped a beat, "it's Davis Corcoran."
"Yes, this is Alley Grantham."
"Ummm, this is kind of awkward. I haven't been on a date, if that's what you had in mind, in decades."
"Professor, I understand. I noticed you were watching the Blackhawks' game. Why don't we go to a sports bar, watch the game and chat?" I thought that would be an easy way to get to know him. And, I really did want to get to know him; if you know what I mean. Even now, I can't explain why.
We met at a sports bar. It was late Spring in Chicago with the Blackhawks in the Stanley Cup Playoffs. I arrived first and found a table with a great view of one of the many big screens.
I wore a tee shirt, a shirt skirt and sandals. I didn't wear a bra, and the top was tight enough so my nipples were visible. Most of the crowd was my age, and many women were dressed similar.
Professor Corcoran was by far the oldest. He arrived only minutes after me. He was wearing a tee shirt for some band I'd never heard of, jeans, and his beard was neatly trimmed. Many college guys always had a two or three day beard which often scratched my face when we were making out, or my boobs when they went there, and on the rarest of occasions my thighs. His beard looked soft. I was hoping to feel it against my skin later tonight. He insisted that I call him Davis, not Dave or professor.
I'm often times blunt, and sometimes it gets me in trouble. Tonight, was not one of those nights. As soon as the game was over, I took his hand, leaned over, whispered in his ear, "Davis, I had a fun tonight. I don't want it to end. Can I make you breakfast?" I kissed him on the cheek. Yes, his beard was soft.
He looked puzzled. I'm not sure he expected that from me or any woman my age. He hesitated, then stuttered, "I-I don't know what to say Miss Grantham . . ."
"Alley."
"Yes, well, Alley. This is totally unexpected, and if you are inviting me for something more than breakfast. . ."
"I am, Davis, I am," I squeezed his hand.
"Ummm, sometimes men my age have some difficulties. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
I did, but I wasn't sure it was an age thing. I'd been with a couple of college guys who couldn't get hard or got off too soon. Very disappointing. "Davis, I understand. I'll take it slow. I promise. Follow me to my apartment?"
To be clear, I'd only dated men my age. I don't think any were older than twenty-three.
At the sports bar he'd been drinking beer. As soon as we got to my apartment, I grabbed two beers from the frig and led him to the couch in my living room.
It didn't take me long to make my intentions clear, if they weren't already. I put my beer down, put my arms around his neck, "Davis, ever since I took that class with you, I've wondered what it might be like to be with you. Honestly, I've been intrigued."
"You're intrigued by a man your grandfather's age? Perhaps instead of Shakespeare you should have taken a Psychology course. Freud would have a lot to say about your intentions."
"I'm sure he would, but I'll worry about that another time." I kissed him on the mouth with my tongue.
I broke off the kiss, "Davis, come with me." I led him to my bedroom. On the way, I pulled that tee shirt over my head. Remember, I was braless.
In my bedroom I stood facing him at the foot of my bed. Again, our lips and tongues engaged. I pulled Davis down on top of me.
He wasn't stupid, and he was a man. His hands went to my tits. He was fondling them. His hands were gentle and soft.
So far, things were going as I'd planned. "My God, Alley, you don't have any idea how long it's been since I've held such lovely, firm tits in my hands." First his hands, and then in minutes his mouth was all over them.
I was thinking, if Davis had been with women his own age, he'd probably had access to flabby, saggy tits. Not like mine. As he said, they were firm.
I let him play for a while. "Davis, I want more than just your hands on my tits." I reached down for his belt buckle.
"I hope you're not disappointed. Remember how old I am."
"I promise I won't be disappointed." While I unbuckled his belt, and unzipped his pants, Davis sucked those tits, and slipped his hand under my skirt. I opened my legs wide for him.
My hand reached inside his briefs. It wasn't hard yet, but there was some movement. I was pleased.
His hand was rubbing my pussy through my panties.
"Davis, why don't we just get undressed?"
In minutes we were both naked and under the covers. "Miss Grantham, I don't know what you expect, but . . ."
I kissed him on the mouth to shut him up, and my hand was slowly jerking him off. His cock was hard, not hard like a high school or college boy, but it was hard. I say slowly, because he was right, I didn't know what to expect. As I said, some of those college boys came much too quickly.
When Davis said, I didn't know what to expect, he was right I didn't know what to expect. He pushed my hand away and rolled on top of me. He was hard, and for a moment I thought he was just going to slam his cock in my pussy. It had happened before.
I can't speak for other girls, but once I'm in bed with a guy, I'm wet. I mean, I'm twenty-two years old, and all it took for me to start getting wet was some tongue kissing. So, if that's what Davis wanted, well okay.
It wasn't. He started kissing my tits; sucking my nipples, and then to my surprise, he started kissing me lower and lower. Now, that was totally unexpected.
I don't know if he was surprised by my bare pussy. It's an understatement to say he ate me. It took me only a minute to say to myself, ‘Alley, until just now, you've never been eaten before.'
Like I said, on the rarest of occasions one of those college boys would go down on me, but nothing like what Professor Corcoran was doing. This was a man, and he knew how to eat pussy. Those college boys had no idea, and apparently neither did I.
Not until right now. It didn't take long for my first orgasm.
That's another thing: high school boys or college guys, whether they were fingering me, fucking me or as I said on those infrequent occasions when one of them used their tongue, I never had an orgasm. Never.
The only time I had one was when I was in bed alone. I'd been masturbating since high school. My college roommate, Alicia, and my closest friends threw a twenty-first birthday party for me. One of the gag gifts, became my very best friend. He was long, thick and black, and came with a year's supply of batteries.
I called him Stokley after a famous Civil Rights leader of the 60's. Stokley gave me hours and hours of pleasure. My friends lied, that year's supply of batteries needed to be replenished after six months.
I wasn't embarrassed to use Stokley even when Alicia was sleeping across the room. Sometimes Alicia was ‘busy' too.
Once or twice a month, Alicia's boyfriend, Greg, came from her hometown for the weekend. I didn't mind, and I'd joke with her after he left, "you sure are a noisy fuck."
"Did it really bother you?"
It didn't, but that's because I'd grab Stokley. "I didn't think so, besides it sounded like Stokley showed you a good time last night."
"Yes he did."
Here's the other thing. Some of my high school and college girlfriends had a thing for big cocks. It didn't matter to me. I'd had good fucks with little ones, and lousy fucks with big ones.
Alicia wanted nothing to do with small cocks. Sometime during the night when Greg was there, he'd get up in the middle of the night to pee. My eyes were accustom to the darkness, and of course I was curious. Damn, that thing looked big. Not Stokley big, but apparently it was big enough to satisfy Alicia, who as I said was a size queen.
Anyhow, until Professor Corcoran, only Stokley knew how to make me cum. I was writhing and moaning, humping his face. "Oh God, oh God, oh God, yes. Oh yes, ooooooooh." My pussy was so ready for his cock.
Then Professor Corcoran did something else I did expect. He kept eating me. He had something in common with Stokley. My black friend and I had an understanding: once was never enough.
Davis intuitively must have understood that. "Oh God, oh God, I'm cumming again. Please keep eating me. Oh, yeah, oh Davis, oh yeah. You eat me so good."
It wasn't until I'd cum three times, and I was begging him to fuck me that he crawled on top me. My pussy was drenched, and it was only partially from his saliva. "Give it me, Davis, give me your cock." Even as his cock started to find my pussy hole, I was still begging.
Professor Corcoran's cock was just about average size compared all the guys I'd done.
It seemed the college guys I fucked either came too soon or could keep going and going, and when they did cum, they were soon ready for another round. I was more than willing.
Professor Corcoran didn't last forever, but it wasn't over in a minute either. The other thing was, the whole time he was fucking me he was whispering my ear. "You have the sweetest pussy." "Thank you for letting me eat you." "I've never enjoying eating a pussy so much. "It's your pussy that makes my cock so hard."
Usually the guys I'd been with just grunted.
It wasn't the best fuck I'd ever had, but it was the most romantic. Whatever deficiency Professor Corcoran had as a fuck, his pussy eating made up for it. The way he ate my pussy was a thousand times better than any guy had ever done to me. As I said, it was like I'd never been eaten before.
When we finished we snuggled, "Davis, you were so good to me, I hope you can stay the night."
"I'd like that, but you shouldn't expect too much."
"Davis, you were marvelous. I'm asking you to stay because I'll want it again in the morning."
I did get it in the morning, and just like last night, it was marvelous. I'm talking about his tongue. I couldn't get enough of it, and I told him so; he complied.
Just like last night, after numerous orgasms, I begged him to fuck me. And just like last night, I whispered in my ear as he fucked me. "Last night in the dark, I couldn't see your pussy. It's beautiful." "You have the most beautiful pussy." "I think you taste sweeter than last night."
It was so romantic. I felt like Davis was making love to me, not fucking me. "I hope I see you again," I said when he collapsed on top of me when he was finished.
My work days were stressful, and there was my weekend bartending. I suggested that perhaps next Saturday night and Sunday morning might work best for both of us. He agreed.
TO BE CONTINUED
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