Chapter 2

After that first time, Gene and I got it on whenever we could. We had to time things so that I wouldn't get knocked up. While the pill was available back then, it wasn't widespread and it would have been difficult for me to get ahold of them. I knew our family doctor would have ratted on me, so I decided to just watch the old calendar and keep my fingers crossed.

Gene didn't like to use a rubber as he felt it strangled him, and we knew that it didn't always work anyway. The one time we tried was a disaster-he lost his hard on while trying to slip it on, and somehow it broke. Whenever I thought it was a bad time for us to do it, we'd either get each other off by hand, or by mouth, an activity I'd come to like just about as much as fucking itself. I don't just mean giving it either. I can get worked up just from giving a guy head. I don't know why-a lot of girls I've talked to only do it to satisfy the guy so that he'll do it back to her. But in my time I've actually come from giving a blow job without having any stimulation being applied to my genitals.

As you probably realize by now, Gene and I didn't get married. We never even got engaged. Going steady was as far as we ever got, but I do appreciate the time, however brief, we got to spend together. I'm not sure just what happened, but after two more months . . . no, I guess it was three, of going together, it just sort of wore out for me. It wasn't him . . . I really liked him. But like I said, I've got a head on my shoulders, and was pretty much an independent thinker, even though I was appreciated mainly for my body back in those days.

It started when he accepted a football scholarship to a big university way back on the east coast. He was really excited about it, and I was happy for him. But shortly after he'd gotten it, he started really rushing me about the marriage thing, wanting: me to go back there with him and work.

I had really deep feelings for him, but I still was able to see that it wouldn't work out. That's my practical side that's always at war with my fun-loving nature, but it's saved me lots of trouble all the same. I'd seen that my sister's marriage wasn't working out. Oh, they were still married and everything, but my sister had confided to me that the zing had gone out of it already. Her husband had taken a commission in the Air Force, and she'd be leaving for Germany to be with him. It was just that old thing about the woman having to forge her life around her husband's career. I don't think it bothered Joan as much as the same situation would have gotten to me as I was always the more headstrong of the two of us. But somehow I was able to apply what little I knew of their relationship to my situation and decided that I couldn't do what Gene wanted. I had to live my own life. I'd barely turned eighteen.

Maybe if I'd have applied to go to the same school, it would have been different. But I had no idea where he'd be going and by the time we found out, it would have been impossible for me to enter that school in the fall. I did want to go on with my education, both for myself and my parents, who'd been deeply disappointed when Joan had dropped out to get married. I'm afraid I never did finish myself, a fact that sometimes bothers me, even though my parents weren't around to see it, and I'm happy at my success in the field of photography. But every once in awhile it grates at me . . . more for the memory of my parents than for me, I believe.

I tried to break it to Gene as gently as possible-I still had strong feelings for him too. But I did have my own life to lead, and I had been accepted at a couple of colleges-one local, the other on the West Coast. I told him that this would be a test of our love, that we could write to each other and see if our love held up. We would be together during the summers at any rate. But he wouldn't buy any of it. He started becoming jealous of me and demanding. I finally couldn't take it anymore and gave him his sweater back. He drove me crazy for the next couple of weeks, calling at all hours, but once I'd made my mind up that was it, no matter how sorry I felt for him in his pained state.

Gene went on to achieve some prominence in college football, but a knee injury, suffered during a game in his senior year, killed any chances he might have had at playing professional football. From what I understand, he's now married with a couple of kids, selling insurance in Phoenix. Not the type of life I could get into, not after the things I've discovered since then.

I decided to take the offer of the school on the West Coast, as I'd be able to be away from home and have the illusion of being on my own for the first time. My folks sort of leaned towards the local school, but they appreciated my independence. Besides, Los Angeles wasn't that far from Phoenix and I'd be able to visit them over the holidays.

If I'd have known of the serious financial setbacks my father was going through at the time, I probably would have stayed in Phoenix. But father was never the type to bring his troubles out in the open, so I assumed that there was still plenty of money coming through. But his company, unbeknown to even my mother, had gone through some big setbacks, and he wasn't doing as well as he pretended. He didn't want any of us to worry, though, so he agreed to send me to school in L.A.

Since I'd made pretty good grades, I probably could have won a scholarship if I'd had applied. Not knowing about my father's financial troubles, I didn't sign up for competition, assured that he'd have enough money to see me through, as this was one of his major goals anyway . . . seeing us through school. As Joan had dropped out, it was all up to me. Most of the scholarships went to boys in those days anyway.

And so in the Fall, I entered Edgar College, a small liberal arts college in a suburban section of Los Angeles. The reason I chose Edgar, when there were so many other schools to choose from, was that they were known to have a terrific arts program, and I'd decided to go on with art. I hadn't really formulated any strong opinions about my future at that point, but I had done very well in my art classes in high school, and had some vague notion about going on and being a teacher. While I planned to take a photography course during my first semester, I hadn't focused down on that just yet, feeling I was better at drawing and painting.

The atmosphere in California was completely free and open compared to Phoenix, and I found myself really getting behind it. The Free Speech movement was going strong up at Berkeley, and the kids there had begun to question things like fraternities and sororities. Despite my very social upbringing, the new feelings I picked up from the kids at Edgar made me skip sorority rush, the rebel in me coming out. Instead, I moved into a girl's dormitory where I quickly fell in with some radical ideas.

Freshmen girls were required to live on campus unless they lived with their parents, but the dorm atmosphere was much looser at Edgar than I'd seen at Joan's school in Arizona. Of course, they hadn't gotten into the thing of coed dorms by then, but the brightest and hippest kids had begun to question a lot of the things that were going on then, and had started giving the administration some heat about policies they felt to be outdated.

Of course, I wasn't an instant convert to the radical cause, but I did receive a lot of exposure to ideas I'd never given much thought. The movement that had begun at Berkeley had just started to filter down to Los Angeles, and I was amazed to find myself questioning some of the things I had long held as fact.

But mostly I was into studying . . . at least for the first couple of months there. I had to take a lot of required subjects, and the freshmen courses, for the most part, were tougher than I'd been accustomed to in high school, as they tried to weed out the 'dead weight,' early on. Remember, colleges weren't crying for students the way they are now back in those days, as the postwar baby market was just hitting the campus.

I only had two art courses-a beginning drawing course, and a beginning photography course. The outside assignments for these classes was enough, let alone the heavy load I got from the courses required of all freshmen. I found myself really getting behind photography, encouraged by an instructor who liked my work, so I hinted to my parents that I'd like a 35mm camera for Xmas, a gift that they came through with, despite my dad's increasing financial difficulties that I didn't know of at the time.

I sort of fell behind in a couple of my courses by the time for the holiday breaks, so I packed my books up, vowing to study while at home for the holidays. I felt sort of guilty about it, not telling my folks, but I'd spent so much time with a new group of kids I'd met at school, that I didn't spend too much time studying.

At home, it was party, party, party. I hadn't seen a lot of kids I'd gone to high school with for what seemed like a long time, and I didn't get too much studying done in Phoenix either, I'm afraid. So I went back to school, my new Minolta in hand, knowing I'd have to make it all up on finals.

Despite some uppers given to me by a roommate, the first I'd ever had, my cramming didn't pay off too well. I got A's in both art classes ( one of my photographs I'd taken with the school's equipment had been featured in an art show) the rest of my grades weren't spectacular. I got no worse than a C, but I had three of them, plus a B, definitely not what I was used to getting in high school. I could have done worse, but I realized that I'd fucked around a lot and would have done better.

Still, my parents were pleased, so I went into my second semester determined to do better. I realize I'm talking a lot about grades, but I'm doing so to prepare the way for the reason I had financial difficulties later on . . . after the tragedy of my parents. If I had entered on the virtue of my high school grades, I might have secured a scholarship. But when I needed the money a year later, my college marks didn't justify it.

Although I made a valiant effort to study harder the second semester, I actually ended up goofing off even more. I had this new roommate, Betty, who'd moved in when one of my other roommates had left school at mid-term. She was a little hell-raiser, and we spent a bunch of time hanging out with friends of hers.

Betty turned me onto marijuana for the first time in my life. Back then, it was almost unheard of, outside of minority groups and musicians.

However, a lot of the beats had used it and it had begun to spread through the underground movement, and some kids on California campuses had begun to use it. As I was a kid on a California campus, I had my chance.

We tried it over at this boyfriend's of hers, a guy who had a house off campus. They rolled them up into really thin little numbers in those days as it was scarce, but I managed to get off. I hadn't heard much about it, and it was just one of those things . . . a guy whipped out a number (I think he called it a 'stick' back then) and I didn't turn it down. It took some coughing and choking on my part before I learned how to get it down right, but I ended up getting stoned, Betty's instructions serving me well.

I really liked the feeling I got off the grass, the way I felt all warm, things looking like they never had before. I remember that I really got into the music-they were playing this guy who'd sounded like a joke the first time I'd heard his album a few weeks back--Bob Dylan. But I really got into the words, and his voice sounded smooth and mellow.

After the party broke up, Betty and I went back to the dorm. I was still feeling silly from the grass, so Betty and I decided to take a shower. Our other roommate-there were three to a room -was visiting her parents in San Diego for the weekend, so we had the room to ourselves.

As we soaped down in the shower, I noticed how pretty Betty was, how smooth her skin, how firm her tits. I'd never looked at another girl in quite that way before, and it made me catch myself and wonder what was wrong. As we dried off, I got this sudden paranoid flash, thinking she was eyeing me intently. All those words I'd heard about began slamming my mind-lesbian, queer. Was she one of those? I'd never given it much thought, but here I was, the first time high, and I was scared.

When we got back into the room, I quickly slipped into my pajamas and slipped underneath the sheets, wanting to go to sleep and make all the bad thoughts stop. But Betty, not bothering to put anything on, came over and sat on the edge of my bed, reaching over and brushing my hair out of my eyes.

"O.K., " she demanded. "What's the matter?"

"N-n-nothing," I tried to lie. "I just need to go to sleep, that's all."

"Come on," she chided me. "You were all happy and everything before we took a shower. Having a bummer?"

The word was new to me, but when she told me what it meant, I tried to tell her everything was fine.

"You've never made it with another girl before have you?"

The question was so direct that it shocked me. It was as if she were reading my mind. I opened my eyes wide, still scared, but looking at her with wonder. I was ascribing new powers to her, a sort of E.S.P., and I had to follow it up.

"No I haven't," I began, "but I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"You don't, huh?" she smiled. "Well, Kiddo . . . and don't get me wrong . . . I'm just calling things the way they are, but I could swear that you were having a flash on me back there in the shower. Like something you've never felt before."

I hadn't known Betty very long, but I did know that she had a big thing about honesty, about getting out whatever it was that was troubling you.

"No," I tried to deny, but my denial was so vehement that she could tell I was lying.

"Listen," she went on in a soothing voice, trying to calm my fears. "You know me. You know that I ball guys, right? So don't be so afraid of me. I could pick up on what you were going through back there. You dug me . . . looking at me. And that's all right. Then you started thinking about it and you got all scared about it, thinking things like that were unnatural . . . right?"

There was no use in trying to deny it any longer. At least she was being friendly, she wasn't coming down on me for what I'd felt. She talked to me in a soothing, reassuring manner, telling me of a similar experience she'd had in high school.

"Well," I asked, "what happened."

"I balled the chick and got the fear out of my system."

It came as a shock to me to hear this from a friend. The grass was still running through my mind-this was one too many revelations for one night. And yet, she went on to tell me, she wasn't those awful things I'd heard about. I had to admit, listening to her logic, that she wasn't a dyke. She got laid more than anyone I knew. When I put voice to my fears about seeing her body and having it turn me on, she countered by telling me I'd been going through a lot of changes, and that I should realize that there was nothing wrong by being turned on by another girl's body. In effect, what she was telling me was not to knock it unless I'd tried it.

My head was swimming with confusion. I had to admit that I had been turned on by looking at her, from watching her bend over, showing her soapy charms to me. But the conventional thinking had set in, and I'd reacted, overreacted because of the dope I'd smoked, by trying to bury the thoughts.

All these things were true, and it made me feel uneasy. But now that I'd talked them out, my fears began to ease. Even though I hadn't ever felt something like this before, it had been there all along, buried in my subconscious. Betty explained to me that these things often came out at odd times, and that my inhibitions had been altered from the grass I'd smoked and the wine I'd drank.

Still, I told myself, I had these feelings-so what was I supposed to do about it? And then I saw her beautiful body, all naked in front of mine, her boobs full and inviting.

Throwing my cautions to the winds, I reached up and pulled her down to me burying my face in the comfort of her breasts. I began crying in long drawn-out sobs, not sure just what to do, caught between my mind and my body.

"There, there," she quieted me, running her hand through my hair.

And I began to feel better. The whole thing was an emotional release. Yet there was still this tightness within me, this burning physical sensation that needed to be hushed.

Betty took care of that for me. She slowly pulled off my pajamas and laid me back down on the bed. I didn't do anything to try and stop her, as it all seemed so right. She got on top of me and began rubbing her pussy against mine, her lips meeting mine wetly. It all seemed natural to me, I couldn't figure out why I'd been so afraid all along.

And now her lips were moving down my neck, causing gooseflesh to rise along my entire body. I felt the same desires I did when I made it with a guy . . . only different. But I stopped trying to analyze the whole situation, letting her mouth take over. It felt so smooth, so good against my skin. What could be wrong with something that made you feel so good?

Her mouth was at my breasts now, sucking gently at the nipples. She paid equal attention to each tit, moving back and forth between each one, paying special attention to the nipples, which she'd suck into her mouth, roll around on her tongue, then flip them back out, making them swell in excitement.

"Oh, this feels good," I found myself saying.

Betty just smiled and worked her way down to my pussy. Running one hand up to my breasts to massage at them, she parted the flesh of my pussylips with the other and dipped her tongue into my crack. I spread my legs wide, thrilled at the sensations she was bringing to my body, eager for her to fuck me the way girls fuck other girls, wanting to explore this new dimension.

She rolled her tongue up so the edges touched each other and stuck it into my cunt, working it in and out of the moist hole like a cock. I pushed my ass up off the bed so she could get it all, thrilled that she was teaching me this new thing.

After she'd finished tongue-fucking my hole, she moved her lips up to the top of my vulva, searching for my clit. When she found it, she began sucking it off, pressing her lips tightly around it and taking it into her mouth. The fires spread rapidly through me as I felt her suck me off, and I knew I'd be coming soon. I wasn't able to do anything but moan as I let go.

Later she taught me how to eat her out, and I found that this turned me on just as much as giving a guy head did. As I fell asleep in her arms, I was thankful that I'd learned all these new things, and hoped that I could keep furthering my higher education.