I smiled. She was only sixteen and this was the one great love of her life. I knew better. “You’re right, and I apologize. Just do me a favor and leave the little guys alone, okay?”
She smiled at that. “Okay. So, what should I do first?”
“Well, think of me as a lollipop, and see what happens.”
Jeana nodded and extended her tongue, and began to softly lick the shaft from bottom to top. However, I must have scared her off of using her hands, so I tended to move away from her. I told her that the no hands rule was only for my nuts, and that I really liked it when she played with my cock otherwise. That got me a very large grin, and she reached out and took control of the situation. She continued to lick my shaft and cockhead for several minutes, and started jacking me off at the same time.
That was going to get her a surprise soon, so I said, “Go a little slower, unless you’re trying for a speed record. Now, the next step is open your mouth, and put me inside.” Jeana’s mouth came open and my cockhead slipped in. I groaned at the wet warmth, but then I felt her teeth, and that wasn’t as nice. “Careful there, remember, no matter what you do, no teeth. Open wide and stay that way!” Jeana opened her mouth more and began bobbing her head up and down.
“Oh, that’s so good! Just keep doing that! Don’t stop, don’t stop!” My mind totally lost track of the lesson plan. Jeana was doing just fine on her own. She even put a little suction on the end, and was jacking me so nicely. “Don’t stop, just like that, don’t stop…” My hips began moving up and down, involuntarily trying to push in deeper. “That’s it, that’s it, oh, oh…” Come started pumping up my shaft. Jeana gagged and coughed, but soldiered on gamely. My jism spurted into her mouth, and some dribbled back out of her lips, but she managed to swallow some of it, and a little more got on her face.
When I was pumped dry, I looked down at her jism smeared face. “That was amazing!” I said weakly.
Jeana looked up at me happily. “I did it right?”
“You did it more than right, honey.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
I smiled. “This is a test that is very easy to grade. If the guy comes, you passed.”
Jeana giggled. “Has that ever happened? You know, somebody fails the test.”
I shrugged. Marilyn had given terrible blowjobs. They were okay for making me stiff before we screwed, but she never got the hang of just doing it for full release. She would always try to give me deep throat, which she really couldn’t do, she never totally got her teeth out of the picture, and she tended to stop just before I came, to try a new trick. “It can happen.”
Jeana noticed her face was covered with jism, so she stood and ran off to the kitchen sink and washed her face. I stood up and followed her. “So, we know I liked it, but what about you? I don’t want to do anything you don’t like to do.”
Jeana dried her face and I decided to run that dishtowel through the laundry before using it again. “It was okay. I mean, it’s not chocolate ice cream, but it was okay.”
“I meant, did you enjoy doing that, or did it feel wrong to you or something?”
“Huh?”
I had to be careful here. In the future, a certain strain of super-feminists would proclaim that all sex, but especially fellatio, was demeaning and cruel to women. “Well, I’ve heard some women think it’s demeaning to them.”
She gave me a look like I was a little crazy. “I bet they wouldn’t say that if you were the one doing the eating, and not them!”
“You’re probably right.”
She grinned at me. “You think I should practice some more?”
I grinned right back. “You can never practice too much! Why don’t we go get on the bed first? Have you ever heard of sixty-nine?”
Jeana smiled. “I’ve heard of it, but maybe you should teach me.”
“Maybe I should.”
From there on in, oral sex on both our parts became an integral part of our lovemaking, and we both practiced as often as possible.
The rest of the semester went forward in a bit of a blur. There were times I felt definitely overstretched, but Jeana was always there to settle me down and take care of me, and I tried to do the best I could by her. I always knew in the back of my head that ultimately we would end up separating, but if I could delay that, it was a good idea. I kept my weekends open for anything she wanted to do. Usually once a month I would cook a Sunday supper over at her house and teach her a new recipe.
The biggest issue I had was balancing attendance at two different schools. I pretty much had an open hall pass over at Towson High, since my schedule depended on my class schedule over at Towson State. A fair bit of my high school classes I ended up doing self study in the library. I still tried to spend time there every day, to see my friends at home room or lunch, and go to lacrosse games or school plays and such.
I also applied to college, but just one college, RPI — Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. I wanted to go back. Before, it had been just one of three schools I applied to and was accepted at. Now I only applied to the one. Why there, when I could have gotten into almost any school now? Because I liked it! The city itself, Troy, is a dump, but the school was small and intimate, and had a frighteningly high IQ. You’ve heard the expression about learning something from the guy ‘who wrote the book’ on the subject? At RPI, the professors quite literally wrote textbooks on the subjects they taught. Some of these guys were simply world class. I took at least half a dozen courses where the books we used were written by the professors, and they were used around the country. In 1973, the year I would start there, the Nobel Prize in Physics was won by a fellow at GE who had gotten his doctorate at RPI and his thesis was the basis for the Nobel Prize.
Besides, I learned much more from RPI than simply what was in the classes. The school itself is in the top 25 engineering schools in the nation, at least according to the various polls and rankings on the subject. They had an attrition rate of about 50 %; in other words, half of all students flunked out. It was incredibly tough.
At every other college, every semester you would have that one class that everybody dreaded, that one teacher who piled on homework, gave ruthless tests, and graded like Attila the Hun. However, you could always tell yourself that this was the only class that semester that would be like that, and then sleep through everything else.
At Rensselaer, all of your classes were like that. I graduated down in the bottom third of my class, but I did graduate, and I have never in my lifetime faced a tougher intellectual standard. I’ve heard Marines say the same thing about boot camp; that if they could survive that, they could survive anything. It was the same for me at RPI. No matter what happened to me and no matter how tough life was, I survived RPI, I could survive anything. Maybe this time I wouldn’t be in the bottom of the class.
Let me put it another way. Even when drunk and stoned out of your mind with a bunch of equally drunk and stoned college assholes, you could end up in a scientific discussion. I remember once being stoned and drunk with another couple of guys, and we actually designed a microwave system using negative feedback control systems to stop cars from tailgating. Thirty years later a similar system would become a common option among high end cars.
The application process was fairly simple, but it took time. There was no Internet then, so you couldn’t just apply online. I had to call long distance and have a packet mailed to me. At the end of the semester my grades would be mailed from Towson High and Towson State. When the SAT scores came back, they would be mailed directly to RPI. I put in for early acceptance. The last time around I had scored 1340 on my SATs, which definitely beat my B-/C+ school grades. This time around I should have straight As and a higher SAT score. I expected to get in on early acceptance.