Just before I cut lose, I had enough semblance of thought to weakly cry out, “I’m going to come, I’m going to come, keep going, keep going.” If she didn’t want it in her mouth, and some girls don’t, at least I gave her warning. She could probably tell anyway by the taste of my pre-come. Shelley didn’t care. She kept sucking and pumping until I exploded again, and she swallowed every drop.
I collapsed into the couch and gazed at her. She sat back on her heels and grinned, using a finger to wipe the corners of her mouth. “Wow!” I said.
“That was fun. We’re going to have to do that again.”
“Any time you want.” I theatrically looked at my watch. “Give me a few minutes…”
Shelley laughed and stood up, grabbing her top and bra. “Not now. My folks will be home in ten minutes. I need to get dressed!” She scampered up the stairs.
I waited another minute to catch my breath, and then stood up and pulled my briefs and pants back up. By the time Shelley returned, I had the basement in a semblance of dignity. We packaged up the parts of the filter we were taking to the college and tossed them in my backpack and headed upstairs.
“Not to be too personal, but any idea when, you know, we’ll be able to, you know?” I stammered out. I figured this was better than asking the real question — when can we fuck like minks in heat?!
She grinned. “Sometime next week.”
“Should I be getting some protection?” I asked.
She gave me a surprised look. “Thank you for asking, but no, I’m on the Pill.” She then said, “Most guys don’t ask.”
“You should know by now, I’m not most guys.”
She ran her hands across her breasts, shivering, and said breathily, “I figured that out already. I thought I was going to be teaching you, but boy did I have that wrong! Who taught you?”
“A friend.”
“Who was she? I didn’t know you had been dating anyone.”
I just shook my head. “I don’t kiss and tell, or do anything and tell. I have had friends.”
“Friends? Multiple friends?”
“I’m a friendly guy.”
She looked at me and then reached out to try and tickle me. “I bet I can force you to tell me.”
I didn’t tell her, but the only places on my entire body that are ticklish are the soles of my feet. I let her try to tickle me, but just held out, stalwart to the end. “Us tough guys can’t be broken!”
“Then I’m going to start asking around school!”
I shrugged. “Ask away, but you’ll never hear it from me.”
“And if one of your friends asks about us?”
“We’re just friends. Good friends. Unquote. Like I said, I don’t tell.” Then I grinned. “But don’t let me stop you. You ask your friends in school, and the next time we’re together, you can try tickling me again, too, but don’t be surprised if I tickle back.” I goosed her side and she squealed and jumped away. “Payback’s a bitch, baby!”
Her mother walked in just then, to find her daughter trying to tickle me, and me valiantly resisting. I was polite enough to look embarrassed, and then I grabbed my coat and took off. As I left the house, I could hear Shelley saying, “Mom! Nothing happened!” I grinned like a fool the entire walk home.
That evening, after demolishing what little homework I was behind in, I gave a lot of thought to my newfound sexual liberation. In many ways, the Sixties and Seventies were the golden age of the sexual revolution. With the introduction of the Pill in the late Fifties/early Sixties pregnancy was effectively eliminated as a reason for abstinence. Even if a girl got pregnant, it was no longer the end of the world. By 1973 Roe v. Wade legalized abortion throughout the country. By the Seventies the social stigma of abortion was at the lowest it would be for a generation or two.
The other major problem with promiscuous sexual freedom was disease, but AIDS didn’t exist until the early Eighties. In the Sixties and Seventies the worst you could get was gonorrhea or syphilis, both of which were susceptible to standard antibiotics. (Okay, herpes was around too, but that was never that big a deal.) Once, in the mid Seventies when I was in college, I got an abscessed tooth, and needed to be treated with penicillin. My frat brothers immediately suspected I had the clap and my reputation soared!
So I was in the midst of a sexual smorgasbord that on the first go-around I had been both oblivious to (at first) and then unable to do much with. Sexual liberation was something that really wasn’t seen until college. While statistics on the subject have always been notoriously unreliable, the average age when virginity was lost was 18 or 19. It would continue to drop as time went on, but when I graduated high school in 1973, well over half my class, despite the bragging and brave talk, were virgins, myself included. I also have to be fair about it, when I say that in 1969, it was very unusual for a junior high student to be sexually active. There were always rumors and stories, but were generally just rank bullshit.
I saw no need to repeat that history! If two-thirds of my graduating class were virgins, then one-third wasn’t, and it was my duty to find the females in this group. It looked to me like I already had found my first serious girlfriend, and I intended for us to become very serious.
Certainly nothing was going to happen on Thursday. Mom picked me and Shelley up after school and drove us the five minutes into Towson to the college. It took us longer to park the car and walk across campus than it did to drive there. Once inside the chemistry building, I led the way to Professor Mihaus’ office. He was waiting there for us and I introduced everyone. Before we went into the lab, however, I asked, “Professor, do you have a blank lab notebook? I completely forgot to pick one up.”
He shook his head and wagged a finger at me. “You need to remember the importance of proper observations.” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out two notebooks. “Now, record today’s work in one of them. How many days have you been working on this?”
“About a week or so.”
“Why, Professor?” asked Shelley. She had gotten over her initial awe and was curious.
“I messed up,” I replied. “I forgot to record our daily work and progress each day. You need accurate observations and recordings to document your lab work.”
Professor Milhaus nodded in agreement. “Quite correct. Still, it’s early on and no harm, no foul. I want you to take the second notebook and start on page one and record the work you’ve done to this point. When you get to today’s work, copy from the one notebook into the other, and then only use the second from that point.”
I nodded my understanding. My mother, on the other hand, didn’t. While proud of me (and barely acknowledging Shelley) she felt this was an awful lot of work for a little junior high project, and she told him so. “Is all that really needed, Doctor?”
“Oh, very much so. I would never accept less from one of my students,” he replied. She looked quite skeptical, and he noticed. “Mrs. Buckman, I think you are working under a misapprehension about this project. You are thinking this is just a school project. This is a most ambitious undertaking. I would normally accept this caliber of work at the undergraduate level. I plan on using the sample that these two provide me as a basis of lab work for a senior and graduate organic chemistry course. Proper documentation is essential!”