I’m Leah. Here’s how Pete and I got together, as I remember it.
My friend Sally was in his grad school program and knew we were both looking for someone. He was in a philosophy program, studying philosophy of religion, if you can believe it. He had plans to teach that subject at the college level. My parents are art-and-antiques dealers, and I was in a double-track program featuring both marketing and art history. Sally thought we’d be a good match, so she invited me to one of the wine and cheese soirées his program hosted on Friday evenings and introduced us.
I was interested from the minute I saw him. Tall, well-built, broad shoulders, slim without being thin. He had a thick head of blondish-brown hair with red tints in it, and a fetching boyish habit of sweeping the hair from his forehead when he was concentrating on something or someone. An eye-catching long Roman nose and a boyish laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. He laughed a lot and somehow managed to be very masculine — a farm boy who played football in high school, I’d learn — and at the same time soft-spoken and gentle. The only thing that turned me off was that obligatory grad-school beard that I think he had grown to make himself appear like a mini-professor, grave and grown-up. But when we started having sex and he began to go down on me, I’d find the beard and mustache had their attractions, too.
His hands stood out especially. Farmers’ hands — large, competent, with long, thick sensitive fingers. I’ll admit that when I looked at those hands the first time we met a little corner of my mind wandered to thoughts of what they might do to pleasure my pussy, which was growing wet even as I looked at his fingers and thought about them. He had on the typical male grad student’s uniform of that era, an old gray and blue checked tweed jacket that had seen better days and tight brown corduroy pants that showed off an impressive bulge. I did look.
So, yes, I liked him right away. Something clicked at our first encounter and told me that underneath that quiet demeanor was a hot guy. From our first meeting, I wanted to get to know him better. A lot better.
Pete here. This is how I recall our first meeting.
My classmate Sally wanted me to meet her friend Leah, so she invited Leah to one of our program’s Friday evening gatherings. That’s how we met. I was interested from the outset. More than interested, to be honest. Though Leah came across as shy and reserved, something seemed to click between us right away and I sensed that under that shy façade, she was hot.
She was an exotic beauty, way out my league, slim and graceful with a long, high waist and pert breasts that weren’t too large but stood out due to the poised way she carried herself. Lustrous black hair, intriguing, intelligent dark eyes, and skin tinged with hints of mahogany that made her noticeable in lily-white Canada, to which her parents had emigrated from Guyana around the time she was born. She was an interesting mix of Dutch, English, and Chinese, I’d later learn. She definitely stood out in a crowd.
Her shyness at that gathering was understandable, since she was crashing a party for students in a program in which she wasn’t enrolled. After Sally introduced us and we had chatted a while, I made a point of walking around the room with her from one cluster of classmates to another, introducing her, hoping that would help put her at ease.
Why I sensed or thought this, I don’t know, but right away, I sensed that if that knee-length woolen skirt and that chic silk blouse were out of the picture, what was underneath could be — well, I’ll use that word again: hot. I’ll admit it: I felt my cock twitch as I wondered what was under that skirt when we walked around the room. I had never experienced such an instant attraction to a woman before I met Leah.
I was determined to get to know her better. A lot better.
Leah: I was delighted when Pete ended that first evening by asking if I’d like to have coffee with him on the weekend. I pretended to look at my schedule to see if I could possibly fit in some time on Saturday, the following day, and set a rendezvous with him at a little place near the university that’s a student hangout. We both sometimes went there, though we hadn’t seen each other there. It was a laid-back place where it was easy to talk, and students liked it for that reason.
Pete: I asked Leah if she’d be free for coffee on Saturday or Sunday, and we made a date for Saturday afternoon, a little place students liked to go, since it was quiet and conducive to conversations or even studying. I told her I’d meet her there mid-afternoon and was looking forward to getting to know her better.
Leah: I got there first that Saturday afternoon and snagged a table by a window. When Pete arrived, he surprised me by greeting me with a peck on the cheek, then pulling his chair up to the side of the table so that we weren’t facing each other across the table but sitting at a right angle to each other, knees nearly touching and faces close. He had on those same tight-fitting brown cords, and I’ll admit it: My eyes feasted on what they showcased as he sauntered towards the table I had claimed for us. I had worn a different silk blouse than the one I wore the evening before, and — daring for me — I hadn’t worn a bra. I felt my nipples stiffen as I watched his bulge when he walked across the café to greet me.
Pete: I was nervous. As I said previously, Leah seemed way out of my league, model material with her exotic slim dark looks and that lustrous mane of black hair. I was nervous but excited at the same time. I really wanted to get to know her, spend time with her, see what it felt like as I ran my fingers through her hair when I kissed her, what the silk blouses and woolen skirts she liked to wear might be hiding. And, holy fuck, were those her nipples I could see perking up under the blouse she had on today? I hoped my eyes wouldn’t bore a hole in the silk.
Leah: Pete pulled his chair up close enough to me for me to smell him, the tiny hint of musk masculine skin gives off, especially when a woman interested in a man and a man interested in that woman sit near each other.
Pete: I could smell Leah’s perfume, her hair. I imagined — or did I? — that I could even get a slight scent of her panties as I leaned in to talk to her. I imagined she was wet and that slight scent I was smelling was her wet pussy exuding the odor of arousal. My cock was as hard as a steel bar as I swept my hair from my forehead and leaned over to ask how her day had gone so far.
Leah: I couldn’t help it. As soon as Pete sat beside me, our knees nearly touching, his beautiful large hands with those long thick fingers cradling the cup of cappuccino I’d ordered for him, I started to get wet. My panties were going to be soaked if I couldn’t control myself better. And wool skirt or no wool skirt, any man with a good nose might well detect what was going on down there.
Pete: We talked for hours. Leah told me interesting stories about her parents’ life in Guyana, where they had a business importing decorative items, furniture, and artwork from Asia. They’d expanded the business when they moved to Canada. She had one brother a year or so younger than she was, and they both lived with their parents.
Leah: I asked Pete what life was like growing up on a farm in the American Midwest with six siblings, and he said it was pretty boring in comparison to being a grad student in a big cosmopolitan city. He did say one thing that piqued my curiosity, however, and sparked more flashes between us — and I’m pretty sure it was designed to do that. He said that growing up on a farm was an education all on its own, and no one had to teach him about the birds and the bees, when he could see the facts of life unfolding every day all around him with animals on the farm. Then he smiled, his eyes crinkling as he did so, and brushed the hair from his forehead as he studied my reaction.
I was falling for him.
Pete: I was falling for Leah. I asked her if she’d like to have dinner next Friday evening so that we could continue to get to know each other, and she said she’d love that. She suggested a little hole-in-the-wall dim sum place her parents liked, which I actually knew, since it fit within a grad student’s budget and was only a short drive from the apartment I shared with another student. I told her I’d pick her up at her parents’ place around 7. My father had given me a farm truck to knock about in while I was off studying, and I hoped she didn’t mind riding in a pick-up truck. She said she’d find that intriguing.
Leah: We made plans to meet next Friday evening at the Red Door, my parents’ go-to dim sum restaurant, and Pete told me he’d pick me up in his truck. Then, as he helped me put my coat on, my earring caught on the collar of my coat and, as I was struggling to get it untangled, he said, “Do you mind?” and put his hand to the side of my face and carefully worked the earring loose from the coat. As he did that, I could swear that he took an extra moment to trace the outline of my ear and to run his fingers along my cheek, maneuvers not necessary for removing the earring. The touch of his fingers on my skin was like fire.
Pete: I managed to get a brief feel of Leah’s cheek and ear just before we left the coffee shop, as I helped her on with her coat and untangled an earring that had caught in the coat collar. Talk about an instant hard on. Yeah, I’ll admit it: as soon as I got back to my apartment, I rubbed one out thinking about the slight scent of feminine arousal I thought I had detected as I sat down next to her and about her hardened nipples pushing against her silk blouse. How I was going to get through the coming week, if thoughts like that preoccupied me instead of my studies, I couldn’t say.
Leah: That night when I was lying in bed thinking about my time with Pete earlier in the day, I found myself so horny that I worked myself up to two orgasms. Here’s where the story may get weird for some of you: I was a virgin before Pete and I got together. That didn’t mean I didn’t have sexy thoughts and sexy desires. It didn’t mean I didn’t masturbate — and often. I knew every in and out of my labial folds, vaginal opening, and clit, had explored them often to become acquainted with what they could do for me and how I liked them to be touched and worked. I had learned how to give myself satisfying orgasms by teasing around my clit with one hand while I inserted two fingers of the other hand in my juicy hole, occasionally twisting and pinching my nipples as I got myself off. I had two great orgasms that evening thinking about Pete’s long, thick fingers and how they had felt against my ear and cheek, his boyish habit of brushing his hair back and studying my face, that tantalizing bulge in the tight cords he liked to wear.
Pete: Here’s the thing: Believe it or not, I was a virgin. And I had no idea how to tell a woman that, especially one as exciting and beautiful as Leah. Oh, I knew about sex all right. You can’t grow up on a farm and not see sex all around you every day. It’s just there. I not only knew about sex, but even though I grew up in a devout conservatively religious farm family, I thought about it a lot. But the thing is, nobody talked about sex in the world in which I grew up, not in church, not in school, not at home. The only sex talk I ever heard was with guys in the locker room when I was playing football, and a lot of that sounded to me like they were shooting the shit.
The ones who bragged about their conquests — Yeah, she let me feel her up and even get inside her panties; or, She finally took her panties off and let me get my dick insider her, and I fucked the shit out of her— struck me as blowhards. It was the quiet guys who listened to that crap and didn’t say a word who were probably getting some, I felt pretty sure, not the loudmouths.
The only talk I ever heard about masturbation was in the locker room, too, and it went hand in hand with the brags of some of the loudmouth guys about getting to third or fourth base. A guy would talk, for instance, about what seeing that girl’s tits in her tight blouse did to his cock as he was lying in bed at night thinking about them, or how he was thinking about a girl’s pussy when he jacked off in his shower at home.
That’s the only talk I ever heard about masturbation as I was growing up. There was total silence at home and in my family’s church circles about any subject related to sex, as if, by not talking about it, we could pretend it didn’t happen, even when my parents had seven kids, for Christsake. If you can believe it, I went right through high school without having sex, and also without masturbating.
Other than hearing locker room bullshit about beating off, I discovered masturbation only after a girlfriend I had in my last year of high school, when we were both 18, jerked me off in my truck one night after we’d gone out for hamburgers and then parked and did some necking as we sat in the cab of the truck. She had more experience than I did, and after I’d kissed her and felt her up a bit, she asked if she could see my cock and play with it. I told her to be my guest, and before I knew it, she was showing me how she could jack it and make it cum — and that’s exactly what she did.
I learned from her how to work my hard cock, and from that time forward, I became a pretty eager masturbator without any other sexual experience to speak of. My experience up to meeting Leah was largely limited to Mrs. Rosy Palmer and her five daughters. I kept them busy with visits all the time. And I was ready to do more. If Leah would let me….
Leah: Since I’d never had sex, my one worry about getting involved with Pete was about how to let him know that. I thought he probably had a lot more experience than I do. That had to be why he brought up the subject of the birds and the bees and what anyone growing up on a farm sees all the time. Of course, I masturbate. Who doesn’t? Like anyone, virgin or not, I have needs and when my pussy needs attention — and it does frequently — I give it the attention it needs. One thing was for sure after I met Pete: when I played with myself after meeting him, it would be Pete, and those long thick fingers and what I thought those tight cords were hiding, that would be on my mind while I pleased my pussy with my fingers.
Postnote: This is fiction, but elements of the story are true, at least, as they were recounted to me by Pete, with whom I was involved at point when he began exploring the side of himself that was attracted to men. Most of my own experience is with men, though as my life has gone on, I've discovered I can also be attracted to women and have freely explored that side of myself. This is the first installment in a series I'll continue.
My friend Sally was in his grad school program and knew we were both looking for someone. He was in a philosophy program, studying philosophy of religion, if you can believe it. He had plans to teach that subject at the college level. My parents are art-and-antiques dealers, and I was in a double-track program featuring both marketing and art history. Sally thought we’d be a good match, so she invited me to one of the wine and cheese soirées his program hosted on Friday evenings and introduced us.
I was interested from the minute I saw him. Tall, well-built, broad shoulders, slim without being thin. He had a thick head of blondish-brown hair with red tints in it, and a fetching boyish habit of sweeping the hair from his forehead when he was concentrating on something or someone. An eye-catching long Roman nose and a boyish laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. He laughed a lot and somehow managed to be very masculine — a farm boy who played football in high school, I’d learn — and at the same time soft-spoken and gentle. The only thing that turned me off was that obligatory grad-school beard that I think he had grown to make himself appear like a mini-professor, grave and grown-up. But when we started having sex and he began to go down on me, I’d find the beard and mustache had their attractions, too.
His hands stood out especially. Farmers’ hands — large, competent, with long, thick sensitive fingers. I’ll admit that when I looked at those hands the first time we met a little corner of my mind wandered to thoughts of what they might do to pleasure my pussy, which was growing wet even as I looked at his fingers and thought about them. He had on the typical male grad student’s uniform of that era, an old gray and blue checked tweed jacket that had seen better days and tight brown corduroy pants that showed off an impressive bulge. I did look.
So, yes, I liked him right away. Something clicked at our first encounter and told me that underneath that quiet demeanor was a hot guy. From our first meeting, I wanted to get to know him better. A lot better.
Pete here. This is how I recall our first meeting.
My classmate Sally wanted me to meet her friend Leah, so she invited Leah to one of our program’s Friday evening gatherings. That’s how we met. I was interested from the outset. More than interested, to be honest. Though Leah came across as shy and reserved, something seemed to click between us right away and I sensed that under that shy façade, she was hot.
She was an exotic beauty, way out my league, slim and graceful with a long, high waist and pert breasts that weren’t too large but stood out due to the poised way she carried herself. Lustrous black hair, intriguing, intelligent dark eyes, and skin tinged with hints of mahogany that made her noticeable in lily-white Canada, to which her parents had emigrated from Guyana around the time she was born. She was an interesting mix of Dutch, English, and Chinese, I’d later learn. She definitely stood out in a crowd.
Her shyness at that gathering was understandable, since she was crashing a party for students in a program in which she wasn’t enrolled. After Sally introduced us and we had chatted a while, I made a point of walking around the room with her from one cluster of classmates to another, introducing her, hoping that would help put her at ease.
Why I sensed or thought this, I don’t know, but right away, I sensed that if that knee-length woolen skirt and that chic silk blouse were out of the picture, what was underneath could be — well, I’ll use that word again: hot. I’ll admit it: I felt my cock twitch as I wondered what was under that skirt when we walked around the room. I had never experienced such an instant attraction to a woman before I met Leah.
I was determined to get to know her better. A lot better.
Leah: I was delighted when Pete ended that first evening by asking if I’d like to have coffee with him on the weekend. I pretended to look at my schedule to see if I could possibly fit in some time on Saturday, the following day, and set a rendezvous with him at a little place near the university that’s a student hangout. We both sometimes went there, though we hadn’t seen each other there. It was a laid-back place where it was easy to talk, and students liked it for that reason.
Pete: I asked Leah if she’d be free for coffee on Saturday or Sunday, and we made a date for Saturday afternoon, a little place students liked to go, since it was quiet and conducive to conversations or even studying. I told her I’d meet her there mid-afternoon and was looking forward to getting to know her better.
Leah: I got there first that Saturday afternoon and snagged a table by a window. When Pete arrived, he surprised me by greeting me with a peck on the cheek, then pulling his chair up to the side of the table so that we weren’t facing each other across the table but sitting at a right angle to each other, knees nearly touching and faces close. He had on those same tight-fitting brown cords, and I’ll admit it: My eyes feasted on what they showcased as he sauntered towards the table I had claimed for us. I had worn a different silk blouse than the one I wore the evening before, and — daring for me — I hadn’t worn a bra. I felt my nipples stiffen as I watched his bulge when he walked across the café to greet me.
Pete: I was nervous. As I said previously, Leah seemed way out of my league, model material with her exotic slim dark looks and that lustrous mane of black hair. I was nervous but excited at the same time. I really wanted to get to know her, spend time with her, see what it felt like as I ran my fingers through her hair when I kissed her, what the silk blouses and woolen skirts she liked to wear might be hiding. And, holy fuck, were those her nipples I could see perking up under the blouse she had on today? I hoped my eyes wouldn’t bore a hole in the silk.
Leah: Pete pulled his chair up close enough to me for me to smell him, the tiny hint of musk masculine skin gives off, especially when a woman interested in a man and a man interested in that woman sit near each other.
Pete: I could smell Leah’s perfume, her hair. I imagined — or did I? — that I could even get a slight scent of her panties as I leaned in to talk to her. I imagined she was wet and that slight scent I was smelling was her wet pussy exuding the odor of arousal. My cock was as hard as a steel bar as I swept my hair from my forehead and leaned over to ask how her day had gone so far.
Leah: I couldn’t help it. As soon as Pete sat beside me, our knees nearly touching, his beautiful large hands with those long thick fingers cradling the cup of cappuccino I’d ordered for him, I started to get wet. My panties were going to be soaked if I couldn’t control myself better. And wool skirt or no wool skirt, any man with a good nose might well detect what was going on down there.
Pete: We talked for hours. Leah told me interesting stories about her parents’ life in Guyana, where they had a business importing decorative items, furniture, and artwork from Asia. They’d expanded the business when they moved to Canada. She had one brother a year or so younger than she was, and they both lived with their parents.
Leah: I asked Pete what life was like growing up on a farm in the American Midwest with six siblings, and he said it was pretty boring in comparison to being a grad student in a big cosmopolitan city. He did say one thing that piqued my curiosity, however, and sparked more flashes between us — and I’m pretty sure it was designed to do that. He said that growing up on a farm was an education all on its own, and no one had to teach him about the birds and the bees, when he could see the facts of life unfolding every day all around him with animals on the farm. Then he smiled, his eyes crinkling as he did so, and brushed the hair from his forehead as he studied my reaction.
I was falling for him.
Pete: I was falling for Leah. I asked her if she’d like to have dinner next Friday evening so that we could continue to get to know each other, and she said she’d love that. She suggested a little hole-in-the-wall dim sum place her parents liked, which I actually knew, since it fit within a grad student’s budget and was only a short drive from the apartment I shared with another student. I told her I’d pick her up at her parents’ place around 7. My father had given me a farm truck to knock about in while I was off studying, and I hoped she didn’t mind riding in a pick-up truck. She said she’d find that intriguing.
Leah: We made plans to meet next Friday evening at the Red Door, my parents’ go-to dim sum restaurant, and Pete told me he’d pick me up in his truck. Then, as he helped me put my coat on, my earring caught on the collar of my coat and, as I was struggling to get it untangled, he said, “Do you mind?” and put his hand to the side of my face and carefully worked the earring loose from the coat. As he did that, I could swear that he took an extra moment to trace the outline of my ear and to run his fingers along my cheek, maneuvers not necessary for removing the earring. The touch of his fingers on my skin was like fire.
Pete: I managed to get a brief feel of Leah’s cheek and ear just before we left the coffee shop, as I helped her on with her coat and untangled an earring that had caught in the coat collar. Talk about an instant hard on. Yeah, I’ll admit it: as soon as I got back to my apartment, I rubbed one out thinking about the slight scent of feminine arousal I thought I had detected as I sat down next to her and about her hardened nipples pushing against her silk blouse. How I was going to get through the coming week, if thoughts like that preoccupied me instead of my studies, I couldn’t say.
Leah: That night when I was lying in bed thinking about my time with Pete earlier in the day, I found myself so horny that I worked myself up to two orgasms. Here’s where the story may get weird for some of you: I was a virgin before Pete and I got together. That didn’t mean I didn’t have sexy thoughts and sexy desires. It didn’t mean I didn’t masturbate — and often. I knew every in and out of my labial folds, vaginal opening, and clit, had explored them often to become acquainted with what they could do for me and how I liked them to be touched and worked. I had learned how to give myself satisfying orgasms by teasing around my clit with one hand while I inserted two fingers of the other hand in my juicy hole, occasionally twisting and pinching my nipples as I got myself off. I had two great orgasms that evening thinking about Pete’s long, thick fingers and how they had felt against my ear and cheek, his boyish habit of brushing his hair back and studying my face, that tantalizing bulge in the tight cords he liked to wear.
Pete: Here’s the thing: Believe it or not, I was a virgin. And I had no idea how to tell a woman that, especially one as exciting and beautiful as Leah. Oh, I knew about sex all right. You can’t grow up on a farm and not see sex all around you every day. It’s just there. I not only knew about sex, but even though I grew up in a devout conservatively religious farm family, I thought about it a lot. But the thing is, nobody talked about sex in the world in which I grew up, not in church, not in school, not at home. The only sex talk I ever heard was with guys in the locker room when I was playing football, and a lot of that sounded to me like they were shooting the shit.
The ones who bragged about their conquests — Yeah, she let me feel her up and even get inside her panties; or, She finally took her panties off and let me get my dick insider her, and I fucked the shit out of her— struck me as blowhards. It was the quiet guys who listened to that crap and didn’t say a word who were probably getting some, I felt pretty sure, not the loudmouths.
The only talk I ever heard about masturbation was in the locker room, too, and it went hand in hand with the brags of some of the loudmouth guys about getting to third or fourth base. A guy would talk, for instance, about what seeing that girl’s tits in her tight blouse did to his cock as he was lying in bed at night thinking about them, or how he was thinking about a girl’s pussy when he jacked off in his shower at home.
That’s the only talk I ever heard about masturbation as I was growing up. There was total silence at home and in my family’s church circles about any subject related to sex, as if, by not talking about it, we could pretend it didn’t happen, even when my parents had seven kids, for Christsake. If you can believe it, I went right through high school without having sex, and also without masturbating.
Other than hearing locker room bullshit about beating off, I discovered masturbation only after a girlfriend I had in my last year of high school, when we were both 18, jerked me off in my truck one night after we’d gone out for hamburgers and then parked and did some necking as we sat in the cab of the truck. She had more experience than I did, and after I’d kissed her and felt her up a bit, she asked if she could see my cock and play with it. I told her to be my guest, and before I knew it, she was showing me how she could jack it and make it cum — and that’s exactly what she did.
I learned from her how to work my hard cock, and from that time forward, I became a pretty eager masturbator without any other sexual experience to speak of. My experience up to meeting Leah was largely limited to Mrs. Rosy Palmer and her five daughters. I kept them busy with visits all the time. And I was ready to do more. If Leah would let me….
Leah: Since I’d never had sex, my one worry about getting involved with Pete was about how to let him know that. I thought he probably had a lot more experience than I do. That had to be why he brought up the subject of the birds and the bees and what anyone growing up on a farm sees all the time. Of course, I masturbate. Who doesn’t? Like anyone, virgin or not, I have needs and when my pussy needs attention — and it does frequently — I give it the attention it needs. One thing was for sure after I met Pete: when I played with myself after meeting him, it would be Pete, and those long thick fingers and what I thought those tight cords were hiding, that would be on my mind while I pleased my pussy with my fingers.
Postnote: This is fiction, but elements of the story are true, at least, as they were recounted to me by Pete, with whom I was involved at point when he began exploring the side of himself that was attracted to men. Most of my own experience is with men, though as my life has gone on, I've discovered I can also be attracted to women and have freely explored that side of myself. This is the first installment in a series I'll continue.
