Nineteen. Not married. No kids. The ideal age and situation for no-strings sex. Ruth and I realized this at about the same time. We weren't really attracted, but we got along. It was early May, our first year of college was about to end, the days were sunny and warm, and we had started hanging out. I thought, hoped, something might happen, but I was scared to make a move.
One of the bars near campus catered to bookworms, instead of dancers and jocks. Chess sets and boards were available, and once in a while I saw them used. I'm no brainiac (I was majoring in business), but I liked the place because it was quiet enough for people to talk and listen. At a big round table on a weeknight, Ruth and I were sometimes in a group of seven or eight, mostly listening to extroverts hold forth on Important Issues.
By spring, Ruth and I were usually both there at the same time. When the group at the big table broke up, sometimes she and I would move to a small table.
We got acquainted. We discussed some Issues that weren't all that Important.
We allowed ourselves to say that we weren't involved with anyone else.
We even flirted a little.
She didn't make a move either.
Finally, on a day when I had been so busy prepping for finals that I hadn't made time to masturbate, I said to her, "Is it fair to say that you're not interested in me, long-term? You're way liberal, and I'm okay with the profit motive. I like hanging out with you, but is this getting us anywhere?"
She blinked. After a moment she said, "Wow." She took a sip of beer, looking into her glass. Then she looked up and said, "Maybe there are other reasons for doing this." Meaning, I thought, for her as much as for me.
I swallowed, without beer. "I'm lonely," I said. "But I don't want to drag you into something that has no future."
"That's good," she said, seeming hesitant. "But how about the present? In a couple weeks we'll go home."
I decided that this was as much encouragement as she'd ever give me. I drank some beer. Maybe that gave me the nerve to say, "Would you like to get together?"
She looked to the side, smiling a little, shifting a bit in her chair. With a jerky nod she said, "Yeah." Then, with a quick look at me, "But not tonight."
I nodded. As eager as I was, fear of rejection was replaced immediately by performance anxiety.
She pulled back to an earlier topic. "We don't argue about our opinions. That's something."
I shrugged. "I don't try to convert people. You have your reasons for what you think."
She might have blushed a little, but in that light it was hard to tell. "So we can be friends. And...a little more?"
My turn to smile, I hope not too greedily. "I'd like that. What do you have in mind?"
She rolled her eyes, setting down her glass with a thump. "So inoffensive, so safe, so passive-aggressive." As I was about to complain, she put up a hand and said, "No, at least you raised the subject of you and me. Props for that, Greg. I was too chickenshit. But I have good reason to be timid about this. I mean, look at me. Except for the tits, does anything about me drive you wild?"
Probably staying passive-aggressive, I countered, "It's not like my looks make the ladies swoon."
This smile was a little warmer. "It's okay, talking about this. But I'm still a little scared."
I now had a boner, which made me even more defensive. "Me too. Um. I don't want to get hurt."
She took a deep breath. "I don't want to go very far. It's not because of you. My older sister got knocked up, and things have been rough for her ever since."
"I get it," I said, maybe sounding impatient.
She leaned closer and spoke quietly. "How about sometime over the weekend? I promise I'll, um, get you off, and you can do plenty with these." With one hand she vaguely indicated her upper torso, obscured by a loose, dark green t-shirt.
"Sure," I said. "I hope I can do something for you," I said, expecting maybe to eat her out.
"To dodge your earlier question," she said, "I do have something in mind." Then she drained her beer.
***
Now for the hard truth about why we were both available.
I was pudgy, so that my weak chin was on the brink of doubling. I wasn't tall. I had straight black hair, and a family history that promises early baldness. In a conversation, I can think of devastatingly witty remarks-five minutes too late. As far as I could tell, my prick was okay in length and girth, but only twice so far had it been used for a woman's pleasure. Maybe the results were good, but neither woman had been interested in more of that kind of fun, or a deeper personal connection.
Ruth was beyond pudgy. She had neck-length brown hair and a bulbous nose. I'd never seen her use cosmetics, and I don't think she'd be inclined towards that, given what she'd said on the subject of traditional gender roles. She got testy if she thought she was being mocked or disrespected. She didn't suffer fools or curry favor, so she dismissed plenty of men who might have pursued her just for a chance to bang her while sucking big tits.
I'm not so obsessed about breasts that I try to estimate cup size or inches, and Ruth didn't wear skintight stuff. When she moved, though, it was apparent that she was amply endowed.
