I'm writing a series of accounts about my life in England; mainly true accounts, with just a little embellishing here and there. They're about my sex life to be precise, but then what other type of life is written about on Lit?
A biography I suppose, but a short one and an unfinished one. Is it arrogant for a, nearly, twenty one year old to write a bio? Probably, but then, hey, what the hell, I want to tell my short story so let's see just how many want to read it.
How many want to read about how I lost my virginity when I was eighteen, had an affair with a thirty something man just after that and how since then I've been strongly attracted to older men. About my time at university, learning about girls and how male lecturers ignore the no fraternising with female students rule. How I became a photographic model, part-time and my conflict over what goes on in the studio when there's just the model and the cameraman there.
The accounts flow naturally and are intrinsically linked. I strongly urge you to read them in the sequence I wrote them. Whatever way you do read them, though, enjoy them, leave whatever comments you wish and e-mail me if you'd like to discuss anything.
Keep checking the Lit site for more
Luv
Sammi
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Chapter 1
There were only three things I enjoyed at university. The drama club, Mr Deekin and Stephanie Gordon's tits; actually that's four isn't it, if you include both of her tits, which I most certainly did?
So I didn't last. I made it through the first year and a little way into the second, but that was it. I left. Mum and dad went absofuckinglutely ballistic. They tried to persuade me to go back, threatened to ground me, cut off my allowance, send me to Coventry and also, probably, looked into the possibility of having me flogged or hung drawn and quartered, fortunately that sort of sport has declined in London in recent years. I didn't care, well I did care for I badly needed the allowance, but there was no way I could go back.
It was the childishness of my fellow students and the way we were still really treated as kids that mainly got to me. I felt so much older than them all, other than Steph. I related much easier to the lecturers and even their wives in social situation than I did my fellow students, I hated having to continue studying and the typical night out, pints of beer in a grotty pub did little for me. So I was miserable, demotivated and unhappy.
I tried to suffer it for a while but during the holidays at the end of the first year I tested the water with my parents.
"Thinking of leaving, what the hell you talking about," my dad almost screamed looking angrier than I'd ever seen him. Angrier that is other than during the first week of my hols when they came home early and found me in, shall we call it, a compromising position? Well I guess lying on a hammock in the garden, topless with the zip of my shorts undone in the arms of a naked aroused boy is compromising isn't it? So when I made my announcement I was already in everybody's bad books, especially mum's for I think she quite fancied the guy. After all the way she glanced (leered??) at him as he pulled his shorts and tee on was far from the disapproving look of a parent!
"You can't just bloodywell leave. It's bloody university not a tennis club, you know."
Mum joined in along the same lines but with more emphasis on what her golf and bridge club friends would think. I tried with her alone knowing that if she wanted to she could persuade dad to do anything; probably by rationing her favours with him, I always thought.
She was, well is, an amazingly attractive woman. She's only nineteen years older than me, so now and then we're taken for sisters, although as that's usually by waiters or men such as golf or tennis coaches or pool attendants when we're on holiday, I have my suspicions that they're may be a degree of flattery involved. And I'm by no means certain that the flattery doesn't sometimes work.
Anyway, whether their flattery works on them getting into her knickers or not, mine didn't work on persuading her to try to get at dad.
"I'm afraid he's totally made his mind up. You know how he so much wants you to have the education he didn't, there's no way he'll agree."
So that effectively ended that little plan. So, in late September there was I bowling down the M4 in my new MINI Cooper, going back to studying English, attending my sanity check, the drama club, seeing what would happen with Mr Deekins and learning more about Stephanie's tits.
Chapter 2
We have some unfinished business don't we? Remember I was bent over the kitchen table being shagged from behind by Richard, or dirty Dicky as I now think of him? And remember also that he'd just ejaculated into me, shot his sperm into me and not one of those nice little rubber collection bags. Yes when we last chatted I'd just been fucked, unprotected.
I was as worried as hell. Not pregnancy for I was, of course, on the pill, but from the disease angle. I was petrified of catching something whether it be VD., herpes or the big one.
As he slipped out of me and we both realised what we'd done, he was immediately full of remorse. He cuddled me, apologised profusely and said how sorry he was. As scared as I was I couldn't completely blame him could I? After all a girl has to take some responsibility doesn't she? I mean we claim that we have the right to change our implied yes to a categorical no even when a man's buried deep inside us. If that's the case then we should be aware enough to remind our fellow that he's riding bareback shouldn't we? Yeah, right! You show me a red-blooded woman who can change her mind with six inches or so of hard man inside her or can think to say, "hey you've forgotten the johnny" and I'll show you a liar or an ice maiden, more likely both!
I washed very carefully trying to clean myself, even though I knew full well that would be to no avail if he was affected with anything. I managed to put it out of my mind, though and after a bath I slipped into a clean pair of tight, white CK boxers and a loose tee that I sometimes wear as my PJs.
In spite of the unfortunate incident and the rather surprising, I thought at the time even though subsequent events have shown Rick not to be unusual, lack of stamina on his part, I was looking forward to sleeping with him. I'd never yet slept with a man; in fact earlier this evening was the first time I'd actually been in a bed with one! The idea of being held and cuddled, of pressing my breasts against his back, of feeling his body against mine was so romantic as well as hugely sexy that I so wanted that to happen. The fact that almost certainly we wouldn't have sex before going off to sleep was ok by me, for the potential thrill of being woken up by an erection being pressed against my bottom was more than ample compensation.
"What's happened?" I stammered as I walked into the kitchen. "Why are you dressed?"
"Sorry babe, something's come up, I have to go?"
"Go? Go where? Where do you have to go?" I, almost, whined with disappointment.
"There's a problem at the flat, my flatmate just called."
I was perplexed. I was confused and becoming angry for I just couldn't comprehend how there could be a problem at the flat that would make him have to leave. I asked him about the problem and what it was, but he was evasive. I asked him when his flatmate had called and he said a few moments ago. That made me suspicious for I was sure I would have heard the phone.
I'd obviously had suspicions about Rick. I couldn't completely explain what mine were but inevitably when a girl is never taken home by a man there's some form of problem, isn't there? Well it stands to reason, doesn't it? Maybe not the kind of girl to take home to mother? Although mothers didn't actually feature in my suspicions of him, funnily enough!
"So you're just going, are you?"
"I'm afraid I have to?"
"Will you be back? I mean it's only twelve thirty," I asked feeling a little foolish standing there in what I thought was my sexy night gear almost pleading with him.
"No, it'll be too late, I'll call you tomorrow."
A little evil streak came into me.
"No tell you what let me call you when you get home."
"Ok," he answered just before I added.
"On your house phone." I didn't have that number and had never called him there. Hmmm why?
"No call on the mobile."
"No I'd prefer the landline Rick."
"Why?"
"Why not?" I retorted, "unless you've something to hide."
