Coeds Pt 01

Coeds

Kathryn M. Burke

Della Shortridge had a problem.

She was in many ways in the prime of life: thirty-eight, with a good job as an associate professor of English at a prestigious liberal arts college (which we shall leave nameless) in Ohio, and the wife of an accomplished and handsome husband, Joseph McHenry, who was forty-one and also taught in the English Department. They had met eight years ago, when Della had been hired, and a year later they were married.

Della had to admit that the seven years of their marriage had been fabulous. She and Joseph seemed to be on the same wavelength—intellectually, politically, emotionally, and in many other ways. Their love was deep and mutual, and they almost never had any arguments. Her marriage was the envy of almost everyone she knew.

But what those people didn't know was that there was a problem that was growing bigger by the day. And that problem was—sex.

She had never had a strong sex drive, from her teenage years up to the present moment. Intellectually she recognized the importance of physical intimacy to a person's overall well-being—and to the health of a marriage. And it wasn't that she had any distaste for sex; it was just that she didn't think of it as the highest priority in life. So many other things were more interesting.

On top of that, she was feminist enough to resent the countless ways in which men of all stripes—from some of her undergraduate students to men in their fifties, sixties, or even seventies—regarded her, and all women, as sexual objects first and foremost. She'd lost count of how many times men had gazed at her chest before looking her in the face. Why, sometimes she thought even her own father—all of sixty-six years old—looked at her carnally out of the corner of his eye. The old goat!

Sometimes she actually wished she weren't so attractive—wished that her breasts weren't quite so round and firm and high, that her bottom wasn't so curvy, that her thighs and calves weren't so shapely, even that her face (framed as it was by a cascade of well-coiffed brunette hair) wasn't so appealing. Why was it so hard for men to consider a woman's mind and personality instead of just her appearance?

All this wouldn't have been a problem if her husband hadn't been getting more and more ardent with the passing of years. In some senses she felt mortified by her attitude:

Shouldn't I be grateful that he still finds me interesting in that way after seven years of marriage?

She knew more than one married woman who lamented that her own husband had become less than taken with her in bed—and she recalled one instance where a friend of hers had been shocked to find her husband jerking off to a porn magazine in the den when he thought she wasn't at home. At least Della hadn't been subjected to anything quite

that

embarrassing!

But Joseph had, in recent months, been wanting more and more from her. A single act of copulation was no longer enough; he wanted two, or even three. The idea! And he wanted to do certain things that she simply refused to countenance: things like rear entry (ugh!) or swallowing come (yuk!). She remembered how furious she'd been one night when Joseph, having already banged her twice, did her a third time—but, just as he was about to come, he'd scooted up her recumbent body and, squatting over her chest, had spattered her face with his emission. She sure gave him a piece of her mind! But all Joseph did was to chuckle in self-satisfaction.

It was almost as if he thought of himself as starring in a porn film.

But she could have endured all this attention if it didn't leave her so exhausted. The day after these nightly sessions, she'd crawl into her office with all the strength of a wet dishrag. It got to the point where the department secretary (a middle-aged woman whose husband had left her years ago) would look her up and down and remark acidly, "Rough night?" In fact, the secretary was deeply envious of Della and the devotion she was receiving from her husband; but even so, the whole issue was no joke.

On those days, she had trouble summoning up the energy and clearheadedness to teach her classes effectively or to meet with eager or worried students during office hours. And on top of that, her department expected her to generate scholarly articles or even a book every so often, and she was finding that increasingly difficult with all the tussles she was having to engage in with her husband.

So she felt something needed to be done.

One afternoon, both Della and Joseph were able to leave the office early—by around 3 p.m.—and they went home to have a civilized pot of afternoon tea before getting ready for dinner (which, in his passive-aggressive way, Joseph always left Della to prepare). As they were sipping their tea and munching cookies, she reached her hand out and covered his with it, saying tenderly:

"Joseph, dear, we need to talk about something."

Even though her words weren't at all ominous-sounding, a little shudder ran through him. Isn't it always bad when a spouse or lover says "We need to talk"? Surely she wasn't going to—?

He managed to stammer, "Wh-what about?"

With a wry smile that she hoped was reassuring, she said, "It's about your antics in the bedroom."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, Joseph," she said with a bit of frustration in her voice, "you must know! I've never been all that keen on sex, and you—well, you're making more and more demands on me in that department. I mean, it's really sweet of you that you still think of me in that way, but it's getting to be a problem."

"A problem?"

"Yes. After one of our sessions I wake up feeling like a zombie, and I'm pretty useless for the whole day. I can barely get through my course load, and as for doing scholarly work—well, just forget it! I've been trying to write this book on James Branch Cabell, and have hardly been able to put two words down. Something has to change."

Now Joseph really was getting worried. He loved—even adored and worshipped—his wife and would never do anything to hurt her. So the idea that he found her body

too attractive

was baffling to him.

"You—you don't like what we do in bed?" he said, crestfallen.

"Oh, Joseph, dear, I love the attention you give me! It's hugely flattering and uplifting. But . . . it's just a little too much."

He was so appalled at the prospect of not having her luscious figure at his beck and call that he couldn't speak.

I mean, isn't that what a wife is for?

"Before you get all upset," Della said quickly, "I think I have a solution for you." Looking at him right in the eye, she said, "Surely there must be some nice coeds you could cuddle up with. Lots of undergraduate girls—or maybe even graduate students—get huge crushes on their professors. So maybe you could find one or two sweet young things to take some of the pressure off me."

There was a dead silence as husband and wife stared at each other.

"You're kidding me, right?" he said, failing to see the humor in her suggestion.

"I most certainly am not," she said decisively. "I really think this is the only thing we can do. I'm not saying you should leave my bed altogether. God knows I appreciate your attentions and welcome them every so often. It's just that—well, I think I need what the baseball people call a relief pitcher."

Joseph had to swallow several times before answering. "Della, you can't be serious! How exactly am I to do this? Do I just go up to some lovely coed and say, 'Hey, babe, wanna fuck?'"

Della winced at the profanity. "Joseph, you're a suave and intelligent guy—good-looking too, I may add. I'm sure you can find some subtle way to lure a nice girl into your bed."

"Oh, come on, Della! Even if I could do that, do you realize what it's like these days? We're long past the time when a professor can have a fling with an undergraduate and no one's gonna care. If you even

look

at a girl the wrong way, she's screaming 'Sexual harassment!' at the top of her lungs."

"Oh, Joseph, you must be able to find a girl who's discreet and amenable. How about Melanie?"

Melanie Tanzer was a senior—twenty-one going on twenty-two—who was doing an independent studies project on Hemingway with Joseph. She had actually been to the house a couple of times: Joseph had some rare books and pamphlets that Melanie would have had difficulty finding in the library, so she read and took notes on them in Joseph's cozy study.

"Yeah," he said, "I think she likes me. Seems kinda shy, though."

"The shy ones are often seething with suppressed emotion. Go after her—see what you can do."

Joseph really didn't think this was going to work—in fact, he was terrified that the whole business would blow up in his face—but, out of love and respect for his wife, he decided to give it a shot.

A few days later, Melanie came over to the house for her weekly session with Joseph (Della had conveniently decided to make herself scarce for the occasion). She was quite petite (no taller than five foot three), and a very nice package overall, with nice curves in all the right places. But she seemed to be one of those girls who didn't know how pretty they are, and she went around with a perennially spooked expression on her face. If she were a feline, she'd be the classic "scaredy-cat."

She gave Joseph a weak little smile as she headed to the dining table—their usual place for study—and dumped a variety of books, papers, and other paraphernalia on it.

Joseph was unclear how to proceed. As he'd told his wife, you just can't come up to a girl and say, "Hey, baby, let's go to bed!" He didn't even know how to raise such a delicate issue. So he settled for being the caring, sensitive professor for the time being, evaluating Melanie's latest paper and advising her on how to carry on with her project.

Then, after about an hour, he peered at her admiringly and said, "Melanie, I hope I can ask you a personal question."

She immediately blushed. Joseph was touched and charmed.

What a wonderful thing that young women can still blush in this day and age!

When she said nothing, he went on. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Her blush turned even more crimson, and she looked away from him. "No," she said in a small voice.

"You don't? A smart, lovely girl like you?"

"I'm not really that interested."

A shudder ran through Joseph.

Omigod!

he thought.

I hope to heaven she's not a lesbian! Nothing wrong with that, of course, but that would throw a monkey-wrench into our plans.

"You know, Melanie," he said avuncularly, "going to college isn't just a matter of hitting the books. It's also about learning to deal with all different kinds of people on a social level. That's very important for your later life."

"I know. I do have some friends, both men and women. I'm not studying all the time."

"That's good to hear." As he continued to look her up and down, he could tell that his intense gaze was making her uncomfortable. Well, that couldn't be helped!

"I have to admit," he went on, "you do know how to dress well to, um, show off your assets."

Now he was venturing into dangerous territory! It wouldn't have surprised him in the least if she became outraged and stormed out of the house. But, her face still flushed, she gave him a shy smile. "Thank you."

"Come over here and let me look at you."

He led her away from the table and made her stand in the middle of the living room. It was a warm day, and she was wearing a thin pink blouse—almost a tank top, with spaghetti straps—that accentuated her robust breasts, and a charming dark pleated skirt that made her seem younger than her years. Joseph made her turn around a few times so he could examine her front and back.

He licked his lips. Oh, man, what a scrumptious little girl! (

No, no—she's a young woman! All of twenty-one years of age!

)

Joseph headed over to the sofa and sat down on it—then patted his thighs in an obvious gesture. She stood still for a moment, alarmed, then floated over to him and sat gingerly on his lap, draping an arm around his neck.

Her head was just slightly higher than his own, but what mesmerized him was the substantial amount of cleavage her blouse was revealing. It was only inches from his face. And now Melanie was starting to breathe hard and irregularly, causing her ample breasts to rise and fall in a way that Joseph found almost intolerably sensuous.

But right now he looked up at her face.

"The first thing you need to do," he said sententiously, "is to learn how to kiss. When was the last time you kissed a boy?"

Her face now beet red, Melanie said, "It's been a while."

"Well, you can never get too much practice. Show me how you do it."

Melanie stared deep into Joseph's eyes. Then, in a move that surprised him, she took his face in both of her hands and, lowering her head toward it, plastered a long kiss on his mouth.

Their lips pressed hard against each other, and Joseph got a heady dose of her girl-smell as he wrapped his arms around her waist. After a while their lips opened, and Melanie—in a move that seemed to surprise even herself with its daring—flicked her tongue into his mouth.

Oh, man!

Joseph thought.

This girl is no lesbian!

The kiss seemed to last an eternity—might have gone on for a full minute. When she pulled away at last, Melanie's eyes were shining brightly, and her chest was heaving even more succulently. What else could Joseph do but bury his face in that cleavage?

Melanie let out a little "Oh!" of surprise, but then hugged his head tightly to her chest, actually arching her back as if to press her breasts even more firmly against his face. Was she wearing a bra? Joseph didn't think so. To find out, he gently pulled down the neck of the blouse on one side—and out popped a large, firm, exquisitely shaped bare breast.

It was now Joseph's turn to whisper, "Omigod!" almost as if he was in pain from seeing something so beautiful. He pulled the other side of the blouse's neck down to expose the other breast, and the pair hung like ripe fruit to his gaze—and his touch. After a preliminary feel of their contours with his hand, he fastened his lips to the nipple, which was getting hard and erect (just as his own member was) as he watched. Little moans of satisfaction came out of Melanie's throat as she closed her eyes and gave way to the sensation.

Presently Joseph slid a hand up her skirt. She made no objection; in fact, she parted her legs to allow him easier access to herself. When he encountered her thin panties, he detected quite a lot of wetness around the crotch. He suspected this might have happened, and so he went on with a plan of action that he'd thought of before this whole amazing incident began.

She'll feel more comfortable spreading her legs for me if I make her come first.

Pulling the crotch of her panties aside, Joseph touched for the first time Melanie's tumescent pussy. He couldn't help comparing it with his wife's: Della had thick, dark labia and a clitoris that expanded almost to the size of his little finger. Melanie's sex was far smaller, and the labia were thinner—but they were swelling fast! As he worked on her—stroking the moist labia and tiny clitoris, sticking a finger tenderly into her vagina, and sometimes reaching down and cupping her bottom—she writhed with ecstasy as she continued to hug his head and keep it fixed on her breasts.

Several minutes later Melanie, letting out strange little mewing sounds, cried out sharply as a sudden orgasm washed turbulently over her. She wriggled on his lap, her thighs shivering uncontrollably, saying, "Oh! oh! oh!" over and over again as she indulged in a climax she had certainly not expected to have with this older man—a man she greatly admired but also (in her heart of hearts) found incredibly fascinating.

As she came slowly down from her high, she peered into his face and said something Joseph didn't expect: "Thank you."

With a smile he said, "You're very welcome." After a pause: "Would you, um, care to snuggle in a more comfortable place?"

She nodded dreamily. Getting up too quickly from his lap, she stumbled, not realizing how weak-kneed her orgasm had made her. Joseph deftly scooped her up in his arms and headed upstairs.

It was only now that Melanie said, "Professor, what about your wife?" For of course she knew he was married.

"Call me Joseph. And don't worry about her: she's okay with this."

It didn't seem as if Melanie fully believed him, but at this point she didn't care. But as Joseph was in the upstairs landing heading toward the master bedroom, Melanie got suddenly alarmed.

"Oh, Professor—I mean Joseph!" she cried. "Not there—not in the bed where you and your wife—"

Joseph understood her compunction, so he changed direction and headed toward the guest room (almost never used), which had a queen-size bed in it. That would be more than adequate for the purpose.

When he got there he put her down. She gave him a faintly apprehensive look, then began slowly undressing, her back to him. She was still shy, even after what had happened! Joseph found that quality in her even more endearing than before, and he disrobed with the same quiet sensitivity she was bringing to the task of getting naked.

They finished at nearly the same time—and when they turned around to face each other, Melanie let out a little gasp. She was gazing at his groin.

"It's—big," she whispered.

"I suppose it is," Joseph admitted. It was a good eight inches, and pretty thick. "But I'm sure you can handle it."

He stood in front of her and said, "Would you like to . . . put it in your mouth?"

Nodding in a strangely resigned way, Melanie fell to her knees and took hold of his cock—at first only with thumb and index finger, then, when she sensed that it would take more effort to pull it down to a horizontal position, with her whole hand. Wrapping the base of the shaft with that tiny hand, she approached the tip hesitantly, at first only flicking her tongue at it. Then, laughing nervously, she stuck several inches of it into her mouth.

Her eyes widened at the sensation, and pretty soon her head was bobbing back and forth as she engulfed more and more of it into her mouth. She used her tongue to lick the underside of the shaft, and once she pulled it out and gave the tip a hesitant little kiss. Oh, what an unwitting vixen she was! Joseph had to be careful not to come right then, but he managed to hold back.

After some minutes he pulled her up and gave her a long, deep kiss, smelling and tasting his own cock on her lips. Then he led her to the bed, where she lay down daintily and, somewhat strangely, got into a spreadeagled position, her arms and legs both held wide from her body. Joseph, puzzled at this gesture, lowered himself onto her and, after giving some more attention to those incredible breasts, made as if to enter her.

But he got stuck.

He looked down at her in amazement. "You—you're a virgin?" he cried in disbelief.

"Well, of course!" she said, almost irritated that he hadn't figured it out before.

"Do you really want to do this?"

"Yes," she said, but didn't sound at all certain of herself.

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes!" she almost shouted, then closed her eyes tightly as if that might help to get her through the experience better.

Joseph shrugged—and, with a quick and forceful gesture, shattered that barrier in her vagina, entering her nearly to the root of his shaft. Melanie let out a huge gasp of surprise and pain, and unconsciously raised her legs and wrapped them around his hips. Like all women, she seemed instinctively to know that this position made it easier for him to penetrate her. Even so, she was whimpering softly as he thrust into her, and two big tears were squeezed from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Joseph, although grieved at hurting her, found the sensation of her tight, wet pussy so dizzyingly wonderful that he couldn't help pounding her more and more forcefully. She had now thrown her arms around his neck as if clinging to him for dear life, and he was using his hands to stroke her breasts, back, and bottom while relentlessly pummeling her.