This is a story from long ago and far away
"Hey, Rob, do you want a date tonight?" The speaker was Darrell, a friend of mine. He lived down the hall from me in the college dormitory.
"Maybe. What do you have in mind?"
"My girl friend's older sister is visiting her for the weekend. I want to go out with my girl tonight, so I need to find something for the sister to do. I don't want her tagging along. If you know what I mean...." He winked at me.
"Older sister? How old?"
"I met her briefly. She's maybe twenty one or two. Friendly, not bad looking. She's a five. No, a six. Definitely a six. She has big tits."
Five on the standard 10-point rating system for women was average, so six was in what we called the "fuckable" range. I liked the idea of going out with an older woman, perhaps with more experience than I had -- which wasn't much.
"I don't have any money to take her out," I admitted.
Darrell reached into his back pocket, pulled out his billfold, took a five dollar bill out and handed it to me. "This is a loan. If she's a dog, you don't have to pay me back. If lightening strikes and you get laid, you pay me back double. Deal?" Five dollars was quite a bit of money in those days, roughly the amount I spent on entertainment in a week.
"There's not much chance you'll get ten back," I said. That I didn't have a date on Saturday night wasn't unusual because I didn't have a girlfriend and rarely had a date. I had grown up in a male environment and I was awkward and shy around women. Yet at age 19, I had matured into a tall, slender, handsome boy -- but my romantic life had been only a few casual encounters with some passionate kissing, and sucking on a couple of tits.
"Her name is Alice," he said.
***
Alice proved to be smiling and talkative which relieved me of my discomfort when I picked her up at her sister's dormitory. I liked her immediately. She was of medium height with light-brown hair tied into a pony-tail, and wore a knee-length skirt and a virginal, white buttoned-up blouse. As promised, she had big tits which strained to be released from the fabric of the blouse. She was a woman, not a girl, clearly older than me. A seven, I thought, five for looks, with another point for tits and still another for poise and demeanor.
As we drove away in my battered 1956 Oldsmobile, I asked, "What would you like to do? We can go to the movie theater or the drive-in."
"The drive-in," she responded. She didn't ask what the movie was. That was promising. For the young readers who may not know about "drive-ins" they were an outdoor movie theater. You parked your automobile in a large unpaved parking lot facing the movie screen and next to a pole with a speaker hung on it. You hung the speaker on the window of your car, adjusted the volume, and watched the movie while seated in your car. Drive-ins were notorious for romance. Not many people paid attention to the movie. It was said that the most important place for the conception of out-of-wedlock children was drive-ins. Admission was a dollar per car plus fifty cents per person.
After parking my car, I walked to the concession stand and bought two cokes and a bag of popcorn while Alice waited. When I got in she snuggled close to me. Automobiles in those days didn't have a console separating passengers in the front seat and they were larger than 21st century autos. The Oldsmobile was a very large car, known as a "pussy wagon." Mine, however, was too old to impress the lovely pussies about whom I fantasized -- and masturbated.
We sat side by side, our hips touching, while we drank our cokes, ate our popcorn, and watched the movie through the windshield of the car. I tentatively put my arm around her and she snuggled closer, a large, soft tit resting against my arm. We talked amiably. She had dropped out of college to become a legal secretary in her home town. She hoped to return to school to become a lawyer, but she needed to make money to help support her family and her sister in college. I was impressed. My family was also near-poor, so, despite her apparent sophistication, her background was similar to mine. I was a sophomore in the University, a history major who hoped to get a job after graduation which would allow me to see the world. A life in Kansas was not my dream. I was comfortable talking to her. She seemed a thoughtful adult who I didn't need to try to impress.
An hour into our conversation -- while ignoring the movie -- I tentatively kissed her on the forehead. She responded by kissing my neck and raised her face to mine. I kissed her, softly at first and then harder, and she turned and pressed into me and I felt both breasts against my chest -- and the car horn honked loudly! She had touched the button for the horn in the center of the steering wheel. She jumped away from me, laughing. "I can't believe I did that. That is so embarrassing."
I laughed, attempting a weak joke. "Accidental horn honking is a characteristic of drive-ins," I added an even weaker followup, "Not for me. Uhhh....the horn I mean. That's because I haven't done this often. Honked the horn, I mean." Suave and intelligible I was not.
She scooted away from me. "Move over this way, out of the way of the steering wheel." She pulled me her direction. She knew a lot more about the art of "making out" in an automobile than I did. I scooted over beside her and we locked lips in a passionate kiss. Her hand roamed over my back. She leaned back against the car door and extended her legs on the car seat. I settled between her legs and continued my assault on her lips, her cheeks, her neck, my hand running over her hair.
"Hold it just a second," she said. I backed off as she loosed her hair from the pony tail and it cascaded downward onto her shoulders, just visible from the low light given off by a nearby light pole. "That will feel better to you."
I ran my fingers through her hair as I resumed kissing her lips. "That's nice," I said. "I like your hair."
"You are lovely," she answered, running her fingers over my head, down my neck and back and all the way to the belt line of my blue-jeans. I was leaning hard against her to feel every inch of her body. Her hand slipped down to my buttocks and stayed there.
That was my invitation to move my right hand to the breast over her heart. I could feel her heart beating quickly beneath my touch. She didn't protest my hand as I ran it over her bra, found the bulge of her nipple, then lowered my head and rubbed my lips over her blouse, sucking on her breasts beneath the cloth. I leaned back to look at her in the dim light. She was pressed up against the car door, hair in tangles over her face and shoulders, white blouse wrinkled and pulled out of her skirt, her legs stretched out on the car seat, parted, so I could crouch between them, her skirt pulled up near her hips "You're beautiful," I said. I believed it. She was an eight, not a seven. "Do you want to watch the movie?" Another rookie move, I thought, as soon as I said it. "Don't ask, do" was the conventional wisdom of dating.
She laughed. "I don't give a damn about the movie. You are very handsome, and I am enjoying being with you." I wasn't used to hearing girls say the word "damn."
I looked around carefully to ensure that no one was looking in the car window. Then, I undid the buttons of her blouse and she helped me by arching her back. The blouse fell away from her body. She helped me pull it over her arms and off. She wasn't shy. I pulled one bra strap down over her arm and inserted my fingers into the top of her bra and explored her breasts, tweaking her nipples. "The hook is in the back," she said.
"What?" I asked.
