A Semester with Tara

TO THE READER: this story includes several characters from the series of Jason Garrett stories and takes place simultaneous with them; however, this story is not part of that series. With the exception of Dr. Richard Skeen, all characters and events are entirely fictional.

Hi! My name is Tara Zelino, and I love cum.

Yes, you read that right. I love cum. I love the look of it, the taste of it, the feel of it.

Now don't get me wrong – I'm not a nymphomaniac. I don't love dick, just cum. If I could have cum without dick, I would be perfectly happy.

But the fact of the matter is, I love cum.

I have no problem getting it either. I'm 5'3", and I weigh just under 110 pounds. I have blonde hair and bright blue eyes. I got really lucky with almost flawless skin and a beautiful ass.

Oh, and did I mention that I have 36D tits?

When you put all that together, I have no problem getting guys – especially when I offer them a blowjob. No matter how much a guy likes sex, he is far more likely to turn down actual intercourse than he is to turn down a blowjob. I don't know what it is about men, but there seems to be something about blowjobs that just gets their motors going.

Now, I said that I wasn't a nympho earlier. I do enjoy sex, though. Sex is certainly a pleasant bonus to loving cum – I often have it, and enjoy it. Occasionally, it sucks. But oh well – you cannot appreciate success without the occasional failure.

So of course, being the sexual person that I am, when I had the opportunity to sign up for a human sexuality course at Fresno State, I jumped at it. I had heard some wild stories about this class, and I wanted to see just what it was all about.

It only met once a week, on Tuesday afternoon, but it lived up to its reputation – it was WILD. The very first day, the professor does what he calls a "weeding out" process. He shows a porn film, but it's a different one every semester so that people can't possibly be prepared for what's going to come. Basically, if you can't handle it, you shouldn't be in the class.

Normally, the class averages just over 300 students, but it had been just over 200 in spring of 2004. Apparently, the professor had shown a gay male gangbang the first day – twenty-five guys fucking another guy up the ass. It made a number of people quite uncomfortable, which is why enrollment was so low.

And so what did he do this semester? He went a quite different route. He showed a male on female gangbang – twelve guys fucking porn star Tania Russof. It was quite the film, too – double penetrations everywhere, and the occasional triple penetration – and I'm not talking a dick in the ass, a dick in the pussy, and a dick in the mouth – I'm talking two dicks in her pussy and one up her ass.

The film, of course, ended with the biggest money shot I've ever seen. All twelve guys gathered around her and shot their loads all over her – a true "bukkake" shot if I've ever seen one. It was only when the film ended that I realized that I was quite wet – so wet, in fact, that a damp spot was forming on the crotch of my jeans.

Fortunately, we had about half an hour left before the end of class – more than enough time for the damp spot to dry. During that time, we needed to write a half-page analysis of the film, including personal feelings, for the discussion groups that he would be assigning us to during the last half hour of class.

I've never seen a film quite like this before

, I wrote.

This took porn to a whole new level in my book. But, I must be perfectly honest. This film included several fantasies of my own – simultaneous intercourse with multiple men, double penetration, and being ejaculated on by a number of men at once.

The professor had told us to try and keep colloquialisms in our analyses to a minimum.

I have never had a chance to act out any of these fantasies

, I continued.

Given the conservative nature of the majority of my friends, I doubt that I ever will. This is compounded by the fact that I am not comfortable with having sex with men that I do not know.

After being assigned to Lee Troy's discussion group, I turned my analysis in and left the class. It was a long fifteen minute walk back to my dorm, but when I got there, I stripped naked, threw myself on my bed, and masturbated furiously until I was cumming with the force of a nuclear bomb. The film had really turned me on, and I had to relieve myself.

Truly sapped of energy but truly satisfied, I just lay naked on my bed for a few minutes – until I heard the click of the lock. With speed that I never would've guessed I had after masturbating, I threw myself across the room, through the bathroom door, and shut the door just as my roommate Andrea Semora walked in the room.

Andrea was a puzzle to me. She was an extremely sexual person. Some of her fantasies were just as wild as mine. Her favorite song was Maroon 5's

This Love

– one of the most sexual songs I've ever heard. I had seen her on her computer – she visited some of the most hardcore porn sites on the Internet. She was an expert at giving handjobs to guys, and she loved being felt up.

But she was determined not to have sex until marriage – and her definition of sex included anything oral. She had never had intercourse, had never given a guy a blowjob, had never been on the receiving end of oral. Not that guys hadn't tried – at 5'5" and 120 pounds with 34C tits and an ass tighter than mine, the majority of the guys on the FSU campus had made an attempt to get into her panties – when she wore them, which she rarely did – but she had resisted all of them. As a result, she was constantly horny. More than once, I had walked into the room to catch her masturbating. However, that did NOT mean that I wanted her to walk in to catch me masturbating!

Of course, as luck would have it, it happened once more. I actually jumped in the shower, showered down, wrapped myself in a towel, and walked out – to see Andrea with her skirt rolled up around her waist, two fingers in her pussy, and another rubbing her clit as fast as she could.

I couldn't help it. I laughed. "Damn, girl," I said. "You're going so fast I wouldn't be surprised if your clit caught fire."

Mortified, she sat up, covering herself. "Why are you always so embarrassed?" I asked. "It's perfectly natural. I'm more of a sexual person than you are – I don't care if you masturbate. In fact, I think you should do more than masturbate – but you won't... although, I must say, your self-control is quite admirable."

Crossing to my dresser, I pulled out a t-shirt and a clean pair of panties. Then I had a brilliant moment. Reaching under my panties, I found a cellophane wrapped object. Pulling it out, I tossed it across the room to Andrea.

My cousin Joan had given me a vibrator for my 20

th

birthday over the summer, but I already had the identical model. Nonetheless, it's my philosophy that you can never have too many vibrators, so I had held onto it – just in case something like this arose.

"There you go, Andrea," I said. "Your own personal dick without the bother of actually having sex. I've never used it, and the package is still sealed. Why don't you give it a try."

Andrea picked it up and looked at it. "I don't know," she said. "I've never used anything like this before."

"It's not that hard," I replied. "You twist the knob on the bottom to turn it on, and then you stick it in."

Andrea looked at it for another moment. Then, she ripped open the cellophane, turned the vibrator to its lowest setting, and tentatively stuck it in. "Oh," she said, a little surprised. "OH!"

Oh yeah. She was liking it. In fact, she liked it so much that she reached down, turned it up to its highest setting, and didn't even notice when I dropped my towel and got dressed in front of her.

It didn't take too long, either. Within about two minutes, the vibrator had her so worked up that she was literally having a screaming orgasm. She let out a shriek, then yelled, "Oh my God!" I couldn't help it – I started laughing.

After a moment, she came down. Just after she did so, there was a knock on the door. Opening it, I saw Kara, the R.A., standing in the hall. "Is everything okay?" she asked, a concerned look on her face. "I heard some screaming..."

Pulling Kara close, I whispered in her ear, "Andrea got her first vibrator."

A knowing smile spread across Kara's face, and she just nodded, turned, and headed down the hall.

The next Sunday night, my discussion group for the sexuality class met. One of the questions was if we had done anything sexually for anybody lately. Of course, I shared about introducing Andrea to vibrators, in response to which I got a round of applause from the rest of the group.

I was feeling good at that group – right up until the end, when Lee told us all about the research project we would have to do for the semester. "Your topics have to be submitted to Dr. Richards for approval by September 28

th

," he said.

Oh shit. Research projects and I do not go well together. There's a reason why I'm a music performance major – sure, I have to do a shitload of work, but I don't have to do any research projects. This was going to screw me for sure.

Now, don't get me wrong – it's not that I CAN'T do them, and do them well, it's just that I can never come up with a good topic. I don't know if it's a mental block, or what, but it just never comes to me.

So, on September 28

th

, I sat in class, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do. I was going to have to go to Dr. Keith Richards (yes, that's really his name!) at the end of class, and tell him that I didn't have a clue.

And then the guest speaker saved my neck.

Dr. Richards had told us that we were going to have four guest speakers over the course of the semester. Today's was the semester's second – Dr. Richard Skeen, professor of sociology from Northern Arizona University. He teaches the equivalent of our sexuality class at NAU and is considered one of the nation's top experts when it comes to human sexuality.

Dr. Skeen was actually very interesting, and very funny. He was the author of a case-study book that we used in the class, and he was able to really clarify a number of things that we didn't understand about some of the case studies. But it was toward the end of his talk that lightning truly hit.

"I was visiting a physician friend of mine in Los Angeles a couple of years ago," he said. "She is also a research scientist who has been working on trying to develop a cure for prostate cancer for several years.

"Now, in working to develop this cure, she really had to develop her understanding of the prostate and how it works first. As such, I shouldn't have even accepted when she offered me this bet, but being the gullible fool that I am, I did.

"Basically, she bet me that, through manipulation of the prostate, she could cause me to have an orgasm within two minutes – even if I was thinking about the most non-sexual of things. So, she gave me a moment to figure out something non-sexual. I decided upon taxes, because there's no way I could ever think anything sexual about them.

"So there I was, standing naked from the waist down in her office, wearing only a condom. I closed my eyes and envisioned the Form 1040 – something I hate and despise. Then, I started figuring out how much I was going to have to pay the following year – and I really was not happy about it.

"So I'm standing there, pissed off about my taxes, when suddenly it feels like somebody has set every one of my nerve endings on fire. I snap out of my reverie – and I realize that I am filling this condom with semen, and my friend is pulling her middle finger out of my rectum. I looked over at her timer – one minute, forty-seven seconds."

Dr. Skeen concluded by saying that he would never make a fifty dollar bet over the human anatomy with anybody with an M.D. again.

At that point, it hit me.

This was it! This was something that I could surely easily research – hell, I could probably do some of my own research – it definitely applied to the class – and it involved a LOT of cum. And as you may recall, I LOVE cum.

So, at the end of class, I went to see Dr. Richards. I told him that I wanted to study the response of the prostate to direct stimulation for my research paper. He said that that would be okay, but that I would have to bring it before the university research board if I wanted to do any human study.

With Dr. Richards' help, I prepared a position paper to present to the board. I went before them that Friday, and after a great deal of pleading, I finally convinced them to allow it – provided that all of my subjects were people I knew, and provided that they all signed a consent and waiver form.

For that, I had to go to one of my friends in the law program – but that turned out to be quite easy; in fact, all it took was a blowjob. Okay, so maybe that seems a little cheap and whorish, but the guy is HOT, and if he was willing to write out a legally correct consent and waiver form in exchange for two minutes of me sucking his dick, it seemed a small price to pay.

And so on October 3

rd

, armed with consent forms, I marched into my discussion group and asked all the guys if any of them wanted to participate in the study I was conducting. All of them had been in class the previous week, so all of them had heard Dr. Skeen's story – and all of them said yes. After getting them to all sign consent forms, I scheduled appointments with all of them.

Lee was first. I stayed after group that night to perform the procedure. I had purchased a fair supply of condoms and latex surgical gloves, not to mention a generous supply of KY Jelly, to make sure that the study was safe and sanitary, and I had purchased a postal scale – calibrated so that when an empty condom was placed on it, it would be at "0" – to measure how much cum each guy shot.

When Lee pulled his pants down, I was a little disappointed. His dick was kind of small – only five and a half inches when erect, but I had to give him a break – when you're half French and half Chinese, you're not going to have a big penis.

It was also over fairly quickly. He came after only thirty-seven seconds, and when I pulled the condom off, I could tell he hadn't shot much. This was confirmed when I placed it on the scale – only half an ounce.

Nonetheless, I had my first results of my study! One down, nineteen to go.

Over the course of that week, I did the remaining four guys in the group. None of them lasted more than sixty-seven seconds, and none of them shot more than an ounce of cum. There was one guy, however – Jacob Martinson, a senior engineering major, is a 6'4" first generation American whose parents were from Iceland – who had a dick that was almost ten inches long when erect. I'd have to remember him for the future.

The next week, I started discreetly asking the guys I knew in the music department. I thought I might have a hard time with that, but I should've known better. Musicians are horny perverts, and I got fourteen more volunteers no problem.

Now while all this was going on, we still had discussion group for the class. On the night of October 24

th

, we didn't have to have a formal meeting, because we were one meeting ahead of all the other groups in the class, but we decided to meet anyway, and play Truth or Dare – influenced by alcohol.

Now, for a game of Truth or Dare with a sex discussion group, it was pretty tame – a LOT of "truths" – until about an hour in. We were all pretty well buzzed at that point, and when it came to me, I figured

what the hell

. So, I said, "Dare."

It was Lee's turn to perform a dare, so he said, "Tara, I want you to take one of your empty beer bottles and do something sexual with it."

I imagine he – and everybody else – figured that I would just give the beer bottle a blowjob, maybe even deep throat it (although I sometimes I have trouble with that). I was going to do just that, too, but as I brought the beer bottle to my lips, I had an inspiration.

Since I was 16, I've been working on strengthening my vaginal walls. I want to have children someday, and my mother told me that if I had strong vaginal walls, it would make delivery much easier. So on my sixteenth birthday, my mother gave me my first set of ben-wa balls.

Over the following four years, I had done exercises to the point where I had control over my vaginal muscles that allowed me to do what some guys said were "amazing things." So, I decided to give the group a little demonstration.

Standing up, I undid my belt and my pants, and then pulled down my jeans and my thong, letting them fall around my ankles. Stepping out of them, I placed the beer bottle on the floor, and then I crouched down over it. I lowered myself until the mouth of the bottle was just inside of my pussy – and then, using my vaginal muscles, I pulled the bottle almost all the way into myself. Relaxing a little, I let it slip back out, and then pulled it back in. I did this several times, and then I let it drop back out.

As I stood up, I noticed that the mouth of every guy in the room was wide open. Slowly, Lee started to applaud, and then everybody joined in a round of applause. I took a few bows, then put my clothes back on.

At the end of group that night, the three other girls in the class asked me how they could learn how to do that. I gave them all websites that they could go to, where they could get literature, and what equipment they needed to buy.

Anyway, I'm way off topic. Back to the paper. It was due November 23

rd

– the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. On November 9

th

, I performed the nineteenth prostate "procedure" on a saxophone player named Matthew. His results fell right in the middle of everybody else – he came in (no pun intended) at 53 seconds, with just over 4/5 of an ounce of semen.

But I needed a twentieth. Try as I might, I hadn't been able to get a fifteenth guy from the music department. But then, I had another one of my brilliant ideas.

About two weeks earlier, I had been in the dining hall at breakfast time, and had seen my friend Jason Garrett. It had been several months since I had seen him, so I had run up to him and given him a hug. As soon as I did, though, he sprang up a rock-hard boner – which was easily explained by the fact that he had a horrible case of blue balls.

Wanting to be a good friend, I had ducked under the table and given him a quick blowjob as he sat at the table reading his

L.A. Times

. When he came, I swallowed every drop, and then left, almost as though nothing had happened.

And now I needed him to repay me. Picking up the phone, I called his room. "Hello?" I heard from the other end.

"Jason!" I said, glad that he was home. "I haven't talked to you in two whole weeks!"

He laughed, and said, "Honestly, there wasn't much talking done that morning two weeks ago either."

That cracked me up – because he was right! "Well, I suppose that's true. Not much talking we could've done with me under the table and your dick in my mouth."

I paused for a moment, to allow him to stop laughing and catch his breath. "Anyway, enough bullshit. I have a mega-huge favor to ask of you."

"Shoot," Jason replied.

"Hah!" I laughed. "That's the funny thing... it involves more you shooting than me. You see, I'm doing a study for my human sexuality class on male response to stimulation of the prostate."

Jason paused for a moment, and when he next spoke, he sounded a little tentative. "So what is it you need me to do?"

"Well, if you wouldn't mind me coming over to your dorm for about half an hour, I can do my test, get the results, and be done before you even realize I was there." As an R.A., he had his own room, so I could go over there and not have to worry about being disturbed.