I am a white man in my early fifties, and an old hand at sex, “hand” being the operative word. I am writing about the only time in my life I had a sexual encounter that involved a real woman, instead of jacking off while perusing Forum, looking at pornographic pictures and videos, visiting the chat rooms on my computer or dating the twin sister of Bud Bundy’s inflatable rubber girlfriend.
Before I go further, let me explain that dating at the school I went to was done along social lines, rather than racial or ethnic lines. We recognized the following standard male and female types: “beautiful people,” “in crowders,” “jocks,” “greasers” (remnants of the duck’s ass haircut and switchblade knife set), “hippies,” “normals” and “nerds” (with or without glasses these were mostly the honor roll types). The fraternities and sororities generally sought pledges according to the types people belonged to. When it came to dating, a black nerd could date a white nerd, but not a beautiful person, in crowd person or a normal. Hippies, of course, would go out with any gender appropriate person to whom they were attracted. Jocks always had women of all types pursuing them. Homosexuality was still a crime in those days (the mid sixties), so queers were never considered a standard type, nor were they ever seen.
My story took place in the school swimming pool, and involved a Brandy Norwood lookalike (Moesha on TV). No, this is not a celebrity fantasy. I’m not suggesting this was the real Brandy Norwood, since she hadn’t even been born when this happened, some thirty years ago.
With so many social types, you’d think there was a place for everyone. Not so. I was one of these non standard dweeb types that girls of all groups refused to date. Not even female nerds, with or without glasses. The term for people like me was “spaz.”
This was supposed to be the “free love” era. My ass! It appeared as though I was the only spaz in the whole damn school, so I had no one to date. I suspect that even if I’d had the money (which I didn’t), the local prostitutes would have turned me down.
I was standing in the four foot end of the pool after doing laps. Much to my surprise, a woman who either belonged to the “beautiful person” or “in crowd” type, I couldn’t determine which, wearing what looked like little more than three postage stamps held on by string, wiggled up next to me. She sat on the edge of the pool while I stared straight at her bikini bottom, admiring the way the fat lips of her pussy were outlined by the material.
She started asking me questions about a teacher I was currently taking a class from. I couldn’t stop looking at her bikini bottom, so small that there were pussy hairs sticking out around the edges, and so tight that I thought I could see the split of her pussy against the stretched out material.
I was developing a huge bulge in my swimming trunks. Then the woman slid back into the pool and pressed her tits against my chest. Barely able to breathe, I pushed the bulge in my pants against her pussy. She then pushed me back a bit, pulled out the front of my trunks so that my dick was standing straight out and tweaked the head a couple of times. Then she ran away.
I wanted to chase her, but she got out of the pool before I could catch up, and I was in no shape to be chasing her in front of everybody with my dick sticking out like a Doric column in my trunks.
I managed to get my dick to go back down by doing some more laps. About thirty minutes later, the same woman approached me again in the water, asking me more questions about classes I was taking. Like a doofus, I just stood there in the water talking to her when I should have taken off. This time her bikini top kind of slipped off and she rubbed her tits against my chest, her nipples stiffly brushing against mine.
After about a minute, she stopped, stuffed her tits back into her bikini top and came close enough to feel my erection. She pulled my trunks out again, exposing my granite dick, and this time pressed her pussy right against my rod. She placed my hands on her hips, and rocked her own hips, so that her pussy slithered against my hard on. My dick began to twitch.
She pointed suddenly toward the other end of the pool and said, “Isn’t that the dean of students over there?” While I was looking, she tweaked the end of my dick and, before I saw what she was up to, once more raced out of the pool. I was left standing there in the water, coming in my trunks. She reached a group of several other women who were obviously waiting for her. Then she stopped, turned around, flicked her tongue side to side under her front teeth, wiggled her hips and shouted, “Better luck next time, spaz.”
That was the last I ever saw of her, in spite of what, as I think back, was a rather half assed attempt to find her. I imagine she and her friends got a good laugh at my expense. It must have been some sort of sorority initiation ritual, since I can’t imagine someone like her wanting to date me or even get close to me in real life. After this incident, I lost all interest in even trying to go out on dates with other than inflatable rubber women, since I couldn’t get any woman, of any social type, to go out with me.
Of course, at my age, I’m quickly losing both interest and capability in this field of endeavor, and even Forum stories don’t raise my dick the way they used to. Wouldn’t it be one of life’s ironies if, on the day I become completely impotent, we get weather reports of hell freezing over and pigs evolving wings and flying like birds? I’ve been told by several women that one of these events had to occur before they would date me. Or what if I hit a fifty million dollar lottery jackpot? (I statistically have a better chance of scoring a Lotto win than of scoring with a live female.) All of a sudden every gold digging whore in the state would take an interest in me.
In school, I was told to go take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut whenever I tried to ask for a date. If I ever won the lottery I could experience the perverse thrill of telling all the women who kissed me off to get fucked by a flying green salami! I can still dream, can’t I? It’s all I have left!
Name and address withheld