The Hideaway

I grew up in a very conservative small town, so my knowledge of sex was mostly gotten from the men’s magazines I "borrowed" from my dad, or by figuring things out with my circle of friends. Oh, I got the standard "insert penis in vagina and pump away" directions from my Dad, but that was about it.



My girlfriends were no help either. At that time, every girl’s mother considered murder as a close second to her daughter having sex out of wedlock. The result was most girls kept their legs crossed at all times.



There was another problem with girlfriends too – their girdles. Whoever invented the damned things should have been drawn and quartered. Try as you might, getting your hand up the leg of one of those things was a bitch to start out with, and once you did, the elastic always put your hand to sleep just when things started to get interesting.



Anyway, like all boys, we kissed girls, we petted with girls, and a very few of us, me excepted, were lucky enough to hit the mother load, or so they bragged. The rest of us spent our time discussing what our Dads said to other Dads when they thought we weren’t within earshot.



One of the topics of greatest discussion was pussy eating, or, cunnilingus, which Howard told us was the correct term. Howard was a little strange in that he spent every study hall looking through the big dictionary to find words with a sexual meaning. Then he tried to impress us with his vast knowledge of the dirty deed. We all knew Howard had never dated a girl in his life, and probably wouldn’t in the foreseeable future.



Well, we all graduated without knowing how a girl tasted, or even if girls liked it. College was different. The girls were pretty open to sex. After all, it was the time of flower power and free love, and one could buy condoms from the machine at any gas station for a quarter.



I met Alice during my sophomore year when we were assigned to work on a psychology class project together. She had very short black hair and always wore long, loose dresses that effectively covered every part of her that might have been the least bit seductive. I figured she was another one of those sexless bookworms who put their whole life into study and then graduate with perfect grade point averages and their virginity intact.



The project, a repeat of an old experiment, didn’t mean much to me at the time. It was just something I had to do to pass the class. What I do remember is the project Alice suggested one day.



Alice was studying to be a home economics teacher, but I found out that wasn’t her real passion. If she wasn’t in a class or studying, she was at the library doing research into her favorite subject – human sexual response. She claimed that she would probably have to teach classes on family life someday, and she wanted to be prepared to answer any questions that might come up. One afternoon she started quoting statistics about cock length and the number of orgasms a woman can have in such and such an amount of time. After half an hour of listening to her, I realized I had another Howard on my hands, except she wore a dress and had a lot more research material at her disposal.



By week four, both of us were bored silly.

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