Senior year at Pine Creek Academy. An unfamiliar local number flashes on my cell-phone screen. ”Hi, Mary. It’s Wendy!” Someone has the wrong number. But the voice is pleasantly feminine with a familiar intonation. “Yes. This is Mary,” I tease. “My, what a deep voice you have,” Wendy says, quoting Little Red Riding Hood. “All the better to please you with, My Dear,” I reply, paraphrasing Red’s fairytale antagonist. “And how exactly would you do that, Mister Big Bad Wolf?” she giggles. I’m evasive, but she insists I tell her what I mean, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “By showing you things you’ve never seen before.” “Oh, really! How do you know what I’ve seen, and what I haven’t?” “By the tone of your voice, My Dear,” I tell her, winging it. Actually, there is something about her intonation that makes me think of someone I met who attended Elm City College, a small evangelical school that caters to home-schooled students. Like the more infamous Oral Roberts and Bob Jones Universities, students at Elm City risk expulsion for smoking a cigarette, drinking a glass of wine, or heaven forbid, “immodesty or inappropriate physical contact” with someone of either sex. In other words, the polar opposite of Pine Creek Academy. “You’ve endured a lifetime of intrusive supervision and over protection. Now you yearn to break out. To explore the forbidden mysteries of your own sexuality. But you don’t know where to start,” I tell her in my most authoritative voice. “Are you psychic or something?” “I get asked that a lot,” I laugh. We chat about random stuff. She is, indeed, at Elm City majoring in Music. “There are rules against everything from smoking or drinking to watching porn or having sex. Any kind of sex. Get caught and you will be publicly humiliated and then expelled. At least the tuition’s a bargain and there’s a Chick fil A in the student center.” “Just my kind of place.” “Doubt that,” she laughs. “I’ve heard all about Pine Creek Academy. I bet you even live in that dorm, what do you guys call it? Chastity Hall?” “Actually, I do,” I confess. Chastity Hall is the nickname for our Honors Residence Hall. “Is it true? Girls and guys on the same floor. No visitation rules.” “Yup, just like the real world,” I say. “But only Juniors and Seniors over sixteen with an Honors GPA are eligible.” Wendy is intensely, almost salaciously, interested in life at Chastity Hall. We talk late into the night. The conversation is sometimes indirect, but we touch on solo and mutual masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, and even oral sex. Every time we broach a new topic, I assure Wendy that Anadolu Yakası Escort I’d be delighted to demonstrate. She dances around my offers. Never accepting them, but never rejecting them either. Toward the end, I confess to having had an erection for hours. With a very sweet giggle, she confides the conversation had been very “exciting” for her as well. Before we said goodbyes, she promises to call again. I drop my phone in my pocket and nearly knock over my desk in the rush to find a tube of lube. About 8 PM on Friday my phone chimes. “Hi,” Wendy whispers. “Is this the Big Bad Wolf?” “Yes,” I whisper back. “Did you really mean what you said about ‘showing me things I’ve never seen’?” “Absolutely!” “Can I come over?” “Anytime,” I tell her, redirecting a pile of dirty laundry from my bed to the closet floor. “But right now is good.” “In about an hour?” “Just knock twice, and say it’s Little Red Riding Hood.” When we disconnect, my heart is pounding the way it does when I take off downfield on the first pass-play of a football game. An hour later, there’s a hesitant knock at the door. “Mister Wolf?” a nervous voice asks. On an impulse, I swing the door open and I sweep the girl standing outside into my arms, kissing her passionately. It’s not Little Red Riding Hood. It is Wendy. She resists for an instant, then returns my kiss with pent-up passion. When I open my eyes, I see two girls gawking in astonishment. Breaking off, I lower Wendy back to floor. “Geeze,” they whisper, “That’s hot!” “Um… Jason,” Wendy stammers, a deep blush rising in her cheeks. “These are my friends Mary and Liz.” It would be a stretch to call them beautiful. Attractive? Yes. In a plain vanilla sort of way. Mary is a redhead, Wendy and Liz are brunettes. They all wear clothes that reveal next to nothing about their figures. Nor do they seem acquainted with eye liner, mascara, foundation, luminizers or even lipstick. But their eyes sparkle at me from behind bashful smiles. I usher them in, thankful that as a Resident Advisor, I have a small suite with a separate bedroom. “The real Mary, I presume,” I say approaching the redhead, lifting her into my arms, and planting a kiss on her cheek. She squirms, giggles, then grabs the back of my head and presses her lips against mine in an awkward, but affectionate kiss that she seems reluctant to end. With our lips locked, I can’t help but wonder if what I know from experience about natural blondes goes for redheads as well. Maybe I’ll find out tonight. Mary has a little more heft than Wendy, but is still on the petite Anadolu Yakası Escort Bayan side. Liz is the full-figured member of the trio. She is only a few inches shorter than me, and when I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her close, she thrusts her breasts against my chest. I don’t try to lift Liz into my arms, but I can’t help but fantasize how my cock would feel riding in the valley of her ample cleavage. I’d expected Wendy to be alone, but when faced with a new challenge, I always try to rise to the occasion, so to speak. I gather them around me, and sink onto one knee, like a quarterback in a football huddle. In the United States, evangelical roots may be deep. Devotion to football is even deeper. The football playbook is the gospel by the prestige of U.S. colleges and universities rise or fall each Autumn weekend. The huddle is football’s most sacred ritual. The three women respond to being drawn into my huddle by looking down at me with a mixture of awe and nervous expectation. “Stop me if I’m wrong,” I begin, scanning their faces. “None of you have ever had a serious long-term relationship with a boy.” I look from Wendy to Mary and Liz. No one contradicts me. “You’ve never seen or touched a real penis. Never watched one become erect or ejaculate.” They are a little shocked, but again, no one says I’m wrong. “So, tonight we’re opening a new playbook. Together we are about to change all of that,” I announce, clapping my hands for emphasis. They glance shyly at each other, and from the unspoken looks they exchange, I again detect no disagreement. “All right, then, let’s get started.” I stand up and pull my shirt over my head and toss it on the sofa. Their expressions are priceless. But I have the downfield momentum on my side and I’m not about to squander it. I take Wendy’s wrist and place her hand on my chest, then guide her fingers down my stomach, across my abs, and let them graze my belt buckle and the front of my jeans. While I’m not exactly Rambo, I’ve been in a serious weight training program for five years and my musculature is way more developed than your average doughboy-college student. On a hunch, I put Wendy’s hand back on my chest and let go. This time, she moves at her own speed, tracing my pecs, my stomach and even my abs with her fingertips. She hesitates a moment at the top of my jeans, but continues past the belt buckle, and down the zipper, brushing her fingers across my cock and then down my pant legs, squeezing my thigh before letting go. When I let out an involuntary sigh, she smiles triumphantly. Escort Anadolu Yakası I repeat the exercise with Mary, who not to be outdone, uses both hands, squeezing and exploring my chest and stomach. Upon reaching the front of my jeans, she spreads her hands across my abs and works her way down until her fingertips brush up against my stiffening cock. She grabs it firmly through the denim and squeezes rhythmically, studying my face with a wry smile. Not until I groan from excitement does she release me. Liz, the least inhibited, makes a perfunctory sweep down my chest, then reaches straight for my package. She fondles me with a firm, but not painful grip, and deliberately brushes her breasts against my chest. When she finally lets go, she makes a little fist pump before placing a wet kiss on my cheek. There’s no turning back now. I unbuckle my belt, release the snap of jeans and pull down the zipper. All three girls watch as if in a trance as the jeans ride down my legs to the floor. Underneath I’m wearing gray cotton briefs. I can feel my cock expanding under their gaze, fighting against the fabric until its size, shape and even the the little ridge around the head are plainly etched into the thin material. Before anyone can move, I whisk Wendy in my arms and carry her through the bedroom door. Her eyes are wide with surprise. In a hoarse whisper, I assure her, “If I do anything you don’t want, just tell me to stop. I will. I promise.” She makes a gulping motion, but nods her head in agreement. Once inside, I kick the door close behind us, not completely shut, but enough to block the other girls’ view. Setting Wendy back on her feet, I kneel beside her and lift the hem of her dress. I kiss the freshly revealed skin, swirling my tongue along the back of her calf and behind her knee. She gasps in surprise, but does not stop me. An instant later, I pull the dress over her head. She raises her arms to help. Holding Wendy’s dress in one hand, I pull off my briefs with the other, then step back through the doorway buck naked. Mary and Liz are frozen like deer caught-in-the-headlights. I fold the dress before setting it on the sofa, well aware that the whole time my cock points straight out from my abdomen and bounces up and down with every gesture. “You’re welcome to join us in a few minutes. Just leave your clothes here,” I tell them, patting the sofa for emphasis. “You can keep your panties on… if you want.” Wendy hasn’t moved an inch, but she is about fifty shades redder with a blush that has fanned out across her chest and cheeks. I dim the lights and sit on the edge of the bed. With Wendy slightly above me, I place her hands on my shoulders and gaze into her pale gray eyes. I see a hint of self-consciousness, but mostly Wendy gazes back with pure lust. Then she focuses on my erection, which is pointing at her tiny bra-covered tits. “Can I touch it?” “Of course. Can I take off your bra?” “If you want.