Billy Ch. 01

When I met Kieran I was a sophomore in college, and I really hadn't had what I'd call a truly satisfying sexual experience with a man. I'd dated a lot of guys, and gone all the way with a few, but I don't know if had to do with their technique, or the chemistry not being right, or what, but I'd never had a real orgasm during sex. Part of the problem was that the guys I was with tended to come so quickly that I barely even got a chance to get heated up. They always apologized, and said it didn't normally happen, and it was because I was so beautiful and they were so excited to be with me, etc., but the next time, it would often be the same thing.

I didn't start dating Kieran because I thought things would be different with him, exactly. If anything, I had decided not to go all the way, and to really get to know a guy and take it slow. Guys were always hitting on me, asking me out, even borderline stalking me, and even with the nicer ones, it just seemed like they were so sex-obsessed that I couldn't even figure out if there was really something there or not. Basically, it seemed like they all wanted to have sex with me, and would say anything -- even believing it, sometimes -- to try to make that happen.

So with Kieran, I was upfront about the fact that I wanted to take it really slow. I'd said that with other guys, and found out they got impatient quickly, so I really wanted to make sure he got it. He said he did, and I believed him.

Kieran was really a quality guy. He wasn't a "bad boy" or an arrogant athlete like some of my other boyfriends had been. He was patient with me, and I really believed he liked me for me. Of course, we kissed and stuff, and I could definitely tell he got aroused when we did, but I was pretty firm with my "rules." As far as "petting" went, I told him my erogenous zones were all off limits -- because I knew, from experience, that when I got triggered by being touched or kissed on certain parts of my body, all my thoughts about going slow might go out the window.

Of course, he didn't love this, especially when he realized, early on, that that included my breasts -- that he wasn't going to touch me there, and I wasn't going to take my top off -- or at least would make him stop at my bra. This was hard for me, too, but I really felt like I was doing the right thing. But sure, it was probably harder for him.

I guess I should tell you a little bit about what I look like. I'm notoriously critical of my looks, but I guess it's safe to say I'm not hideous. When I was in high school my mom got me into pageants, and I was a runner up for Miss Teen Georgia. I also got voted homecoming queen my sophomore year, which I guess was a really unusual thing, but it was more trouble than it was worth, because a lot of the girls kind of turned against me -- and I took myself out of the running my last two years.

People occasionally told me I should try modeling. Sometimes men would stop me on the street or in restaurants, giving me their card and telling me they were "in the business," but I was like, "whatever," and didn't really trust it. Plus I wasn't that interested in what seemed like a superficial way to make a living.

Honestly, I got tired of guys staring at me, following me, chatting me up for no apparent reason, and didn't really want to create more of that. Don't get me wrong -- it was nice at times, the attention I got from guys -- if it was the right guys. And I was aware I would be treated differently from other girls -- by certain male teachers in high school, for instance. Especially when I dressed to look my best.

Which is something I usually do. I like to look pretty, and for the most part I'm proud of my body (I spend enough time in the gym, I should get to show it off!). And I like at times to wear form-fitting or revealing clothes, depending on the situation.

Of course, this didn't make matters any easier for poor Kieran. We always had warm weather at school, so I dressed accordingly. I might wear a loose jacket or yoga pants when I walked across campus -- it's just less hassle -- but when we'd hang out in the dorm, you'd be more likely to find me in little boy shorts and a t-shirt. With a bra, of course -- I'm not looking to create a scandal -- but still, Kieran would tell me it was torture to look at me in some tight top with a hint of bare belly showing -- and know that for the most part, my body was "off limits."

I admit that I got lucky, somehow -- I don't know why. I'm one of those rare girls who finds it easy to stay slim and tight -- although the crunches and cardio help bring out the hint of stomach muscles that wouldn't be there on their own. But at the same time, I have a pretty full rack. C cups, actually, and that's without surgery, thank you very much. I have a long torso and my breasts sit pretty high on my chest, and I guess you could say they attract attention. Or they can, depending on how I dress.

I actually think my legs are my best feature -- long (I'm 5'7"), slender, and toned from years of dance lessons -- and certainly when I strap on wedges or pumps, or cross my legs while wearing shorts or a short skirt, I can sense that I'm having an impact on men in the vicinity.

But my upper body kind of stops traffic more. Kieran sometimes got a thrill out of walking across campus a few steps behind me, while I'm wearing a tight t-shirt or something, and watching how guys stare, and turn their heads after they pass -- and sometimes even chase after and start talking to me.

I think it's kind of silly and borderline annoying, but Kieran loves the pride of knowing I'm "his" at such moments, and so once in a while I'll indulge him. It's the least I can do -- after all, I'm not putting out!

I guess having long blonde hair helps ensure that I get noticed by guys from a distance, but I like to think I am better looking close up, and when you get to know me. They say beautiful faces tend to include large eyes and a large mouth, plus good skin, high cheekbones, and symmetry -- and I've been blessed with all of those. I suppose if I had blue eyes that would complete the picture you're probably forming as you read this, but -- sorry to disappoint you -- my eyes are brown. But they are big, and I think they're pretty. But I have to admit guys don't tend to stare into them as their first option -- unless maybe I'm wearing a parka or something.

I was definitely not wearing a parka the first time I met the second of Kieran's two suite mates at his dorm. After a few drinks and a long makeout session in the common room that he shares with two other guys, one night, Kieran practically begged me to sleep over. I wasn't that hard to convince, as I was tired, enjoying his company -- and the kissing, of course -- and have to admit I'm not the closest of friends with my own roommates, one of whom I share a bunk bed with.

Kieran had lucked into getting a bedroom to himself -- while the other two guys in the suite had to share the other one. Still, he only had a twin bed, and I knew I'd probably have to fight him off with a stick if we slept in the same bed together, but perhaps against my better judgment, I agreed. I would have to break my own normal rule about always having a bra on, because there was no way I was going to sleep in one. But my cotton tank top and shorts were plenty comfortable enough for sleeping. I waited until the lights were out to slip out of the bra -- no reason to torture the poor boy -- and climbed into bed with him behind me, spooning me.

Of course he was hard, and I could feel it against my leg. Up to this point, I'd never seen his penis, but it felt like had the usual size and shape. I felt bad for him. His arms were around me, and he was being so careful not to even graze my breasts, or wander below my waist. I had to admit that the closeness (added to the drinks and the kissing from before) had me buzzing a little, but I wanted to be a good girl, and keep to my plan. We'd only been together a few weeks -- definitely not long enough to count as "taking it really slow." But there was no reason, I decided, that I couldn't give him a little relief.

I wish I could have seen his expression when I asked him if he wanted a hand job. He was silent for a long beat before he said "Yeah. Okay!" I didn't know if it was kind of an insult or a sad compromise, but I figured an orgasm was an orgasm, and what the hell. He had his shorts off before I could say another word, so I guess he saw things the same way!

"Can we turn the light on?" he asked, in such a sweet little voice, as my hand began to slide down his stomach toward his private area.

I decided I might as well make it as nice as I could for him. I trusted Kieran. I really didn't think he'd try to push things further. So I flipped on the light.

Of course his eyes went straight to my braless chest, which my white t-shirt gripped pretty tightly. I was getting turned on, and my nipples were poking through the fabric, and I'm sure creating quite a sight for him.

As for me, I was focused on his cock, which I was relieved to see looked pretty normal and functional -- probably about five to six inches long, nothing painful to accommodate (yes, I was thinking ahead to after we stopped taking things slow). As he felt my delicate fingers wrap around it for the first time, his whole body jerked. God, was he pent up! I tickled and stroked it with a light, slow touch, which seemed to be doing the trick. He was breathing super fast and heavy, sitting there propped up against the headboard, his eyes taking in my body hungrily, but keeping his hands to his sides.

"You like how I look with no bra on?" I teased, taking my free hand and cupping one of my breasts with it.

That was all he needed. He let out a huge groan, and the cum started pouring onto my hand. It started with a little jerk that flew onto the sheet, but the rest just kind of dripped down onto my fingers and wrist. When I was sure he was done, I removed my hand, and pulled it up toward my mouth. This was naughty, I know, and probably not nice. I acted like I was about to lick it off my hand -- extending my tongue toward it -- but then using his underwear to wipe my hand clean.

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