College Life

Perry and I went off to our separate colleges, him to Indiana University, and me to a small private college in Virginia. We called each other every week, which dropped off to once a month, and then only occasionally. After a while, we only spoke to each other during semester breaks, which was rare, because he was on a four semester schedule and my school was on a tri-mester schedule.

I didn't cling to him being "my first" as much as other girls seemed to do. Instead, I took advantage of being in a city rife with African-American men and dated frequently-- all the while keeping my grade point average at 3.8.

My first real boyfriend at college was Marcus Johnson. Marcus was a basketball player, tall and muscular, with languid, dark brown eyes smooth pecan-colored skin. Anyone who looked at us thought we were the perfect couple, and for a while, I thought so too.

Sometimes you go along with what other people think because you think it's best for you, and usually, it's the best way to avoid any trouble with other people. But "going along" never settles the trouble inside yourself.

Marcus and I had sex the first time during the off-season. We met during basketball season of our sophomore year. Basketball season was when the coach demanded abstinence of all the players, and Marcus took his B-ball seriously, so it wasn't until the following semester that he even approached the subject--and even then, it was me, not him who mentioned it. Up to that point, we'd only kissed, not even made out. I figured it was because his father was a pastor of a pretty good-sized, black middle-class church back in his hometown that he kept so straight.

He was an education major and my major was art history. We rarely had the same classes, but we did have a couple of gen-ed classes together. The afternoon we "consummated" our relationship, we were in his dorm room, studying for a math test.
I hated math. He hated it only a little less than me. Our books and notes were strewn all over the bed. The television and stereo were off, all in the guise of absorbing the material, but it just wasn't working.

"There has to be something better to do than this," I said, closing my notebook. It was Saturday, and students were running up and down the hallway with their laundry, for their showers, and on their trips to the commissary.

"Yeah?" Marcus said, closing his book and shoving it off the bed he was lying on. I was sitting in the chair at his desk, which was flush against the wall and right next to his bed. "Any ideas?"

"Well, we could go for a walk," I replied.

"We can do that," he said, sitting up, preparing to put his sneaks on over his socks.

"No. I don't feel like it," I said, scratching my head. He was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. I looked at his long legs and the soft brown skin of his arms and thought it would be nice to see him with less clothes on. He didn't have a roommate yet. A transfer student who was also a basketball player was going to be arriving the next semester and, until then, Marcus had a room all to himself. So far, we had never taken advantage of it. Most of our nights consisted of hanging out with other basketball guys and their girlfriends listening to music. Us girls oiled our boyfriends' scalps, or we oiled and braided each others, all the while gossiping about other students and professors in and outside of the African-American community on campus.

"Let's just stay here. And talk," I said. I got up from the chair and set next to him on the bed. I rubbed my hand over his head, his hair shaved short and smooth.

I felt relaxed, and brave enough to make the first move. I blew warm breath into his ear, and nibbled his ear lobe. His shoulders jumped and then he relaxed and let his arm move around me while it still half rested on the bed.

"We've never talked about sex," I said to him, still nibbling on his ear lobe, then moving down his long neck. "All last season, all I thought about was being with you."

I wanted to say in more, to list in detail everything I wanted to do to him and with him, but I wasn't sure he could take it. He wasn't that vocal about anything, and sex even less. Maybe it had something to do with being a preacher's kid.

He chuckled. I could feel his breathing increase, so I kept nibbling, and moved my hand over his chest. He turned towards me and we kissed. He let his breath breathe into me , his lips covering mine, his tongue dipping deep into my mouth. I didn't totally object to his technique, except it left me no control. I tried to take it back by pulling my lips back and flicking my tongue around his, then removing my lips from his altogether and kissing his neck. I pulled his t-shirt up from his body so that it was gathered underneath his armpits. I gently pushed him down to the bed and ran my brown fingers against his brown chest. It wasn't as arousing to me as seeing my dark flesh against Perry's white skin, but the situation was arousing enough. Marcus' nipples were hard, large, gray-brown aureoles surrounding them. I ran my fingers across them, teasing them the way I used to with Perry. It yielded the same effect. I put my mouth to one, then the other, flicking my tongue across them firmly, then sucking softly. Marcus moaned. I moved my hand down his body and let it rest on the rod that was developing into a more solid state. Marcus moaned again, and I ran the palm of my hand up and down on his hardening cock through his sweats. My own juices were beginning to flow. I took off my tank top and lifted my sports bra over my head while sitting on Marcus' reclined body. Holding his hands, I placed them on my breasts and he squeezed while I heaved and humped back and forth on his clothed cock. When he had resigned himself to massaging and squeezing my soft brown breasts, I used my hands to pull down his sweat pants. He still had his boxers on, but his cock was bulging against the opening of them. I lifted the solid length of him out through the front of his boxers and stroked his dick with a firm but tender grip.

Separating myself gently from his hands on my breasts, I squatted on the bed next to his cock, examining it as I stroked it. The trunk of it was darker than his skin tone, almost purplish, while the head was a glistening lighter brown, with a glint of red in its excitement. It was the second cock I'd ever seen, the first black cock I'd ever seen, and the only cock I'd seen at all in months. My mouth watered as I examined and stroked it until I couldn't wait any longer. I let my mouth slide slowly down the length of him as he gasped, then back up again, repeating the movement slowly at first, then picking up speed according to his moans.

All too soon, I heard him groan, his cock pulsate, then my mouth filled up with his warm, salty cum. Having acquired the taste with Perry, I sucked and swallowed the warm, white liquid from Marcus' brown cock-head in the rhythm of how it erupted, each pulse giving up less and less.

I smiled looking down at Marcus' satisfied expression and licked up a drop of cum that dotted my lips. It felt good to do more with Marcus than just kiss, and I was rather proud of myself --I had heard on campus that most girls, black or white, thought it "nasty" to swallow. To me, "nasty" was rather nice, in this case.

I was so happy to have finally shared more than a kiss with him (and proud to have swallowed) that I didn't take it personally when he didn't reciprocate, or decide to take the situation any further than just his cumming. I should have taken his response-- or lack of one-- as a sign.

Because college is its own world and I didn't have much contact with Perry while I was there, I had pretty much resigned myself to not having a giving lover. No one here really knew that my first sexual encounters were with a white person and no one asked. Marcus was black, smart, talented, and a gentleman, and that was hard for a lot of women to find, so, for a brief period, I figured all that was enough.

About three months into our junior year, the basketball team was gearing up for another season. When I wasn't working in the slide library, I would meet Marcus after his practices at his dorm, sometimes getting there before he did. I had a key, and I just walked in, books in arm, ready to settle in and study for the Survey of Art exam. When I walked in, the desk on the other side of the room was piled with books, a hooded sweatshirt draped over it, and there was someone lying on the bed.

"You're not my roommate, are you?" a voice asked.

That someone was tall and muscular like mostly everyone else on the basketball team. His head was shaved like everyone else on the basketball team. Everything about him was the same-- except that he was white.

His long, broad body lay back on the bed, and his head, gleaming with the trace of reddish-blonde hair, was propped up with a pillow. His legs were bent and swaying apart back and forth and he stretched them, individually, in turn, in the air. He was wearing blue warm-up pants with a green stripe on the side. His t-shirt was white, green, and blue and it had the schools' logo on it. It was the same kind of shirt they give everyone at orientation.

"Uh, no," I answered, flopping my books onto Marcus' bed instead of the new guy's desk, where I usually did.

"Too bad," he replied. "Dylan," he said, still swinging his legs back and forth.

I smiled a short smile, and told him my name. "Marcus' girlfriend," I added.

"I won't let that bother me," he laughed, raised his golden-brown eyebrows, and winked at me.

By the time practices started for the team that semester, Marcus and I were not getting along. He had told the whole team that I regularly, "sucked him off", and it got me labeled as the team whore. The girls of the players whispered about me and the players would make lewd comments. Everyone of them were having sex, but I guessed that enjoying more than the old in and out was a mistake only I had made. When I asked one of the girls if she'd ever had a guy lick her, she just replied, "Girl, you are nasty."

More nasty. The truth was, none of the guys would do it no matter how much the girl wanted it. It wasn't considered manly to the guys on the team. It was no surprise to me when another girl was disowned by the clique when one of the players walked in on his girlfriend receiving "oral pleasure" from her female roommate. I thought college life was supposed to be "open-minded"?

Marcus had received the benefit of my "whoredom" for quite a while after he told everyone, because I didn't realize the source of what had been said for weeks. When I found out it was him, I stopped by his dorm to leave a Dear John note and drop off his key. I was too humiliated and hurt to confront him. Here I thought I finally had found a place of acceptance, with people who looked like me, and yet I still wound up an outcast. Just for being myself.

When I walked in the room, Marcus wasn't there, as I expected, but Dylan was. His back was to the door and he was sitting at his desk, book opened, head in one hand, pen in another. I thought I could leave my deposit and go without him noticing, but he turned around, just as I was going to drop the key on top of the note.

"Hey," he said, "Where ya going?" he asked.

"Um, I just came to drop something off for Marcus," I replied. "What are doing here? Why aren't you at practice?"

Dylan laughed, swinging his legs around so that his whole body was facing me. He was wearing a loose pair of gray sweatpants and no shirt. I could see his cock through his pants, resting in his lap, reaching to his thigh. "Coach said I have too much attitude for a white boy. Said I had to sit on the bench. So I walked out."

"Maybe you do have too much attitude..for a white boy," I said, laughing softly, and shaking my head in mock disbelief. I looked around the room. "Well, I see you've settled in," I said. On the walls, Dylan put up one poster of Iverson. Five posters of pin-ups. All of them black.

"Oh, yeah. Like them? Marcus hates 'em. Even Iverson," he chuckled.

"Anybody who knew you would think you have a thing for black women," I replied sarcastically, ignoring his reference to who, in my mind, was now my ex.

"Well, I guess they'd be right," he replied with a sly smile, leaning back in his chair. "Want to find out how much?"

I looked at him. Right. He heard what all the other guys on the team heard. Now he wants a piece. I don't think so. "I just came to drop off my key," I said, slipping the note on Marcus' desk where I thought he would see it.

"A key? That's all. You should be dropping him a swift kick in the ass."

"Why's that?"

"After all the shit he said about you" he replied. I played dumb, but he went on. "I mean, really. He should be glad his woman loved him enough to go down on him. I would. And I wouldn't leave her hanging either. Sometimes I think Marcus is gay." He watched my eyebrows raise. "Not that I have anything against gay people," he added quickly. "Anyway, I told him so, but he didn't have much to say." Dylan scratched his head and looked down at the floor. "He just said, 'if you think so, fuck her."

At that moment, I didn't know whether I was mad or just frustrated at having thrown my pearls to swine. The adrenaline kicked in and, having seen the elongated lump in Dylan's lap that he had to keep moving to the side, I thought Marcus had come up with a great idea-- for once.

I walked up to Dylan, while he sat in his chair, still with his head down, hands folded. He lifted his head and looked up at me standing right in his face. I was wearing a tight, white jogging top and a pair of loose warm-up pants that hung on my hips. The fact that I had a round ass wouldn't let the pants fall on their own, they would have to be pulled down to fall down.

Dylan's long arms fell to the side of the chair and I sat down, straddling his lap, facing him. "What Marcus says is right. You should fuck me." I kissed him long and hard, sticking my tongue deep in his mouth. He groaned softly and shifted a bit in his chair, leaning back a bit more. He held my ass cheeks in his hands and then moved me so my crotch was lying along the ridge swelling in his pants.

"You're not wearing underwear under those sweatpants, are you?" I whispered in his ear.

He moved me back and forth along his crotch. "Nooo..." He growled.

"Mmm...you wanna fuck me, Dylan? You want to put that hard white cock in my black pussy?"

"Fuck, yes."

Dylan looked into my eyes, with a sleepy, drugged look. He was feeling it for sure. So was I. I sat up and pulled my warm-ups down over my hips, taking my panties down with them. He grabbed me by the ass and pulled my pussy to his face. He licked and nibbled at the mound and worked his way down to my clit, where he pressed his tongue down firmly and then let the tip of his tongue run over it back and forth, holding my ass with two hands. He moved back for air, just for a moment, long enough to take a finger from one hand and play with my clit, then sliding another finger from the same hand between the lips of my pussy, into the slit. He moved his hand so that while one finger slid in and out, the other finger was rotating back and forth on my clit. I arched my back, groaned loudly, as the juices from my cunt flowed all over his fingers. He immediately put his face in my pussy, rubbing his lips in the juices and licking them up greedily. He had made me cum, just that quickly.

When I felt the sensation subside, I was shaking. I looked down at Dylan, his rosy-cheeked face smeared with my cum. His blue eyes shining. He smiled a devilish smile. He moved me so I was no longer straddling him but standing against the bed. He stood up and pulled his sweatpants down. His cock sprung out, and he stroked it a few times, smoothing the per-cum over the tip. He smiled at my reaction.

"Bigger than Marcus?" he asked. I said nothing, but he was satisfied enough with my expression as an answer.

Dylan moved toward me, his cock in my face, hitting my cheek. I moved my hand to grab it, but he stopped me. "Uh uh," he said. "Let's save that for the next time."

He laid me back on the bed, moved me to the side that was against the wall, so that I was laying on my side. He laid opposite me-- so if anyone fell out of the bed, it would be him...but we managed not to fall.

He raised my leg so it was over his hip, rubbing his hands along my thighs. The tip of his cock was pink, the rest of it a lighter shade, the veins trailing through the entire length. "We're gonna make this make up for what he hasn't been giving you," he whispered. I felt the tip of him at my slit push its way in and I caught my breath, whispered his name, and he pushed further in. He stood still for a bit, feeling my juices flow over his cock. He breathed in stiffly, holding himself back. When whatever he was feeling passed, he started thrusting, burying his face in the pillow beside my head then raising his head to look at me. His eyes were so blue. His face flushed. He pumped in and out of me with a slow, methodical rhythm, gazing into my face and burying his face in the pillow again. His hips moved up and down and around. His torso was so long, my arms short in comparison, that my arms only reached down his back as I held him. His legs, long and thick, straddled mine. I felt filled. The tip of his cock reached further into me with every thrust, and his pelvis rubbed against my clit again and again until I gasped and came again, this time, all over his cock. Sweat poured off of him onto me and pasted our bodies together. He raised himself over me and quickened his thrusts, holding my legs under the knees, watching his white cock slide in and out of my black pussy, sometimes looking away as if he couldn't bear the sight. He just kept thrusting, harder, and harder until he felt me cum again, then he let go, pumping a few more times, his cock almost scraping the walls of my cunt. He yelled out, and I felt the rush of warmth filling me. Then he collapsed on top of me, arching his large body so as not to crush me.

We laid there wrapped around each other for a while, then I decided I should probably get dressed. Marcus would be getting back from practice, and although I began the situation with the idea of revenge, it had become something else for me. Dylan was mostly too tired to think. I put on my clothes as he lay back on his bed, his cock lying across his pelvis, just touching his thigh.

"You're leaving?" he asked me.

"Yes. I think I should, for now," I answered.

"Hey," he said, "Don't get rid of that key."