by Karl G. Mann
Workshop Girl, part of An Erotic Memoir
Also, Karl provided the system with a photo essay of beautiful Laura as a maid in service. Click here for that gallery.
I don’t recall if it was the summer or perhaps during spring break. It likely was my junior year of high school, but it could have been the next. I can’t remember her name, but it might have been something like Patty though I doubt it. We were attending a workshop at the university for high school students involved with their school districts’ environmental education program. The workshop lasted a few days and we were given rooms in one of the dormitories, so it must have been summer.
Most of the attendees had roommates, but I had a room to my self overlooking Fifth Avenue only a block from where my sister worked and across from where I would attend graduate school in the future. I remember opening the window at night and hearing the sound of traffic as the morning rush hour approached. Each day we would go to workshops and to talks or presentations by visiting experts, educators, activists, and the occasional college or grad student. We each were given a loose-leaf binder with with the program outline and notes for each of the presentations. These we would take back to our schools in the fall to use in mentoring other students.
I don’t remember meeting her, but we became friendly during the first few days of the workshop. She was from a neighboring school district. I don’t recall that she was especially pretty, but she was attractive, and not like the girls I’d fancied before who all had been fair. She was certainly not thin, though not at all overweight, and she was dark in a Mediterranean way. Part Italian I believe. Her hair was straight and cut to hang above her shoulders about midway down her neck and seemed slightly oily. It was neither dark nor light.
I have no memories of conversations with her the first few days or of the time we sent together during sessions or at dinner in the dining hall, just a general impression of wanting her in a way that was new to me. I had a girlfriend, who was away with her family on vacation, with whom I had been sexual for almost a year. There was a part of me that felt reluctant to pursue this, to me, mysterious girl yet I did.
It was the night before the last day of the workshop and, although I can’t remember, my guess is that we spent the evening together out and about on campus before going to my room. By now we had been intermittently holding hands when others weren’t around, so once inside my room it was a simple step to be touching more. We kissed, we lay on the floor, we made out. She let me pleasure her breasts and slip my fingers inside her bra as I had done the first time I made out with a girl two years earlier. She felt different than the other girls I’d known, especially my lithe girlfriend.
Something about her body was “round,” but firm. In some whys she seemed like a tomboy, yet feminine and sensual. She had an odor I didn’t recognize, a bit heavy and musky, a sent I would encounter in later years again with a Sicilian divorcee. As she became aroused she sweated and I liked it. She pushed her body into mine and I particularly enjoyed that she could feel my erection against her thighs and belly as we lay still clothed and moving in mutual exploration. We kissed deep wet kisses that did not break for minutes.
I slipped my hand into the waist of her pants, a move she resisted at first. I said it would be OK, I just wanted to please her and would stop when she wanted me to. Opening her pants, I then helped her remove them before settling on the narrow bed that was not yet used. Touching her panties I could feel that she was swollen and wet. Then after a few minutes she came.
I wanted to slide my hand into her panties, but she wouldn’t let me. I wasn’t sure why at the time, having been doing the same with my girlfriend for many months. I so enjoyed the warm slippery wetness and softness of aroused labia, but I realized later that she probably was still a virgin. I could tell she wasn’t sure about going further and suspect she feared that once inside her panties I would soon be inside her.
I’ve learned that when fully aroused a girl’s desire make it difficult to stop short, a knowledge that has served my own desire to penetrate and cum before feeling I’ve truly “had” a girl. She very likely also feared the risk of pregnancy, a risk I have frequently engaged in with a number of girls since and would have been willing to chance with her. So, through her panties I made her come a few more times, while tasting her nipples or locking lips for a slippery dance of impassioned tongues.
By now she held my penis through my pants or rubbing her thigh hard against it. Finally sated, she relaxed, then after a minute of catching her breath, unzipped me, held my cock, and with focus and determination went down on me until I came in her mouth. We then lay together for most of an hour, half asleep and still half aroused, occasionally kissing and touching or rubbing. Sometime before dawn she dressed and left for her room.
Next morning I could smell her on my fingers. We sat together during breakfast, lunch, and through the final sessions and then said goodbye. After the workshop we exchanged a few letters and cards. I remember getting some that were quiet creative and fun, not unlike the “mail art” I would exchange in the next decade with some artist friends, but we never met again. She was quiet busy with senior year academics and activities, I think she was in the band, and likely had a boyfriend. Likewise, I was preoccupied with advanced classes and an increasingly sexual and accomplished girlfriend.
by Karl G. Mann
Workshop Girl, part of An Erotic Memoir