By that point in our marriage, if Paul came in my mouth to start with, he was done for the night. So we had compromised. I kept him from cumming, then he worked on me a bit, then he inserted himself in me, and when he was close, I finished him off orally. Sometimes that took us fifteen minutes from beginning to end — most times. On bad nights, the entire process was over under ten minutes. If I was lucky, we made it to twenty.
Some women would be happy with that much sex. If they had it every night, that is, which we did not. Still, we had sex a couple of times a week on good weeks. I often reminded Paul we had not had sex by Friday or Saturday. As I would learn from women I knew, their sex lives were even less remarkable than mine. When I told how much we had to another woman, she said she ‘wished she had that much.’ So I guess I was ahead of the curve? I should have been glad my husband gave me that much attention.
***
So why Brandon, you ask? Well, as I said earlier, Brandon was my first. The first man I had while married to Paul. And a girl always remembers her first. Her first man to have sex with and take her virginity. The first she gave oral to. The first she gave her ass to… well, all those were Garry for me.
So who was Brandon? Well, Brandon was the first man I had as a married woman. And I did not cross the line from faithful wife to what I am not easily. In fact, I stayed faithful to Paul for over nine years.
What made me cross the line and join the ranks of cheaters? Why am I living this double life?
***
Enter Paul
The University of Florida, Gainsville. January 1985
So, where was I? Oh yeah…
Everything was great in my life. I was pulling a 4.0 GPA with hardly any fears of not continuing so. I was young, popular, and was getting more sex than most people get in a lifetime each month.
They say everything is sunny before the storm. Right before something happens to ruin it all. And mine did in a way I had not expected. Have you ever seen a video of a truck hitting a car at a crossroads?
That is what happened to me when I ran into HIM. I knew who he was, vaguely. Who? Paul Donnely, of course. He had a reputation as a smooth operator with, what I called, the ‘Bamby’ type girls.
Bamby was this goody-two-shoes girl in high school. You know the type: strict parents, church on Sunday, no drinking, no sex, and known for being a tease. At best, Bamby gave a guy a kiss at the end of a date and, if he was lucky, let him pet her boobs over her sweater at the movies. Yeah, you know the type.
Girls like Bamby looked down their noses at girls like me who had a reputation for being “easy.” And not just that, they detested anyone who had sex at all. We were the amoral heathen who were beneath them and their preppy crowd. As if sexual denial was some kind of test to join their snooty club.
Some girls like Bamby or the Bambies also went to college as I had. Most on their parent’s dime. At first, they stayed true to their values, joining preppy sororities and hanging out with preppy guys. The kind worthy of being seen by their crowd. And once again, looking down at anyone else from their morally uppity ivory tower.
I wish I could tell you that this was a social dynamic based on money or politics. You know the cliché. Rich-daddy’s-girl looking down at the peasants? But it was not. If anything, these morally superior types spanned the economic, social, and political spectrum. Their primary motivator was not just sexual denial but moral snobbishness. They needed to make themselves better than others. No different than the politically motivated college types who thought themselves better than “the other side.” You know the type.
I once heard them refer to me as a “doer” As in a woman who does. And they were right. I did… do – a lot. I did anyone I wanted – if I wanted and when I wanted. I did all kinds of men. More than one at a time if available, and men of all different ages, races, and sizes. So yes, someone beneath the Bambies and their Ken-doll-like boyfriends.
But a funny thing happened during the first year of these girls’ college experience. The cookie jar effect (so many men around) and the away alone (no mom and dad to watch over me) realities came together to create… sexually curious Bamby. And if she was not active by the end of the freshman year, by the beginning of their sophomore year, these girls were ready to unleash years of pent-up sexual frustration.
It was sort of a worm/butterfly transformation if you are into a biology analogy. The worm was obviously the high school repressed Bamby. The curiosity time was the cocooning phase, where the Bamby had urges and temptations but tried to suppress them — often unsuccessfully. The butterfly phase was when they surrendered their virginity to some guy.
Sometimes, they liked a guy and chose him to be ‘the one.’ Or it was while they were drunk at a party, letting loose with the first guy there. But sometimes, there was a smooth operator who got off on popping Bamby cherry and did the job.
After all, these young women’s bodies were in their prime and had as much need for sexual release as mine did. Only I indulged it while they suppressed and repressed it. It was actually interesting and funny to watch at frat parties.
I used to go to them with a guy named Jerry from the Greek Council — some committee of the Greek Alphabet fraternities or something. Jerry liked slumming and was a member of a male group with the gangbang fetish. If you don’t know, these guys liked to get together and have sex simultaneously with one willing, happy girl! Why are you surprised that I had indulged in that practice with them as the center of their attention — more than once. Life’s experiences while I was free. Have you forgotten?
Anyway, here I was at this preppy frat party with Jerry, who was privy to all such parties in his council position. Probably he was there to make sure… Oh, I didn’t know… that the punch was properly spiked? That girls wore no underwear by midnight? That there were sufficient rubbers available? Or just an excuse to party. Still, Jerry got in these mixers, and I tagged along for the fun of it.
The place was full of preppy guys trying to score with the Bamby preppy girls as usual. Sadly, these girls made cock teasing the poor young men a sport. But there were a few preppy guys with Butterfly Bamby girlfriends. These were primarily upperclassmen who had paid their dues sucking up to cockteasing girls — eventually convincing an upper-class butterfly to “go steady” with him.
While we attended the same classes at FU Gainsville, we differed in student cultures. Still, we coexisted and occasionally met socially, yet rarely.
Jerry would tell the preps that I was his nymphomaniac sister and that I needed relief. You would be surprised how many volunteers would line up outside a bedroom to service the needy damsel in distress. Since most of them were virgins, I was glad to oblige, and they wore condoms at the insistence of my handler and brother for the night Jerry.