To Be Or Not To Be ...
I spent the larger part of my years at university (and a load of energy!) in a relationship with Johan, who studied Physics and Chemistry. (Yip – gave rise to many puns.) He had the look of a struggling artist; tall, lean to the point of being skinny, pale, dark eyes, an unruly mop of black curls … (No, no – I graduated on time!)
In my third year, I spent the spring holidays with Johan and his folks on their farm. A group of drama students from another university was on tour, so Johan and I went into town one Saturday evening for dinner and a play.
We stayed at the restaurant a little longer than we should have. When we left, we discovered that his car had a flat tyre. We arrived at the playhouse a few minutes after they had started, which the main usher found completely unacceptable. He was not going to allow any person to disrupt the evening for others by entering late. Then he relented. One of the boxes on the wall, he said, was empty, and if we could sneak in without opening the door too far, he would let us in.
There were four seats in the box, arranged in two rows of two seats each. We settled in the front row and tried to enjoy the play. This proved to be difficult, though. The acoustics were poor, and the technicians had problems with the sound system. The acting was below par, too. We found out later that three of the main characters fell ill, and because this was an amateur university group, they did not have fully prepared understudies for each role.
So we turned to another form of entertainment. I was wearing a rather low-cut burgundy dress, and it wasn’t long before Johan slipped his hand into it. His fingertips brushed my boobs ever so gently. At times, I wasn’t even sure he was really touching me, but there was the gentle, rhythmical movement of featherlight strokes starting at the ba
Johan undid the zipper at the back and pushed one part of the top of my dress off my right shoulder. This left my right boob out in the open. I was worried that people in the stalls might see us, but before I could cover up, his lips found my collarbone. I drifted away in a world of pleasure as he planted light kisses on my throat, the top of my boob, the sides of my boob … somewhere along the line, he pushed the other part of the dress off my left shoulder, leaving me naked from the waist upwards. I wanted to protest, but his mouth had finally found my right nip. The cool air in the playhouse, his hot mouth on my boobs … nothing else mattered.
I felt his hand on my right hip. I was turned on even more when I remembered the little surprise I had in store for him: he thought I was wearing pantyhose, but I was wearing a garter belt and stockings. (I thought he would only discover that on our way back to the farm, though.) I felt the heat of his hand through my dress. I lay back and placed my feet against the front wall of the box. Johan needed no invitation. Without interrupting the wonderful things his mouth was doing on my boobs, he pushed my dress up my legs, bunching it up just below the top of my thighs. As his hand moved down again, he touched the garter belt.
He emitted a low sigh, something between a moan and a grunt, as he looked down my body. Then his tongue found my nips again, while his hand caressed the insides of my thighs. His fingers gently traced the outer edges of my panties. Eventually his fingertips brushed my mound, making me shiver with pleasure. He gently massaged the area just above my lips, moving his fingers slowly in circles. Finally, he pushed my soaked panties aside. The cold air on my wet, smoothly shaved and burning hot flesh made me gasp. He ran his fingers up and down my love lips, very slowly and very gently. Using his middle and index fingers, he massaged the folds around my ****, sending little waves of pleasure through my body. After a while, he slowly moved the same two fingers downward, gently stroking the areas between my inner and outer lips.
Finally, his fingers found my entrance. I don’t know if he pushed his fingers into me or if my lips sucked them into me, but I felt the exquisite delight of my flesh parting to accommodate his fingers, while clinging to them to retain as much contact as possible.
His fingers slipped into me up to the second knuckle. Then he placed his thumb on my mound, just above my ****. He made gentle movements, rubbing my mound and the roof of my love tunnel. His other hand was still caressing my boobs, gently rolling my nips between his fingers. We breathed searing gasps into each other’s mouths, tongues probing as deeply as possible.
My hips developed a life of their own, moving against his hand, wanting more of his fingers inside me. He continued massaging my flesh, keeping the same steady rhythm, not going any deeper. Every muscle, every ligament, every cell in my body contracted. Then, like a spotlight that comes on in pitch dark, my whole body exploded in sheer, unbridled ecstacy. I heard myself moan as convulsions raged through me in waves of delight. Johan’s mouth covered mine, but I was beyond caring about being heard or seen; every part of my body was singing with joy and delight.
Slowly, I returned to this world. I became aware of actors struggling through their lines on the stage, and the intermittent crackling noise of the sound system. I saw my body, bathed in the ambient light: naked boobs, with nips still proudly erect, legs spread wide, dress bunched up around my hips …
I sat up. Johan gave me a lingering kiss. I pulled my dress up my shoulders again, and he helped me fasten the zipper. I pushed my dress down my legs. A few minutes later, there was a round of unenthusiastic applause. The lights came on. It was time for the break. We left. We reached the farm much, much later only, though!