Ruth’s Experiment

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Nineteen. Not married. No kids. The ideal age and situation for no-strings sex. Ruth and I realized this at about the same time. We weren’t really attracted, but we got along. It was early May, our first year of college was about to end, the days were sunny and warm, and we had started hanging out. I thought, hoped, something might happen, but I was scared to make a move.

One of the bars near campus catered to bookworms, instead of dancers and jocks. Chess sets and boards were available, and once in a while I saw them used. I’m no brainiac (I was majoring in business), but I liked the place because it was quiet enough for people to talk and listen. At a big round table on a weeknight, Ruth and I were sometimes in a group of seven or eight, mostly listening to extroverts hold forth on Important Issues.

By spring, Ruth and I were usually both there at the same time. When the group at the big table broke up, sometimes she and I would move to a small table.

We got acquainted. We discussed some Issues that weren’t all that Important.

We allowed ourselves to say that we weren’t involved with anyone else.

We even flirted a little.

She didn’t make a move either.

Finally, on a day when I had been so busy prepping for finals that I hadn’t made time to masturbate, I said to her, “Is it fair to say that you’re not interested in me, long-term? You’re way liberal, and I’m okay with the profit motive. I like hanging out with you, but is this getting us anywhere?”

She blinked. After a moment she said, “Wow.” She took a sip of beer, looking into her glass. Then she looked up and said, “Maybe there are other reasons for doing this.” Meaning, I thought, for her as much as for me.

I swallowed, without beer. “I’m lonely,” I said. “But I don’t want to drag you into something that has no future.”

“That’s good,” she said, seeming hesitant. “But how about the present? In a couple weeks we’ll go home.”

I decided that this was as much encouragement as she’d ever give me. I drank some beer. Maybe that gave me the nerve to say, “Would you like to get together?”

She looked to the side, smiling a little, shifting a bit in her chair. With a jerky nod she said, “Yeah.” Then, with a quick look at me, “But not tonight.”

I nodded. As eager as I was, fear of rejection was replaced immediately by performance anxiety.

She pulled back to an earlier topic. “We don’t argue about our opinions. That’s something.”

I shrugged. “I don’t try to convert people. You have your reasons for what you think.”

She might have blushed a little, but in that light it was hard to tell. “So we can be friends. And…a little more?”

My turn to smile, I hope not too greedily. “I’d like that. What do you have in mind?”

She rolled her eyes, setting down her glass with a thump. “So inoffensive, so safe, so passive-aggressive.” As I was about to complain, she put up a hand and said, “No, at least you raised the subject of you and me. Props for that, Greg. I was too chickenshit. But I have good reason to be timid about this. I mean, look at me. Except for the tits, does anything about me drive you wild?”

Probably staying passive-aggressive, I countered, “It’s not like my looks make the ladies swoon.”

This smile was a little warmer. “It’s okay, talking about this. But I’m still a little scared.”

I now had a boner, which made me even more defensive. “Me too. Um. I don’t want to get hurt.”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to go very far. It’s not because of you. My older sister got knocked up, and things have been rough for her ever since.”

“I get it,” I said, maybe sounding impatient.

She leaned closer and spoke quietly. “How about sometime Trabzon Escort over the weekend? I promise I’ll, um, get you off, and you can do plenty with these.” With one hand she vaguely indicated her upper torso, obscured by a loose, dark green t-shirt.

“Sure,” I said. “I hope I can do something for you,” I said, expecting maybe to eat her out.

“To dodge your earlier question,” she said, “I do have something in mind.” Then she drained her beer.


Now for the hard truth about why we were both available.

I was pudgy, so that my weak chin was on the brink of doubling. I wasn’t tall. I had straight black hair, and a family history that promises early baldness. In a conversation, I can think of devastatingly witty remarks-five minutes too late. As far as I could tell, my prick was okay in length and girth, but only twice so far had it been used for a woman’s pleasure. Maybe the results were good, but neither woman had been interested in more of that kind of fun, or a deeper personal connection.

Ruth was beyond pudgy. She had neck-length brown hair and a bulbous nose. I’d never seen her use cosmetics, and I don’t think she’d be inclined towards that, given what she’d said on the subject of traditional gender roles. She got testy if she thought she was being mocked or disrespected. She didn’t suffer fools or curry favor, so she dismissed plenty of men who might have pursued her just for a chance to bang her while sucking big tits.

I’m not so obsessed about breasts that I try to estimate cup size or inches, and Ruth didn’t wear skintight stuff. When she moved, though, it was apparent that she was amply endowed.

We exchanged texts, setting things up so that I met her in the lobby of her dorm on Saturday night. She said her roommate had a date and might not get back at all that night. I brought a six-pack of what she drank at the bar, and we had our first awkward moment.

“No thanks,” she said. “I don’t like beer breath, um, when we’re kissing.”

“Maybe just to keep?” I tried.

Her look almost got dark. “I don’t want, um, us, to be giving stuff.”

My last hope: “One each when we’re, um, finished, then I take back the rest?”

Making an effort, she lightened up. “Sure,” she said. With a smile, “From you, it was a nice thought.”

We didn’t make contact in the elevator or down the hall, not even holding hands. I was nervous, and she looked the same.

Once inside her room, I put the beer in the fridge. Then we had nothing left to do but each other.

She sat on the bottom bunk. She looked more nervous now, because with ‘something in mind,’ she may have felt pressured to take the lead. Before I could say anything, she said quietly, “Okay if we make out for a while?”

“Sure.” I joined her and put an arm around her. She reached to bring my head close, and kissed me. Her breath smelled of mouthwash, and mine probably smelled of garlic, onions, or worse, from dinner. I guess she didn’t mind, because I heard her hum as our tongues met, and she stroked my hair.

She pulled away and whispered, “Don’t be shy. From the waist up.”

My right hand went to her chest. I felt deep softness through her bra, and I got uncomfortably hard, in briefs and pants that were probably too tight.

“You okay?” she asked, probably feeling my sudden shift.

“I’m reacting to you,” I said, laughing a little.

“Good, um, I want you to.” She gave me another deep kiss, leaning into my hand on her bosom. Then she pulled back and said, “Why don’t we go to show and tell?” She started to pull up her t-shirt.

“All the way?” I asked, unbuttoning my shirt.

“I’d like you to,” she said, leaving herself an out.

As we Trabzon Escort Bayan undressed, she said, “I’d like to see if something is possible. I, um, I want to know if I can have a nipple orgasm. And, I think it’d be cool, if that could happen while, uh, you, uh, cum with my tits.” At that moment, she pulled away her unhooked bra, and I got even harder. Hers were the biggest breasts I had ever seen, naked, in person. I dragged my shorts down, despite still needing to remove shoes and pants. My rigid prick waved wildly when it was freed.

Ruth watched it. She grinned, but was still nervous. “You like titfucking?”

“I’ve never done it,” I admitted. Carefully not describing my porn watching, I said, “I’d love to. Yours are beautiful.” No lie. They sagged a little, but there were no stretch marks. The nipples were wide, and the aureoles much wider.

“Are you on the brink?” she asked. “I want you to last.”

Truthfully I said, “I could, uh, get it up twice, if I had to.”

“Okay,” she said, “Get ready for the real show. E-cups in all their glory.” She sat upright, arched her back, and ran her hands through her hair to the back of her head. Her breasts rose and advanced, hugely round and smooth above her gut, swaying at her slightest movement. Heat rose from my chest as I stared. If I hadn’t been almost in shock, I would have sucked those lush mams and spewed immediately.

I murmured, “Tell me what to do.”

“First, get your legs free,” she said. “I’m not laughing at you, I like what I see, and I’m really in the mood.”

I finally got all the way nude. Ruth had kept her underwear on. “That’s it?” I asked.

“For now. Okay if we focus on my experiment?”

“Yeah.” I put a hand under each of her breasts. I squeezed a little, and gasped. “Fine by me.”

“Do that,” she said, eyes widening, “and gently run a finger or two around the aureoles.”

I did that for a while, stroking with my thumbs. She hummed again. Then she suddenly disengaged, and moved to sit on the floor, cross-legged. “Do the same,” she said. When I got in position, facing her, I resumed squeezing and stroking her breasts, teasing the aureoles, edging, retreating and advancing. Her nipples darkened and swelled outward. She leaned close, and we kissed. When her nipples grazed my chest, we both shivered.

“Can I, play, with you?” she asked.

“A little,” I wheezed. Gently she put one hand on the prick, lifting it to vertical, and put the other under the balls, and fondled them. I moaned, but I wasn’t at red alert.

“You can do, more, now,” she said. “Rub them. Squeeze more. Love ’em up good.” She moaned, “And, play with, the nips.”

I did, and that did get me closer to red alert. Her warmth, her softness-but with muscle inside, which resisted until it yielded. She gave up on kissing, her head rocking back. She sang a single high note that went on and on, but she still gently stroked my jewels.

“Can I use my mouth?” I rasped urgently.


I hauled up her breasts and buried my face in them, still stroking and pressing. Her nipples went rigid in my mouth. Her hands fell away from my junk. “More god yes more!” she panted. “Soon Baby hang on!” Somehow I continued, feeling as erect as I had ever been in my life, the mushroom cap pressing up into my paunch.

Ruth expressed herself, vocally but not verbally. My tongue laved her nipples and surrounding gooseflesh, my lips trembling as they sucked. I licked and kissed into her steamy cleavage, around each mound. I lifted her divine masses as I squeezed them, to get my mouth to their undersides. I tasted sweat, but that didn’t stop me. I felt her fingers on my nipples, which gave me a surprise rush.

Finally Escort Trabzon she yelled, “On the bed!” and pulled away. She got on her back on the bottom bunk. “Straddle me! Go to town on the nips!”

I did. I pushed a thumb into her left nipple while I pinched and pulled out the right. Then I switched. Back and forth. She threw her arms behind her head and said, “Make us cum!”

I drove my prick up the cleavage where I’d salivated, and squeezed her lovely boobs around myself. The heat, the thick softness! I spread my fingers wide, pressing in, rolling her tit meat all over her rib cage. I fucked her mams while holding both together, then alternating the breasts, pushing one up and the other down. We both writhed, faster and faster. My head bumped into the upper bunk several times.

My balls, squashed against her sternum, sent out heat. Drool sprayed from my open mouth. “Gonna cum!” I wheezed.

“So close!” she whimpered.

This time, I did the right thing before it was five minutes too late. As my first gunk jetted out, I squeezed her boobs so far around that the huge hard nipples rubbed together. Her mouth flew open. On my third spasm of semen, Ruth hollered, her body bucking up into me.

For a while we spasmed together. Then I was drained, but I kept her nips in contact. As if a hot circuit was closed, her swollen nipples made her lurch four more times before she eased back.

Eventually she said, “You did it.” Then she licked her lips and became aware of the scum on her face. “For both of us.” She laughed, but started to get up. “No offense, but it’s not my favorite taste.”

“That’s why there’s beer,” I said, raising a leg for her. We laughed together. For the first time in my life, I felt like a good lover.

That floor of the dorm was women-only, with male guests allowed only if accompanied by a resident. The floor also had only one huge, communal bathroom, where men had to be escorted, and could enter only if everyone there gave permission. Showering together was not allowed. Ruth threw on a robe and took some washcloths to and from the bathroom. As best we could, we cleaned up our bodies and the bottom bunk.

Before we dressed, Ruth held me close and kissed me, slowly pressing her breasts against me. “Thanks so much,” she said. “Was it good enough for you?”

Hell, it was the most wonderful experience of my life, and I would have gladly changed majors and agreed with all her progressive claptrap and obeyed her every command. “Yeah, it was great,” was all that came out. Fortunately.

“Maybe real sex in the fall,” she said, tiptoeing to rub her crotch against my hip bone. Because of our bellies, that was the closest contact available while we were standing up.

I bought my hands to her sides and squeezed in her breasts. “If that was phony sex,” I said, “Who needs real?” I was exhausted, and didn’t feel the need to get past her undies.

“I do,” she said, grinning. “And so do you, bullshitter.”

“As long as we keep doing the phony stuff.”

“Count on it.”

We dressed, and drank a beer each, making out more calmly (and she didn’t mind the beer breath). She then escorted me to the lobby. We smiled a lot but again kept hands off. I took two-thirds of a six-pack back to my dorm.

During the summer, Ruth and I texted and e-mailed, and friended on a few sites.

She started addressing me as “T-F-er.”

I then started calling her “T-F-ee.”

Which led to an abstruse and euphemistic debate about who was which.

She has the tits, and I did the fucking, but if she manipulates her breasts next time, who would be the titfucker, and who the titfuckee? If we engage in a T-F, and we both cum, does it matter?

I’m writing this a week before the start of fall semester. Ruth and I plan to continue exploring the matter, face to face. And skin to skin.

This could be an Important Issue for the extroverts to discuss at the big table. Ruth and I would just listen to them. And smile.

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