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Two or three times a week, I dropped by Mr. Morton's apartment. I dropped to my knees and I got on my back. I insisted he fuck me, but I always started out by sucking his cock. I liked sucking his cock, but I told him, "I don't want to blow you. This is just to get you hard so you can fuck my no longer virgin pussy."

"Of course," he laughed. Then Mr. Morton would eat me before we fucked. He laughed again, "I don't really want to eat you, this is just to get your no longer virgin pussy ready to fuck." He always used some slippery stuff, too.

When I saw him on weekends, I'd spend the night and he'd get that good morning blowjob. The fucking got better. I suppose I was learning to fuck. I liked being on top, and when he introduced me to doggie, I went wild.

Mr. Morton was trying to catch his breath when we were done, "Harriet, we're going to have to do it like that more often. That was as good a fuck as I've ever had."

Like I said, he was forty-five and probably fucked a lot of women. I was proud that I was the best fuck he ever had. "Mr. Morton, you can fuck me like that any time. I want to be your little bitch."

From then on when we fucked like that, I'd always tell him, "Mr. Morton, make me your little bitch tonight."

He did and it was the most amazing thing.

When it was time to go back to school, I didn't make any promises, but I had no intention of fucking anyone else. No one could be as good, and certainly not those college boys.

I came home for the long Thanksgiving holiday. I knocked on Mr. Morton's door. All I thought about on the bus ride home was fucking him. Actually, all I thought about since the last time was fucking him.

To my surprise, a woman answered the door. A woman about his age. "May I help you?'

"Ummmm, I'm Harriet Gipson."

"Are you one of Clarence's students?"

"Kind of."

"I'm Mrs. Morton, can I help you?"

I turned bright red, I'm sure. If I could have crawled under the doormat, I would have. "I was hoping to speak to him. It can wait until Monday." I hurried away. The tears were flowing. I'd been fucking and blowing a married man. I'd let a married man take my virginity.

I have no idea where she'd been all this time and never found out.

It may not matter to you, but it mattered to me. The woman who answered the door was one of the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Why did he have to cheat on her? The tears flowed.

It was the worst Thanksgiving. I didn't even call Alicia, my best friend who introduced me to Mr. Morton. Throughout the long weekend I cried. I cried on the bus ride back to school. I cried for a week. My roommate had no idea what was wrong. "Harry, are you pregnant?"

"No, it isn't that. Nothing's wrong," I cried.

I thought about what I'd do. I thought I'd fuck the first guy I saw. I thought I'd fuck every professor who even looked at me. I'd walk into a bar, and pick up a guy and fuck him until he couldn't walk. Blow him, too. Blow him dry.

I did not do any of those things. I didn't even date, even though that now that I'd matured physically, guys didn't hesitate to ask me out.

I didn't have one date through the rest of college. At home, I'd see Mr. Jansen, he was still involved with that woman. I was celibate the whole time.

TO BE CONTINUED

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