All My Loves Remembered

By Lindsay Oz

After a life full of rejection, Owen wants a do over. Don't we all? But Owen is different. He's discovered the secret of spiritual time travel, and using it, he's going to relive his life from his first day of college on. He's going to make himself richer, healthier, wealthier... and much much MUCH more successful with chicks.

But sex and love are very different things, and Owen is about to find that out. Because when you go back to do your life over again, you think you know everything, and you're prepared for it all, and there will be no surprises at all.

But life is full of surprises, even when you're reliving it. Do over or no do over, Owen may well be in over his head...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lindsay Oz
• Release date: Mar 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370159154

Lindsay Oz

Lindsay Oz has a very vivid erotic imagination and some small ability to write entertaining text. M. Oz can be reached with commentary and/or movie adaptation offers at gollygeewhiz at angelic dot com. M. Oz already knows you really really really like the way M. Oz describes blowjobs, though.

Book preview

PART I -

FRESHMAN YEAR

1979-1980

Chapter 1 - And I'm Not Ready For This Sort Of Thing – September 1979

Let me take a moment to confess here that my primary motivation, in hurling myself back to the very beginnings of my adulthood, was not just to avoid a lot of foolish and embarrassing mistakes, get rich, and, having been middle aged edging into the beginning of elderly, revel in the glories of my returned youth. All those were excellent reasons. . . but my primary reason, even more important than any of those, was even simpler and more primal:

I wanted to fuck a lot of women.

Women, and girls, who I had previously encountered, lusted after, and never managed to get into bed with. Much as with Amber, except I my earnest desire was to do a sort of sexual version of Biography, where I went back and nailed every hottie I'd ever wanted, but been denied.

I wanted to, using the resources of my newfound wealth and the wiles of the nearly 60 year old man who would be peering out of my much much younger eyes, do a much much better job of getting hot chicks into the sack with me. I wanted to take advantage of opportunities I had foolishly let go by before, naively not recognizing them as opportunities because at the time I wasn't aware of the subtle cues women use to signal men when they want them.

I also wanted to re-experience at least a few of the women I'd experienced before, hopefully enhancing and improving those experiences. . . although a few I'd decided, looking back from some forty years onward, that the relationships really weren't worth revisiting.

However, I had already decided that, chances were, I wasn't going to see much, if any, erotic action until I bought my winning lotto ticket on December 5, 1979. As I said, that was the earliest winning number I'd been able to find online and memorize, so I'd have to wait that long.

I was resigned to this, and honestly, it didn't bother me much, because to some extent it was self imposed. The first time around I'd had my first sexual experience during Fall of '79, with a girl named Ellen, who had been my first girlfriend. We'd only dated for three months, we'd never gone further than oral sex, and after we'd broken up, I'd been devastated and pined for Ellen, literally, for years. . . long years when I rarely had a date and never got laid. Ellen and I had, a few years later, come to be friends again, even good friends, and there had been a few moments when, had I been more attuned to the signals women send out, I might have made our relationship sexual, if not romantic, again. . . but honestly, the way I was feeling now, I just wasn't interested in re-living any of that, or trying to make it work better, either.

Ellen had grown up, annoyingly, to apparently not give our three month college relationship much weight at all. It was understandable; she'd been my first girlfriend, but I hadn't been her first boyfriend and we hadn't gone out for very long. Still, when we started exchanging emails in the 90s, she clearly hadn't had any strong feelings for me, nor did she even seem to remember much of our three month romance. . . where I, on the other hand, still thought of it often.

Which, of course, bruised my ego rather a lot.

So I figured, fuck it, if it wasn't important to her then it wasn't important to me, and I'd just never have the relationship in the first place. . . she hadn't been all that great in bed or anything. We'd had a pretty good Valentine's Day in 1980, but other than that, I wouldn't be missing much.

And, anyway, by Valentine's Day 1980 I'd be rich, and probably able to take my pic from the local talent.

So, as I said, having decided to skip the whole dead end romance with Ellen, I was resigned to not getting any until I bought a lottery ticket with the numbers I'd carefully memorized, and got rich. After that, though, I figured women would find me a lot more irresistable.

Well, they say no plan of action survives contact with the enemy. Here's what actually happened:

I woke up. Stretched in my bed, delighting in how great I felt, how free of the aches and pains I'd become accustomed to over the last decade of my life I now was. Delighted also in my newly flat belly. I'd gotten up, and in the light coming in through my window, I'd inspected my body. Not only was the gut gone, but the various annoying spots and blemishes of increasing age had all vanished as well. I looked in my mirror (no sinks in the dorm rooms, but each had a mirror in an alcove on the wall) and saw my much younger face looking out at me – no wrinkles, no grey in the unkempt facial hair I'd been trying to grow all summer to show how adult I was, or at my temples. My hairline hadn't yet begun to recede. My eyebrows weren't the bushy nightmare they'd started to become in my late 30s.

It took me a minute to realize –my hearing was fully restored, as well. And my hands weren't swollen or stiff or aching.

My tongue explored my mouth. All the teeth I'd had extracted over the declining years of my adulthood, when I hadn't been able to afford root canals, were back where they belonged. Something else I'd done before calling Amber up was make a few other time hops. One had been back to inhabit my six year old body. I hadn't wanted to relive my entire life under the dominion of my mother and various of her boyfriends and/or husbands but I did want to try to set some good habits early. I'd implanted some self hypnotic compulsion in my six year old brain to make myself brush and floss more, and do a few push ups and sit ups every day, too. I hadn't known if it would take, but I guess it had – my teeth looked a lot better, and while I wasn't exactly Lou Ferrigno now, my shoulders seemed a bit broader and my arms seemed better developed than they had been.

Hmmmm. My complexion seemed a lot better, too, than I remembered it being on my first day of college. Did oral hygiene have an impact on acne? Huh.

As if that thought was a trigger, I dropped to the floor and cranked out fifty push ups, fast, military style, the way I'd been taught at the Academy. Then put my feet under the bedframe and did a hundred sit ups. As I did, memories started to come back to me, and I realized. . . I'd already altered my timeline somewhat. Not a great deal, but I hadn't been bullied as much in high school as I'd originally remembered, and I'd actually had a couple of dates. Although I – or rather, this body – was still technically a virgin, Rowan SikorskI had actually given me three handjobs on three different movie dates, and Candace Young (who had been a freshman when I was a senior, and thus, easily impressed) had given me several blowjobs in the Photoshop dark room.

Huh.

I was tempted to go back to bed and spend the entire morning fully re-experiencing these new sexual memories – my hard won mental acuity makes my memories not just razor sharp and crystal clear, but they are, to all intents and purposes, like full immersion virtual reality. But there were things in the real world I wanted to do more.

So I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and walked down the hall to the bathroom with my little plastic zip up traveler's bag and a towel over my shoulder. I showered, shampooing and soaping myself down, then rinsing off. It wasn't until I had it in my hand that I realized I'd instinctively reached into my travel kit and gotten... yep... a stick of deodorant. I applied it to pits, ran it down the center of my chest, swiped it under my balls. Deodorant was something I didn't start using until my 40s in my previous life, and I have no doubt that probably significantly contributed to my lack of success with women. Apparently, Li'l Owen had added it to his daily routine as well, at some point. Good.

Went to one of the sinks after toweling off and pulling my sweats back on. Brushed my wonderful teeth and thoroughly flossed them. I was rather bemused as I did it – I had never consciously flossed before in my life, but all I had to do was relax, and my hands went through the motions, obviously long practiced.

After staring in the mirror for a second, I lathered up and shaved my cruddy attempt at a beard off. In my original life, it had actually come in pretty full over my first month at Baskin and I'd worn a beard my whole life after that, other than at the Academy. Now I was going to try something different. . . although I felt I wanted to keep my long hair. I was looking foreward to the 80s, when ponytails on men would be fashionable again for a while.

Went back to my room, got dressed from the clothes I'd packed and brought with me (this was delightful; all of those clothes had been lost decades prior, as far as I could remember, and none of them 59 year old me would have been able to fit into anyway). I had a better sense of what was, if not stylish, at least, not radically retarded looking, and while I had to do some hunting, eventually I came up with an ensemble that wasn't too bad – fairly new blue jeans, a blue t-shirt with a Superman symbol on it, and over that, a silky black collared shirt I'd only ever worn to church a couple of times. I wore it over the t-shirt, unbuttoned. It had been folded in my suitcase and wasn't wrinkled that badly; a little water on my fingertips smoothed it right out. I regarded the guy in the mirror once I was dressed and nearly didn't recognize myself. All my previous youth and adulthood, I'd dressed with an utter disregard for how the clothes looked on me, just wanting to be comfortable. But now. . . huh. I actually looked. . . good. Ish, anyway. Better, at the very least, than I remembered, from when I'd been here the first time around.

Then I spent close to half an hour admiring all the paperback books on my room's built in bookshelf; many of those had been lost over the years, too. I smiled as I realized that my childhood comic book collection, also long lost, was now sitting where my stepfather had hidden it – up in the attic at the house. I had never known where it was until my mother confessed to me years later that she'd gone up one day to get it ready to give back to me as a surprise on a visit, and discovered that squirrels had apparently shredded everything in the box. I made a mental note to rescue those comics sometime soon...whether my stepfather liked it, or not.

Then I walked out of my room, to head down to the adjoinging dining hall (Chadwell Hall, I'm sure I'll mention it many times in this narrative) and eat breakfast.

More things diverged from my now crystal clear memories of my original experiences almost immediately.

My first dorm room was on the 11th floor of Chase Hall, the only all male dorm on campus. I hadn't wanted Chase, in fact, it had been the dorm I had put last in on my preference sheet, exactly because it was the only all male dorm on campus, but of course, that was the one they'd put me in.

The 11th floor wasn't a bad floor, all in all, as I recalled – the 12th floor (the top floor of Chase) was all taken up with upperclassmen who had deliberately bid for those rooms as a group because they were all Born Again Christians and wanted to live in a Jesus friendly zone. Meanwhile, the 10th floor had been a dumping ground for the worst discipline cases from all the incoming freshman. . . people had often said that Chase 11 had 'heaven above, hell below'.

I had all my life (well, my first, unaltered life) been an easy target for bullies and several of the assholes on the 10th floor had made my freshman year miserable any chance they got. . . but I hadn't really considered that, as focused as I was on all the other things I wanted to re-do.

So I was very surprised when, as I crossed the bridge from Chase to Chadwell, I heard someone snicker and say Look at that faggot and someone else laugh and say yeah what a fucking hairball hey faggot how you keep your head on the pillow with all that grease in your hair?

Now, let me say this – as I previously mentioned,. I have long hair. I have always worn my hair long, it was something my mom allowed because she'd been a hippie in her early 20s (or, at least, she'd dressed like one and wanted to go to Woodstock) and she thought it was cool. It wasn't cool, not in the mid to late 70s – I'd heard every possible dumb ass put down line regarding long hair, greasy hair, etc, over the past several years of public education.

But prior to this, I'd always just kind of put my head down and shuffled on by fast, pretending not to hear.

This time, however – well. In addidtion to giving myself a self hypnotic suggestion when I was 6 to work out more and have better dental hygiene, I'd added a suggestion that maybe I shouldn't be such a coward as regards bullies.

And apparently, in combination with the unarmed combat training I'd had at the Academy before I' d washed out, it had been effective.

I didn't even hesitate. My head turned, I spotted the assholes – as soon as I saw them, I remembered them, a tall skinny blonde kid with a scraggly mustache and a shorter, swarthier dickweed with a face full of pimples. Both had gigantic stupid grins on their faces (revealing pretty bad teeth, worse than I'd once had). Both were smoking cigarettes, and both, I remembered, had lived on the 10th floor, and had ridden me relentlessly whenever opportunity presented itself – on one occasion, they'd heckled not only me, but Ellen as well, as she was holding hands with me at the time we walked by them.

I remembered all that in a flash, and then I was on the skinny blonde kid.

In actual fact, very few people are really prepared for violent confrontations – even bullies generally aren't ready for someone to suddenly come right at them, because usually they have a sense for who they can get away with picking on that rarely fails them. Clearly these guys had read 'victim' off me, just like dozens of other bullies had, previous to this.

At the Academy, they'd taught us a few very rudimentary surprise unarmed maneuvers. One of them was very simple – hit someone in the shoulders with the palms of your hands in a hard shove, then bend over quickly, grab their ankles, and yank their feet out from under them. You wouldn't think it would work well, but in fact, when we'd practiced it, we'd found it surprisingly effective. So it proved now. I hit the blonde kid in the shoulders, reached down, yanked his feet out from under him. He went backwards – and since he and his jackass buddy had been leaning back against a four foot high concrete balustrade that was there to keep people from falling off the bridge that connected Chadwell to Chase, he cracked the back of his head pretty hard on that cement barrier, falling backwards.

That put him out of it. He wasn't dead or even knocked out, but he was in way too much pain to be a factor for the next several minutes. His buddy was staring incredulously when I straightened back up and went at him. Him I didn't try the same thing on. I just stepped up to him, crouched, cocked my elbow, and whirled into him, driving the point of that same elbow into his solar plexus. The wind went out of him in a big WHOOOF and he sat down hard.

The first one was half sitting, half laying against that concrete barrier, eyes closed, tears running down his face, both hands clenched tightly to the back of his head, which I imagine had to hurt like a motherfucker.

I grabbed him by the front of his shirt with my right hand and put my left thumb against his right eye. My name is Owen Marshall, I breathed, right in his face. If you ever call me anything but my name, ever again, I will pop this eye right out of its socket.

His stocky friend was starting to push himself up, so I pivoted and kicked him hard in the elbow of the arm he was supporting himself on, knocking it out from under him. He sprawled, wheezing, on the ground again. He lifted his head and looked at me and I lifted my foot as if I was going to stomp him, then placed the sole of my sneaker gently, almost lovingly, against his throat. You get to keep your eye, I said. I'll just crush your larynx.

It's a terror attack, of course. You don't threaten with a cliché like I'll beat your head in or I'll kill you. People have heard that shit so much it's meaningless. You cause them sudden, disorienting and intense pain, then threaten them with very specific, unusual, and permanently disabling or fatal injuries. It sticks in their head and, generally, completely unmans them, achieving utter dominance very quickly and easily.

That was the theory. I knew the theory, but had never in my life acted on it before.

(This wasn't actually true. When I had the time to sit down and really examine my new high school memories, I discovered that once, at a party at Mike Craster's house, I'd put Rick Schneider in an armlock and pressed his face down to within two inches of a lit burner on the kitchen stove. Because Rick had just picked a fight with a kid called Derrick Arkovic, who was two years younger than him and as much a natural victim as I'd used to be. Rick had beaten the living shit out of Derrick out in the front yard with everyone watching, and when I showed up at the party ten minutes later, he'd been bragging to a couple of other hard guys and their dumb slut girlfriends about it in the kitchen. So I'd pulled Rick out of his chair and turned him around with his wrist pinned up between his shoulderblades, and done the thing with the stove burner, and then told hm that if he ever felt like he just had to pick a fight with anyone ever again, he needed to come find me, and I'd dislocate both his arms for him and then seal his nostrils closed with his own cigarette lighter. And Rich had apparently believed me, because he had never bullied anyone ever again while we were both at the same school together. And the really amazing thing was, all Rich's hard guy buddies had just stood there with their eyes bulging out of their heads and watched me do it, too. And none of them had ever messed with me again, either. In fact, among certain circles, I had apparently gotten a reputation in school after that as, not a 'hard guy', but a 'psycho'... which is, in many ways, more useful if you just want people to be afraid of you. Hard guys will challenge other hard guys to fights to establish a pecking order. Nobody fucks with a psycho.)

Interestingly, while people had stopped to watch my interaction with the two creeps from the 10th Floor, no one was trying to interfere or call the cops. It was just a fight, and these were the days before phrases like 'terroristic threatening' existed, or people gave much of a shit about bullying. In 1979, boys would still be boys and nobody got involved in a fracas – at least, not an unarmed one. So where in 2020 I'd almost certainly have had to leave the scene of the fight in a hurry to dodge cops (and a lot of bystanders would have had video of the fight on their cell phones, including recordings of my threats), now I just walked into the dining hall, and that was it.

That was the first change. The second one came less than an hour later. I'd eaten breakfast and was heading out of the dorm to wander around campus for a while. My plan was, kill time until lunch, then walk down to Market Street to get a slice or two of my favorite pizza ever, the Acropolis, which had closed up in 1983 (not only was I going to have Acropolis pizza, I was going to eat it without having to take a prescription antacid first, which was another marvel) when I spotted someone getting out of a nice looking sports car in the drive next to the parking garage. Two someones, actually – a good looking young woman – definitely not girl, she was probably in her mid 20s – and an even prettier guy the same age. He was in great shape – something it wasn't hard to tell, as he was wearing a bright red muscle shirt and a pair of black running shorts, along with white socks and white sneakers. Expensive ones, as expensive in their own price range as the sports car. The woman had a very good body, too, well displayed in tight blue jeans and a leotard top, but he looked like an Olympic weight lifter or something. He went around to the trunk, got several suitcases out, put them on the ground, said Okay, babe, see ya at Christmas, got back in the car, and drove away.

I had no real memory of who these people were, but I couldn't let that stand. I walked up to the woman – I noticed now she had long brown hair pinned up, probably to keep it out of the way, and in fact, she really did have a damn good body under that leotard – and said 'Do you need any help?

She looked at me, and I expected her to say no, because, you know, someone who looked like her could get all the help she wanted from way better looking guys than me.

Then she smiled and held out her hand. Yes, thanks, she said, I'm Kathy, I'm the dorm's resident manager, and you're a life saver.

I honest to God had no memory of this woman, but then, I don't think, in my freshman year, I'd even been aware that Chase had a female resident manager. (It's not as crazy as it sounds. Chase actually shares a lobby with an adjoining, all female dorm called Carter; so having a woman for an RM wasn't all that out there. ). But I helped Kathy get her suitcases into the apartment set aside for the Resident Manager (by apartment standards, it wasn't great, but by dorm room standards, it was pretty awesome – a single large room that worked as what the British call a bed sitting room, with a double bed in one corner and a couch and overstuffed armchair down at the other end, and its own bathroom and standalone kitchen).

She ran around doing a little unpacking and rearranging while I brought her suitcases in a couple at a time; it was a pretty good walk down a long hallway to the door to her apartment. Then she asked if I wanted a beer, and I had to say, as I always did, that I didn't drink but I'd love a Pepsi. This was usually the part where whoever had offered me the drink would look at me like I was crazy and say Why don't you drink? I braced myself for that, but instead, Kathy just said I think there are some sodas in the fridge, let me check. Turned out she had Pepsi, so she got one for me and a beer for herself, and then we sat down on her couch and started talking.

Kathy, it turned out, was a grad student working on an MBA at the Maxwell School. The job didn't give her free tuition but it did give her free room and board (assuming she could stand the dining hall food) and that was a pretty big draw. (I found out later that Kathy, like the idiot who had dropped her off, came from a very affluent family, but she was trying very hard to get along without them helping her, and the free room and board was a big help in that regard.)

Kathy was about four inches shorter than me, making her 5'7. She had dark brown hair that, when she let it down, fell to just below her shoulders. It was mostly straight and glossy and had a lot of body from what I could see when she shook her head to let it fall after unpinning it. Her measurements were 36D – 29 – 36. She worked out to stay in shape, but she later told me that she was at constant war with her own body's tendency towards what she called 'being a big fatto' and what I would more have described as a classic Rabeleisian voluptousness. . Her face was wide but came to a pointy chin. She had high cheekbones, big brown eyes, a fairly prominent nose, and a wide, full lipped, very sensual mouth. She was very pretty without make up; when she made an effort, she could be stunning. As I later found out.

When I asked her who the guy who'd dropped her off had been, she'd rolled her eyes. Boyfriend, she'd said, well, kind of, we're actually engaged to be engaged... when he gets his ass around to getting me a ring, we'll make it official. He's going to Auburn to finish up his Master's and technically we're both allowed to see other people but I know he's going to be pissed if I do.

Will he? See other people, I mean? I asked her, working on my second PepsI now, enjoying being on the couch with Kathy, and not having to worry about my goddam blood sugar level or my goddam cholesterol, either.

As I mentioned, she'd let her hair down after we'd gotten her cases inside, and although she'd warned me it would look terrible because it needed a shampoo, it was actually just past her shoulders and I thought looked beautiful on her. It framed her face beautifully and looked, in my opinion, very sexy.

Kathy rolled her eyes again. He fucks anything that holds still long enough even when we're NOT allowed to, she said. I don't even know why I put up with his shit.

Then she absolutely stunned me. She leaned closer and said So, Owen. . . how old are you?

The beer on her breath wasn't exactly pleasant, but it wasn't bad enough to overcome how cute she was, or how sexy her body was. . . especially considering the view I was now getting down the scoop neck of her leotard top. I took a breath, and then said, honestly, 18. "

Kathy grinned at that. You're a baby! she laughed. I love it!

Of course, I was in no meaningful way 'a baby', I was nearly 60 years old, experientally... but she didn't know that, and she seemed to be delighted to think I was actually only 18, so I was delighted to be, too.

Then she shocked me. She. leaned in closer and kissed me softly on the mouth.

So, she said, after a minute or so of that, draping her arms around my neck, you're a freshman and sweet and just incredibly cute and and it's totally against the rules for me to mess around with a resident. You want to take a shower with me?

And I said something I couldn't believe I was hearing even as it came out:. I don't know. Do you give head?

Amazingly, she giggled. Oh baby you don't even know. She grabbed my hand and stood up, dragging me to my feet. Come on, lover boy. I am like the reigning queen of the blowjob in the shower. Little Kathy is gonna suck every drop of cum out of your balls.

So I took a shower with Kathy. We started kissing under the hot water – she was 25, 7 years older than me but as I've already mentioned, four inches shorter. When I was 18 the first time, I'd never really been kissed at this point in my life, but 59 year old Owen was considerably more experienced, and Kathy was a damn good kisser herself. She turned her face at nearly a right angle to mine so we could get our tongues as deeply as possible into each other's mouths, and then pretty much stuck with that, but while I tend to like to mix things up a little more, still, that's a technique I don't mind.

Kissing Kathy wasn't as strange for me as it would have been, had I ever gotten this lucky the first time I was 18. Inside I felt nearly 60 years old; to me, Kathy was a much younger hottie, only a few years older than Amber. I felt no hesitation at all about fucking her brains out, if that's what she wanted.

We made out under the hot water for about five minutes, maybe, and then Kathy pushed me back against the tiled wall of the shower stall and slid down to her knees.

She leaned in and kissed the head of my raging, throbbing hard on, then very matter of factly opened her mouth and slipped the circle of her lips down over my cockhead, swallowing up my entire shaft (only six inches, but I haven't had any complaints, which is good, because one thing self hypnosis will not do is make an average sized cock any bigger) in one smooth motion. Moaning in obvious pleasure, she started working her tongue against the underside of my prick as she pumped her head, sliding her warm, wet, tight mouth up and down the length of my hard on.

After about a minute of that, she took her mouth off and looked up at me. Don't hold back, she said over the roar of the water, I want you to cum in my mouth. I like swallowing a guy's cum.

My kinda girl, I replied. Put your hair up on top of your head for a sec. She looked up at me, puzzled, then nodded when she saw me pouring some of her shampoo in my hand. She gathered up her hair and held it on top of her head for a moment while nursing at the head of my prick. I took hold of her gathered up hair and started massaging shampoo into it. She moaned and resumed blowing me as I shampooed her hair for her.

She was obviously very experienced at what she was doing and just as obviously enjoyed doing it, and I sure as shit enjoyed having her do it to me. I put my hands on her head through her sudsy hair. and she made a little grunt of approval. I started to fuck her mouth as she sucked me and she moaned at that, too. The water was streaming past us, washing the shampoo out of her hair as she pumped her mouth on my cock and I ran my fingers through her wet hair and fucked her gorgeous face. After a few more minutes, I felt my balls starting to tingle.

Kathy, I'm gonna cum, I said, loud enough for her to hear me, giving her a last chance to pull off.

Instead, she made a little squealing sound in her throat and started sucking me even harder, so I pumped in and out of her eagerly slurping mouth maybe three more times and then shot a huge load, an intense spike of pleasure exploding through my nervous system and lighting up my brain like fireworks, grunting as I continued to fuck her mouth, emptying my balls in spurt after spurt past her tightly clenched, flexing lips.

She immediately started to swallow, gulping audibly, even over the sound of the shower. My orgasm was so intense it had literally curled my toes and the pleasure was actually magnified by the sounds of her swallowing my load so eagerly. She was one helluva cocksucker!

Finally I finished shooting off. She kept sucking for a minute or so, then, with obvious reluctance, let my cock slip out of her mouth and stood up again. That was great you came a TON, she said, kissing my mouth. I guess my lover boy likes me. Nmmm can you go again?

Yeah, I told her, but I get to make you cum first. And you don't want to fuck, just suck me off? This actually didn't surprise me. Back in the 70s, years before Bill Clinton, a lot of girls were doing oral only on their guys.

Rich and I used condoms and I don't have any, she said. I've started on the pill but I need to take it another two weeks before it's safe. You can fuck me in the ass, though, if you want. I dig anal and I haven't had it in a while because Rich thinks it's dirty. But, um, do you think you'd have another one of those nice big loads in there for me to suck out of you after that?

I kissed her mouth and laughed. Kathy, I'm 18 years old and you're one incredibly hot woman. I could fuck you all day and all night.

I saw a puzzled look cross her face and realized that 'hot' was not yet a slang term for 'very sexy'. But she understood the gist, and smiled at me. Mmmm baby I'm gonna love you, she said. Um. . . did you say you wanted to make me cum?

Jesus, I said, doesn't your idiot boyfriend ever make you cum?

She just looked at me incredulously. No, honey, she said, finally. I mean, sometimes I do if I can get him to hold off long enough but, no, that's generally not something he worries about. Or any other guy I've been with, actually.

Why do you put up with that? I asked, soaping her boobs (which were 36Ds, and very firm).

She shrugged. Shit, I've got a vibrator. She looked at me. But if you wanna make me cum, hey, you knock yourself out.

So I did. I started kissing her again in the shower, and playing with her nipples, and worked my hands down to her pussy, where I. slipped two fingers up inside her cunt while settling the thumb of that hand against where I confidently expected to find her clit. Teenage Owen would have had no idea how to find his way around a woman's genitalia, but 59 year old Owen had pleasured several lovers with mouth, cock, and fingers, and I knew what I was doing. I pressed Kathy back against the opposite wall of the shower stall, the hot water now beating on my back, and kissed her deeply as I fingered fucked her pussy, my thumb resting against her button as that hand drove in and out. My tongue deep in her moaning mouth, I reached behind her with my free hand (since she'd mentioned liking anal) and played with her ass, first with one finger, then two.

It didn't take her long – maybe three minutes – before she started gasping and breathing hard and trembling as we kissed and I felt her pussy and asshole starting to clench and relax around my fingers. Awwwwww GODDDDDDDD she finally moaned, wrenching her mouth out from under mine so she could breathe. I could feel her stomach muscles fluttering against mine as I pressed against her.

I nuzzled her neck and nibbled her ear as she gasped against my shoulder, my hands now just squeezing her very firm asscheeks softly.

Jesus, she said, finally, in my ear, where did a kid like you learn to do that?

I read a lot, I told her, laughing.

Ummmm, she said, kind of sighing. Um. You want to soap up and I can turn around and you can do my butt in here?

Sounds nice, I said, but right now I have to piss. So let me. . .

I started to step out to use the toilet but she grabbed my hand. Her face was flushed. Um, she said, looking down, her face becoming redder by the second, um you can pee in here if you want.

I grinned. You want to watch?

She shot a glance up at my face through her lashes, and was obviously relieved by what she saw. . Um yeah if you're not disgusted by that.

I like water sports, I said, if you're not disgusted by THAT.

Her face lit up. Seriously? Jesus, Rich would just die if I ever even mentioned. . . um. . . you want to pee on me?

I grinned. I like you on your knees, Kathy.

She looked a little startled. . . but then slid back down to her knees. Okay, Owen, she said, looking up at me, shaking her hair back. I guess if you get any in my hair I can always wash it again. She looked up at me and grinned. Or maybe just go around today smelling like your piss, that would be sexy. Come on, lover boy. Right in my face!

So I pissed in Kathy's face. I'd only done this before with Amber, but I'd discovered I liked it a lot. Kathy closed her eyes under the warm yellow stream, moving her face back and forth, moaning a little at the sensation. I pissed a long time, and after ten seconds or so, she leaned back to let my piss fall onto her tits. I looked down and could see the yellow streams pooling up between her boobs as she held them together, then falling down to the shower floor with a splatting sound as she let them go, grinning.

After twenty seconds or so of that, she leaned forward, taking it on her face again. This is great, she said, looking up at me, eyes open now, as I pissed on her nose and cheeks. I'm such a kinky bitch!

When my stream dwindled and finally died, she slapped my hands away from my prick. Don't you dare shake it, she said, giving me a mischievious grin. That's what I'm for. Then she took my cock back into her mouth and sucked at it. I could feel several more drops of urine rolling out of my piss slit into her mouth, urged by her insistent tongue, and saw her throat working as she swallowed them.

She let my cockhead slip out of her mouth with a little sigh. Did that gross you out? she said, anxiously, looking up at me from her knees.

Nope, I said, my cock quickly rising to full erection again. Turned me the fuck on. Made me want to just piss in your mouth next time, you bad bad girl.

Wow, she said. Okay. She grinned. Next time we'll try that.

I smiled back. Now you're gonna get ass raped, you kinky bitch.

Technically, she said, getting back to her feet, I think you can make a pretty good case I've given consent. She leaned up and kissed my mouth, and I kissed her back. Mmmmm, she said. But kinky bitch that I am, I gotta admit, it turns me on a little, the idea of you raping me, Owen.

You're so bad, I said. I will rape you any time you like, ma'am.

She giggled as she kissed me. There's a logical disconnect in there somewhere, she said, nibbling my lower lip, but I still like the way it sounds. Take me, Owen.

The hot water had gone luke warm, though, so we both stepped out of the shower stall and turned it off. I haven't made up the bed yet, she said. But will this work? She put the lid of the toilet seat down, then unfolded a towel on it and knelt on it, her elbows on the top of the tank, her very sexy ass pointed back at me.

Yes ma'am, I said, moving up behind her. I started to ask about lube, and then noticed a jar of Vaseline sitting on the sink. Hrm. Apparently your resident manager apartment comes pre-supplied with sodomy equipment.

She giggled. No, I put that out while you were bringing in my last two suitcases. Just in case.

I smacked her ass. You were planning to seduce me all along, you wicked woman.

Damn straight, she said, grinning at me over her shoulder. Wasn't gonna let a delicious looking little boy toy like you get away untasted. Now come on. Grease me up and fuck me. It's been like four months since I've had anything but a dildo up my ass and your cock is like the perfect size. Do me!

So I lubed her tight, very clean anus open with two fingers, doing a thorough job, then moved my cockhead up and pressed it against the pink rosebud. Yesssssss, Kathy hissed, fuck me!. Fuck my ass!

It is difficult, I noted, standing there enjoying the feeling of my cock pressing against her wrinkled sphincter, to feel like I'm raping you, given your obvious enthusiasm for the project.

She laughed. I know. I can see that's gonna be a problem for us. God, Owen. I was not expecting this today. Baby boy, you turn me on SO much. I do hope you're gonna be using this ass quite often from now on...

I grabbed her hips and thrust forward, half expecting my cock to slide away from target. But she must have had at least some measure of control over her sphincter muscles, because her anus opened just slightly and my cock slid very easily, and very pleasurably, up inside her tight, smooth asshole.

Oh Jesus that's good, I moaned as I felt the smooth, slick grasp of her asshole tighen down on the length of my cock like a baby's fist.

Fuck yesssss, Kathy crooned. Oh baby that's so good. Oh fuck you feel like a goddam phone pole up my ass. Ohhhhh jesus. Ohhhhh fuck me nice and slow, baby. Fuck that ass nice and slow.

This is some first class ass, I said, sliding my right hand inward from her hip to find her clit again. All right. I started to slowly hump in and out of her ass while beginning to just as slowly rub her slick clit between my thumb and forefinger.

Omigod are you kidding you're doing that AGAIN jesus where did you LEARN that ohhhhhhh JESUSSSSSSSS. . . . Kathy moaned, starting to tremble and shake a little as I buttfucked her and rubbed her clit in time to my slow strokes.

By the time I shot off again in her ass, another very pleasurable orgasm for me, I think she'd cum maybe three more times. She was shaking and trembling on her knees on the toilet seat, moaning and gasping, out of breath and covered in sweat again.

Not without some reluctance, I stepped backwards, my slick cock sliding out of her equally slick asshole.

Oh fuck I can't even move, she sighed, slipping down to the tiled bathroom floor next to the toilet seat. Oh my God. Owen I am seriously not allowed to have relationships with students in my dorm but I swear to God I would like to keep you in my closet.

Well, I said, grinning down at her, we probably shouldn't be really obvious or anything, and I know we're both gonna be busy, but I can be discreet. We can mess around once in a while, can't we?

She looked up at me, and for the first time I saw a troubled look cross her face. Look, she said, um, Owen, we need to. . .

I shook my head. I know what you're going to say. It's cool. Kathy, I love you, I really do,Don't freak out about that, I'm not crazy or anything, but I am very sentimental about women who are generous enough to share their bodies with me. I think. you're great and sexy and fun and, well, I love you, like I said. But I'm not in love with you and I'm not going to fall in love with you, that would just be a mess. We're just really really good friends. Loving friends. Um. . . friends with benefits. I don't think that phrase was being used then, but hey, I don't mind getting credit for creativity.

Oh baby, she said, her voice soft now, and I'd swear I saw tears in her eyes. You are so perfect. Yes, that's perfect, that's it. I really do love you, too, but yes, we're just really really really good friends, forever. She smiled, wickedly. Friends with benefits. That's a great phrase.

Uh huh, I said. My cock had only gone half soft and now it was hardening again. You want this again, O Queen of the Blowjob?

She ran her tongue around her lips, then opened wide. Ahhhhh, she said. Then grinned. After you cum, I want you to piss in my mouth. I want to try that. . .

She did, however, take the time to wet a washcloth with warm water and clean my cock off. I don't mind the taste of my own ass, I keep myself clean, she said, very matter of factly, as she literally polished my knob. But Vaseline is gross.

So I came in Kathy's mouth again, and she swallowed it again, and a few minutes later I tried pissing in her mouth. A lot of it spilled down her chin and neck and ran off her tits onto the bathroom linoleum, but she swallowed a fair amount of it, too, and then we used the bath towel we'd dried off with to mop up what had spilled on the floor, and threw it in Kathy's laundry hamper. And then we went back into her living room and I put her back on the couch in a kind of sprawling, half on half off posture and got down on the floor between her legs and ate her and fingered her to about half a dozen more orgasms.

Her pussy was hairier than I like, but shaved cunts weren't going to come into style for at least another twenty years. In the meantime, I'd just have to deal. It wasn't that big a problem; Kathy tasted clean and sweet and healthy, and I loved making her go off over and over again.

We were kissing, long. and slow and deep, taking our time and enjoying each other on her couch after she'd finally stopped quivering. Kathy moved her head back from mine a few inches, opened her eyes, and smiled I love you so much, Owen. Jesus. Is it weird that I'm saying that like an hour after I met you? What are you saying, Kathy you whore, you fucked this kid an hour after you met him...

I grinned at her. I like the third person thing. I don't think I could love you as much if you were boring and normal.

Kathy shook her head. You're something. Well, listen, lover boy... I am actually quite whacky, but in the MBA track, they look for conventional and sane and normal, so I work hard out there in the real world to convince people of that.

Your secret is safe with me, I said, solemnly putting my hand on my heart.

It better be, she said. Then she moved her head closer and kissed me again. Oh Owen. This is so amazing, and I needed this so bad, too. The last week has just been crazy... but seriously. Do you think I'm a bad person? Is it wrong or crazy, feeling like I do about some guy I just met?

Well, I said, I feel exactly the same way about this gorgeous sexy chick I just met, so...

Kathy smiled. So you don't mind if I tell you I love you once in a while? With the understanding that I mean, 'as very special friends', and not, you know...?

As my personal cock gobbler? I responded, pretending confusion. Well. Now, I have to say, I feel you've been sending some mixed signals, Kathy....

She laughed and poked me in the ribs, then tickled me. I happen to be very ticklish, so that led to a bit of a mutual tickling/wrestling match. A minute or so later, we were both breathless, and grinning at each other like nutballs.

I definitely love you as your personal cock gobbler, she said, a big dirty grin on her face. Then her expression went more solemn. But, seriously...

I sighed. I took both of her hands in mine. For like the fourth time, Kathy, I said, it's okay. We are okay. We are fine. Yes. I know. This has happened really, really quickly. But it doesn't feel rushed or wrong to me. It feels very natural to me. I am glad you love me. I love you too. I don't feel at all strange or awkward saying that to you. And I understand that the sex, the physical side of our relationship, will not last forever, because you have a prior commitment and while I hate him, I respect that.

Don't hate Rich, Kathy said, tapping my nose with her finger. Don't be jealous, Owen.

I'm not jealous, I said, and already that was a lie, but he doesn't seem to treat you very well, and that's a problem for me.

She rubbed the tip of my nose with the tip of her nose, very affectionately. I appreciate that, lover boy, I really do. But I have to disagree. It is not a problem for you. It is a problem for me, and I will address it, when the time is right.

Yeah, I said, okay.

She sighed. I hate to say this but I have an 11 o'clock scheduled to meet all the R.A.s. Um. I checked the floor plan. There's a door at the end of the hall...

That goes out into the garage, I said. Yeah. Way ahead of you, dollsome one. Your dirty little secret will sneak out that way and no one shall be the wiser about our forbidden love.

You're gonna get me all revved up again, talking like that, she said, sliding to the edge of the couch, then standing up. 'Dirty little secret'. Hmmmm.

Promises, promises, I said. I sat up, reached for my pants, started pulling them on.

She'd gone in the bathroom. Now she came out, tying the terrycloth sash on an old, ratty white and blue bathrobe around her waist. I would enjoy it if you watched me get dressed, she said, looking at me, her eyes dancing with mischielf... and, I suspect, lust... but I think we'd just get all distracted again. She paused. Honest to God, Owen. I could suck that pretty dick of yours all day. Or just lay in bed with you with our arms around each other and talk...

Hey, I said, smiling back at her, you're not falling in love with me are you? Because this gorgeous chick I know has told me repeatedly that that was a bad idea.

I'm standing here in a bathrobe with my hair wet and messed up and no make up on, Kathy said, coming over to me and bending down to put her arms around my neck and resting her cheek against the top of my head, and you're saying I'm gorgeous. . She sniffled.

I turned my head and kissed her wet hair, where it was hanging down next to my face. You know you're gorgeous. And the sight of you in that bathrobe has me all hard again... and, by the way, that pretty cock you like so much was bigger around and longer with you than it's ever been before in my life, just so you know.

Seriously? Kathy straightened up, looking down at me. No.

For realz, I said, once again slipping into future slang. This time, I don't think she noticed.

I really turn you on that much, Kathy said.

Uh huh, I said. And knowing my cum is currently running out of your ass down your leg ain't exactly cooling me off, either.

Hmmm... Kathy said, very practically reaching down to rub me through my jeans Well. Given the evidence, I cannot doubt you. But I think you just like older women, Owen.

Nope, I said. I like YOU. I pulled her face down and kissed her very thoroughly for thirty seconds or so.

Then, when we were done, with no little regret, I said But I'd better get out of here, I guess. Before we get carried away all over again.

I guess, Kathy said, shaking her head at me I hate that idea so that means it's probably what we need to do right now. However. My birth control is good to go on the 23rd and I have just decided that my new friend with benefits is going to be my alpha tester.. She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. And why am I suddenly crying?

Because you love me, I said, and I make you very happy. I meant to say it lightly, as if joking, but it did not sound that way, hanging there in the air between us.

Oh, Kathy said, smiling at me. That. Yeah. She stepped back, and became a little brisk. So. We have a date? On the 23rd? You'll help me with that birth control test thing?

Of course I will if you want me to, I said, You're the nicest thing that's happened to me in a long time, Kathy.

You're not going to get romantic on me, she said, looking down at me, doing her best to be stern, which at that moment, was not all that great.

Nope, I said But if Rich doesn't come into town on Valentine's Day, we're gonna have one helluva date.

Kathy actually smiled Okay, you got it. I'm reserving Valentine's Day for my cutie patootie on campus boyfriend Owen. (That was the only time she ever referred to me in any way as her 'boyfriend' until Valentine's Day itself, which as you will see, was a special dispensation. Other than that, she was much more careful with her wording throughout our relationship... on every different do over where Kathy and I were together at all.) Um. I hate to send you off with a hard on. . . my God, Owen, you've cum in me three times, I can't believe you have a hard on again. . .

I told you, you look so fucking sexy in that bathrobe with your hair wet, I said, which was only the truth.

Kathy grinned All right. I am not going to send you out there like that. God knows what might happen to some poor innocent freshman girl, and it would be all my fault. But you better cum quick..

And she went down to her knees again.

Chapter 2 – I Know I Can Love You Much Better Than This – 1976

Five minutes later, Kathy's lingering, and slightly sticky, kiss good bye still warm on my lips, I was heading up towards the quad, thinking hard.

Not about Kathy, strangely.

Not even about Ellen, that girl I already mentioned who had been, in a different timeline, my first real girlfriend and my first real sexual experience. (Not any more, now, not in my new life!) I mention her at this point because as I'd been walking out of Chase, I saw her getting out of a station wagon parked out front. Her dad was behind the wheel and her stepmother was in the front passenger seat and her younger brother Scott was getting out the other side. The back of the station wagon was full of boxes and suitcases.

She looked good, and I admit, my heart turned over a little bit in my chest. The Ellen of 2020 hadn't aged very well, sadly. . . and worse (at least, to me) our short relationship in our freshman year of college didn't really seem to mean much of anything ot her at all, by the time we became reacquainted thirty years later on social media. Which was why I'd decided to just skip the whole thing, this time around. If it hadn't been memorable to her, then I saw no point to re-doing it – and Kathy seemed to be a definite upgrade all the way around, anyway.

But I have to admit, Ellen looked good – curly black hair down around her shoulders, big hazel eyes that changed colors with her mood, lovely full lips I could clearly remember fucking at least half a dozen times. Ellen had been very overweight in high school and had only started dieting and running during her senior year. She'd dropped a lot of weight and would go on to drop a lot more, becoming a skinny little wad of solid muscle with almost no boobs to speak of. . . but right now, she was in between her two extremes, very pleasantly plump and looking damn fine to my old/young eyes.

But no. . . not this time around. Nuh uh.

So I'd taken my eyes away and walked on past as the family had started to unload the car, Ellen's stepmom studying a sheaf of papers that I knew would contain Ellen's dorm assignment. I could have told them what it was, I'd spent quite a lot of time in that room, in that bed, my freshman year, first time around. . . but I didn't. I just walked on by, and continued thinking about what had occurred to me, as I walked through the garage and noticed the big 70s era security camera, mounted over the outside door -

Politics. About how in many ways, Ronald Reagan's Presidency seemed to have been the start for every conservative driven social horror