A Beautiful Sea and a Beautiful Lady

One lazy Saturday afternoon over two years ago, I was browsing through an old college acquaintance's Facebook page, when I spotted one of his "friends," a woman I knew well when I was in school nearly three decades ago. Though we weren't together for long, I was head-over-heels in love with her.

She ended up only spending one year at EDSU, then transferred to a women's college in Texas. But just a few weeks before the end of that year, we spent one unforgettable, bizarre, and hazy evening together. Seeing her name again after all those years brought memories of that night flooding back. I was both intrigued and excited thinking about her.

Suzette Pearce was a shapely, Irish Catholic girl that I met through my roommate and best friend. Jack. She was from Jack's hometown, and Jack had graduated from high school with Suzette's sister Deanna, who married one of his good friends and another high school classmate Jon Jewell.

Suzette's parents owned a cattle ranch, and were extremely conservative Catholics, especially her father. Luckily, in her huge family, only two of her 11 siblings were female. As is too often the case in girls, the repressive effects of a conservative upbringing can give rise to rebelliousness and an aversion to being perceived as a "good girl." In Suzette's case, she had developed a reputation for being easy.

I was no doubt well aware of that reputation when Suzette started hanging around our house during my sophomore year of school. Suzette was a freshman, a year younger than I was, and she lived in the dorms. I guess I understood that the constraints of those living arrangements put a crimp in her lifestyle, so it was understandable when she soon started partying at our place several nights a week. We had a lot of parties, and Suzette liked to party.

Jack had introduced her around to a number of our friends, including Malcolm, a handsome black buck, who was the starting point guard on our school's basketball team. Coincidentally, years later, Malcolm actually had a tryout with the Los Angeles Lakers.

Malcolm had carefully honed his own reputation: as an incorrigible horndog, who took great pride and pleasure in corrupting white girls. He was a master at maneuvering himself into one night stands or parts of one night stands with them. Malcolm didn't so much try to bed girls -- there were too many complications involved in that -- as he contrived to get them to play his "skin flute."

Malcolm claimed his personal record was three flautists in one evening, and I, for one, believed him. According to Malcolm, Suzette had "played a little tune for him" in the janitor's closet of the dorm in which they both lived.

Now Suzette was at our house several nights a week, and I couldn't help but assume that her amorous interests were being directed my way.

Jack was a notorious ladies man, but he had a serious girlfriend at the time -- Beth who, for all intents and purposes, lived at our house. I had to believe that for that reason Suzette would have regarded Jack as off limits. Besides, if she took up with him, her family and most of her hometown would have heard about it.

My other roommate, T.O., a Music major, who worked at the college radio station, was hardly ever around. When he was, girls just didn't gravitate toward him, and vice versa. Not that he was ugly or defective in any way, and he certainly wasn't gay, but at the time, T.O. was more infatuated with jazz records and a quixotic desire to transform himself from a novice saxophonist into the next Sonny Rollins than he was with girls.

You would have thought that if any woman could have gotten T.O.'s attention it would have been Suzette, what with her proclivity for "woodwinds." But she didn't. Interestingly, T.O.'s first instrument was actually the flute!

That left, according to my math, me. We started flirting with each other a lot, and occasionally making out, so I knew that Suzette liked me, but whenever things might have started to get interesting, she always had to catch a ride back to the dorms, according to her, while "a ride was still being proffered."

That's how she always got to our parties -- she'd beg one of her girlfriends from the dorm to give her a ride over to our place, promising a kickass soirée. I was not very aggressive, nor was I all that experienced in romancing girls, so when it came to proposing an alternative to the ride from one of her friends -- namely spending the night with me -- I was too shy or too polite to say anything.

Besides, if she had decided to spend the night with me, I would have been too embarrassed to purse any romance until our privacy was completely assured. You see, my bedroom was ostensibly the house's dining room, a vestibule off the main living area. In some ways I couldn't complain, because it was the biggest room in the home.

But it was separated from the rest of the house, not by a door, but by an archway from which I hung a huge tapestry, the only source of privacy that I had and an inadequate one when we hosted parties centered in the living room, five feet from my bed.

As a result of this architectural impediment and my bashfulness, my only chance for sexual antics was to find a willing partner who was still awake after everyone else had gone home or gone to bed. Suzette might have been a lot of things, but she wasn't a hanger-on. The bottom line was that the extent of my physical relationship with Suzette was confined to some playful kissing on the couch in the presence of 50 other people or some heaving petting in my car parked in the backyard.

Not that I wasn't extremely attracted to Suzette. She was stunning. She had a beautiful face -- a cute chin, soft, sensual lips, a delicate nose, piercing hazel eyes, a flawless complexion, and shining, shoulder-length brunette locks.

And her body -- my god! Her ample breasts gave way to a slender waist and a tight, sturdy ass. But Suzette's good looks and hourglass figure belied some serious strength. Though she wasn't particularly tall, she had wide shoulders, and extremely strong arms and legs.

I found this out one night when Suzette and I were talking and drinking beers at our kitchen table. Get this -- she challenged me to an arm-wrestling contest! I demurred. It was a lose-lose proposition, no matter how you looked at it. If I agreed to join in and won, I was an asshole who was proud that I was stronger than "a girl." If I refused to participate, I was afraid of losing a battle of strength to "a girl." And if I participated and lost, hell, I was weaker than "a girl."

But Suzette kept bugging me until she eventually tricked me into putting my arm on the table, feigning the arm wrestler pose. I had no intention of actually challenging her. But then, before I had a chance to react, she grabbed my hand, and using the leverage advantage that she possessed by not having her own elbow on the table, she nearly pinned me. I fought back to even, and then made her play fair by putting her elbow down, and in short order, I won a contest that I had absolutely no interest in entering.

Still, that evening I learned the source of Suzette's considerable strength. First, she had grown up fighting with her older brothers, who were all huge and athletic football players. Second, she spent her time on the ranch wrestling hay bales, saddles, and yearling cattle.

One early Saturday night in May, only two weeks before the end of the spring semester, Jack and I were in the mood to "get out of Dodge." Beth was out of town, and I sensed that Jack was in the mood for some infidelity. We had decided to go to a party in Springfield, my hometown, hosted by three of my high school friends. They had just moved into a huge house on Wisconsin Avenue and were looking to christen it with a big bash.

Just as we were about to head out the back to the car, there was a knock on the front door. I answered it. Standing alone on the front porch with a forlorn look on her face was Suzette. She was looking particularly fine that evening, but I could tell that she was disappointed. She had walked over to our place from the dorms by herself expecting a party. Instead, she had found a dark and nearly empty house.

"Aren't you guys partying tonight?" Suzette asked dejectedly.

"Actually, we were just heading out the door for a party in Springfield that some of my friends are having," I responded, knowing what Suzette was thinking immediately. It would have been impolite of me not to ask, and I, of course, had my own ulterior motives. "Would you like to come with us?" I asked hopefully.

"Are you guys coming back tonight?"

"No, this will probably go pretty late, but it's a huge house; they have five bedrooms. My buddies promised us that they've got rooms reserved for us." I could see her perk up when I said that.

"Will you be back by noon tomorrow?" Suzette inquired. "I have to study for a test." I would learn later that this was not her real motive. Apparently, every Sunday around noon, Suzette's parents would call to find out if she had attended Mass that morning. Of course, they would have had no way of knowing one way or the other, but she had to be there to take that call.

"Yeah, we'll be back sometime in the morning; Jack and I have to study tomorrow, too. Come on, it'll probably be a lot of fun; why don't you come along?" I was trying to sound chivalrous, not desperate, but it probably came off as tactlessly self-serving.

"Sure," she said smiling brightly, and I let out a silent "yahoo."

This was the late 1970s, and we were proud party animals that could hit the road at a moment's notice in pursuit of orgiastic bacchanalia, so the notion that people would pack toothbrushes, changes of clothes, much less superfluous things like pajamas or robes was antithetical to our collective consciousness. Apparently, Suzette was good with that as well, because she didn't ask us if we would stop at her dorm on the way out of town.

We piled into Jack's big boat with Jack behind the wheel and Suzette sandwiched between him and me in the front seat. As soon as we hit the highway headed south, I pulled a joint from my pocket, and the three of us passed it back and forth. It was a little less than an hour's drive to Springfield, and when we arrived just a little after 9:00 p.m., the party was in full swing.

Usually, these guys' parties pretty much came off the same way every time. Early on, there were too many partygoers -- a lot I didn't know, and some I didn't particularly like -- but as the evening wore on, the crowds thinned, leaving a pretty cool mix of people. Around midnight the conversation, music, and intoxicants all improved dramatically. I told Suzette that we just had to be patient.

We went inside and immediately gravitated to the crowded kitchen where a keg sat invitingly in an ice tub in the middle of the room, right next to a big, round table. It was undoubtedly some awful shit -- probably Budweiser -- something that had very low alcohol content and no taste.

A few of the people gathered around the keg were friends of mine, including two of the hosts -- Tim Mueller and Tim Fitzgerald, good buddies from high school. We were each given a beer, and a joint of some very average weed went around the room. There were so many people crowded together that Jack, Suzette, and I only got two or three hits off the jay. More joints were produced, but again we partook only minimally.

After about a half an hour, Jack spied one of his old girlfriends Jan wandering around, and the two of them disappeared, probably bound for one of the private bedrooms that we had been promised. I poured Suzette and I each another draught from the keg, and we wandered the rest of the house exploring the party.

We stood around in the living room for little bit, but some butthead was playing a Bob Seger record, and I could not abide that, so we wandered into the backyard where a few people I knew were gathered, and we talked to them for awhile. Despite the fact that I had my arms wrapped around her the whole time, Suzette quickly grew cold and wondered if there was anywhere we could sit down inside.

We eventually found ourselves in a TV room, separated from the rest of the house by full-glass French doors, covered by curtains over the glass windows. Inside, relaxing in a recliner in front of the TV, watching the last few minutes of the local sports broadcast, was an acquaintance of mine Steve Lorie and a girl on the other side of the room in a matching recliner that I didn't know. Steve introduced her as his girlfriend Tracy.

"Why don't you join us?" Steve invited. "Have a seat." He motioned to the empty couch on the wall opposite the TV. I looked at Suzette, who shrugged her shoulders and then shook her head, so we sat down next to each other on the couch. I introduced Suzette to Steve and Tracy, and we settled in. This seemed like as good a place as any to wait until the crowd thinned out.

"Whatcha watchin'" I asked stupidly, as the sportscaster was engaged in some mindless banter with the two anchors, signaling the end of the broadcast.

"We're just waiting for Saturday Night Live to start," explained Steve.

"Steve Martin's hosting," Tracy piped in. "He's pretty funny. You know, that "wild and crazy guys" shit. She said it in the fake Czechoslovakian accent.

"I like Bill Murray and Dan Akyroyd the best," contributed Suzette.

"Me, too," I said.

Saturday Night Live came on, and we watched for a little bit. During the first commercial break, I excused myself to use the bathroom. I came back, and sat down, drank the rest of my beer, and pretty soon things started to get fuzzy.

This made no sense. I had drunk two weak beers and had a dozen or so hits off some far-from-primo herb, and that should not have made much more than a dent in my sobriety.

I remember watching Aykroyd and Martin do a "wild and crazy guys" routine. A few people came in and stood around for a little bit. Steve Martin played his banjo. Steve and Tracy left. I remember making out with Suzette, feeling up her great tits, and squeezing her tight ass through her jeans. But after a while I couldn't even do that, no matter how much I wanted to. Besides, we were in public place; there were people around. I kept thinking that I wanted to take Suzette into that empty bedroom -- that this was my chance -- but there was no way I could walk that far.

I was dizzy, could barely move my arms and legs, and had an incredibly difficult time even keeping my eyes open. The last thing I remember was laying on my back on that ugly, plaid couch with Suzette lying on top of me, her tongue buried in my mouth and all but the bottom button of her blouse unfastened. That is, until morning.

Before I even opened my eyes, I could hear birds chirping. Then, I slowly peeled my eyelids back, and I could see the pale, pre-dawn light spreading across the eastern sky through the window behind the couch. I could feel that something very strange, but very, very good was happening to me.

I had a horrible hangover, and I didn't know where I was or who was with me, but I tried to focus on the pleasurable sensation, and after a little while, things started to become a little clearer. I came to realize that my belt was undone, my jeans and shorts were pulled down below my knees, and that someone, that I presumed to be Suzette, had crawled between my legs and had taken me in her mouth before I was even conscious.

My head was pounding, and I had not even begun to sort out the confusion from the night before, but now I could see the head of the Suzette apparition moving up and down, and I could feel myself growing as the apparition demonstrated its prodigious oral talents.

It was getting a little bit lighter in the room, and now I could recognize a head of brunette hair moving above my crotch, and without stopping that movement, the head looked up and confirmed its identity. It was Suzette, who when she realized that she was performing her skills upon a sentient being, became more demonstrative, using her hand to stroke my shaft more vigorously while she sucked me at the same time.

Suzette was using her soft lips to great effect now, moving up and down and sucking with a great amount of pressure around the crown of my mushroom head, and at the same time, using her tongue to dart back and forth over my glans inside her mouth.

Then, she would momentarily release the suction on the sensitive ridge around my head and use her tongue to swirl around the top and sides of my glans, flicking the very tip for a few tantalizing seconds on the frenulum on the backside of my head.

I was fully aroused now, but I was still woozy, confused, and a bit lost. More importantly, though I had enjoyed my fair share of blowjobs prior to this moment, none of them had even come close to this, and no woman had yet brought me to climax with her mouth. So in my impaired state and with no experience in this particular theatrical area, I was not fully prepared for my impending orgasm.

Thus, I failed in my gentlemanly duties. I did not inform Suzette that I was about to cum. When I erupted in her mouth, she seemed a little taken aback, or at least surprised. Maybe she thought breakfast should not have been served so early. Whatever her thoughts, she quickly climbed off of me and ran out of the room and down the hallway, to, I presumed, the bathroom. Apparently, swallowing was inconsistent with her Catholic values or at least her taste in breakfast foods.

When she returned, Suzette tossed a hand towel onto my naked lap. Even in my confused state, I correctly assumed it was intended to clean up whatever mess was left upon my dick. Maybe it was me, but she did not look happy.

I, on the other hand, was experiencing a strange mixture of feelings -- embarrassment for having cum in a woman's mouth without warning; anger that said mouth was placed, without permission, on what I had previously understood to be my personal and private property; deep affection, and maybe even love, for the person who violated those property rights; and general exhaustion, confusion, dizziness, and nausea.

Then, I made what I would come to regard as the most impetuous and, in the grand scheme of things, regrettable decision of my entire life. Without saying anything, I stood up, pulled my shorts and jeans up around my waist, and wandered out the door and down the hallway to the living room, where I could find another couch on which to sleep off my massive hangover. Along the way, I nearly threw up.

By the time I laid down, I had already begun to lament my hasty decision. I mean, how could I do this to Suzette? She had just been kind enough to offer me a blowjob, a blowjob so spectacular that, only minutes before, I had cum in her mouth, and now I had left her alone. I was at the very least infatuated with this girl, and in all likelihood in love with her. I felt like I needed to go back and at least explain myself and apologize. But when I stood up to do so, I became so dizzy that I thought I was going throw up again. I quickly lay back down.

My head was spinning so uncontrollably that at first I couldn't fall asleep again. After probably a half an hour, I was able to close my eyes, and eventually I dozed off. I must have slept for about three hours.

When I woke up again, the house had begun to come to life. Fitzgerald and the third roommate Randy Price were cleaning up, attacking the kitchen first, which was an absolute disaster. Pretty soon Jack and Jan came stumbling out of their bedroom. They asked me why Suzette and I didn't take advantage of the other bedroom, replete with the Queen-sized bed. I didn't think it prudent, nor even possible, at least at that moment, to explain.

Besides, that reminder only made me feel worse about what I had done to ruin my chances with Suzette. So I got up off the couch and went in to find her in the TV room. I felt so badly, but the wound seemed so raw that it was just not the right time for explanations. Suzette got up, and with very little conversation, we joined the others in the kitchen, where Fitzgerald was serving up coffee. After a cup, I began to feel partly human again.