Tools - Their Variety and Safe Use

She eyed me for reactions: I just nodded.

"That's NOT me being egotistical, Doctor E -- it's just a plain and simple FACT. Which makes them into really, really boring company -- when we manage to talk at all. Even though they're three or four years older. At least, that's the age separation for this year. In college there'll be a LOT more difference in ages, I mean -- those seniors are what, twenty-two or even older than that. And then there are graduate students. And teaching assistants. And lecturers. And professors! Older than DIRT! So, those differences in both age and intelligence are, together, the first part of my BIG problem."

She paused, watching my face. I'd now had time to marshal my thoughts, and nodded: "I understand the problem, believe me! I think your analysis is accurate. The situation is unfortunate, but part of the price really smart women like you have always had to pay, pretty much throughout history -- namely, dealing with the male's fragile ego! A few of us males, however, actually find brains to be exceedingly important -- not to mention incredibly sexy. I certainly do, and if it matters, you should know that those adjectives fit you like a glove."

Brooke cocked her head, obviously pleased, and started up again, rambling a bit. "So, now comes the REAL problem. I think it's another sort of tool problem. Here I am, about to start college, no boyfriends, no dating, no INVITATIONS for dates. 'No Experience', that's my middle name! Little Miss Brooke a.k.a. Miz Naïve Herself! Most of the women in my classes at least talk as if they're pretty experienced. They gossip about who has done what and with whom. Sexually, I mean. They're really blunt, too! So all my female so-called "classmates" have experience, but not me. I certainly haven't ever had SEX, or been touched by a man. Until today. That's YOU, by the way! My first."

She looked at me solidly, for emphasis. "I've never even been kissed for real."

Given the full-body contact we were in, I found that hard to believe, but her face said she was utterly serious. She tilted her head, kept eying me for reactions, smiled slightly and said "Maybe we can fix that kissing problem, next? But first... well, you asked me if I were completely sure of what I'm doing here, and I just said YES, so I think I should ask you the very same question. Are YOU really quite certain you're interested in kissing someone like me? A total klutz and amateur? Or doing anything else with me?"

In answer, I initiated final closure, but it was she, not I, who did the actual gap-closing, met me with wide-open mouth and tremendous enthusiasm. A wonderfully fine pupil. After a very long time she broke, pulled back slightly and said "Wow! My first ever real kiss! I like it. OH BOY do I like it! Not bad for a very first kiss, don't you think?"

Instead of answering, I simply repeated it.

The second kiss lasted considerably longer, and the clinch was intense enough -- so we later found out, but too late for cold-water rinsing -- to transfer dabs of blood from her clothing to mine. "Souvenirs!" she called the marks.

After the second kiss, Brooke seemed worried, hesitating as if she hadn't yet made it through all of her revelations. I kissed her again, squeezed her bottom, asked quietly "What's bothering you? Getting guilt-feelings? Want to stop now, before anything drastic happens?"

She shook her head, locked gazes with me again, and said softly "Something important. It's hard to talk about. But here goes! Not only have I never dated or petted or had sex, I haven't ever even touched a man. I've analyzed it like crazy and practically forever, but I simply haven't any idea what to expect or to do. I've read a lot, of course, but I'm actually completely ignorant, at least experience-wise. I'm not even an amateur -- purely a novice!" She eyed me, grinned as if at herself, and said "It makes me feel so FOOLISH not to know anything useful! It's quite embarrassing!"

During our next breathing spell she quickly laid out her "other tools problem" -- and it was quite an intelligent set of observations and analysis. At full-time college -- which wasn't three months away in the fall but rather in about three weeks, and not just anywhere, but at MIT! - she would be surrounded by her list of much older and more experienced males, she was completely unfamiliar with things sexual, and could expect to be taken advantage of by almost any man she might find even vaguely interesting. She made it exquisitely clear once again that MEN might possibly be interesting creatures, but certainly not BOYS! Brooke expected to be surrounded by temptations, and knew that, so far, she had no coping capabilities. In short, she needed sex instruction and experience -- the "other tools" -- to enable her to handle things.

It was an extremely logical presentation and argument: she made perfect sense. "I suppose you're bound and determined to learn how to use those tools?" I asked.

She answered quite soberly, in between short, intense kisses. "Yes, you bet I am! With someone, obviously - and soon -- certainly before I start college. As a matter of fact, in case you hadn't noticed..." -- and she wriggled against me sensuously - "... I think that this afternoon would be perfect -- after all, even if it's mostly by accident, we've assembled the right ingredients." She ticked them off verbally: "A good teacher, an eager, well-motivated student, privacy and time."

Brooke studied my face: I'm painfully transparent at times -- in that glance she saw for sure that she wasn't going to be turned down, and said very softly "Oh, goody! NOW I can tell you safely - I've had this monster crush on you ever since we met. You have no IDEA how much you and I have done together in my dream-worlds! And today -- FINALLY!! - we have a whole afternoon to ourselves! All alone!" She grinned joyfully: "AND - if we need it, I can even call home and get more time, assuming I can say you invited me out for dinner because the lessons ran longer than we expected... I don't think Mom would mind at all -- she really likes you, which is very unusual."

I felt I had to ask an obvious question. "Why choose ME? There is some considerable age difference, you know..."

Brooke's answer was certainly an ego-stroke of the first water.

She took a second to compose, and then made sure I understood she was being serious again. "You're a very sexy man. Attractive. You're NOT pushy, not even with your eyes when you're looking at women's boobs and butts at parties, which I have watched you do, you know. You are very discreet. You're also VERY intelligent -- you can keep up with me, even stay ahead most of the time, and that's rare. Plus you LIKE the fact that I'm smart -- it's wonderful to finally find a man who isn't afraid of my brain! All of those things. Double-plus I already know from class that you're a good teacher. And It's not just that I don't mind the age difference - in fact I think it adds a lot. Plus just thinking about you makes my belly do flips. The choice seems perfectly logical and obvious to me!"

A long pause as we stared into one another. "Something else, something important. I just want you to know that I am NOT a slut, and I don't want you to think otherwise. No matter what happens today, no matter what we do together." With that, she slid her hand between us and cupped my hardon firmly. After a second, her expression went from one of worried, defiant self-defense to astonishment. "OHMIGAWD!" she said, then giggled. Her hand stayed in place. "It's a lot bigger than I thought it would be, and it got hard so fast! I thought it would take 30 minutes or an hour, or something! Like concrete setting, maybe. Certainly not instantaneous, like this!"

I laughed, held her face in my hands, kissed her several times, rapidly. "My body reacts faster as my interest in the target goes up -- you really RATE! And there's absolutely no worry about me thinking you're a slut. You're a beautiful, adventuresome, thoughtful, intelligent young woman, just sexier than hell, and I admire your analysis of your situation... and I also even more admire your decision to get the information and experience you think you need. Very, very gutsy. I'm just an awfully lucky guy to be the chosen one. And, Madam, when my cock senses you nearby, it takes about ten seconds max to go from completely flaccid to what you have in your grip right now. That time might be a world record, but good hard data on hard-ons are hard to get!"

She still didn't relocate her hand. Neither did it remain motionless, however.

From that point, things happened very, very fast. I pointed out the sink in the corner -- complete with cold water tap. She started to strip off her shirt, but I volunteered to do it for her. I spent a few seconds mouthing each lovely little breast, and a bit longer with my face buried in each pit, all of which loosed extensive swarms of goose bumps to run over various parts of her body. She returned the shirt favor, tested my nipples for sensitivity and was disappointed, but found herself distracted from the problem because I was removing her shorts -- beneath which there were no undies. She had a minor problem getting my hardon free of the fabric, but when it flew loose, she made appreciative sounds and explored for several seconds with her hands -- then, moments later, with lips and tongue. A high degree of initiative, and obviously she'd read -- and internalized -- at least one good manual. I didn't need to give any instructions at all.

We kissed awfully hard -- it was totally a two-way thing -- it was exquisitely erotic, standing there nude in a full-body full-frontal clinch on the concrete, with three huge windows letting in daylight filtered through tall shrubbery. While deep into the kiss, I made as if to physically pick her up, to carry her into the house, and she shook her head, whispered "Here would be just fine. Please?"

I gave her a careful look, muttered "Not very romantic or comfortable..." To which she replied, after another excursion of her tongue all the way to the final approaches to my throat, "WRONG. Doctor E you are simply wrong, wronger, WRONGEST about that! I can't think of a more romantic idea than starting out right here." She indicated the big, low 4x8 plywood workbench, badly roughened by work, splattered with the remains of years of projects and today's collection of tools, coarse sawdust and detritus from her lessons. Rather surprisingly, I found myself agreeing with her.

I shrugged, muttered "Whatever pleaseth M'Lady, so shall it be!" I reached past her to sweep all the miscellaneous tools and larger bits of debris out of the way, picked her up and deposited her butt on the edge, then without slowing for a moment I spread her legs wide, laid her back on the table where her bottom and back instantly picked up a coating of coarse sawdust. I dropped to my knees between her legs, watched her face light up in nervous expectation as I approached.

I decided to be a complete showoff: I put into the next twenty minutes or so absolutely everything I knew about eating pussy, to try to make her initiation into the most memorable time of her entire life. She was ridiculously easy to bring off, and had an astonishing ability to recover from one orgasm and move on into the next. When she'd had two full cycles all the way up to body-clenching monsters, she grabbed my ears and pulled me up towards her, and demanded "Inside! NOW, please! Your mouth is wonderful but my pussy is way, way, WAY too empty. Lonely!" She tried to pout and failed, then giggled briefly. "Doctor E, my pussy wants you inside her. So do I. And YES I do know what I'm doing... don't you dare even ASK again! Please?"

I can follow directions as well as give them. I stepped between her legs and leaned forward. Her legs came up and wrapped around my hips as if they'd had years of practice, and we joined full depth on the initial stroke. With me all the way inside, she wriggled her bottom against me, wrapped her arms around my neck, and whispered "You know something? All those years of masturbation were a wonderful idea! Years and years of practice for just this moment. I used everything I could find that was even vaguely shaped like a penis. I bet myself, and I was right, that there wouldn't be any problems getting you inside. This is ridiculously easy, and it feels so WONDERFUL!" She sighed with obvious deep satisfaction, then grinned. "It's almost as if Mother Nature PLANNED things to work this way, to fit like this. What do you think? Anyhow, it certainly isn't quite the horrible first-time event that lots of my girlfriends reported! More, s'il vous plait, M'sieur!"

I provided the 'more', with variations. She voiced her unalloyed pleasure. Some minutes into the exercise, she laughed unexpectedly, and then explained: "I guess this..." She waggled her bottom to stir her insides with her newest toy. "THIS means I'm not a virgin any more, doesn't it!?"

I nodded sagely: "Absolutely! Happy to so testify if you ever need it. Certificates can be printed, diplomas given, if you wish. We could, I suppose, even publish a notice in the paper..."

Again she kissed me, and said "Thank you, but I rather think NOT!! But- what are the proprieties to be observed? Since I've been officially de-virginized, would Miss Manners would insist that I send you a thank-you card? Or perhaps we should EACH send one to the other person?"

I laughed, twitched my cock inside her, and said "I can think of much more appropriate, and much more appreciated, ways of saying 'thank you'. But we can discuss that later. Right now, you have to learn all about those special tools that so concern you! Preparing you to defend yourself against the onslaught of male hordes!"

She laughed, muttered "Hordes, indeed", then went serious for a second: "You know, there's something very special about this, with you..."

I did the quizzical look again, muttered "Jeez, I should HOPE so! Of what in particular are you thinking?"

She squeezed me hard: "You are having FUN! And so am I. I thought it would be this monumentally serious business, fast and hot and sweaty and anything BUT fun - and it's not that way at all! I mean, of course it's serious and all that, but we aren't busy "BEING SERIOUS" about it, and that's wonderful!" Then she asked, "Doctor E, what are we going to be doing? I mean, specifically... when we finally get to your bedroom? I assume we're going there, aren't we?"

I answered "Tasting, exploring variations and varieties. Figuring out what you especially like. There are dozens and dozens of options, variations on each of the big-four sex activities."

Her expression was a mix of embarrassment, boldness, anticipation. "Oh?" she said, sounding not puzzled but vaguely apprehensive. "I assume the Big Four are oral, anal, pussy, and hand? I have managed to learn THAT much!"

I replied "Indeed. Those are they. Trust me, Brooke, I guarantee, absolutely, first that you will enjoy everything we do, second that you will NOT get bored, and third, that you will arrive home tonight much more experienced and knowledgeable than your older female classmates. And fully armored against male attacks... even by much-older males! Sound okay?"

She replied in the affirmative despite our mouths being fully mutually occupied. Throughout the conversation we had kept up our slow lascivious slitherings and thrustings, and now that she was well used to the sensations and mechanics, I stood up carefully, slowly, with her astraddle, legs around my waist and breastlets pinpricking my chest. Then I turned and started towards the house. She thought being carried thus was mightily romantic -- even down to my brushing the sawdust off her back and butt as we went. "Hansel and Gretel!" she laughed: "We're leaving a trail. We could find our way back to the shop. If we want, that is. Which I doubt!"

It was a slow trip to the bedroom, with pauses for wriggles and strokings. Enroute, we had an interesting, disconcertingly direct conversation that helped set the rest of the day's agenda. Brooke started it, whilst hanging onto my neck and waggling her bottom to feel JT stirring her insides. "Do you have ... um ... some sort of anti-baby stuff? Contraception? I'm sorry I waited so long to ask, but I was preoccupied and just now thought of it. I'm not on the pill. Theoretically I'm at about the safest possible time right now. Theoretically."

I replied "I most surely do. In fact, three levels." Brooke looked puzzled so I explained, leaning against the wall for a second to catch my breath: "First, there is my vasectomy. You know what that is?"

She nodded, said "Yes. They covered it in sex-ed -- several times, in fact."

I continued: "The second level is either condoms or spermicidal foam -- or both together for the truly paranoid. I have both upstairs, and frankly I prefer foam. We just put the stuff way up inside your vagina, at the cervical opening, and it kills the little sperm-buggers on contact. Very effective, if you do it right. Another tool, really."

She nodded, busy being perfectly serious despite the precariousness and distractions of her perch: "I like the idea of foam better -- condoms seem awfully, well, sort of mechanical and impersonal. But foam doesn't prevent diseases, does it? Condoms do. That's the sex-ed classes talking again."

I told her, "Right on all counts. So? You get to choose how we proceed. If you want to play this game, use those new 'organic' tools, then you have to learn to think about the game and take charge of your own destiny. Time to start is NOW, not later."

She looked at me critically for a moment, thinking, then said very analytically: "But, Doctor E, protection against diseases isn't needed if both partners have no diseases. I don't have any. Do you?"

I told her no.

After another moment's thought she said "I guess we both just have to trust one another on this, don't we? I think I can trust you. Do you trust ME, too? I mean, sex-ed makes a HUGE deal about how many females my age have sexual diseases these days, and I could be one of them." She bit her lower lip softly, waiting.

When I said "I trust you absolutely!" she was delighted, then asked "So -- what is contraception level three?"

I told her "Really, there are four levels: your being at the safest part of your cycle has to count too, and I didn't consider it. But my "third level" is this - we always have four choices of exactly WHERE to deposit my semen... hands, mouth, pussy, and butt. Only one involves any possibility of so-called "reproductive consequences" -- meaning pregnancy, of course."

She reddened, opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. While she tried to get started again, I undertook the final leg of our little journey to the bedroom. Enroute, she levered herself up and down as best she could, while saying "Um. Yes. I -- well, I've heard my girlfriends talk about all of those..." Brooke took a deep, steadying breath and kept on: "...hand jobs and blow jobs and pussy-fucking and anal sex." She cocked her head, cogitating for a moment: "Women in my classes are easy to talk to -- they like to brag. I suppose if I did a poll, I'd find they generally prefer hands, then BJs, then butts and finally pussy -- with pussy last mostly because it can be so dangerous."

Then, after a pause, rather shyly, "What do you think? Your own preferences, that is?"

I arrived bedside, did a slow squat to deposit her bottom on the edge of the mattress, then slipped my cock out of her and stood up: Mr Cock was nearly purple at the head, glistening full-length with her secretions. She eyed it, made a pout, and said "It's pretty, but it's ESCAPED! Please put it back! Quickly!"

I scooted her to the center of the mattress: she opened her arms, inviting, and I moved back into position. As we re-sheathed me properly, I told her "Well. Brooke, I certainly have preferences... but telling in advance might color your own opinion. With some luck and some exertion and considerable persistence, we can try each of the four main loci at least once this afternoon -- and then you can rank them for yourself, and tell me why they're that way for you. Maybe after that, if you haven't already figured out my personal preferences, then we can talk about me.