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I did her right arm, sucking each finger when I got to it. When I finished her pinky, she asked, ‘Why’d you start calling me Samantha? You’ve called me Sam almost the whole time we’ve known each other, and you’re the only one who’s allowed to.’ ‘I thought you’d feel more feminine if I called you by something that’s only a girl’s name.’ I did her left arm, saving her tits for last. I purposely went slowly on her tits, sucking the nipples at the end. ‘Don’t forget my pussy,’ Samantha said. ‘There’s no cream down there, … Sam,’ I told her. ‘Trust me, there is,’ she replied. I went between her legs. Sure enough, some of the whipped cream had slid down. I licked out each fold, and when I put my tongue back inside, I realized she wasn’t talking about the whipped cream. I put my hands up to feel the sticky remnants on her tits, but she pulled me forward. I thought she’d keep going till my cock was rubbing her pussy again, but she stopped when my hands were just above her hips. ‘There’s. Second, it was the mid-eighties. Everyone was terrified of AIDS. I had a friend at Columbia-Presbyterian School of Public Health. He used to entertain me with the latest theories, statistics and gory details. He assured me there was virtually no heterosexual transmission, particularly from women to men. Nobody else in the world believed it. I'd used condoms on two occasions and hated the things. If I wanted to come inside a rubber tube, I could just as well do it alone.Third, I knew the difference between horniness and loneliness. I knew how to cure one but not the other. I was lonely all through high school. We had a small group of intellectuals who talked a lot about sex but rarely did anything about it, at least not with each other. We thought dating was for jocks, so we socialized as a group. I remember vividly taking Lois Weinstein to Carnegie Hall to hear the Guarneri String Quartet. During Opus 130, right in the middle of the Cavatina, I finally dared put my arm around her. She.
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