It was Thanksgiving break and I pulled into the station after a seven-hour bus ride home.

I got picked up at the station by my mom, who just about died at how different I looked: longer hair, “freshman 15,” and a tattoo she’d never see (though I worried that she sensed). I proceeded to go home and get totally stuffed on some very non-Thanksgiving pierogies (I’m part of a very large and loud Polish family). My dad and brothers and I drank beer and played cards until about 11, and then everybody but me passed out.

Just like I’d planned.

I’d come back to Ohio on a mission. Within 17 days of getting to school in late August, I’d lost my virginity to a cute sophomore named Laura. She would study on this hill outside my dorm every afternoon, and I’d find myself staring at the outline of her panties under her dress. She always wore flower-print dresses, but the one day she wore a miniskirt I just about lost my mind. I ran down that hill to talk to her, using the excuse that I thought she was in my Women’s Studies class (even though the school didn’t offer one). We hit it off and, in a very businesslike exchange, she was back in my room in about 45 minutes, her plump, freshly-shaved lacrosse-team pussy clamping onto my dick.

Was it great? Of course it was. Best four minutes of my life. At that point, I didn’t know what bad sex was because I’d never even had sex.

After Laura there was Emily, Margot, Susan, and Ruth (thank you, fraternity system). Somewhere around Ruth I thought, Jesus, I owe Laura an apology. So in late October I took Laura out for a nice dinner and asked her if I could try again and, you know, last for more than four minutes this time. She said yes.

By Thanksgiving break I was, by most accounts, fairly good at sex. More than that, I was no longer shy. And my mission was thus to find some of the girls I’d had unrequited crushes on in high school and fuck the living shit out of as many of them as I could.

So, after everyone had gone to bed, I started up my ancient car and drove its wheezing, unregistered chassis through my small town, stopping first (and last, it turns out) at an Irish bar by the river. A friend of my brother’s was at the door and another was tending bar. I made as little small talk as necessary, because at the end of the bar was Sharon. Sharon was a friend of my sister’s, and about two years older than me. Yes, we were both still technically under 21 and shouldn’t have been in the bar in the first place, but between Sharon and me, we have five cops in our immediate families. I sat down next to her and asked if she was okay being seen with a younger man.

“Derek?” she said (not one woman recognized me at first sight the entire weekend), and threw her arms around me. Sharon was the kind of girl who would beat up the guys who picked on her little brothers, and she had a tough-girl’s taut sexiness and an amazing set of tits, which she did not feel shy about pressing into me as the hug turned into an inappropriate drunken hello kiss.

“Holy shit,” I said, all of my collegiate bravado gone as my cock sprang up in the warm air around her tits, the smell of her leather jacket, the perfume on her neck, and the beer on her breath.

“Who you fucking?” she said.

“Well, there’s somebody at school that I — ” I began, but Sharon was like, “You showed up at midnight on Thanksgiving weekend and you’re all alone…”

She had my number. I had no doubt she picked that very spot at the bar to draw someone’s eye immediately upon walking in the door.

“Okay,” I said, “we’re fucking.”

I told my brother’s bartender friend to put her drinks on my tab and he just laughed, because neither one of us had ever paid for alcohol at that bar. We finished our drinks and headed home to her place.

Sharon was back from school, too, and was staying in a room above the garage at her family’s house. I knew it well. “The Fonzie Room” was where we’d go smoke pot when one of Sharon’s many relatives wasn’t occupying it. The place didn’t look much different from the way it had a few years before, but now it definitely had a getting-down-to-business vibe.

Sharon and I had been making out at every stoplight (both of them) on the way there, and by the time we hit the stairs to her room I was having difficulty walking. When we got inside she pulled my dick out of my pants and just engulfed it with her mouth and hands. The fact that she had been a senior when I was a sophomore, the fact that she was one of my sister’s friends, and the fact that I had been in this very room six years before taking my first tentative bong hit, was really exciting to me.

I pulled Sharon up by her thick black hair and pushed her, legs spread, onto the bed. I yanked off her denim skirt and marveled for a while at the pink pussy lip peeking out of her panties, as if she’d deliberately moved them aside.

I think I damaged her bra getting it off (okay, so I’m not that suave just yet), but soon we were naked and sweaty despite the November chill, and pounding away with the soles of her feet pressed against my ears.

As I got closer to coming, I felt Sharon’s practiced pussy clenching and unclenching as she passed her first orgasm and was rounding toward her second (thanks, Emily).

“Pull out and come in my mouth,” she said, and though that was not my first choice, 15 seconds later I did. I pulled out and she immediately switched positions to all fours and took half my load in her face, then slowly, lovingly, milked my cock of the rest.

“Jesus Christ,” I said, falling back. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“First month of college,” she said.

We fucked two more times during that break, before we went back to our respective schools. She studied for several months in Italy and I haven’t seen her in a while, but she tells me she’s coming home for summer.

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