Once upon a time, I began my broadcast journalism career on my college’s campus radio station.

Yes, I’m aware that probably no one listened — maybe ten people max during the day — and as an underclassman, I invariably got stuck with the graveyard shift from 11PM-6AM, so I couldn’t even count on my roommates to listen since they were probably partying, sleeping, or trying to score during those times — not necessarily in that order!

Back then, I was far from what anyone would think of as “confident” — I loathed any kind of public speaking or presentations in front my classmates; however, I loved to do comedy bits on the air. I was always writing up jokes and whatnot in my spare time, aspiring to be like Howard Stern or even George Carlin back in the day.

Otherwise, I was your basic skinny white dude with wild curly hair that might remind one of Sideshow Bob from The Simpsons. Ever the dork, I had my nose buried in books and my eyes trying to wander down the blouses of hot chicks when they weren’t looking at me — which was usually most of the time! At least I wasn’t still a virgin by the end of freshman year, thanks to a sympathetic “cougar” who happened to be the divorced wife of a family friend. There isn’t much of a story there; we were both drunk at the 4th of July bonfire and I probably lasted a total of thirty seconds.

However, eager to make up for lost time and atone for my pathetic sexual record, I began consuming lots of porn in my dorm to see how long I could make myself last while jerking off — it became like going to the gym or any other type of exercise. Could I make it through one or maybe two Penthouse pictorials before losing it, or would a hot centerfold knock me out with just a single sexy close-up? Sometimes too, late at night alone and a little bored at the radio station, I would have a set of music to play, and I’d make it my challenge to see if I could hold my load until the end of a longer track by The Who, Pink Floyd, or Depeche Mode. I’d like to think that all this “hard work” ultimately paid off — and that one of the reasons my wife fell in love with me is because I can go all night.

Anyway, our story begins with me, the intrepid dork-cum-hero, sitting in the disc jockey booth one night. Mercifully, I wasn’t secretly jacking off at the time — I was testing out a new comedy bit that I’d written the night before. It was 3AM and the rest of the building was totally dark — so I had the reasonable expectation that I was alone, as usual, and probably no one was listening.

However, when I finished my bit, and started playing a CD, I heard someone — a woman — laughing. I jolted forward and knocked over a pile of CDs — and there was this gorgeous blonde peering in the booth at me.

She had long hair with bangs just like Stevie Nicks, acid-washed jeans — which were a thing at the time — and a tank top on with clearly no bra at all. It was hard to peel my eyes away from her nipples — she had to have at least a C-cup, too.

“Hey!” She knocked on the glass. “You’re pretty funny!”

I grinned and sat there with my mouth half-open like a total fool, rendered completely mute in the moment. With that, she waved and walked away, carrying her leather jacket.

She was clearly way too cool for me — but I was hooked. I didn’t know her name, and I’d never seen her before. All I could do is hope she’d maybe show up again, or I’d run into her.

Two long weeks and several back issues of Penthouse passed me by. I started to wonder if the blonde in the tank top was merely a hallucination at 3AM because I was lonely. Finally, it was a Saturday night and I was half drifting off in my chair, playing some progressive rock drone — and then there was a knock at the glass.

“Hey!”

I rubbed my eyes — and there she was again! I still smiled and probably drooled like an idiot, but at least this time I waved back, and then she came into the booth. She had on go-go boots, a denim mini-skirt, and that tank top again with the missing bra.

“H — hi.” I cleared my throat and sat up.

“Well, hello. I heard you in here a couple weeks ago.”

“Yeah — I remember.”

She smiled at me. “I’m Jenna.”

“I’m —”

“DJ B. Dangerous?” Jenna giggled.

I laughed, “Don’t mind my stage name. You can just call me Brandon. It was, like, my grandfather’s name.”

“Oh, OK,” she nodded. “That’s a nice name.”

I tried not to look at her boobs, but it was even harder to not stare deeply into the floor tiles and try to disappear. I had to have been totally pink in the face, too, but I knew I’d never forgive myself if I blew it now. “So, Jenna, are you, uh, in the broadcasting club, too?”

She shook her head. “No, but my ex was before he graduated. We were all in a band with some people here, and he lost our demo tape, so I’ve been snooping around, hoping to find it in one of these piles without anyone thinking I’m stealing stuff.”

“Oh,” I said, registering the fact that she was single. “Uh, I can help you. There are a few old boxes behind the speakers that I’ve never even gone through.”

Long story short, we found her precious tape before the end of my first music set.

“Wow! I really can’t thank you enough,” Jenna said.

“It’s my pleasure.” I felt myself sinking a bit thinking she’d be gone now — but then she said:

“Can I stay and hear your bit?”

“S — sure!” I sputtered.

I put on my headphones and flipped the switch to begin my little on-air comedy segment. I was so consumed with my notes and where I was going that I didn’t notice at first that Jenna was teasing me.

She was sitting directly opposite me in the other chair with her legs wide apart. I blinked and did a double take as she moved her leopard-print thong panties to the side and exposed her pretty pink lips and a little hint of blonde pubes. Then Jenna started to touch herself.

I was in the middle of saying: “And just real quick, the overnight low here is going to be — uh — ”  I was so taken with the sight of Jenna playing with her pussy, my voice trailed off. I don’t think I ever finished reading the weather, but I do know I went from absolute zero to harder than concrete in a tenth of a second!

I glanced down at my notebook with piles of hand-scrawled jokes, thinking maybe I’d try to keep going like normal.

But suddenly, Jenna was kneeling beside my chair.

I couldn’t ask her “What are you doing?” on the air, but I gave her that look.

All Jenna did was smile — and unzip my pants. I felt her breath on my bulge through the cotton of my boxers and then her hand unbuttoned the closure.

I didn’t know what to do other than keep going with the bit and pinch myself in case this was a dream.

Gorgeous Jenna stroked my shaft, watching in delight as my face contorted and I tried to keep my composure. And then she began sucking the head, tracing slow circles around my foreskin. I gripped the arms of my chair until my knuckles were white — rambling on and on —

“Oh — my — uh, sorry ladies and gentlemen, we need to, uh — we’ll be right back after some more great — oh God — great rock.” I switched off my mic and played whatever I had next in queue.

Jenna giggled, looking up at me.

“You’re a very naughty girl,” I teased her.

“Well you’re a very sweet guy.” Jenna patted my thigh and slipped down the straps of that infamous tank top, finally revealing her gorgeous orbs.

“Wow — ” This time I didn’t even try to stop staring. “You’re gorgeous, Jenna.” I just blurted it out.

She giggled again — and blushed a little: “You’re so cute — ” She kept sucking and stroking me, gradually taking more and more of my shaft down her throat. And just as I’d hoped, she teased my dick with those boobs, squeezing it in the middle of her cleavage while she sucked on the head.

And now that I wasn’t on the air, I could really enjoy — and run my hands through her incredible blonde hair while she worked.

It’s a small wonder that I didn’t blow my wad quickly, just given the circumstances and the fact that she was the hottest woman I’d ever been with — but my “endurance training” meant I had plenty of sexual energy to burn yet. Her blowjob and titty-fucking skills were off the charts — but I knew I wanted to be balls-deep in that pretty pink pussy that teased me moments ago.

“Oh Jenna,” I groaned. “I want you so bad.”

She looked up, her sky-blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Then you better hurry up and have me.”

I helped Jenna stand up. She unzipped her skirt, leaving nothing on but her go-go boots — and yes, my jaw hit the floor and fell several stories. I had never felt so hard before as I helped her onto the table and entered her standing up. Jenna’s pussy was tighter than a vise. “Oh my God!” I moaned.

Jenna’s long legs wrapped around my puny waist and pulled me close and tight. I plunged inside of her to the hilt and buried myself balls-deep. We fucked hard enough to send several piles of CDs tumbling to the floor — and we might’ve made the current song skip a few times; ah, the days before digital! Her tits flopped all around, and I kept trying to kiss them and catch them in my mouth. I couldn’t get enough of her.

Jenna dug her nails into my shoulders as her pussy muscles tensed up: “Oh, yes! Ahh! Brandon, fuck me!” I felt like such a total stud making her come hard, and I kept going until she finished. Then as I felt my own load building, I pulled out and managed to come all over the nearby turntable.

My aim and prowess have improved even more since those days — but even after twenty-five-odd years, several different radio stations, and two kids later, Jenna still never lets me forget about my dorky college disc jockey days — and the nights we spent alone in the studio.