Letters to Penthouse VI by Penthouse International Page B

mistake—Brad came in his pants almost at once, and vowed he'd love me forever.
    Look, I care for him too, but as a lover he doesn't do much for me. Besides, I'd long since lost my virginity to my tennis coach, although I didn't tell him that. Brad, you see, grew up tall and skinny and really serious. He's kind of an environmental nerd. I'm more the fun-seeker type—your classic blonde, curvy, vivacious knockout. The thing is, I didn't know how beautiful I was until we got to college and I had some experienced men come on to me. Poor Brad was left in the dust.
    I think he saw it coming—he was really good about agreeing that we should not be “committed,” that we should “see other people,” and all. But still, the first time I hooked up with a really hot lover, the news of it hit Brad like a ton of bricks.
    Maybe I handled it wrong. It was at a party during freshman year at the jock fraternity house—I was dragged along, in my short new miniskirt, by some of my dorm friends. The place was packed, the music was throbbing and the beer flowed. As the night went on, some of the football guys started stripping down and parading around in full view of the girls, bumping and grinding even in front of the ones with dates. It's a famous ritual at this house. Most of them stopped with their jockstraps, but a few went all the way.
    I was shocked, but fascinated, too—I had never seen so many beautiful male bodies. Ogling their cocks was a guilty pleasure I never thought I'd let myself indulge. I couldn't help but wish I could reach out and touch one.
    Marvin solved that wish for me. Marvin is one of the best-known football players on the team, a truly sexy specimen, with a thin, sensitive face, golden shoulder-length hair and a reputation for merciless tackling on the field. Women on this campus pray for the opportunity to worship him and suck his legendary cock. Suddenly he was standing in front of me, stark naked, looking down at me like a god.
    Without speaking, he put a big hand softly on my cheek, under my hair, and by reflex I turned to kiss it—I was a little drunk and already in love with him. Couples in our vicinity turned to watch the scene, and my dorm friends could hardly contain themselves—”God, Nina, you're it for tonight,” Terry breathed. I couldn't believe what happened next. Marvin turned and walked away—my eyes were riveted on his muscular, flexing ass—and as he did, my girlfriends dropped to their knees and started tugging at my shoes and dark panty hose.
    “You have to hurry,” Tara explained as she slid my hose down to my ankles, exposing my luscious bare thighs to all and sundry. “He wants his women ready when they get to his room. He won't wait.”
    I felt exposed and whorish and exhilarated. Bare-legged, bare-pussied, flushed, drunk on beer and love, I saw the anguished stares of several ordinary guys as I left, but just tossed my head back and strode off in pursuit of Marvin.
    It's not that I think a woman should run slavishly off whenever a man desires her. What was so compelling was that Marvin had cut through the bullshit and buildup that always seems to stand between us and sex. Everyone, I think, would like, at least once in their lives, just to have the impulse and go. Believe me, I learned from that night, and I've reversed the roles more than once since then.
    I don't know if I could ever find words to describe the fucking that followed. This handsome athlete took me into his private room, on the bed that I know had seen a hundred of his other conquests—women students and women professors alike. Marvin's beautiful dick was engorged and ready when I walked in. I would gladly have knelt and received it on the spot, but he was considerate enough to remove the rest of my clothing, then gently kiss me and caress my shuddering bare body thoroughly, possessing me with his hands and mouth until I sobbed for his cock.
    Marvin guided me onto my hands and knees and entered me from the