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When I went home for the summer, my sister asked me about my love life. I told her it was fine. "What do you think of getting your pussy eaten?"

"Ummm, that didn't happen?"

"Oh Dory, how about sucking cock? Do you like blowing guys?"

"I haven't done that yet."

"Dory what's wrong with you? What's wrong with the guys you're fucking?"

I didn't think anything was wrong. I'd mean, I get on my back; the guy would get on top and we'd have a good time. To be fair, they weren't all good lovers. Some didn't last too long; some had cocks smaller than Thad's, my high school boyfriend, who I realized was just about average. I don't remember any really big ones.

I was only home a week when I got a call, "Dory, this is Irv Michaelson from the university in Chapel Hill, would you like to go a movie Friday night?"

I vaguely remember him from some class and co-ed intramurals. I'm sure that the reason he called was because I guess I'd developed a ...

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