Cannon Song

Miles recalls celebrating empirical methods in a double blind study with college classmates and dates.
*
Walking toward the particular Gothic arch in a long row of such arches that marked the entry to Mike's dorm suite, in that Spring of 1969, I was on a natural high. Trees were greening up nicely after a dreary Winter, the evening was cool and pleasant, and my former long term best friend, now my girlfriend, was walking beside me.
My girlfriend was a sight to behold. The micromini was the fashion, and it could have been invented with Karen in mind. At five-ten, she was as tall as I am and most of her was gorgeous leg. At the same time, in one of those happy paradoxes so devoutly to be desired, it was the feminists themselves who were burning bras, leaving women's breasts unfettered before the lustful gaze of men. Karen's breasts were not overly large, but they rode high, and her nipples dented her shirt enough to make it clear that there was nothing underneath.
Life was sweet.
"Tell me again who we're meeting tonight? Besides Mike?" asked Karen.
"Well, Mike's girlfriend Susan will be there - the one you said looked like Annette Funicello - and John will be with Wendy, of course."
Wendy was John's fiancee. Mike and John represented two sixths of the occupants of the suite that was our destination. The three of us were members of the same eating club, Princeton's closest equivalent to a fraternity.
"Please don't drool over Wendy's boobs tonight, Miles. It embarrasses me."
"I don't drool, and you know I'm a leg man," I responded loftily, then, grinning, "But I'll try to control the heavy breathing . . ." I flinched as she punched my shoulder.
The other two couples had glasses in hand as we entered the suite. I envied Mike and John their location. The door opened into a comfortable sitting room, complete with fancy mouldings and a bay window, that gave common space to three fairly large bedrooms. The suite accommodated six, but four of the roommates had gone road tripping to Vassar that weekend, leaving the place to us.
After hellos, Wendy said to Karen, "You can settle something for us. How do you rate the guys for housekeeping?"
I looked around. Hmmm, no dirty clothes in sight, at least some horizontal surfaces clear of detritus, including all of the cushions of all of the mismatched furniture and most of the floor . . . Hey the guys had cleaned up!
"No messier than most men, I guess. I mean there is a lot of clutter around, but no obvious dirt, and nothing in a serious state of decay. I'd rate them medium."
"Pay up," John said to Wendy. Turning to Karen, "She bet you'd rate it as 'pigsty.'"
"Hey! What clutter?" asked Mike. Then sotto voice, "Just don't open the door to the armoire."
"Have a drink," said John, handing us the glasses of fruit juice mixed with whatever flavor of alcohol that happened to be in stock that passed for cocktails among us. We all sat and made small talk for the duration of the drink, then Susan asked John what was on tap for the evening.
"Well, we kinda figured we could finish the game of Sloe Gin Spades we started last time, then maybe some Truth or Dare or something."
Sloe Gin Spades was a local rules drinking game, perpetually proposed in hopes of getting the girls drunk enough for the "or something" part of the plan. After all, this was the Sexual Revolution, and we didn't want to miss it. With no incurable STDs and the pill popular with most sexually active coeds, we were ready to place our bodies on the barracades to fight the good fight. As a strategy in this revolution, however, the primary result of Sloe Gin Spades to date had been massive hangovers.
"Maybe a movie," said Wendy, looking at Karen. "Movie," said Karen, looking at Susan. "Movie," agreed Susan, grabbing her sweater.
We strolled down Nassau Street, full of ourselves as only college kids can be. The girls looked great and somehow got into a silly contest trying to outdo each other in parodying the hip swinging sexy walk stereotype. Heads turned. Mike, John and I were really just average kind of guys, but we felt like celebrities with all the attention. At least I did. It was a bit of a letdown when we got to the one theater the town had to offer and found that the feature was some Swedish "art" film.
"These things are so pretentious," groused Susan. "Probably going to be rife with symbolism, saturated with gloom, and boring as hell." She was a math major, but her intonation suggested she'd be changing to the drama department soon.
"Better that than that awful Elvira Madigan stuff," muttered Mike, fearing we were in for a suffocatingly romantic ordeal.
They had both forgotten that there was yet another well known side to Swedish culture. The movie began with a party, at which one of the women attending was accused of being a virgin. Following some ribbing, and derisive disbelief of the woman's protestations to the contrary, the woman took a dare, stripped, and screwed her date in front almanbahis of the assembled multitude. No actual intercourse was shown and there was no full frontal nudity, but the baring of tits and ass in an overtly sexual context was pretty advanced for the time.
It really was quite erotic in its way.
The remainder of the film was similarly "shocking". Actually, I was shocked - or at least embarrassed - to be viewing this explicit fare with the girls. I was even afraid to try and make out in the theater, not knowing how Karen was taking this. I hoped it wouldn't put a strain on the rest of the evening.
I needn't have worried. When we returned to the suite, the film was the sole topic of conversation.
"Do you guys really get excited over a few bare boobs and butts on the screen?" asked Wendy. "They really didn't show much of the men, but it wouldn't excite me if they did. At least not without knowing something about the guy."
"Superficial," interjected Karen.
"Is it better to date a guy you don't really like for status? Girls do that," said I, realizing my mistake only after the fatal words had left my mouth.
Sure enough, the debate was on. So much for Truth or Dare, or dancing to the stereo. These newly minted feminists had to defend their position. The only good result from the male point of view was that it was thirsty work. I don't think the girls kept track of their consumption as well as they usually did.
Finally, Wendy said that she was irritated with the movie because it seemed to take an unstated attitude that the Swedish women were sexually free, while implying that its American audience could never be so adventurous. Karen and Susan agreed.
I laughed and said, "But it is true . . . none of us here has the nerve to strip in front of the others, much less screw. Let's face it, we're too inhibited to do anything in public."
"I'll bet you couldn't find many Swedes who would be comfortable screwing in front of an audience. The people watching were wearing clothes, for God's sake," observed Karen drily.
I was forced to agree, but still insisted that, aside from a little more freedom permitted by modern birth control, none of us could easily free ourselves from the same cultural conditioning that bound our parents.
"It is well documented," said I, "That Swedes have fewer inhibitions. If the premise is that American women are less free than Swedish women, it's still basically right, even if they exaggerated."
The women angrily protested that it was not so. Not now. They allowed as to how they were children of a new age who would make their own rules.
"I sleep with anyone I want to," said Susan, "I'm just choosy. I don't have my Mom's worries about getting pregnant, and that's what produced the old morality."
The debate went on for an hour or so, dealing on an ever more philosophical level with this most basic of acts (this was college, remember.) Except for John and Wendy. For them the debate seemed more personal, almost tinged with unspoken resentment. It was subtle, but definitely there. Something to do with the loss of freedom that accompanied the mutual commitment to marriage was my sense.
"Well if you're so uninhibited, let's see you strip now," said John, addressing all the girls, but looking at Wendy. "Put up or shut up,"
"Alright, big man," said Wendy, sarcastically, "Just as soon as you guys do." She sounded serious.
I could see that neither Karen nor Susan was comfortable with this. For that matter, neither was I. We were none of us ugly, but neither GQ nor Playboy would have given any of us a second look. I don't mind being nude with a girlfriend, or in the locker room, but it would take a bigger ego and a better body than mine to strip in this suddenly tense atmosphere.
As we stared at one another, waiting for something to happen, I finally said, "Not me. This is too weird and wouldn't prove anything anyway. I say forget it - let's talk about something else."
Everyone looked a little relieved. John refilled glasses in the ensuing silence. Then Susan, the quietest of us that evening, said, evenly, "I think we can settle this. There are three bedrooms here, each with its own door. Suppose you three leave the suite for five minutes. Each of us girls will go into one of the bedrooms and turn off all of the lights. When you come back, turn off the lights in this room. Then each of you goes into one of the bedrooms. We'll set an alarm for two hours, and when it goes off, you leave again for five minutes. The only rules will be that the lights will remain off until everyone is back out here, and that whatever occurs in the room must be mutual - no force. Oh, and no one will ever speak about what happens in the room."
Never has a speech delivered like a lecture on the proof of a theorem given me such an adrenalin rush. I also got an embarrassing lump in my pants. Good thing I was sitting down. I waited for the protests from the other girls. I couldn't believe it when none came.
With almanbahis yeni giriş consummate sensitivity, Mike said, "But if we don't agree to sex before we start, we could end up spending two hours just sitting in the dark. How does that prove this great freedom?"
"Well, Mike," said Susan, "Miles advanced one thesis, and we've advanced another. This is the experiment to determine if either is true. If we agree in advance, there's no uncertainty."
I just love a mathematician who can also do empirical. So rare.
"I can't tell you how turned on I am," I said, "But Wendy, you and John are engaged*. Do you really want to do this?"
I looked at Karen when I said this, silently asking the same question.
Wendy smiled, "I'm not going to change who I am just because I'm getting married. We'll just have to see whether John can accept me even if I don't conform to the 'little missus' image. In fact, I just thought that John might end up with me. That'd prove nothing. I want to change the rules: we set the one alarm for one hour, set another for two, and then you guys change rooms after the first hour. That way we can be sure that each of us will be with at least one person other than our own date. We should also ban talking. It'll be more of an adventure if we can't be sure who we're with."
Mike, analytic as ever, noted that if sex were a possibility and if anonymity were desired, then the men's clothing would have to be left in the sitting room. Otherwise, the odd piece left in the dark would let the women know who had been there.
Karen and John looked a little uncertain, but after a few glances back and forth between the girls, Karen finally whispered, "Leave now before we change our minds." The three of us walked out with our fists balled in our pockets, a little hunched over. I was glad we had decided not to strip. That walk out was embarrassing enough.
The three of us stood in the courtyard outside the entry, almost shaking with excitement. John finally broke the silence.
"This is stupid. They'll never do it. Wendy, for one, is too straight. I'll bet we go back and find that they've cooked up some joke to embarrass us."
We all laughed and agreed. We decided to wear our jockeys so the girls could not catch us completely nude if this was a trick. We talked about what we could do to retaliate, but underneath we hoped against hope. After the five longest minutes of my life, we went into the suite.
Amazingly, there was no one in the sitting room. My heart beat faster, even as I told myself to expect a glass of water in the face or some such when I opened a bedroom door. We stripped to our underwear and each of us stood by his chosen door. I was closest to the switch, so I shut off the lights and opened my door.
The room was black. I took a couple of steps and promptly hit my shin on a bed. I felt around, but the bed was empty. At first I thought the girls had tricked us by leaving, but then I remembered that the suite held six, two beds to a room. I continued into the dark, feeling my way past desks and chairs to the other bed. It was not empty.
Hearing the breathing of my anonymous companion, I felt for a clear spot on the bed and sat down. Slowly I explored the remainder of the bed until I found her, sitting on the edge at the head. A delicate exploration found her leaning forward with her arms clutched around her chest. She was fully dressed. Not promising body language, I thought to myself.
Putting my hand on her cheek, I tried to gently turn her toward me, but she resisted. She was obviously having second thoughts about the whole thing.
No more than I expected, I thought. I was disappointed, but relieved at least that I would not be the butt of a humiliating joke. I moved into the interior of the bed and sat against the headboard to wait out the hour. I began to consciously control my breathing in hopes of attaining a meditative state that would allow my erection to subside.
After a few minutes, I heard her turn and felt a hand on my thigh. She started when she realized it was bare. In a moment, the hand was back, moving up to my face. I heard her move again, and smelled some floral perfume just before I felt her lips on mine. We kissed, but when I started to move my arms, she took my wrists in her hands and put them at my side, telling me as clearly as with speech to keep them there. She moved away, and I heard some rustling which I hoped meant she was disrobing. When she returned to our kiss, she pressed against me. She felt bare except for a bra. A shiver of excitement passed down my spine. Karen had not worn a bra.
We continued to kiss for several minutes, and she did not object when I moved my hands to her arms and back. I confirmed that she was wearing her bra and panties.
As we continued kissing, I tried to move my hands around to her breasts, but each time she clamped down before they reached their objective. After what seemed an eternity of this frustration, I expected almanbahis giriş the alarm to sound at any minute. I decided that I would find out whether our intimacy had peaked. I took one of her hands in mine and placed the palm on my face. With my other hand, I plucked the strap of her bra. Then slowly I smiled.
In context of the debate, the meaning was clear. As my smile registered on her hand, she knew what I was saying. We sat for a few seconds, then she moved away. I felt hands take mine, one to her face, and one to her now bare breast. Then she smiled just as I had.
Mentally I was happy to concede the argument. My erection hardened beyond what I had thought possible as I held in my hand that breast that couldn't be Karen's. We fell to kissing again, and this time there was no objection my caresses on those exciting, unfamiliar breasts. Slowly I kissed my way down to them, and took a stiff nipple in my mouth.
Kissing and licking both breasts, I moved my free hand up and down her body, slowly coming closer to her center. While she pretended she didn't know what I was doing, I snuck up on her mound, and let my thumb graze her panties, as if by accident. She shuddered, but did not protest. I moved back up to kiss her lips as my fingers became more purposeful in their caresses. The silk of her panties felt glassy smooth, and eventually hot and wet above her vagina. Her hips were making tiny, involuntarily jerks as my thumbnail lightly traced the furrow of her sex, bumping gently over her clitoris.
I took one of her hands and placed it on the lump in my underwear. She grabbed me painfully hard, and then slid her hand under my waistband to take me in hand.
With her hand under my pants, I slipped my fingers under the elastic at the leghole of her panties, and began to rub her wet folds. Moving my index finger to her little nubbin, I stroked it with only the most delicate pressure. Her hips immediately began to spasm and she let out a moan.
I almost came then, for I was sure that moan had come from Wendy. Visualizing her face and body made the whole experience even more viscerally exciting, if that was possible. Any worry about coming prematurely evaporated a second later, for as her body rocked in a sudden orgasm, she squeezed her nails into my penis so hard I was afraid I would bleed. Caught up as she was in her orgasm, however, I doubt that she heard my cry.
As she calmed down a little, I took her hands and put them on the pillow, above her head, with her wrists crossed. She started to lift them, but I gently pushed them back. After several repetitions, she left them where I had placed them. I then began to kiss and caress her again, slowly working my way down her body. This time I did not stop at her breasts. When she realized where I was headed, I felt her tense and felt her hands on my head. Gently but firmly I returned them back over her head. With a ragged breath, she left them there as I resumed my journey. I was sure she had never been eaten before.
As I approached her mound, I raised myself up and slipped her panties down and off her legs. Her hands suddenly hit my shoulders, but they had returned to the pillow even before I could reach them. She did not resist as I spread her legs and covered her with my mouth. Slowly and gently at first, I licked and explored with my tongue. Slowly but surely my tongue began to center its explorations on her clitoris. Again her hips began to buck, and I used both hands to hold her while I flicked my tongue as fast as I could.
Again her orgasm came with sudden intensity. Unable to control my own lust any longer, I moved up and slipped into her while she was still in the throes of her orgasm. My entry seemed to precipitate a new series of shudders in her. She was a tight, warm pressure around my erection, squeezing on every inward thrust. The sensation was almost too intense to be pleasurable. Although I prided myself on my ability to defer ejaculation to prolong the pleasure, no mental discipline in the world could have stayed me from those few compulsive thrusts to orgasm as soon as I was in her.
As I virtually collapsed on top of her, I felt her shudder again as my softening member slid from her. We were languidly kissing when the alarm went off.
I pushed myself off of her and off of the bed. I felt around for my underwear, which I had managed to get off at some point. As I found it, I felt something soft and fuzzy, like a sweater, although it could have been a blanket. Only as I left the room did I think that Susan alone had worn a sweater that night.
I'd been sure I'd been with Wendy, wondering what John would think if he knew his fiancee had been fucked hard and put away wet. Now I was not so sure.
As we had agreed, I stumbled through the darkened sitting room to my next assigned bedroom. I blushed with embarrassment when the erection of one of my friends grazed my hip as we passed unseeing. But then I was in the new bedroom, and my penis was miraculously hard again.
More confident after the last encounter, I stripped off my underwear as soon as the door closed. I felt my way to the far end of the room and found the occupied bed. An exploratory hand found my nude adventuress stretched out on her stomach. I slipped in beside her and lay down.