I had never been truly or expertly fucked by a man. I couldn't figure out why - I was attractive. I was smart and funny. I wasn't obnoxious or dull. But the guys I had been with never put in the time, attention, or effort to pleasure my body. Maybe they were selfish. Maybe they just didn't know how to fuck. I considered myself lucky if their fingers barely brushed my aching clit; it was as if this erogenous erect little button between my thighs was merely a passing stranger they were waving to in the dark. My tormented , frustrated pussy was always congested and heavy with pent up desire - not surprisingly, I never had an orgasm from any of these lackluster, disappointing encounters. I had almost given up on sex.

My sexual problems had become so severe and distracting that I finally broke down and confided in Mr. Kushna, my art teacher. This intimate confession occurred under extremely embarrassing and unusual circumstances. He taught art at the local community college where I was taking a night course. I'm 27 but look 16. As usual, he, like most men I've met, mistakenly thought I was a high school kid when I first strolled into his classroom. He even asked me where I went to school and if I'd ever considered being a cheerleader for the football team. Poor guy - he looked so disappointed when I told him how old I really was. But it wasn't really his fault. I'm quite used to men thinking I'm a lot younger than I really am.