Tanya Krawczyk: A Teamwork Prequel

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Through the cocktail of latex, fucked ass, and ever-present stale boyfunk, I catch a strong whiff of my vagina.

The scent has notes of fresh sun and breeze through spring trees haha I’m just kidding it smells like sweat and old books.

The smell lights up my hippocampus, bringing up memories in millisecond flashes.

In this moment, the one that locks in is the memory of the first pussy I ever ate: Tanya Krawczyk, freshman year.

– Teamwork, Part 2

Night 1: The Survey Course

“KROV-check,” she would insist. Fat and proud, goth girl, shaved head, piercings everywhere, LGBTQ+ patches on her jacket and bag.

I was a freshman and had tested into the next level up in natural science. She was a junior and was taking the class a second time. “As it turns out, you fail if you never go to class,” she explained.

We were lab partners. She came to my dorm one Monday night to work on our project.

My roommate Kristina was a baby lesbian and was very attached to her first girlfriend. I often went days without seeing her.

Tanya and I had the room to ourselves for hours.

I’d been with boys. Jockish types, mostly, fumbling for their own gratification. I provided everything I could and asked little for myself. I was a sweet summer child.

I suppose I liked women well enough. I’d stolen plenty of looks at them, naked, in gym locker rooms, and casually paraded myself naked in front of them. Made out with them at parties to impress boys. I’d felt up and been felt up by them. As a joke, we always said.

But Tanya was a known girlfucker. I knew her reputation ahead of time. I was curious about her, and doing a bad job of hiding it.

After about 20 minutes with our books and piles of notes, she put down her black marker (she used fine line permanent markers for everything) and said my name.

She got up, held her arms out to her sides, and politely suggested that I undress her.

It took a moment for her words to register, but Tanya had the wisdom and patience of a kung fu master. She told me to take a look at whatever I wanted.

I wasn’t hesitant, exactly, but I was careful, in case… I don’t know, in case the CIA had us bugged or a camera crew was waiting to burst through the door.

But there was no camera crew and-I assume-no listening devices. I stripped her, piece by piece.

She gave me a full nude turnaround. I saw her in all her rippled flesh, tattoos, and scarification. She let me poke, prod, spread, and explore.

Her nipples were pierced-she let me tug on them, showed me how to do it without it hurting.

She wanted me to examine her pubis. She made me lift her belly roll-“My apron,” she called it. I felt embarrassed at first, but she made it feel like no big deal.

The hair on her pubic mound was short, but not shaved. “Dark hair, don’t care,” she said, by way of an explanation. She elaborated that if she shaved it, the stubble would come in within minutes. It was less of a battle just to buzz it.

I’d have figured her for a full bush girl, but that would be assuming.

When that was over, she put her clothes back on. As absurd as it felt, we went back to studying.

As she packed up to leave, I said something-very long and rambly. The short version is that I invited her to come back the next night. She agreed.

Neither of us said anything about what had happened between us.

After she’d gone, I found her underpants, balled up in the papasan chair she’d been sitting in. Boy’s boxer briefs, heather gray with a thick elastic waistband. I’d been so overwhelmed in the moment that I hadn’t noticed she’d left them.

They were big. I folded them up into a neat little packet and put them under my pillow.

I woke up in the middle of the night. I don’t know why. I was turned on, so maybe it was a sex dream that I couldn’t remember.

In the dark, I pulled out Tanya’s underpants, put them over my nose, and inhaled deeply. They smelled faintly of sweat, and of something sexier.

Using my fingers, I masturbated. First, over my pajama bottoms under the covers, then, wriggling free, over the few day’s hair growth on my bare pussy. I got myself off, then got myself off again, and passed out.

I woke up, a short time later, I think. Tanya’s underpants were still balled up in my hand. I was pantsless, on top of the covers. My tits were out of my shirt.

(If you have big tits and fall asleep in a tank top, they will be out when you wake up. It’s science.)

Across the room, I heard the twin snores of Kristina and her girlfriend, asleep in Kristina’s bed. I don’t know how long they’d been there.

When I woke up again, it was light out, and they were gone.

Night 2: Advanced Studies of the Female Body

Tanya came back that night. Once again, we started working, and once again, it didn’t last long.

She asked me if I’d found my present. I said yes. Then, before I really considered what I was saying, I volunteered that I’d masturbated while thinking about her.

Actually, what I said was, “I had kurtköy escort them with me in bed, and I… well, you know.”

She said, “Did you jill off?”

I nodded. I hadn’t heard it called that before, but I figured I knew what she meant. I could feel myself blushing.

She leaned in, interested. “Were you thinking about me?”

Again, I nodded.

She stood up, put her arms out, like the night before. Again, I undressed her. Again, I poked, prodded, spread, and explored, more adventurously than before.

At times, she guided my hand. Over my objections, she made me explore other things about her-things that I, in my innocence, thought were fucking gross.

She bent over, made me look at her anus-made me see where it was located on the great roadmap of her body. Pink, hidden between bulky asscheeks rippled with early-blooming cellulite. Ringed in hair that ran down her perineum to the prominent labia underneath.

She had me put my fingers in her ass and feel around inside. (This is when she introduced me to lube and nitrile gloves. She had those things with her, naturally.) It was much softer than I’d have imagined. Her sphincter gripped my fingers tightly.

She told me to treat the smell of ass as one of the many smells of sex, She showed me how anal penetration would result in a negligible amount of shit, and said that a negligible amount of shit wasn’t the worst thing in the world. I accepted what she told me readily.

She made me taste her toes. I didn’t care for it much and I don’t think she was into it either. But I’m glad she made me do it.

In science, there is no good or bad. There is only data.

I learned to love the plushness of her flesh, the coarseness of her bodyhair. The soft, slimy sensation when I inserted my fingers into her mouth. The prickly feeling of her scalp and her pubes.

Our partner project was a week long. Tanya came over every night. To study.

Night 3: Studies in Turnabout

The next night was different. She didn’t exactly demand anything, but she encouraged me to make myself similary available to her. “Let’s put the shoe on the other foot,” she said cheerily.

Feeling bold, I offered myself up. We got right to it.

She was mildly curious about my body. I’d been a big-titted girl since early puberty, and, at the time I knew Tanya, I was slender and perky.

(Not like now. I’m fatter, droopier, and indispuably hotter.)

There wasn’t much I could show her that she didn’t already know. She mostly just wanted me to know how it felt.

She wanted me to have that feeling, of being on intimate display for roving eyes and probing fingers. She wanted me to know that, with the right kind of mind, being an object could feel good.

I gave her the Tanya Krawczyk show right back to her.

I let her undress me, gave her the full nude turnaround. I let her be the one to poke, prod, spread, explore.

After our first night, I’d anticipated… I don’t know what, exactly, but I had shaved my pubic hair completely off. I hadn’t counted on her not being interested in seeing it the second night.

Now that it was the third night, it was covered in a layer of stubble that had caused me no small amount of embarrassing fidgeting during my classes that day.

She ran her fingertips over the stubble. The sensation was strange. The stubble made my skin hyper-aware to the touch.

“I love this,” she said, under her breath.

At one point, she was about to touch my nipple. I stiffened up. She paused, and I warned her that I might scream. She nodded and moved on.

And, yes, I bent over and gave her a look at my anus. I was hesitant at first, but she assured me it would do no harm and reminded me of our deal.

“Turnabout is fair play,” she said, snapping on a glove.

I felt the shock of cold lube on nitrile when she fingered my ass, feeling awkward when it felt weird and not exactly pleasurable.

The strange thing was, I’d internalized all that straight girl bullshit about anal being some kind of final frontier. It wasn’t that I hadn’t tried it-I had, a few times, and I liked it okay-but making out was always the beginning of a hierarchy that led to genital petting, then genital penetration, then, finally, anal.

Tanya and I hadn’t even kissed, and had only touched each other’s genitals in superficial ways.

As I felt her withdraw her finger from my ass, it sank in that we’d technically done anal with each other. It felt like no big deal, the most natural thing in the world. Like it was a part of some unique process that was just for the two of us.

I went to the corner of the room where the trash can was and discreetly wiped the lube out of my asscrack. Tanya started getting books and notes out, so I got dressed.

For the rest of the evening, we worked on our project. I’m not sure I wrote down anything that wasn’t gibberish.

Night 4: Sexiled

The next night, Tanya didn’t come over. (“Some family bullshit,” she said.) It was just as well-Kristina and her girlfriend were levent escort over. Said girlfriend had an absentee roommate of her own, who had made a rare appearance.

They’d come here for some privacy, which I graciously granted. I went to a movie, and, when that was over, I snuck into another movie across the hall, which was just starting.

(Sorry, [Movie Theater Name redacted]. I was a poor, struggling college freshman, and my entertainment options were limited.)

When I came back, Kristina and her roommate were gone. The room smelled like sex.

I masturbated myself to sleep, not caring this time that I crashed out on top of the covers in just my tank top.

Night 5: An Introduction to Cunnilingus

When Tanya came over the next night, I mentioned offhand that (I was pretty sure) Kristina and her girlfriend had kicked me the previous night so they could have sex.

“Oh?” Tanya said. “Who’s the girlfriend again?”

I struggled with the name. “Uh, Ava, I think? Skinny, short hair, kind of boho-looking.”

“I think I know her.”

I contemplated asking Tanya exactly how she knew Ava, but she gathered me into her arms in a full-contact, oddly masculine hug.

I froze. In spite of everything we’d already done, this felt unexpectedly intimate.

She was taller than me. My breasts pressed into the fat of her belly.

She asked me, quietly, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” I said, not even thinking about it.

Her mouth was soft, softer than any boy that I’d been with. Her tongue led mine-delicate, gentle, but in control. Her hand found its way to the back of my head, first stroking my hair, then gripping a fistful of it. She sucked, probed, mouth rich with spit.

When we finally parted, she said, “Wanna fuck?”

I nodded.

She shucked her clothing quickly, then helped me as I wriggled out of mine. I was going to lie down on my tiny dorm bed, but she did it first.

I must have looked puzzled. She said, “I want you to eat me out.” Her voice was soft and husky, but there was steel under it.

With all my past sexual partners, lying down had always been my first move upon getting naked. I wasn’t quite sure what to do. She must have sensed this.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll tell you what to do.”

She told me to get on the bed with her. She spread her legs and raised her knees. I knelt on the mattress in front of her.

She told me to get down, like a cat stretching, and she told me not to be shy about getting my face right up in there.

I’ll always remember the feeling of her soft, moist pussy lips and the coarseness of the few days’ growth of pubic hair.

But what I’ll really remember is the smell.

My god, the smell. Rich, thick, sweaty, buttery, with a hint of something like ripe fruit. A faint layer of spicy funk coming in from the sweat on her thick thighs and her stubby pubes.

I’d smelled this smell plenty of times, including from myself, but never with my face buried literally right in it. It was so intense.

In that moment, neural pathways were formed, dendrites were rerouted, permanent space was parceled out in my brain, just to preserve that smell in that moment.

If there was ever a time when a single smell changed my life, this was it.

She had me start by spreading her thick labia with my fingertips. I had to learn to breathe, like a swimmer, with my face mashed into her pubis. She guided me, scolded me a couple times when my tongue hit her clitoris too directly. I learned to work with the point of my tongue, lapping upwards on her vulva, just grazing her at the top of each lick.

It took a while. For a time, she didn’t seem to be getting close, but she also didn’t seem to mind. She was semi-reclined on my pillows. Sometimes, I could feel her watching me, but, every time I stole a glance, her head was back, her lips parted slightly.

Then she raised her hips and began to rock them in time with me. I started to speed up, but she paused. I took the hint, resumed my original rhythm, and she went back to rocking again.

Then she locked up, she gasped, and her hips lifted halfway off the bed. It was all I could do to grip her by the legs so I could keep my face in position. I kept up my rhythm, staying with her as she came.

I didn’t release her until she came back to her senses and said, “Okay, stopstopstopstopstop.”

I knelt upright again, sucking breaths of air, realizing belatedly that her thighs had locked my head in and momentarily suffocated me against her pussy.

The smell was everywhere now. I touched my face. I was slick with spit and girlcum. My fingertips came away with strands of it connecting to my lips. Some of it was in my hair.

The first pussy I ever ate, I thought. I had never envisioned it, but I resolved in that moment that it would be the first of many.

I snuggled up to her, spooned her from behind, my petite brown hand draped over her chubby white belly.

I had never been the big spoon before, but that was another thing I found myself mahmutbey escort getting used to.

We snoozed for a bit. Then she turned over and we made out, in a lazy, half-asleep kind of way. We aimlessly stroked each other’s bodies, lying there side by side on a bed that was barely wide enough to hold both of us.

I was horny as hell. The more awake I became, the more I felt it.

I cocked one knee up, exposing my stubbly pubic area. I felt her hand travel there, over my stomach and between my legs.

She got me off. It was good, but it was quick and efficient. Lying there in the afterglow, I wasn’t sure what I’d expected-maybe fireworks, or a parade-but she was definitely better than if I’d done it myself.

I guess I’d hoped that she’d eat my pussy, too, but maybe that kind of epic, perfectly symmetrical lesbian sex was only for porn.

I was about to invite her to stay the night, but she got up and started putting her clothes back on. I wrapped the sheet around myself.

At the door, after our usual goodbye small talk, she said, “See you tomorrow?” and gave me a kiss on the forehead that was sweet and a little out of character.

Night 6: Lessons in Disappointment

The next day, neither of us had class. Kristina usually went home for the weekend. I half-hoped to talk Tanya into coming over in the middle of the day. (On days with no class, freshmen are usually up at the crack of noon.) I guess I thought we could spend all day fucking each other’s brains out or something, but she said she was busy.

I’ve always been a responsible person. Even as a college underclassman, I was never one to put off homework until the last minute. I thought, if she couldn’t come over until the middle of the day, maybe we could get a little work done in the evening and go out or something.

When Tanya came over, she seemed distracted, like she was only half-there. I didn’t pry.

Going out didn’t happen. The passionate evening of raw sex I’d envisioned didn’t happen. We did nothing.

Except work, of course.

We got enough done that, we mutually agreed, we could probably turn in the assignment as-is instead of waiting until Monday.

But-at my suggestion-we could also give it a rest and revisit it tomorrow with fresh eyes, just to make sure.

Tanya agreed.

As she left, it occurred to me that nothing happened between us that night that would remotely suggest we’d been sexual partners. It was as if we were just two college classmates, working together on a group project.

Which, I guess, we were.

Night 7: The Final Lesson

The last night Tanya came over, I greeted her with a slow, wet kiss at the door. She responded, willingly but not enthusiastically.

We were silent for a moment, then I asked her, “What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you and me. What is this?”

“Does it have to be anything other than what it’s been?”

“No, I guess not. But, you know…”


“I mean… look, Tanya, I don’t expect you to be my girlfriend, but… I guess I just want more.”

“More of what?”

“More of what we have.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, [OFS’s Name Redacted]. I think I’ve given you about as much of a crash course as I can. As for me, I got over my curiosity about straight girls a long time ago.”

“Well, I’m not done being curious about you.”

“I… can we sit?”

I sad on the edge of the bed, leaving enough room for her. She pulled up the papasan chair instead.

She said, “I don’t want you to think I haven’t enjoyed this. I really have. You’re not just a… well, you are just a fling. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate you or that I’m throwing you away.”

I knew what getting dumped felt like. I knew this wasn’t it, but it felt like it.

I said, “If you’re not throwing me away, then what is this?”

She said, “I’ve seen this a million times. One of two things is going to happen. Either this is going to be your moment of college bi-curiousness and you’re going to go back to shitty sex with straight boys, or…”


“Or there are going to be a lot of people in your life. In and out, faster than I was. In fact, for a lot of those people, you’re going to be their Tanya.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We buckle down. Finish our project.”

“Our project is done. I was looking at it before you got here. It’s really good, actually.”



She sighed. “With the proviso that neither of us owes each other anything, what do you want from me?”

I said nothing.

She got up out of her chair and came over to me. She gave me a hug around the shoulders. A half-hug, with a hovering hand.

“Go out,” she said. “Get laid. Have a good time with anyone you want.”

She gathered up her stuff and headed for the door. I stayed behind on the bed. I felt like crying, but I tried not to show it.

At the door, she said, “Just don’t let anyone get away with shitty straight person sex, okay? If I did anything for you, you should know you deserve more than that.”

I nodded.

She closed the door behind her.

After the partner project was done, we pretty much lost touch. We would see each other in the hall, or in bars from across the room. Maybe make eye contact, maybe not. After that night, we were never on more than nodding terms.

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