title="First Love" author="Dan Singer" keywords="m/f, m/F, first, mast,
m-Solo, F-solo, voy, exhib, cons, hs"
Copyright the author, all rights reserved. You may link to this from non-commercial or free sites, but you may not copy or use it for any
purpose other than your own personal enjoyment.
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This is about first love or maybe sexual intoxication, I could
never tell the difference. Names and personal details have been changed,
but guaranteed 99% true.
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FIRST LOVE (c) Dan Singer 2002
At 16, I was a nice enough looking with dark hair, brown eyes and a
medium build, but I was very innocent. Perhaps this was because I was an
only child growing up in a conservative town, or maybe it was just the
time. As a child, I had been introduced to sex by an relative, but it
had been an isolated experience and had never been repeated. Now, here I
was, starting my junior year in high school, and I knew very little about
the opposite sex. My relationships with my own age had been limited
to a few dates with "good" from school or church. Unlike some of my
friends, I was still technically a virgin and needless to say, I was not
happy about it.
My didn't let me drive yet, so going on a date meant seeing a
movie at one of the local theatres, walking together hand in hand, and
maybe kissing. Malls hadn't yet spread over everything, so our town was
still a town. Some of the more adventurous kids would walk over to the
cemetery with their dates and neck. I wasn't entirely sure what necking
was, but I knew it was less serious than petting, which some of them did
also, according to my best friend Ronnie.
The farthest I had gone was with a very sweet, cuddly named Linda.
She had long brown hair and a cute round face, and I'd had a crush on her
since the fifth grade. That summer, I finally worked up the courage to ask
her out. When I picked her up for our date, she looked beautiful in a
light summer dress, and she seemed happy to be with me. Her sat at
the kitchen table drinking coffee, and she kissed them goodbye.
After the movie, we strolled back slowly, holding hands. I felt good
and we chatted easily; about the movie, our friends and the school year
that had just ended. It was a warm summer night and the scent of
huneysuckle wafted through the air. We arrived at her house and stood
whispering on the porch. I hugged her and instead of away, she
pressed her body into mine. The hard nipples of her little rubbed
against my chest. I held her tightly and we kissed. My penis got very
hard and pushed between her legs through the thin material of her dress.
She rubbed back against my prick and my heart pounded in my chest. The
area between her legs felt very hot. My body was on fire. The whole house
was dark and silent. Anything seemed possible.
Then the porch light blazed on and her stormed out. He was a
huge with a bullet-shaped head and ham-sized hands. One of them pumped
open and shut while the other held a giant metal flashlight. He looked
like he was about to swing it at my head. He'd been waiting up for us and
he'd seen enough. Linda tore herself away and ran into the house. Her
father smacked the flashlight into the palm of his hand and glared at me,
trying to decide if my skull was worth $8.99 and the trip to Sears.
Evidently it wasn't, because he turned and walked back inside, slamming the
door. The whole house shook. Linda was not available for dates after
that. She avoided me at school and when I called, her hung up the
phone.
For a while I pined for her. I knew that I loved Linda and that she
loved me, so I asked Ronnie for help. Ronnie was tough and practical and
much more advanced than I was. He had been screwing his girlfriend
Bernadette for months. He told me to forget about Linda. Her had a
shotgun and he drank, and Linda was a cockteaser from way back. It wasn't
worth it. Bernadette, on the other hand, had a friend named Iris who was
soft. How soft? "Very soft," he assured me, "she'll go as far as you
want, Singer, she's into guys." Ronnie set us up for a double date on
Saturday and told me to pack some rubbers. I put Linda out of my mind.
I prepared for Saturday like a fighter training for a bout. This was
probably a mistake. Ronnie never prepared for anything and look at him. I
swore off nuts and chocolate, which I thought gave me pimples. I did
hundreds of curls to pump up my arms and shoulders. I renewed my supply of
condoms at the drugstore and replaced the ones in my wallet.
Ronnie picked me up on Saturday after dinner. He had managed to borrow
his father's car and the were already inside. Bernadette was sitting
in front with Ronnie and Iris was in the back. Iris did not appear to be a
hot number. She was demure and mousy, with stringy hair and blochy
skin. Still, there was something cute about her. She wore a tight pink
sweater that hugged her shoulders and chest. Although her were
small, they were definitely perky. I could just see the points of her
nipples jutting out beneath the sweater, plus she was into guys, that was
the important thing.
After I finished looking her over, I said hi and flashed Iris what I
thought was a dazzling smile. Everyone told me I had a great smile. She
scowled back and mumbled something unintelligible. Then she turned and
looked out the window. We drove for a while and I tried to start a
conversation: music, current events, teachers at school, nothing took. I
retreated to my corner. According to Ronnie, Iris had screwed half the
boys in the senior class and was working her way down. She had a large and
ever-growing collection of cherries. Obviously, I was doing something
wrong. I felt my golden opportunity slipping away. As a last resort, I
simply draped my arm over her shoulder. She removed it immediately and
told me she had a boyfriend away at college. I looked up and caught
Ronnie's eye in the rearview mirror. He shrugged. This was going to be a
long night.
We drove, stopped for a snack, hung out, and after a couple of beers,
Iris loosened up a bit. Unfortunately, she wasn't giving out any freebies
that night. She'd gone on the date as a favor to Bernadette but she had
cramps. I offered to give her a massage. "No," she said, "not those kinda
cramps." At the end of the evening, I was rewarded with the ultimate
humiliation, a sisterly peck on the cheek. Ronnie told me later that Iris
either liked you or she didn't, it was all or nothing. With me, it was
obviously nothing.
It was after my flop with Iris that I became interested in Christine.
Actually, I had been aware of her for some time; Christine was a member of
our congregation, but I hadn't paid much attention to her. She was more
than twice my age, well into her thirties, a buxom woman with and
pale skin. She had thickened around the waist but she was still
attractive. Christine had been to a somewhat man, a minister
in our church, and had been widowed.
After her husband's death, she dressed completely in black for a
suitable period of mourning, but what had started as an expression of grief
eventually became a fashion statement. She continued to wear black, black
skirts, black dresses, black tights, black shoes and black hair tied back
tight, accentuating her incongruously full lips. Perhaps she thought
all that black made her look thinner.
Christine was not everyone's cup of tea. Ronnie said she looked like an
overstuffed crow, but I found her fascinating, and I often wondered what
lay underneath all that black clothing. She was a teacher at our high
school, and that year I had her for history.
The relationship between student and teacher is asymmetrical. Students
get to know their teachers far better than their teachers know them. As I
sat in her classroom day after day, I became thoroughly familiar with her
physical appearance, her rounded calves encased in black tights, her
slightly fleshy arms, her pleasantly curved hips, her high cheek bones and
full lips, and especially, her prominent breasts.
I frequently found myself tracing their profiles in the margins of my
notebook when I should have been copying down European history. I would
imagine their shape and size when liberated from their twin black shrouds
(I assumed her bra must be black.) I would speculate on the size and
placement of her nipples, the shade of her areolae, and I would draw these
variations in horizontal rows across the page. I noticed that if I did
this for a while, my penis would become very hard and start to throb, my
breath would speed up and my heart would pound. I loved the sensation, but
drawing dirty pictures made me feel like a pervert, especially pictures of
disembodied breasts. I would catch myself and flip to a clean page to let
the pounding, the breathing and my very enlarged cock return to normal.
History was the last class of the day. At the end of school I would
return home and start my homework. I would sit at my desk and spread out
my school books. Pretty soon my mind would turn to Christine, her actually, and I would sketch them in my notebook, partially exposed. Then
I would sketch them again, with a little less coverage. My penis would
harden and press against the cloth of my white briefs. I would try to
ignore this feeling and return to my homework, but I would be pulled back
to those and I would draw them again and again, experimenting with
different sizes, shapes, perspectives, angles and levels of coverage.
Soon, my prick would be so hard and achy that I could think of nothing
else. I would give in and pull down my pants and briefs and stroke my
penis. By this time, I was usually so worked up that after only a few
strokes my thighs would begin to shake and I would climax, my penis pumping
squirt after squirt of come, while I gazed at the outlines of the figures I
had drawn.
Then I would feel deeply ashamed. Not for masturbating, which I knew to
be a perfectly healthy adolescent activity when not done to excess, but for
the shameful and delicious act of her in all their variety. I
would promise myself to resist the temptation, only to find myself an hour
or two later staring at those intoxicating forms marching across my algebra
homework or my chemistry notes. Then I would need to come again.
Sometimes I repeated this process as many as three or four times in a row.
Once, I think she caught me in class. In fact, I know she did. She
surprised me by walking up behind me while I was sketching. I quickly
turned the page, but she gave me a long appraising stare. I blushed bright
red and she continued to stare while sweat beeded my forehead. My penis
ached and pulsed inside my trousers. Pulse, pulse, pulse, with each pulse
it grew harder and pressed tighter against my pants, sending jolts of
electricity through my groin. I was panic-stricken. At last she looked
away and it was lucky she did for I was about to come.
Then she turned back and said to me under her breath, "Please see me
after class." I stared at her horrified as I fought back my impending
orgasm. I held my breath and sat motionless, staring straight ahead. My
eyes were directly at level and I watched a nipple poke itself out
against the cloth of her blouse. It seemed to harden under my gaze. That
did it, that nipple pushed me over the edge and I began to come. I bit my
lip to stifle the sound, but I was helpless to stop my climax from
erupting. Blissful waves of pleasure washed over my body, but I could
neither enjoy nor resist them. My thighs shook underneath my desk as the
intense feelings spread up and down my body. Come pumped helplessly out of
my cock into my underpants. I was in an agony of embarrassment as my
climax went on and on, but I could not stop it. At last the spasms
subsided, and I sank back into my chair exhausted and tried to catch my
breath. She turned and walked back to her desk.
I had come before. You might even say I was an avid masturbator, but
this was something different. The feelings were so intense and
overwhelming that there was nothing I could do to control them. Moreover,
she had watched me come. I had been exposed. It was shameful and horribly
embarrassing, and it felt wonderful.
After class I excused myself and went to the bathroom to clean up. It
was empty since almost all the students had gone home. I stepped out of my
shoes and trousers. My underpants were drenched with come and I stuffed
them in the trash, but my penis was still wet and sticky. I sat down in
one of the stalls and tore off some paper to dry it off. I lightly
patted the head of my cock and a shock went through my body. I was
instantly aroused and ready to come again. I sat quietly and waited for my
erection to subside. Instead, it stretched out to its full length and
pulsed with my heartbeat.
I wanted so badly to come, I probably should have brought myself off
right there, but I was expected back in the classroom and I wanted to
control myself. I waited until my organ had softened enough to fit in my
trousers. There was a wet spot in front, but it didn't seem too obvious. I
decided to ignore it. Unfortunately, I couldn't ignore the friction that
my penis made as it rubbed against my pants. No matter how I stood, the
material caressed the head of my organ and teased it up. I was aroused all
over again and starting to get very hard. I zipped up my zipper and walked
back to the classroom. Perhaps she wouldn't notice.
When I walked into the room, Christine motioned for me to stand in front
of her desk. The classroom was deserted. "There seems to be some trouble
concentrating." She addressed me in this oddly impersonal way, as if trying
to limit the contact between us. In spite of it, or perhaps because of it,
the sound of her voice seemed to caress me in a very intimate way, and once
again I felt in danger of coming. I bit my lip and tried to stem the tide,
but my penis strained toward her voice like a flower strains toward the
sun.
She continued, "This happens sometimes, so I'm going to give you some
work to help you concentrate better. Do you understand?" "Yes," I croaked.
"You'll do the extra work after class, an hour each day for the rest of the
week, starting tomorrow. I need some help with paperwork." I mentally
calculated. Today was Tuesday. That meant three days of detention. It
could have been much worse. She looked directly at my crotch and frowned.
Then, with a curt nod, she dismissed me.
I was conscious of one thing, the erection pressing up against my
trousers. It felt hot and very sensitive, and I was afraid that the
slightest stimulation would push me over the edge. My head throbbed. I
tried to control my breathing. She looked down at some papers on her desk
and I slowly backed out of the room. I stumbled out of school, grateful to
be released.
I walked home in a state of great agitation. On the one hand, I felt
guilty for what had happened, and I dreaded the prospect of being alone
with Christine for an entire hour. What if I couldn't control myself?
Coming once was a regrettable accident, but twice might be an indictable
offense. Was it a crime to have an orgasm in front of a non-consenting
adult? Probably not. But even if I managed to avoid imprisonment, I would
still be disgraced, ostracized, expelled from school, my future destroyed.
On the other hand, it had felt wonderful and I wanted it again. And,
she was not entirely uncomplicit in my situation. It was the visible
hardening of her nipple that had driven me over the edge. And even though
erectile tissue, as I well knew, was not under voluntary control, surely
she bore some responsibility for my predicament. The question was, how
much did she know? Was she being purposely provocative or was she simply
an innocent bystander?
When I reached home I was thoroughly confused. I was also wildly
excited; tomorrow I would spend an hour alone with her. My penis was
completely hard again. I undid my pants and freed it. As soon as I
touched it, I climaxed, and my thighs and legs shook as the orgasm raced
through my body. Afterwards, I lay in bed for a long time re-living those
moments in class.
The next day, I waited anxiously for history class, but when it came,
Christine seemed to have forgotton me. She scarcely looked at me in class
and when I presented myself afterwards, she was wearing a coat and was
preparing to leave. I thought she had forgotten our arrangement, but she
said, "I've decided to work at home. We can spread out there." Spread out
what, I wondered. I followed her out to the parking lot and she led me to
her car. We drove the short distance to her house in silence, but her
close proximity made it impossible for me to think. I could not help but
be aware of the fine hair on the back of her neck, the friction of her legs
as they rubbed together, the tiny gold earrings that dangled from her ears.
Her house was on the opposite side of town from mine, a cottage on a
small shaded lot. We went directly into her kitchen and sat down. It
turned out that my assignment was to mark a history quiz while she read the
answers out loud. I marked two papers and she marked two, and in this way
we were able to do four at a time. We faced each other across the table
with the papers spread out in front of us.
I was relieved. Marking test papers was something I could do, and it
made things seem almost normal. I began to relax. I actually found it
pleasant to sit in her kitchen, listening to the sound of her voice,
marking X's and checks next to the answers. I gave myself over to it, and
we quickly went through three sets of papers. Napoleon, Wellington, the
Congress of Vienna, the answers flew by in a haze as I listened to the
music of her voice. I temporarily lost track of the actual questions and
began to mark X's and checks randomly. Then I began to vary their
appearance. The X's became more like propellers, the checks got curvier.
At some point, the checks turned breast-like, or maybe that was just my
imagination, but the inevitable happened and I found myself getting
aroused. I glanced under the table. She had crossed her legs and her black
skirt had ridden up past the knee. Not very far but far enough to suggest
the curve of her thighs and beyond. I considered what lay beyond. I
imagined her curly black bush and what it would be like to bury my face in
it. I had never wanted to do this before, but for some reason, I wanted to
do it now.
"Are you following me?!" Her voice shocked me. I found my place and
struggled to concentrate. She was right, I was having trouble
concentrating, but this was not helping. I was aware of the heat and
pressure of my rapidly hardening organ. Soon it would be completely erect
and then I would not be able to concentrate on anything.
I desperately wanted to adjust my pants to give my cock a little
breathing room, but I didn't dare. The feeling was both delicious and
agonizing. I made random X's and checks as I struggled to follow the
answers. At last, we came to the end. I don't know what those poor kids
got on that examination, but I hope she re-graded it. I excused myself to
go to the bathroom, trying to disguise my condition. I shut the door,
opened my pants and slid my white briefs down over my throbbing rod. I
exhaled a sigh of relief. My prick stood out hot and flushed, no longer
painfully confined.
I decided to let it relax and return to normal, but my penis grew harder
and began to pulse. With each pulse I longed to touch it and bring myself
over the edge. Unfortunately, I was standing in a strange bathroom with a
strange adult woman on the other side of the door not 10 feet away.
I glanced around the room. There was a second door with pastel towels
hanging from the towel rack. There were miniature scented soaps in a dish.
There was a pink container of facial powder on a shelf. All of these
innocent objects inflamed me, they seemed to be extensions of Christine
herself, and they seemed to egg me on. "What are you waiting for?" they
said. My hand lowered itself to my cock and began to rub, from the head
all the way down to the base. It didn't take long before an orgasm began
to well up in me. Before I knew it, the spasms were shaking my thighs and
groin, and I heard myself groaning softly. Then I heard what sounded like
a sharp intake of breath.
The door with the towel rack was closed but it had a keyhole. My eyes
were drawn to the keyhole, and behind it I saw the glint of an eye. She
was watching me. I was in the middle of my climax, too far gone to do
anything about it or even to care, but she was watching me! The feelings
in my cock intensified as I heard another intake of breath and my come shot
out and spurted against the wall. I groaned audibly. I leaned against the
wall, my penis still pumping, trying to catch the spurts of come in my
hands as my orgasm continued. I had never come so hard for so long.
Finally, my climax ended and I sat down to recover. My heart was pumping
wildly and I was out of breath. My penis was still hot and sensitive. I
touched it and couldn't suppress a groan. I needed some time to recover,
but I couldn't just sit there in her bathroom, she was waiting for me. I
cleaned myself up and wiped off the bathroom wall. I took a deep breath
and walked back out.
Christine was sitting at the table going over the papers we'd marked.
She barely looked up to say, "You can go now." Evidently, she was done with
me. She offered to drive me back, but I thought it was a better idea to
walk home by myself.
As I walked, I tried to understand what had just happened. I had gone
into her bathroom to jerk off and she had watched me. What did that make
her? And what did that make me? It was clearly wrong to at someone
through a bathroom keyhole. It was also wrong to jerk off in a stranger's
house. But both of these together had given me such intense pleasure that
even thinking about it instantly aroused me. I couldn't figure it out, but
I knew I wanted it again.
I spent the following day waiting impatiently for the last period to
arrive. When it finally came, Christine ignored me, and this threw me into
a panic. Was she displeased? Offended? What if she had decided to
discontinue our, whatever it was. At the end of class I waited for the
other students to file out. She looked up at me and said in an
expressionless voice, "Let's go, we've got a lot of work," and she headed
out of the room. I exhaled with relief and followed her out to the car.
Then I began to worry. Did I really have it right? Did she at me
through the or was I about to do something based on a complete
misunderstanding?
We arrived at her house and she asked me if I wanted a snack. I was
touched. She wanted to feed me, she wanted to make me comfortable, but I
wasn't really interested in food. I sat down at the table and waited for
the test papers. She took off her jacket and disappeared into another
room.
While she was gone I studied her kitchen. I noted the counter top with
its green and white tiles, the kitchen cabinets painted white, the single door refrigerator and the table I was seated at, with its shiny
wooden top and scalloped edges. All of these details moved me. I felt
like she was showing me her privates, and I studied them with the same
intensity as if I were gazing at what I imagined must be her luxurient
black muff, preparing to bury my face in it while she slid out of her
dress.
That was the image in my mind when she returned, and I suspect she read
it right off my face. She arched her eyebrows and frowned. Whatever else
she saw, she must have taken in my hunger because she recoiled slightly
from it, but something told me she was also secretly pleased. I noticed
that she had changed into a more revealing blouse. It was still black, but
it had a neckline that allowed her a little freedom and they
shifted slightly as she moved, giving me a sense of their heft and
importance.
She spread out the test papers and we began to mark them. I knew the
routine, so I went through two sets quickly. It was actually fun and this
time I was able to pay close attention. But perhaps it was the closeness
or the way her upper arm rubbed against her chest, or the down on the back
of her neck, but soon I was acutely aware of her and that awareness began
to arouse me.
It didn't happen all at once. It started with a feeling of warmth in my
groin that spread upwards to my stomach. I gradually felt my penis getting
longer and harder, only this time it didn't stay contained in my briefs but
poked itself out in the gap between the cloth and my thigh. Before I knew
it, I had a serious hard on. I tried to slow things down. I tried to
concentrate on marking the tests. I tried to relax and let my cock soften
a little. It pulsed and stretched out to its full length and hardness.
Then it began to throb and tingle, and I couldn't wait any longer.
I excused myself to go to the bathroom, casually placing my hands in
front of my crotch to cover my erection. It was so hard I could barely
stand up straight. I must have looked very strange. When I reached the
bathroom, I closed the door, loosened my belt and let my pants drop. Then
I let my white briefs slip down to my ankles. No longer contained in my
pants, my penis stood out like a pink-barrelled cannon with a purple
helmet, pulsing with my heartbeat. I happen to have a large dick. Maybe
not porn star level, but big enough. I had never seen it so big and it
scared me.
It evidently had an effect on her too, because I heard a soft gasp from
behind the wall. I stroked it slowly and deliberately with my left hand
while holding its base with my right. Then I noticed the container of
dusting powder and an idea formed in my mind. I lifted the top off the
container. It was certainly a violation, it was even worse than what I was
about to do, but I was in the grip of a higher power. I dipped my fingers
into the powder. It felt smooth and cool. I spread it on my palms and
lowered my hands to my hot, hard prick. I gently stroked back and forth
from the head down to the base. The powder made my hands feel smooth and
velvety against my hot cock. My heart began to pound and my breath speeded
up.
A kind of paralysis gripped every part of my body except my hands and
dick. I felt a climax building from inside my groin. I continued to
stroke, to pump, and my legs opened and closed rhythmically, my hips thrust
forward, and then it overwhelmed me. The ecstatic feelings raced through
my body and the come pumped out in a dozen hard spurts that landed against
the opposite wall. From the other side of the wall, I heard her breathing,
sharp, shallow, urgent, and this made my orgasm intensify. I squeezed my
eyes shut and gasped, holding my dick in my hand while it continued to pump
and throb. At intervals, I would hear another gasp or an "ooh" or even
what sounded like a cry, and that would make my penis throb and come some
more. Then she fell silent and my climax finally died down. I rested
while my organ slowly returned to normal.
I had never heard those sounds before but I knew what they were. They
were soft, wild and forbidden, and I was hooked. More than anything, I
wanted to hear them again. I unravelled a clump of paper and
cleaned the come off the wall. I sat down on the and dried off my
cock. It still throbbed. I flushed the paper away, and this finally
brought me back to reality. I pulled up my pants and adjusted myself in
the mirror. I opened the bathroom door.
Christine was standing with both hands on the table. A flush had
deepened her color and she seemed slightly out of breath. I stared at her,
waiting for her to ask me to do it again, waiting for her to say something.
She looked down and without meeting my eyes, dismissed me with a nod and
offered to drive me back to school. I said I would rather walk home, and I
let myself out.
I was disappointed, but at least this time, I was not confused. I knew
what I wanted. I wanted to rub my cock for her and hear her breathing, her
sighs and her ecstacy. I couldn't wait for tomorrow to come. Tomorrow, I
would be with her. Tomorrow, I would come for her. Tomorrow, perhaps, we
would come together. It was a perfect relationship, and I felt the
happiness of the perfectly committed.
On the other hand, it wasn't really a relationship at all. Just a
couple of perverts standing on opposite sides of a wall doing something
they couldn't admit to each other they loved. It was pitiful really, but I
wanted it more than anything.
Friday was the final day of my detention and I wanted to make it a
blowout. I refrained from jerking off. I woke up with an hard
on, but I ignored it and let it subside. By afternoon, my cock was
stirring in my pants, and when I arrived at history it was getting hard.
Christine was waiting for us in the classroom, looking over some notes.
She began the lesson with a lecture. She walked back and forth in front of
the board describing some event in European history, the defense of Vienna
perhaps, or maybe it was the Franco-Prussian War, who knows, I barely heard
her. When class ended, I sat alone at my desk and waited. She stared in
my direction with a look of concentration as if trying to decide what to
do. I looked back at her and my heart began to pound. She finally broke
the silence. "Let's get going." She stood up and so did I.
My day dreams in class and the tension of waiting had excited me so much
that my trousers bulged out in front. She looked me up and down, lingering
over my crotch. We walked to her car in silence.
I think we were both conscious of the fact that this was our last day.
We arrived at her house and she managed to scrape together some exams for
me to mark, but it was clear she had very little for me to do. We finished
grading and she fell silent. I think she was waiting for me to get up and
go to the bathroom. Instead, I asked her for a cup of coffee. I wanted
her to do something for me.
I watched as she filled the metal percolator with water. This was
before everyone made coffee with filters and drip machines. She measured
the grounds into the tray and set it on the stove to boil. I enjoyed
watching her, it suggested an actual relationship, but now we had ten empty
minutes to fill.
She asked me about my plans for college, about what was I interested in,
the usual stuff, and I dissembled in the usual way. I had no idea about
college or what I wanted to do, but my penis had begun to respond to her
again, and what I really wanted more than anything was to hear her little
gasps and sharp intakes of breath. She approved of my choice of a state
college. She encouraged my plans to study political science or maybe
engineering. She set out milk, sugar and two cups and poured our coffee.
We drank it in silence. There was simply nothing to say.
"Do you think I could use your bathroom?" She nodded. I got up and
walked past her. I had an urge to touch her neck, her arm, anything, to
say something, but what? I had no idea. I walked into the bathroom and
shut the door.
This time I decided to take my time. I slowly unzipped my pants and let
them fall to the ground. My white briefs stood straight out, surrounding a
massive erection that pulsed underneath. I turned toward the and
gradually pulled my briefs down. I stopped when they reached my public
hair. Then I reached around and rubbed my penis through the cloth, slowly
stroking my prick with my hand.
I heard a gasp and I took that as encouragement. I continued to rub
myself slowly through the cloth until a round wet spot appeared at the end
of my briefs where the cloth surrounded the head of my penis. I slowly
slipped the elastic down over the shaft and its engorged purple head
appeared. I let my underpants fall to the floor and my penis bobbed free.
I began to slowly stroke my prick back and forth and with each stroke the
purple head pulsed and grew larger.
Then I turned and moved towards the wall until my penis was level with
and almost touching the hole. I gripped the shaft and rubbed my hand over
it. I could clearly hear her breathing, so I backed up to give her a side
view. I held my penis at the base and pulled at my balls. This made my
prick pulse up and down and grow if possible even larger. I lightly
stroked the tip, rubbing the wetness over the head. Her breathing seemed
to speed up and I let go of my cock. It hung suspended, jerking back and
forth.
I wanted to come, I wanted to come badly, but I also wanted something
more. And then it hit me. I wanted to feel her hands on my cock. More
than anything, I wanted to feel her skin against me, I wanted to taste and
feel her, and I wanted her to feel me.
I waited for my cock to soften so I could put it back into my pants, but
Christine gave a small groan, a sort of "Oh," and the sound of her voice
sent me over the edge. I began to come uncontrollably, juice pumping out
of my prick and spurting all over the wall. I heard her gasp and I grabbed
my penis and held on as the orgasm surged through me and rocked my hips
back and forth. I tried not to cry out, but the feeling was so strong that
I couldn't suppress a groan and then another. When my orgasm ended, I sat
down to recover. Then I cleaned up the bathroom wall and gently replaced
my half-hard penis in my briefs. I pulled up my pants and opened the door.
Christine was leaning against a chair in the kitchen. She seemed like a
runner out of breath. Her whole face was flushed as were her arms and
shoulders. We looked at each other long enough for my penis to get rock
hard again. I felt I was on the edge of something, and that I had to dive
off. My heart pounded in my ears so loudly that I was sure she could hear
it. It was difficult to speak, but I managed a few words. "Christine," I
said, "I want you to..." I hesitated. "What?" she said. "I want to do it
with you." She looked at me as if she hadn't understood. "I heard you," I
continued, "I know you were there, you know, when I was in there. And I
want to do it together." I had gone too far. She blinked at me in shock.
"You filthy pervert, you dirty little piece of scum, don't ever call me
that again, ever. Get out of here before I call the police."
I wasn't prepared for that, but her reaction actually felt right.
Without a word, I went to the living room and grabbed my book bag. I
walked to the front door and without turning around, opened it and left. I
shut the door behind me.
The evening was growing dark and the air felt refreshing against my
face. I stood on her front steps for a moment and then started down the
path towards home. This took me around the side of her house. I noticed
that a light was on in one of the rooms and I paused. I walked towards the
window and glanced in. It was Christine's bedroom.
She was standing in front of a chest of drawers. It had a mirror on top
that faced out to the window. She had unbottoned her dress and it hung
partly off her shoulders. I saw the straps of her black bra from the back.
She reached around and undid it. In the reflection of the mirror, I saw
her pour out and she stood for a few seconds letting the air cool
them.
Then she threw back her shoulders and pushed out her breasts. I had
never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Her were oval and
nearly symmetrical, their round dark areolas and long prominent nipples
seemed alive. I had seen in pictures and on statues, and of course
I had drawn hers hundreds of times, but in real life they were so raw and
vivid that I was overwhelmed. I could barely breathe, my heart seemed to
pump in my groin.
Christine did not hesitate. She began to tweak and twist her nipples.
They grew as she pinched them, and her mouth opened but no sound came out.
Her hips moved back and forth. I reached inside my pants and felt for my
penis. It was hard and throbbing.
She closed her eyes and her head rolled back. Then, while continuing to
pinch a nipple with one hand, she brought her other hand up under her dress
between her legs and began to squeeze her thighs together rhythmically,
trapping her hand in between. Inside my pants, my hand stroked my penis in
time with her thighs. She opened the remaining buttons of her dress and it
fell to her waist. She brought her hand back down between her legs and her
fingers disappeared inside. She reached around with her other hand and
squeezed her ass hard. Then she began squeezing and pulling on her nipple,
rubbing it back and forth.
This was too much. I felt an orgasm begin to build, starting in the pit
of my stomach and radiating outward. She squeezed her thighs together
faster. It sounded like she was gasping for breath. I could see the hand
between her legs moving around and around, squeezing and caressing her
cunt. Then it disappeared inside. She grabbed her with her other
hand and pulled the nipple, and then she stood rigid and exhaled a kind of
high-pitched groaning cry.
She remained still for five, ten, fifteen seconds and continued to cry.
She must have been experiencing a powerful and prolonged climax because it
went on and on, her thighs shaking, as she keened with pleasure, and I felt
myself coming, coming so exquisitely hot and strong that my legs buckled. I
was on my knees as the come spurted out of my prick and waves of pleasure
washed over me. I shut my eyes, held the ground and heard myself grunting
like an animal. When I was finally done I opened my eyes and looked up.
Christine was gone. I pulled up my pants and staggered away, my cock still
spasming, minutes later still coming.
I made my way home and lay in bed for a while staring into space,
picturing what I'd seen. Then I took a long shower, and slowly jerked off.
I retreated to my room and stayed in bed for the rest of the week. I
masturbated constantly to the scene of her climax. I jerked off till my
penis was chafed and sore, but I was constantly hard and excited.
When I finally returned to school, Christine was cool and distant, in
fact she barely looked at me. I was grateful for that. I don't think I
could've withstood her attention, but all the same, I was heartbroken. I
knew that something had happened between us and I wanted her to acknowledge
it. At the end of the year, she transferred to another school and I
stopped going to church. I never saw her again.
Dan Singer singer@radiolink.net
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