Where it happened: Connecticut
Langauge: english
Sex: Male
Rating: 5
Category: Straight
Posted November 1st, 2010 at 1:28PM
She said I looked like the statue of David, and it was maybe the first time I ever felt attractive. I had never even been seen naked by a woman, not that I knew, and there I was nineteen, and she was about the same but had seen other men and knew the ways.
Her looking at me made me suddenly look quite different from the David, in one particular area. I remember her saying, “Oh, I’ve seen pnises before, which was not exactly the thing I wanted to hear, but she took hold of me and drew me to her bed, a single bed in a tiny bedroom in an off-campus apartment. All around were her books of poetry, her journals, and on the floor were her jeans, her embroidered blouse, a black brassiere, white cotton panties.
She lay under the covers, and I had seen nothing of her nakedness yet.
Well, that’s not true. A week earlier, we had talked through the night on the floor of her living room, and as the sun was rising, we had made out, for a long while. I learned how to kiss with her, and she taught me well. I had also touched her in many places, though not the most crucial ones. But at last I found myself in a position to look up her long skirt, and the sun was bright enough by then to show through the fabric. I could see her panties, also white cotton, against her *****, and I could see dark hairs reaching from underneath, also that vulval coloration of her skin at the hem of the panties. I could tell she was wet, and I inhaled her scent.
But when I reached to touch her, she interrupted the experience. It was time for her to go–to go away for a week, spring break–and I would be left behind. She packed a few things and was out the door. But she told me to stay, to sleep in her bed, which I did, though not before taking myself firmly in hand.
Then, a week later, she was back, and I was the David. All this was a little confusing because she had a boyfriend who was out of the country that term, but she told me that they had an understanding, and I was not motivated to challenge her.
Instead, I let her draw me onto the bed. Then she pulled back the covers and did the most wonderful thing. She told me to look at her, all over, to touch anything I liked, to ask questions. I did as she asked, for about ten minutes. At last, she drew me onto her, and without the need of any hands I felt myself entering her. It was better than anything I had ever felt, but somehow it was also just what I knew it would be, from my dreams, I guess. Perfect, soft, silky, deep. I lasted just a few minutes before the heavens opened.
Later, with explicit verbal directions, she showed me how to make her *** with my tongue, and at the conclusion of that I felt her thighs squeeze together around my head so that I could hear nothing but the intensity of how much I was in love.
But the boyfriend came back, and it did not work out. Eventually, for her, there were no boyfriends at all, just women, which is odd because for a moment there–or two–we were made for each other.
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