Where it happened: A tent
Langauge: English
Sex: Male
Rating: 5
Category: Straight
It was late July. I had discovered the most fascinating girl. I think she may have been brilliant but she was certainly cruel. A whim would take her and it seemed to have no other motive than to confuse, confound, or hurt.
She was pretty but certainly not the sort of girl one pictures in a teenage boy’s dream. Dark hair she often wore short, breasts that appeared budding but never grew much beyond that, even as she moved beyond us into adulthood. She was not particularly tall nor particularly short. However, her neck was stunning; the way her jaw tapered abruptly to this delicate column that supported her delicate head with such grace… Even now I long to reach out and run my fingers along her clavicle.
I courted her as best I could, living in a very rural place. Without the ability to drive, I had to rely. On (what I considered) very clever constructions of lies to bring us together and win us time alone.
At school I gave her small gifts and included rough attempts a poetry. This pleased her for two reasons: first, her best friend was a lovely girl who was the center of most male attention when they were together. My very focused admiration for only her was something new. Second, she was a great reader of Emily Dickinson and she drew unexpected comparisons between my clumsy poems and Ms. Dickinson’s work. Thinking back on it, I have to laugh.
Well, that was how it started. And I wanted her. I wanted her so badly and so physically that I often slept with a pillow turned lengthwise beside me and held it close, spoke soft words, and attempted to make love to she who was not there.
Though she loved to torment me, I was in love with her. She liked to set up little bits of logic for me to puzzle or to brazenly answer and then dash my thoughts on the rocks of her madness. The hardest thing was that I cold never tell if she was just toying with me or if she believed the things she said. Were it not for her weakness I would surely have been frustrated to madness.
But when we were alone and I spoke to her in the right tone… she was powerless before her own lust.
Simply by talking to her, I could persuade her to put her hands on me, to allow me to put my hands on her. She would grow hot, insistent, although never enough to let me see her, to freely explore her body with my eyes. Hands could travel where they would but not eyes.
When it finally happened, I was so shocked – but I should not have been. She was as changeable as the wind.
I had developed what I thought was another brilliant plan. On the acres of forest that made up my father’s land, I found a small and difficult to reach clearing. There, I pitched an old tent and left it. Two days later, the object of my desire was delivered into my arms on the pretext of a nature walk. You already know that we arrived, by and by, at the tent.
Inside, it was sweltering. I could smell the sweat on both of us almost immediately and I started to feel hope slip away. She would surely not find me attractive drenched in sweat, nor feel particularly sexy in the same condition, herself. This was a girl who was already worked up about simply being viewed.
I did not abandon my mission, however. I spoke to her. I used that perfect tone of voice she swooned for; gentle, playful, and direct. I told her I was in love (what did I know of love at 14?) and that she was the finest creature I had ever encountered. I spoke of the endlessness of time and space and the smallness of a single life. I spun a little dream out for her.
All the while, our hands roamed. I caresses her small breasts under her light t-shirt and she squeezed the bulge in my jeans. We kissed and she tasted like cool spring water and strawberries. I explored the curve of her ass and pulled her tightly to me. We had played all these games several times before and they always ended th same way: satisfied but separate.
So often, in fact, that I hand not even planned to pursue my normal attempts for something more. Thus, it was a tremendous shock when she said, “Okay, let’s figure this thing out. We’re going to get this out of the way right now.”
I didn’t ask for elaboration. She was far more blunt than I, despite her love for poetry. I simply stripped off my clothes.
She removed her skirt and then, before my wondering eyes, her panties. She still had no desire to be looked at and sat sideways to conceal what she could. She beckoned my closer and reached between my legs. There was really no need to increase the tension on my side of things but I did not object. Failing to accommodate a desire she clearly expressed could result in total withdrawal, possibly torment. After she was satisfied that I was up to the task, she leaned back, holding me close so that I could not gaze upon what lay beneath.
She tried to shove me inside her and it hurt both of us and accomplished nothing. Being a diligent student, I knew from class that she needed time to relax – her body required the opposite of mine; no tension instead of absolute. We had played another game but only in the dark and I knew that it was a risk to suggest it but this was getting us no where so I offered.
“Yeah, okay,” she said. She sounded vulnerable but filled with desire. It was a strange contrast to her normal demeanor of confidence and indifference.
I decended and ran my tongue delicately along her labia, down and then up. She sighed, a sound that almost sent me over the edge right there. Her smell was intoxicating, a delicate musk. My oral exploration became more aggressive and her sighs changed to moans. Soon my jaw was sore and I hoped she would not require any more fine words because I’m sure I would have sounded drunk.
“Now,” she said, pulling me up.
I nearly leapt up and things happened very quickly. I found I was at just the right angle to place the head of my cock against her now very wet lips. The dark hair that thinly protected her was oily and parted easily – I can still remember the sensation of each hair slipping aside to allow me access. She grabbed my hips and pulled with great strength, while gasping.
She seemed to be in pain and I tried to back away but she said, “No! No. Keep going. Just push. Just push and don’t stop.”
Failing to accommodate a desire, I reminded myself and once more applied pressure. Suddenly we got past it and I slid in, abruptly, all the way home. She was breathing fast and I was stock still. I was inside a girl. It was amazing.
“Move,” she said. “Do it. Do it to me.”
I began to move, cautiously. Slowly I withdrew and then just as slowly pushed back in. Then again. With each stroke I gained confidence and speed. Sweat was streaming down my body and it made us slick. She began to move to, meeting me stroke for stroke.
“It’s too fucking hot!” she said and suddenly she stripped off her shirt and bra.
Now we were completely naked, for the first (and last) time, together. Sweat allowed us to glide over one another and the nearly frictionless sensation drove us to greater exertions. I threw myself at her, harder and harder. She spread her legs wider to try to pull me I deeper.
I became aware that’s he was making a sound, a rapid moan that fluttered with the rhythm of our thrusts. It built until she began to shake and get quiet. She pulled me in, as hard and as deep as she could and a small squeak escaped her as her legs shook.
I pushed my hips forward as far as I could and released. The force of my orgasm caused me to thrust several more times, uncontrolably. We lay, there, gasping and spent for several minutes. I kissed her and told her I loved her.
She told me it was stupid and cliche to say, “I love you” after sex. Only fictional people do that. (but I’m very real and I still say it often after making love; I can’t seem to help it)
We had more encounters but nothing ever quite like that again. Through high school, we spent some weeks thinking she was pregnant, we fucked other people, and she found many new and unexpected ways to hurt me.
Now, we’re both married (me for the second time) and we’ve only recently reconnected through Facebook (another cliche). We exchange pleasant, safe dialogue and never ever mention the days when I used to fondle her breasts in the graveyard or when we had what I later learned was simply phone sex.
Any way. That was my first time.
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