The Education of Marcie

Literotic asexstories – The Education of Marcie by Falderal

As I pushed the old Toro, my head pointed straight down, watching drops of sweat bomb the sidewalk. I was pooped from mowing old lady Maloney’s lawn on the hottest day this August (duh). I contemplated whether a beer stolen from my dad’s stash or a Coke would do best to save my life.

“Hey, Fart Face!”

“Hey, Plank,” I answered almost automatically.

My real name is “Mitch” but “Fart Face” was what Marcie fondly called me. Shortly after Marcie had moved in down the street, at about age seven, I had let out a baked bean nurtured whopper which had provoked Marcie to label me with the name. Not wanting her to be left out, I came up with “Plank;” one, because she was skinny as a rail and, two, because I had just learned what a plank was. They had become kind of secret passwords to us. From the start we had been fast friends. Who could resist a girl who could out cuss, out spit, and out run any boy her age? Until my testosterone kicked in at about 13, she could probably have beat the crap out of me too. Marcie could be a pain, she always had to have her way and she was competitive as hell, but she would do anything for you, as long as you didn’t cross her. Besides, she was a lot of fun.

“Whuzup?” I asked as I parked the Toro on her front lawn and headed to the porch.

“Not much,” and after a pause, “you’re looking grosser than usual.”

I looked down at my drenched T and the blades of grass sewed into my leg hairs, making my legs look like worn out Astroturf.

“This is the way us real men are supposed to look.”

“Yah right, if I get you a lemonade to you promise not to get close to me? Some nasty cooties there.”

“A deal,” I gratefully responded.

As she disappeared beyond the screen door, I snuck a look at her perfect apple-shaped ass; she sure wasn’t the plank I used to know. As I idly picked bits of turf from my leg hairs, I thought about our evolving friendship. As we had grown to our late teens, Marci and I had seen less and less of each other. She went to a private school, me to old Stuart High. I worked some evenings at the video store and she played soccer and more soccer. During that time her breasts had grown some but remained fairly small. However, they had a pronounced perk and, I’m sure, didn’t sag a bit. Plus, with all that soccer, she had legs and an ass to kill for. Combine that with strawberry blond hair and sparkling blue eyes and it was hard to remember that she was my good buddy and buddies don’t fuck buddies. Living just three doors apart we still saw each other some, but generally the greetings were quick and we were now too old to “go out and play.”

“Here ya go,” as she handed me a tall glass and we both settled into porch chairs. I took a long slug as I waited for her to open the conversation. Usually Marcie chattered nonstop but as I looked over at her she just stared at the drink in her hand.

“You ready for college?” I tried as an icebreaker.

“Yah, I guess so,” she said without any note of conviction.

“What’s the matter, I thought you’d be psyched.”

Marcie was an All-State high school soccer player and was going to Georgia Tech on a free ride to play. On top of that, she had nonstop gray cells, finishing second in her class at a braining private school. Even her pre-med major should come easy.

“I guess I just don’t feel ready to go. To be honest, I’m a little scared.’

‘Of what?” I responded, “You should have it shade-made.”

“You won’t laugh?”

I gave her my most sincere “No, I promise,” knowing “don’t laugh” was one of the hardest promises to keep.

“When I go to school I don’t want to just study and play soccer, I want to go out with boys and, well, do all the things college girls do, dating and all that.”

“Sounds like great game plan to me,” I responded.

“The problem is I don’t know a thing about men, I haven’t dated in high school. I didn’t have the time and, besides high school boys are such dorks.”

“I’ll assume you don’t include me in the Dork Kingdom. You could always teach the guys to spit watermelon seeds and instruct them on the latest cuss words like you did with me.”

“I’m serious, I’m afraid I’ll make an ass of myself. You know I hate it when I’m clueless.”

“Maybe for once you’ll just have to do a trail-and-error sort of thing.’ I remembered once how Marcie had thrown her bat down and broke into tears when, after the first few swings of her life she hadn’t hit a softball. Marcie didn’t take frustration lightly. Her solution was that we met while no one else was around and I threw her pitches until my arm was drop- off-and-die tired. In a couple of days everyone in the outfield dropped back when Marcie was up.

Marcie looked at me as if the answer to her problem was written on my sweaty chest.

“I know, maybe you can help me. Like, pretend to be a date so I could practice being with a guy.”

“Huh?” was the most brilliant response I could come up with.

After a bit I continued, “Shit Marcie, I haven’t dated that much, I’m a lousy dancer and still feel a bit lost around chicks myself. I’d feel goofy pretending to be your date.”

“It won’t be goofy, it might be fun. We may learn something together,” she countered.

“Tell you what; my parents are off on a vacation before I go to college so we can have my place all to ourselves. Why don’t you come over about 8 and we’ll just kind of wing it.”

My brain was spinning, trying to figure what I was getting into. But I was also intrigued, having a date with Marcie, even a pretend date, didn’t sound all that bad. Reluctantly I agreed, thanked her for the drink, and hurried the three doors down to my house.

While I was in the shower, I considered what Marcie was talking about. We might kiss; I didn’t know if I was a good kisser but I enjoyed it and the few chicks to grace my pucker upper seemed to enjoy it too. We might dance; although I didn’t like to dance that much and wasn’t very good, I also know being a decent dancer was one of the shortest routes to getting laid. What really got my pecker puffed a little was the idea that we might talk about what turns guys on. Moves and stuff, whatever. I was both nervous and curious as I pulled a clean tee shirt down over my antiperspirant-painted pits and donned some jeans shorts.

At my knock, Marcie greeted me in a pink silk blouse and a short blue skirt. She even had on a touch of make up. Her strawberry hair was down and flaxen, not pulled back in a braid like it usually was. After years of seeing her outfitted as a tomboy, it struck me near blind how beautiful she was. I had always known that, since puberty at least, she had a great body, but now she looked so, well, feminine.

“Would you like to join me in a glass of wine?” she said in unfamiliar formality. She seemed just a touch nervous, unusual for Marcie.

“Sure.” I would have liked a Bud but knew that wine was better for the breath.

“Look. Marcie, I’ve been thinking and I’m not sure how much help I can be. Tiffany is the only girl I dated for any length of time and with her I just learned how to wrestle in the back seat of our Taurus. Besides she eventually ditched me for a muscle-bound airhead. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

After I finished my speech, Marcie set down her wine glass and put her hands on my shoulders.

“Kiss me, Fart Face.”

Marcie and I had snuck dry little kisses a few times when we were about 10 and once played spin-the-bottle with some other kids until our lips were sore, but that didn’t prepare me for this. I put my glass down too, stared briefly into those sparkling blue eyes, and dove in for oral combat. At first our lips met gently to find the right fit and warm to each other. After a few seconds I stuck my tongue out a bit to caress her lips. That set Marcie loose, never one to do things half measure, her tongue started to duel with mine and explore my lips and mouth. As we kissed, one hand remained behind my neck while the other found my butt to press my now swelling crotch into hers.

“Damn, was this practice? It felt real to me. What have I gotten myself into?”

To explore the situation, I slowly pulled my right hand from her back and gently cupped her breast. Her flesh was soft and hot and I could feel an erasure-like nipple press into my palm through her bra. After a few seconds, Marcie broke away from me.

“I blew it,” I thought. Had I gone too far?

“Wow!” she said in a husky whisper.

Maybe I was safe after all.

She put her hand on my cheek and asked “Maybe you can kiss me on some other places, to see how that feels?”

“Like?” I responded.

“Like on my neck and shoulders and stuff.”

I wasn’t sure where “and stuff” was located but I started willingly on her neck; nibbling, licking lightly and a quick suck here and there. Marcie started to breathe deeply and when I looked up I saw her eyes were closed to slits. Finally I started at the base of her long neck and worked my way up until I reached her earlobe and gave it a gentle nibble. I could feel goose bumps form on her arm. I could also feel her reach between us, careful not to break contact and unbutton the top few buttons of her blouse.

Needing no further cue, I pulled her to the couch and pushed one side of her blouse off her shoulder and half way down her arm. As I held her to me, I explored the nooks and crannies of first one shoulder then the other.

As I came up for air, she said “I can’t believe what a turn-on it is to be kissed on the neck.” She grinned at me fondly and put her arms loosely around my neck. “I guess it wouldn’t be a valid experiment unless you kissed my chest too.’ To show that she meant it she gave me a quick peck on the cheek. She stood up, undid the last couple of buttons of her blouse and reached in front and undid her bra. Before I could catch my breath, she was stark naked from the waist up with her glorious breasts pointed straight at me. They were indeed perky devils that jiggled rather then swayed. As she tidily put her blouse and bra on the end table I watched how her breasts seemed to shimmer with each movement. I was surprised at how dark her areoles were, given her otherwise pale coloring. They were like two black eyes staring at me. Her boobs may have been small but her nipples were industrial sized, projecting almost a half inch out and looking as large and firm as erasures.