Bea in the Bathroom: Freddy’s Side of the Story by slick_chick
Explore the steamy encounter between Bea and Freddy in the bathroom in this adult sex story. Read Freddy's side of the story filled with passion and desire.<br/>
This third installment of my “Freddy story” is a short work of what I like to call “third-person probable fiction.” But I have decided that this story belongs under the “True Story” category, because it is completely derived from–and firmly based on–the true story of how I lost my virginity in a very unique way.
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Author’s Note:
In my story, “Freddy in the Bathroom: Virginity Rubbed Away,” I already told this entire story from my point-of-view, as one of the two people who actually lived this unique and unexpected event. And in the follow-up story, “Freddy in the Bathroom: My Wife’s Confession” (posted at this same website), my husband has already described for you in great detail his thoughts and reactions to my having confessed to him about what took place between Freddy and me in that small bathroom on that fateful Sunday afternoon, back when I was a young lady. And at the time of its writing and editing, I had originally thought that that second story by my husband would be the final installment of my “Freddy in the Bathroom” series.
But I eventually decided that there was still one more side of my “Freddy in the Bathroom” story left to tell. And that’s Freddy’s side of the story. And since there’s really no way for him to tell you himself (let’s face it, Freddy most likely doesn’t even know that these online, x-rated stories of mine even exist–that is, if he happens to still be alive somewhere on this planet), I have decided to go out on a limb here, and tell Freddy’s side of the story for him. However, I must caution you that if you haven’t already done so, I highly recommend that you read the first two stories of this series before you read this one, because in this story I am intentionally leaving out key details that I have already described in great detail in the first story, and that my husband has already thoroughly described in the second story. And so you will need that key background knowledge in order to fully appreciate this third story in what has turned out to be my “Freddy in the Bathroom” trilogy.
Looking back on how everything happened, and analyzing this whole situation over and over again over the course of several weeks with the valuable help of my husband, Ray, I was eventually able to figure out the most-likely scenario that took place in regards to Freddy’s role in this life-changing event. In other words, I finally realized why Freddy did what he did to me, and how come he did things the way that he did.
Basically, Ray and I went through all this in-depth analysis stuff (which by the way, had started out as a “guided re-enactment” of the event itself in our own bathroom, with my husband playing the role of “Freddy,” and me coaching him on exactly what to do, and how to do it) in an effort to try to help me to better understand–and ultimately come to grips with–everything that happened between Freddy and me. Of course, I would be less than honest with you if I didn’t also admit that my open and frank “Freddy” discussions with my husband inevitably led to some of the most awesome sex that Ray and I had ever experienced together. But be that as it way, all I can say is that this analysis of my own actions and reactions that day in the bathroom when I was in the process of losing my virginity to that older boy, coupled with the analysis of Freddy’s actions and his most-probable intentions, turned out to be very therapeutic for me. It also brought answers to most of the nagging questions that had confused and bothered me for many years.
For example, one thing I had always wondered about was why Freddy spent so much time masturbating me and finger-fucking the crap out of me. Did he do it because he wanted to see how much he could make me orgasm, perhaps as a “macho” notch in one’s belt kind of thing? Or was it because he was trying to make the sexual encounter itself last as long as possible? Or was it just his way of buying time for himself so that he could eventually build up enough courage to actually bring his dick into direct contact with my pussy?
And that last question about dick-to-pussy contact brings up one of the biggest questions that had bothered me for many years: Why did Freddy fuck me that day in the bathroom? After all, he didn’t have to. He could have done any number of other things, instead. For instance, he could have jacked himself off while he was feeling out my pussy. Or he could have had me jack him off and make him cum, before we each went our separate ways. Or he could have rubbed his dick against my pussy crack while he jacked himself off until he came all over my clitoris and pussy lips. But obviously that wasn’t enough for Freddy. Instead, he chose to insert his penis up into my possibly-fertile baby-making hole, so that he could fuck the crap out of me, and end up releasing the vast majority of his ejaculated sperm right up against my cervix.
But ironically, the question that bothered me even more was: Why didn’t Freddy ever come back for a second helping of my tasty “pussy-pie” after he left the bathroom that day? In other words, why didn’t Freddy attempt to fuck me a second time–or even a third time–either during that same afternoon, or during later sexual encounters on a different day? After all, he had to have realized that I would continue to cooperate completely with him, just like I had already done during that very first time. And at his age, I’m positive that Freddy had the ability and the stamina to be able to ejaculate several times in one day, with very short refractory periods in between each of his orgasms.
Well, I’m pretty sure that I have figured out the answers to these questions and many more. And now I’m finally ready to share those answers with you.
It is my hope that reading this story might give you a little better insight into why I don’t feel any animosity towards Freddy for what we both secretly did together that day in the bathroom so many years ago. While it’s true that Freddy was the one who initially got the ball rolling that day (through his use of intimidation and verbal threats), I’m the one who ended up taking that ball from him, and selfishly running it in for a “sexual touchdown.”
And to this day, I still don’t regret what I did. As far as I’m concerned, I’m the one who actually came out on top that day. After all, thanks to my unforeseen sexual encounter with Freddy in that bathroom, I ended up orgasming my ass off and experiencing a long string of incredibly-strong, gushing orgasms–the likes of which I had never experienced before–whereas when everything was finally said and done, Freddy himself only had a single orgasm to show for all his efforts. Of course, in all fairness to Freddy, I have to admit that he did manage to make that single orgasm of his count, by cumming all over my cervix. But please keep in mind that I also came all over his dick, while he was “peeing” (releasing sperm) deep inside me like that.
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Bea in the Bathroom: Freddy’s Side of the Story
by slick_chick
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There’s something very magical–and dangerous–about adolescence. It’s that unique period in our lives when we tend to feel invincible. It’s also that special time in our lives when we are left in a perpetually-horny state, and with virtually no socially-acceptable outlets for the much-needed release of our super-strong, pent-up sexual urges and feelings. And although masturbation in private does provide some sexual relief, it just isn’t satisfying enough for most young people, due to the fact that we heterosexual humans naturally have a deeply-seated, primal urge to share our sexuality with other people of the opposite sex.
And that was the situation that Freddy and Bea both found themselves in that fateful Sunday afternoon. Freddy’s instinctive, unmet need to share his sexuality with a girl eventually led him to force his intentions on Bea (a girl who was three years younger than him), which ultimately resulted in him technically raping her. But ironically, Bea was okay with letting Freddy have sex with her in that small bathroom that day. And that was because Bea’s instinctive, unmet need to share her sexuality with a boy–coupled with her natural sexual curiosity and her extreme level of horniness at the time–led her to willingly and actively cooperate with Freddy (an older boy who she already knew and trusted, but didn’t like very much as a person) throughout their sexual encounter, which ultimately resulted in Bea deriving an incredible amount of orgasmic pleasure for herself in the process. In other words, Freddy ended up making Bea orgasm much more than she had ever managed to make herself orgasm during any of her past masturbations.
And even though neither of them realized it at the time, Freddy and Bea also had one more thing in common (other than their high levels of pent-up, adolescent sexuality). Because of their looks, they were both commonly ostracized by their Hispanic peers. Freddy was considered an outcast for having such dark skin that he looked more like a black guy than a Mexican-American. And Bea was often made fun of and called derogatory names because she was a Hispanic girl who just happened to have light, olive-toned skin and a European-shaped nose that made her look like an Anglo.
But it’s time to back up a little bit and tell this story from the beginning–at least, from a beginning that makes some sense.
So our little torrid tale begins with Freddy lying in his bed in his small bedroom on a sunny Sunday afternoon. He normally went to church every Sunday with his mother, Maria. But this Sunday, he had managed to convince his mother that he wasn’t feeling very well, so that she would allow him to skip church and stay at home while Maria went ahead and attended Mass by herself.
But Freddy had lied to his mother, because he wasn’t actually feeling bad or sick. Instead, he was feeling extremely horny. And he knew that if he stayed home from church, he might be able to finally get his hands on a real, live pussy. And that was thanks to Bea, who should be arriving at his house any minute–that is, if she came over to his house to watch TV, like she normally did every Sunday afternoon.
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