My Unusual First Time Ch. 01

Literotic asexstories – My Unusual First Time Ch. 01 by djeroticon,djeroticon
It was the early 1960’s in small-town Connecticut. I had just turned 18 and would graduate high school in a few months. Having the grades to go to Yale if I wanted to, and the parents that could finance it, what was missing was self-confidence.

Part of it was my non- success with girls. The other was that I was 6 foot two and 165 pounds. Add to that skinny kid a pair of eyeglasses and the occasional zit, and you’ve got one big case of lacka ego.

Of course I blamed my absence of experience with women on what I perceived to be my awkward, Poindexter looks (Poindexter was a science nerd, before the words nerd or geek were even around). Today I see young ladies hanging all over fellows that look now pretty much like I did then, and acting like they can’t get enough of the guys, so I figure I was just born ahead of the times. Or cursed. Take your pick.

Anyway, President Kennedy had only been laid to rest about 6 months when I turned 18, so the country wasn’t in any rollicking good mood. The Beatles had just started to raise everyone’s standards of listening on this side of the Atlantic, so the forthcoming Youth Revolution I remember so well wasn’t there to thrust me (yet) into a world of long hair on men, Free Love, and the any-excuse-to-get-high life that would soon rule many of my generation.

So, I made do with masturbating. It’s not like I had a choice; my dick would get hard if I just got a glimpse down a well-filled blouse on the cafeteria line at school, for crying out loud, in those days.

Vital to this world of unfortunate self-help necessity was the finagling, by whatever means necessary, of men’s magazines. Playboy (Penthouse and pubic hair weren’t out yet), Gent, Adam, Nugget and other magazines, now long forgotten, passed around between us boys (especially my fellow losers) like prized possessions. I shoplifted ’em whenever I could get away with it, not that many stores had them right out on the racks next to Good Housekeeping. Being skinny was great for shoplifting, especially in the winter when I could wear a large coat. Not that I recommend any such thing.

Myself and Edward Brenner were especially palsy when it came to these magazines, swapping them on a regular basis. Often we’d get together to peruse them at Ed’s older brother’s house, a roomy old place on the opposite side of town, past all the auto repair shops. I’d ride my bike there with a few magazines tucked inside my shirt and just down the front of my pants. Ed actually kept his stash at his brother’s house, in the guest bedroom upstairs.

It’s not like Ed and I pleasured ourselves in front of each other as we looked at these mostly black and white shots of topless women and bare behinds. We were friends anyway, so it seemed like a natural extension to admit we couldn’t get enough of looking at naked women, even the often-mediocre beauties like those featured in such disposable rags. We started out in our early teens looking at worn old copies out in the woods, borrowed from the bureaus of our respective dads, so this was not some new preoccupation for either of us.

I’m sure we were both aware of what we used such pictures for when no one else was around, we just never spoke of it to each other, you see.

The reason for this whole reminiscence I’ve been putting you through is that Ed’s brother’s house was where I would have my first female sexual encounter, albeit a weird one.

Harland was Ed’s brother, and he was about six foot and built like the construction foreman he was. A mean-looking face, I remember, but nice as you could get. I never saw him raise his hand or voice to anybody, and he seemed always happy to see the two of us (me and Ed) despite being almost eight years older than us. I had my first beers from his fridge, and learned to hate my first cigarette from his offered pack of Chesterfields. Thank you, Harland.

Since we were there a couple times a week, we took notice whenever Harland had a girlfriend. Sometimes Ed and I would speculate on whether Harland was “getting any” from any particular lady friend or other, or euphemisms to that effect. We figured he was. It was easier to identify with him that way. Life is more exciting imagining yourself a winner, even if you think you’re a loser.

His latest was Rosemary, Rose for short, and she was remarkable not only for being prettier than the others but also because she actually said hello to Edward and me, whereas her predecessors would have barely glanced in our general direction if we were on fire.

I don’t know why, but she made me blush when she simply said hello. Even a needful geek like me could generally hold his own by 18 in a conversation with a woman, or fake it, but I just got hot in the face with her. One time she smiled in amusement when she saw that flush creep up my neck. I cursed myself for days.

We didn’t see her much at first but soon it was evident she’d moved in with Harland, which was a surprise. Women didn’t usually move into a guy’s digs at that time without being married to him first, not even if the house was out past the auto yards. She’d be in the living room watching Art Linkletter when the two of us would ride up on our bikes from school and nod hello on our way up to the guest bedroom, to check out this month’s Swank, or whatever.

She was usually in Capri-type slacks and one of Harland’s shirts, like Laura Petrie from The Dick Van Dyke Show. Rose was about thirty, or so seemed it to me, with shoulder-length chestnut hair done casually in a sort of flip. She had a pretty, white and pink complexion with more than a hint of Irish ancestry. Her eyebrows were very soft looking, I remember, over those grey-green eyes.

Since in those days at least half of my brain concentrated on undressing women mentally and trying to guess what they’d look like, I speculated that she had medium breasts with large brown nipples (I figured that for all brunettes, and was often wrong), a reasonably trim waist, and medium hips with probably a roundish ass.

If you’re wondering why I didn’t daydream about her vagina, the answer’s simple: men’s mags, the type we could get, weren’t showing any. Any way possible NOT to show the pubic area was used in the photographers’ set-ups. Now it seems silly, but back then such a concept (to actually show the area of a woman’s body that men’s libidos are most interested in, to oblige the very target audience the magazine is aimed at) would have seemed “too dirty.”

Regularly-obtainable pornography was a myth where I lived, so that was out. Even if you managed to flush out an old nudist magazine (and who would want to, with their average-looking people and their airbrushed private parts?) you never saw anything but maybe the hint of an opening between a woman’s legs, probably just by accident due to an airbrusher falling asleep on the assembly line from boredom. Oh, yeah, and those wonderfully illustrated medical textbooks….I forgot to mention those. Next paragraph!

It didn’t occur to me at first that Rose might wonder what two young guys were doing using a third guy’s house after school or on a Saturday, squirreled away no matter the weather. Any excuse that we were “studying” wouldn’t cut it for too long. She probably wondered if we were homosexual.

With Harland often away supervising a steady succession of construction sites (Connecticut was still booming in our area those days because of its proximity to New York City), we observed that Rose would sometimes have a bottle of Southern Comfort on the lamp stand next to her chair, keeping her company as she watched TV. Sometimes we’d sit with her and talk (in my case, just nodding a lot) and have a beer while she mixed the sweet-smelling liquor with ginger ale in an iced glass.

She was an interesting talker, giving us tips on movies we should get out and see or TV shows she liked or books she’d recently read, but mostly inviting Ed and I to talk about school and what we planned after graduation. We did our best for a while and then went upstairs, as usual. Like I say, this was a couple times a week, so she must have wondered.

One Saturday afternoon I remember Ed and I were loudly admiring a Natalie Wood look-alike model (well, he thought she looked like Natalie but I wasn’t so sure). This model was spread all over a modern apartment set, languidly eyeing the camera with a sultry expression as she almost revealed her privates from behind (on all-fours on the couch), or almost showed what was above her inner thigh (in the kitchen, stretching to reach something in the cabinet; too bad about that strategically-placed bowl on the glass counter).

I recall we were debating whether that just-got-laid look on the model’s face meant she had slept with the photographer. I liked to have such fantasies, so it was probably me taking the position that the model and the (no-doubt, studly) photog had done exactly that, and graphically describing the positions the two had used. We didn’t hear the knock at the door, or that Rose had opened it.

One thing you always dreaded in adolescence was an adult catching you doing something forbidden. I don’t mean like grabbing a smoke out by the back door of the gym. Something you would be REALLY ashamed of. Like, for instance, lounging on a bed with about a dozen or so men’s magazines open. Or, maybe, loudly using a phrase like “screwing like a mink” when describing the action in such a magazine to your friend. I figured we were dead.

Nobody said anything for a while. Ed looked sick. After all, this was his brother’s girl. Ed stood more of a chance of being disowned from his family than did I for this sin. Me, I’d probably just be grounded for six or seven years. Yes, a high school senior could still be grounded by his or her parents, back then. True fact.

Rose was looking steadily at me as she crossed the room and avoiding looking down, for now, at the variously displayed women. I couldn’t read the expression on her face, but thought maybe it was concern crossed with amusement. She didn’t look at Ed.

“Geez, we didn’t hear you knock” came from my lips, lamely. Like that was an excuse. Funny, for the first time in her presence my face wasn’t hot, and my dick was still hard. Like I said, it would get that way back then from the merest suggestion of sex, so, having been quite aroused for at least an hour before Rose came in it might take awhile to subside, even under a circumstance such as this.

“Yeah” Ed nodded. “Sorry if we were loud.” Oh, good one, Ed.

“I just wondered if you two would like a little supper, was all. I was getting hungry and was going to reheat some chicken.” Now her eyes rested for a moment on the magazine nearest her, directly below her gaze as she stood by the bed, just a moment to verify what was expected, before returning to mine. Yes, they were dirty magazines.

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I knocked twice, you see” she added in an even voice.

“It’s okay” both of us chimed. Rose didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just kept looking at me. I could smell the liquor, but she didn’t seem drunk. In fact, she looked rather pretty and friendly, like usual.

“Uh, I’m gonna be getting home for dinner, but thanks anyway, Rose” piped-in Ed, practically jumping to his feet. He looked at me to see what I was planning, but I couldn’t budge. Then he looked at all the magazines, made for a moment like he would help to put them away, and then thought better of it and began to sidle his way around the bed.

“Okay, Eddie” observed Rose, looking full at him now but seeming not to be taking any great pains to avoid talking about what we all knew to be on the bed. “See you later this week.” Ed nodded, squeezed by her, and was gone. I remember wondering if we’d ever again get together to check out the latest skin mag. Maybe not.

I don’t know why I felt calm about this, after the initial adrenaline rush. Something in Rose’s manner as she surprisingly settled her behind onto the lower corner of the bed and idly leafed through a copy of Playboy, I suppose. I noticed how quiet the room, the whole house, was. I tried to think of something to say. Maybe I needn’t try?

“I hope you aren’t ashamed,” she said. This struck me strongly, because she was right: I wasn’t ashamed. But, wasn’t I supposed to be? “These were all over the house when I was a kid. Did I tell you we had eight people in the place, including my older brothers and a couple of unmarried uncles?”

“Um, no. We haven’t talked about your family” I replied politely, watching the curls of hair that draped over her shoulder move as she continued to leaf through the pages. At least it’s Playboy, I remember thinking, meaning I was glad it wasn’t one of the less-classy ones in our collection. “Where are you from?”

“Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania” she sighed. “Heard of it? Not far from Scranton. Like I said, lot of people in a little house. You learn to tolerate and understand a lot in a small house with a large family.” Her voice was almost a whisper, like she was remembering some incident or other from her past. I liked the sound of it.

“What’s the story with you and Ed here, wasting time on these?” It wasn’t an accusatory tone she used, but her question still cut at me. Her hand moved to a Gent issue and drew it to her side on the bed. The cover model was spilling over her hands as she cupped her breasts and hid the nipples from view.

“Old habit, I guess.” I surprised myself as the truth of what I just said came through. It really was a sort of bad habit, more than anything else. I suppose I’d thought of it like this: I’d quit looking at these cheap magazines as soon as I had a girlfriend and didn’t need to masturbate. Now, suddenly, that thinking just seemed foolish.

Rose turned her head to smile at me. “I guess we all have those. Bad habits, I mean.”

“Ed and I have sort of traded these for a long time, ever since…..” I trailed off, trying to think how far back it was. “Well, you know…”

“Yes” she agreed. “I know.” Had she just stolen a glance downward at my pants, or was I imagining things? If she had, could she tell anything? I wasn’t as hard now as before, but I figured there was something showing, still.

“All I mean, Danny” she said, using my name for the first time that day, “is that you should be out going after what you want, instead of looking. You’re not an ogre, you know. Aren’t there any girls who’ll go out with you?” She turned on the bed so she could face me more comfortably. It was weird, having this sudden heart-to-heart with an older woman who absently held a magazine in her hand that I’d used many times as an aid to masturbation. I could practically tell you the phony names of every nude model in that issue, I’d used it so much.

Now I blushed. Again, Rose hadn’t used any sarcastic tone of voice or even seemed impatient with me. That was the good part. The bad was that she had my number. Nothing worse in life, I’ve learned, for the ego, there’s nothing more unnerving than someone who sees through the bullshit and has your number. If I said anything false now, Rose would be able to tell.

“I haven’t really made the effort.” There, it was out. “Too scared I guess.” Part of me was suddenly aware that I was having a real conversation with this woman, for the first time since we’d met. Another part of me was also aware that she was getting more attractive as we talked. It was as though by trying to help me Rose was exuding some sort of warmth. I understood in an instinctive way why Harland had wanted her to move in, and I remember thinking that he’d better hurry up and marry her because this was a woman you could talk to.

Rose smiled and reached out to touch my face. I didn’t flinch. Her eyes were bemused and the grey-green combination seemed to burn at me with hidden mirth. Or so I imagined. Her hand felt cool against my face. “Trust me, we all look just like that” she grinned, waving at the magazines around us. “Or some variation of that. Nothing you should be scared of, Danny.”

She pulled back and put her hands in her lap, studying me. “If you’re anything like my Uncle Rob, you’re probably at yourself all day over these.” Again she gestured around us. Before I could protest what she’d said or even feel the embarrassment that was rushing forward because of it, she continued.

“He had a collection that rivaled anyone’s, at least anyone I knew. I’d go by his room and hear him in there, sometimes three times a day. I knew what he was doing. He was loud.” Rose giggled and I liked the sound so much I didn’t even feel that huge rush of embarrassment I’d expected. My face was still red, but getting cooler. Hell, here I was in a bedroom with a woman amusingly referring directly to a guy jerking off, and I hadn’t been struck dead or anything else. I was liking her more and more by the minute.

“It seemed a shame, actually” she continued, after her giggling was under control. “Several girls in the town asked me about him all the time, you know, with that very interested attitude. Rob could have had his pick. Eventually he figured things out and ended up with a great wife. We poke fun about his obsession at family holidays, but he’s okay about things now.”

She eyed me as if to see if any of this was getting through. Of course it was, but my defenses were up automatically, still. I really didn’t feel like admitting to anyone that I was wasting my time doing something that felt so good, even if I knew she was right. I instinctively stalled.

“But it’s not like I’m hurting anyone. And, well, I can’t help it. I just get the urge. I don’t know if you can understand.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“No, no, I don’t mean anything like that. I mean because I can’t get up the nerve to try to get anywhere with a girl. I just think it would turn out bad.”

“I see.” Rose studied me again. Her expression was perplexed and seemed a tad frustrated. I saw that she was at a line and she didn’t know whether to cross it. Little could I know what she was considering. What happened next was never even in my fantasies, that’s how far out in left field it seemed.

“I’ll help you if you let me.” With that Rose calmly began gathering up the magazines and putting them in a neat pile on the dresser, letting me chew on her offer. Of course I couldn’t know what help meant, in her plan. I first thought she would try to set me up with someone, then I thought maybe she’d try to talk to me to build up my confidence, or something.

The idea of a set-up date terrified me more than one I might try to arrange for myself, so I immediately rejected that thought. Talking might help, but wasn’t Harland going to be home in a little while?

“How?” was my carefully thought-out reply. No sense assuming anything, my biology teacher always told the class.

“Well, first we’d work on the sex thing and then I’ll help you know what to do to get women to like you, I guess. It’s clear you need some building up, you know?”

All I heard was “the sex thing”, naturally. Did she mean…?

“That is, if you’ll keep quiet about it. I have a good thing with Harland, we may be in love, so if you’re not as mature as I think we can stop right now.”

Confused, I got up to walk around the room. I turned to look at her as though for the first time. What had I gotten into here? Suddenly I was threatening my best friend’s brother’s happiness, or something? And what was “work on the sex thing” about.

“You want a drink, come downstairs and I’ll get you a beer” was Rose’s way of dealing with my confusion. She walked out and stepped lightly down the stairs. She seemed happy. Before I got up the nerve to follow I took the time to put away the magazines in the closet, up in the ceiling pocket that was there, just like an eave. I wondered if I’d ever retrieve them from that hiding spot again.

She was in the living room pouring a Schlitz from the can into a tall glass for me by the time I got there. The TV was off. She set the glass on a coaster by the chair opposite hers and then turned to sit. She raised her Southern Comfort and ginger and we saluted each other.

A drink was what I needed, all right. I felt it flow through my tense body as Rose began talking to me about channeling my energy into something more positive, about how I was a good-looking guy who needed maybe a few pounds, a new style of glasses and some clothes that fit me right. It was a testament to how much I already trusted her that I only internally winced in pain about a hundred times as she very nicely picked over the carcass of my self-confidence.

The beer was halfway gone when I started to really feel it kick in. I managed to get one only once or twice a month (the drinking age was 21 then), so I had a low tolerance. It was a good feeling, but I put the glass down and didn’t pick it up again that day. No sense missing out on any of this extraordinary event in my life.

“So, the way I see it is you need to stop being solitary with your desire” she was saying, “and branch out to show how you feel to actual women, girls. Not some picture. You need to let them see how you yearn for them. To make contact. But it has to start easy, with no big deal about it, right?”

Sounded good, and I was impressed with the way she seemed a natural at giving advice. The words she used were put together well. I could almost conceive of myself following through. Almost. I nodded to her and received a smile in return.

“Good. So, if you’re ready and relaxed, let’s go back upstairs.” She drained her glass and got to her feet.

Go back upstairs? For what? Whatever it was, this seemed like we were going too far.

“How about Harland?”

“Gone on a job” she replied over her shoulder as she started to make her way up the stairs. “Back on Tuesday. But he has nothing to do with this and you won’t talk about it with anyone, will you.” It wasn’t a question.

“I-I don’t, I mean I….” was my articulately-put protest, but I don’t think she heard me, since it came out like a whisper. I watched her re-enter the guest bedroom, thankful in the back of my mind that she hadn’t gone into hers.

It was a big step to go up there, but I made myself do it. So, my first time was going to be with an older woman, in her home. No problem. Piece of cake. I guess I surprised myself by not rushing out the door. The rest of that beer looked very tempting, but I managed to leave it behind. In the end, it was simple curiosity that pushed me up those steps.

Rose was sitting on the bed in those Capri slacks and that man’s shirt. It was white, I remember, striped with some pale blue and black lines. She wore black flats, nothing remarkable about them as I recall. Her face was a little pink, probably from the liquor. Her hands were palm down against the bed, her knees together. She wore a pleasant, friendly expression. We could be about to discuss remodeling the room.

“Have you ever seen a woman naked, other than in pictures?”

“No.” That wasn’t true, actually, because once when I was much younger I saw a friend’s mother in the shower, just for a few moments when I accidentally went in to use the bathroom. I figured that didn’t count.

“So I guess that would really get you excited, right? A naked woman posing for you?”

I just stared. This was all happening, but it really couldn’t be.

Rose didn’t need an answer, of course. “When you’re playing with yourself do you like to be in a particular position?”

“Huh? Oh. I see. I mean, like maybe sitting down or lying in bed. Okay. I guess, sitting down.” I realized suddenly that I was hard again, my cock tip brushing tightly against the vent of my Fruit of the Looms, and no doubt making a tent in the front of my Robert Hall slacks.

“Good. Then you should probably sit down in that chair” she said lightly, like we were just going to get good and comfy with each other. She didn’t move, but watched as I settled into the plush fabric of the chair. It was roomy. Rose, I noticed, was now looking at my pants. The whole house again seemed quiet. You couldn’t even hear traffic from up the main road. I idly remembered that my parents would wonder why I was late for dinner, but to hell with it I was 18 now and could figure out some excuse.

“We’re just doing this part to get some stuff out of your system” she let me know as she stood and began unbuttoning the sleeves of her shirt. “I know how it can be, growing up with boys and men. I kind of like it, actually, that they can’t keep their hands off themselves at your age. Still, it is a waste.” There was a bit more emphasis in her words now, and I realized she might be getting more than just the fun of being the teacher out of this afternoon. That made me feel better.

“Slow or fast?” she asked. At my quizzical expression, she added: “Taking my clothes off, I mean. What’s better for you, slow or fast.” She had the shoes off now and the shirt was halfway unbuttoned down the front. She also had moved closer to me, standing maybe five or six feet away.

“Slow, I think.” Like women peeled off for me every day, right? And, of course by now I’d have a preference. Slow sounded good.

“I thought so. And real close, probably, also.” Without waiting she did exactly that, stepping across the carpet to stand within two feet of my shoes. I could see her white Playtex bra front within the opening of her shirt. The tops of her breasts could just be discerned.

She said nothing for a while as she slowly unbuttoned the shirt completely and slid it off. Like I said, it was a man’s shirt so it just seemed to disappear off her with a simple shrug. I didn’t see it fall to the floor because my eyes were alternating between her own and the sight of her from the waist up in just a bra.

It was certainly not a sexy brassiere. It was utilitarian, it did the job. But, it did contain a well-formed pair of breasts, ones that seemed nicely in proportion with her waist and hips. Losing that shirt was a revelation, as I could now see that Rose had a classic figure, and skin that looked soft and smooth and unmarked. Her waist was not tiny but neither was it wide in relation to the swell of her hips, which curved out perfectly just under the waistband of her slacks. Her navel was a cute little indentation line that ran about an inch before curling into its opening, like an upside-down question mark.

“I hope you aren’t going to be shy” Rose observed, nodding pointedly at my lap as she teasingly reached back behind herself with both hands to start on her bra clasp. This thrust her breast flesh out to where it spilled a bit over the front of her undergarment. “You need to have some relief, I’m assuming. That’s what we’re doing here, you know.”

With that she did a slow turn to reveal that her busy fingers had opened all but one of the hooks of her bra clasp. With her back to me I had the momentary privacy to do exactly as she said and fish my straining erection out of the confines of both slacks and briefs. It filled my hand with warmth and pleasure and the urgent feeling of need; I’d have to take it easy on myself here, I knew, or this would be over in a few seconds.

With the clothes all tight against me I decided to pull my slacks down to my knees and extract my balls from the pouch of my underwear, as well. They felt very swollen, probably just my imagination. I fought to banish all worries that Rose might not “like” the looks of my equipment when she turned around again, instead opting to concentrate on getting re-situated in the chair and to watch as she opened that final hook.

Which she did in another moment or two, letting her shoulders stoop forward so the shoulder straps of the bra could slip off her arms. I could see the faint lines on her back of a bikini line, where the sun hadn’t reached last season or so. I saw how nicely her shoulders were formed as she straightened back up, the bra on the floor now with her shirt, her hair resting at just the right point on her back and on those shoulders. I even liked the backs of her feet, which could be seen under her slacks.

When she turned there was little artifice or tease about it. She just presented her breasts to me as she took in the sight of this skinny teenager sitting in a chair gripping his cock. We both breathed in. I hoped she did for the same reason as I, for her tits were the stuff I dream about even today. You can use all the terms like perfectly-formed or well-rounded or what-have-you, but any man knows when an exceptional pair of breasts meet his gaze.

Her nipples weren’t brown but instead light pink, with large areolas that were a darker shade. They looked erect to me but perhaps hers were always like that. They sat just a bit high on the weight of her breast flesh, seeming to point slightly upward. Her breasts had just the correct amount of droop to them, just enough to bring a nice soft shadow to the undersides. Not sag, mind you, but droop. I was in awe, being at the time more of a breast than ass fancier. More about that another time.

“You get very red” she observed. I thought she might mean my neck and face until I saw that Rose was studying my cock as I feasted on her naked breasts. “You aren’t about to- -”

“No, no” I quickly interrupted. “It just gets like that.” She smiled and stepped closer to me, bringing that marvelous bosom with her. She knew I’d want to see her more close-up and at the same time she wanted to appraise me, that was clear.

“Stroke it a little” she teased, and when I numbly reached out to try for one of her nipples she pulled back with a laugh. “No, silly. Your cock.”

Hearing that word from her mouth was like a shock treatment. No girl ever said cock, did she? Not even grown women. It was so dirty. If I had been stroking myself right then I would have lost it immediately. I remember I actually gasped out loud.

“What? Oh, I said cock. Cock cock cock. You like that? How about cunt? Or fuck? Then there’s always the ever-popular pussy.”

I stared at her in amazement. Until this moment I would of course have no idea that a soft spot in my libido would be a pretty girl talking dirty. How would I know, since no girl or adult female I’d known had ever said such things aloud. With Rose speaking like this it was all I could do not to groan out loud in lust.

Rose couldn’t help but bust out giggling. “You should see your face” she laughed, and soon enough she had me laughing as well. I must have looked very goofy sitting there with it all hanging out and getting this crazy look of shock on my face, it’s true. She reached to touch my face quickly as we both quieted down, then told me I was sweet, and then asked if I wanted her to pose any particular way.

Did I ever. But right now I was so screwed up between laughter, lust, embarrassment, a half-a-beer, and the overall strangeness of these events that I wasn’t exactly at my best in the speaking intelligently department. Plus, in the midst of our laughter I had quickly flashed on my friend Edward, wondering if he knew I was still at his brother’s house. That was a worry. I couldn’t tell Ed about this, not ever.

“The reason I ask is, well Danny, you look close to, you know, at least to my eyes, and since this is your first time I’d like it to be as you want, once I get the rest of my clothes off. You know?” Her voice was a bit distracted, as her gaze was on my stiff shaft and the swollen balls beneath, in fact Rose looked like it was all she could do not to grab it (or was that my wishful thinking?). “It’s no big deal if you can’t wait, just go ahead and finish. But if you slow down I’ll pose anyway you want me. I know you must have favorites. Like in the magazines.”

“It’s only that you’re so beautiful, Rosemary” I said sincerely. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Idly, almost unconsciously, I ran my fist up and down my dick, feeling a drop of precum smearing on my fingers as I excruciatingly caressed just the glans for a moment.

“I’m just the first naked girl you’ve seen in the flesh, is all” she replied with a friendly grin, bringing her breasts down to within a foot of my face. I could see the dimpled skin surrounding her protruding nipples, inside the darker rings. Yes, I believe she was finding this quite enjoyable, teasing me, teasing us. “Only I’m only half nude. So hold on.”

Rose slid out of the Capri’s more quickly than I expected, kicking them away so I could see her white panties and smooth, long legs. I noticed she was touching her breasts from time to time as she made a show of turning this way and that to reveal her sexy bottom encased in those panties, and that she steadily watched me play openly with my erection while doing so. My cock was alive with nerve endings, making it feel positively huge in my fist. I had never seen the head swell larger, that was true. It still amazes me that I held off in coming – I’d seen more than enough to cause it, for sure.

I liked the way the vee of her panties was darker than the rest of the material, which meant there was actual honest-to-god pubic hair under there trying to peek through. I tried to imagine what her vagina would look like.

She walked over to the side of my chair to first bend forward and tease me with those luscious tits again for some moments, then turning to bend in the opposite direction, bringing her underwear-clad backside close to my face. I could see the division of her ass cause the opaque cotton to adapt to her shape as it stretched over her roundness. “Oh, Rose” I recall saying.

“Is that what you like, Danny?” she asked, craning her head to look at me even as she held that position. I nodded. “You want me to take the panties off?” I groaned in agreement and had to completely stop my self-pleasuring for fear of going off that second. “Right here, like this? Or maybe on the floor?”

“On the floor?” I muttered. My head was in a daze. I think all of the blood in my body was elsewhere. My eyes were burning holes in that underwear.

Without answering Rose gently got to her knees on the carpet and moved herself inside my legs. She my slacks down to my ankles. Her touch was like a fire on me, even though all she used was her fingertips, and those barely grazed my skin. For a moment while she pulled my slacks down her pretty face was in front of and beneath my leaking penis, and she took that moment to appraise me from that angle.

“You have to go home in these” she mused aloud, meaning the slacks, speaking almost to herself as she drew first one leg and then the other over my shoes and out from under them. She tossed the slacks behind me and then was turning before I knew what she was doing, getting into an all-fours position facing away from me.

I could now open my legs freely and needed to, for Rose backed herself in close and used her calves to move my shins apart. I was presented with her backside, not two feet away from my raging hard-on. Above it was her long back and the pretty profile of her face as she strained to look back at me. She had an almost mischievous expression.

“Is this good?” It was a purposely-leading question. This was the most sexualized moment of my life and it was about to reach its peak. What could be better? “Good” was not the word to use.

“Thank you, Rose” was my only way to answer.

“You’re welcome” was the cheeky reply. “Are you comfortable? Ready for me to roll my panties down?” I swear, with such words coming out of her to accompany the scenery, I cannot imagine how I withstood it!

I had already drawn myself as close to the edge of the chair as possible and still be defined as sitting; any more to the edge and I’d fall off. Before me and below me was the nice, rounded set of ass cheeks of a woman I could fall in love with in a heartbeat. Above that were her eyes, watching me. In my hand was my aching cock. And, I was about to see in the flesh that which I had never beheld, the private areas of this same woman.

And, it was 1964, and I was in my 18th year. My whole life ahead of me.

Supporting herself with one hand, Rose used the other to reach back and draw the cotton fabric down over the skin of her buttocks. She brought her thighs together to facilitate this. Soon I could see the dark division of her crack, held tightly together as the panties continued to be pulled down. My heartbeat was pounding in my chest and ears. Rose continued watching me, though it must have been uncomfortable having to keep her neck like that.

Once she could no longer push the panties down, owing to the awkwardness of her position, she reached under with that same hand and began pulling them off from below. Now, I had jerked off to many poses like this from behind, imagining that the model was spread open so I could see it all, but of course no such thing was ever shown in those days. Imagine how I felt, as the panties were finally slipping down to her lower thighs and Rose’s legs were opening just for me. Plus, she was looking right at me as she did it.

I stayed my hand just long enough to get a good look at the pucker of her anus, nestled within her luxurious, deep crack, and then the pretty pink lips and opening of her vagina below it. Rose arched her back as best she could, as I furiously renewed the stroking of my prick, her movements causing the whole of her private areas now to part to my eyes. I saw her pussy open like an orchid blossom, I swear, and her asshole muscles working to reveal a quick view of its dark tunnel. And then I was coming. Uncontrollably.

I sprayed thick white cum in the air, some of it landing as far up as Rose’s shoulder blades and hollow of her back, some of it all over my own thigh and knee, but most of it arcing across the whole of her magnificent ass. Rose made an “Oh” sound a couple of times, I remember, but otherwise just held her pose.

I, on the other hand, am sure I made inhuman noises of joy as all the tension in my body emptied onto her. Ropes of cum clung to the cheeks of her ass, spurts of it sprayed directly onto her asshole and drooled down onto her exposed cunt, still more streamed onto her upper thighs, with the last of it hitting the carpet beneath my spurting cock. It seemed to go on forever, and don’t we all wish it could.

After it subsided, I felt a strong, nearly overpowering urge to sleep. That was new to me, probably because it was the first time an orgasm had literally wrung me out like a rag. Usually I’d feel energized after a good climax.

The next few minutes seem a blur, as Rose helped us both clean up. First she got me to my feet and dragged us to the bathroom, where she seated me on the toilet and wet a small towel in the sink, under warm water. This she gave to me and, without a word, stood facing the sink, presenting her backside to me once more. This woke me up.

I took my time gently removing every trace of sperm from her thighs, vagina and rear hole, as well as her back and ass cheeks. It was great for me to be able to study her like this, a real anatomy lesson, and Rose squirmed a bit more than I would have expected from simply being washed. As well, there was a definite funk in the air that was apart from the smell of my own jism, and it dawned on me this was my first scent of female arousal. A new world was opening up, as they say.

It was when she had rinsed out the cloth and turned to kneel before me that Rose spoke again. “I want you to remember not to tell anyone. Also, you can depend on me to be available whenever Harland isn’t around if you feel the need to jerk off. We must get that out of your system. No magazines, remember.” She said all this as she gently cleaned my cock, balls and thighs of any remnants of my orgasm. My equipment was very limp, but I still appreciated the feeling of having her face so close to my body there, and the gentle touch as she cleaned me. It was very comforting and sexual.

I couldn’t believe my ears, though. What was the catch? Was this really happening? And by the way, who would believe me if I did decide to tell? As Rose finished cleaning me off I simply said “Thank you, thank you” for lack of anything else coherent to express my feelings.

I marveled again at her terrific body as she stood up to rinse the cloth yet again. Her breasts seemed to beg for attention, the nipples looked so perpetually aroused. Her neck was a little flushed, I noticed. Then I admired the swell of her backside again, the smooth length of her legs, the abundant but soft hair above her cunt. I just looked and looked.

Rose was taking a long time rinsing, it dawned upon me. I looked up and saw a sort of stricken expression on her face. Our eyes met.

“Look, I didn’t expect this to happen, but I can’t wait until you leave. I need you to help me out right now. Okay?”

“Uh, sure. What is it?” The flush was darker at her collarbone area now, and her breath was audible.

“Just sit there and I’ll be quick” she answered in a distracted manner. And so I did, just sitting there, looking up at her as her eyes seemed to glaze over a bit. Suddenly, Rose straddled my right leg and plopped down on the area of my thigh just above my knee. At the same time she brought her breasts right up to my face. “Hold me. Tight.”

She didn’t have to ask me twice. I pulled her frame to me and held on tight. Her nipples didn’t just feel good pressed into my face; they tasted good between my lips and on my tongue. Her cunt didn’t just drip hot moisture onto my skin; it made a slick squishing sound as she deliberately pushed herself back and forth on my thigh muscle, faster and faster. My pride went up a notch or two as I smelled her strong arousal in that bathroom and then felt her thighs clamp my leg as Rose flooded my naked skin with her orgasm, my right ear full of her little sounds. I swear her cunt lips were clinging to my leg.

Again and again she reached peaks of pleasure by riding my leg that afternoon. I knew about the capacity for multiple orgasms in women, but Rose definitely takes the record in my life experience. I took advantage of the wracking orgasms she was having by running my hand down to her ass and feeling freely of it, including inside her crack, where the flesh was very warm to my touch. This seemed to help her reach another peak or so, so I experimented by fingering the area of her rear hole. She seemed to like it.

At long last her writhing slowed and then stopped, and it was Rose’s turn to collapse. I hugged her for a while and then felt a funny thing: warm tears on my shoulder. In alarm I pulled her from my neck and looked into her reddened eyes.

“It happens to me when it’s a good cum” she explained. “Just some sort of switch inside turns on the tears. I needed to cum, so thank you, Danny, for helping me. I hope you don’t think it was weird, what I did.”

“It was cool” I stupidly said, which made us both laugh as Rose clambered off me. I held her in place long enough so I could get my fingers down there between her legs and gently feel that moisture there. She was slick, almost oily. I found that to be a tremendous turn-on, although my equipment was far from functional at the moment. The animal smell of her on my fingers was another delight.

The excuse I gave my parents as I ate a re-warmed dinner in the kitchen was a flat tire on my bike. They probably didn’t believe it, but I suddenly could have cared less. Though far from the confident young man I would someday become, I was one step closer, and looking forward to the next time at Rose’s house.

Part 2 is in the works.