“Don’t worry,” I assured him, “I’ve seen plenty of penises. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” His penis, embarrassed or otherwise, was bulging the front of his shorts out into a stiff peak. When I pulled his shorts and underpants down it sprang out, an erection so rigid it was trembling. “Oh my,” I said. “That’s lovely. No,” I added, pushing his hands away. “I won’t let you cover it up. It’s beautiful.”
“I…” He began to stammer. “I’m, I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for?” I asked. “For this lovely thing? Bob, when a girl shows herself naked to you of her own desire, and you get an erection, she feels it’s a compliment to her. And I’m not going to let you waste it by masturbating, either.”
“What are we going to do?” he whispered.
I went up on tiptoe to kiss him on the mouth. His lips tasted of the wine. “We’ll make love, of course. Don’t you want to make love to me?”
He nodded, just enough for me to be able to make out that he had. “Good,” I said. “I very much want to make love to you. Kiss me.”
He pecked at my lips diffidently. “No, not like that,” I said, wrapped my arms around him, pulled him to me, and his mouth down on mine. Our bodies were pressed together and I thought I could feel his heart racing. My lips slid over his, and eventually his tongue pushed into my mouth and danced with mine.
“If I…” he said, when our mouths parted. ”If I, I don’t want to, to…”
“You won’t make me pregnant,” I told him firmly, and took him by the hand. “Come to bed.”
I knew that, having never touched a girl before, he might lose his erection at the slightest wrong move, so I didn’t waste time. Gently pushing him down on the bed on his back, I put a pillow under his head before straddling him. Holding his erect penis in my right hand, I spread my labia apart with my left hand’s fingers and let myself down on it. Bob’s eyes stared at me, fascinated, all the way.
I don’t really like woman on top all that much. In sex, I prefer variations of the missionary position, where I can feel the full contact of my man’s naked body on mine, and can wrap my arms and legs around him, pulling him as close to, and within, me as I want. But looking at Bob’s eyes as he watched my vagina slip over his penis, until it was buried to the base inside me, I felt an erotic thrill so intense that I almost orgasmed right at that moment; I was far wetter than I’d thought, so lubricated that his penis entered me without the slightest trouble, quite as though we had had sex together all our lives. In fact it was then that I understood why some women love to deflower boys in their teens, inexpert though said boys are in their introduction to sex. At that instant, I understood, this was a moment Bob would never forget, by which he would always remember me.
His penis was warm and throbbing inside my vagina, throbbing in tune to the beat of his heart, to his body’s music. When I began rocking my hips backwards and forwards, each time I thrust my hips forward his tuft of pubic hair bumped against my clitoris and sent an electric thrill through my body. I leaned forward to put my arms on the bed on either side of his shoulders, my breasts dangling above him, He raised his hands to my shoulders, raised his head, and took one of my nipples in his mouth. I shuddered and moaned, thrusting my hips faster, in rhythm to his rolling my nipple in his mouth. I felt his hands move to my back to cup my buttocks and pull me closer. His penis felt as though it was getting even longer and thicker and harder, and I knew he was close to coming. His lips shifted from my left nipple, licked across my breasts, and fastened on my right.
I felt my orgasm begin to approach as he began to buck his hips under me. It was like standing at the mouth of a tunnel, feeling the onrushing air and roar of sound as a train came down it towards you, inexorable and thrilling, knowing nothing you could do would stop it, seeing its lights shining on the tunnel walls and then on you, and then it was on you and in you and filling you from inside.
Liquid fire began pulsing through me, spreading from my vagina and clitoris up into my belly. My heart and uterus and fingers and toes clenched together, and my vision greyed out as the orgasm struck. It was so intense that I might have fainted for a moment, but just a moment. The intensity of the pleasure ebbed a little just in time for me to feel Bob thrust his hips up hard, and his own orgasm met mine in warm semen flooding through his penis and up into my vagina, painting my cervix with molten heat.
When we’d gained our breaths back somewhat we were lying naked side by side, my head on his shoulder, my arm across his chest. I moved it down to trace the length of his penis, flaccid but still warm and wet with my juices. “I thought you’d never had sex before,” I said.
“I didn’t,” he replied. ”This was my first time.”
“Oh? But you just fucked me like someone who’s done it many times before. You knew what to do and when.”
He coughed. “Well, I, uh…I read how to do it in a book.”
I propped myself up on an elbow and looked down at him incredulously. “A book?”
He nodded, blushing again. “A, uh, sex manual. It said what to do and when.”
I laughed aloud, delighted. This was so typically Bob! “And did it tell you more?”
He nodded again. “Oh yes, it has illustrated instructions on how to perform, uh, cunnilingus on a girl, and so on.”
“It does, does it?” I rolled over on to my back and spread my legs as wide as I could. “Come on, show me. Make me come.”
He did.
**********************************************************
My mother and aunt returned three days later. By then Bob and I had had sex all over the house, in the shower, on the carpet under the television (having real sex while one or other ridiculous pair of softcore actors pretended to have it on the screen above us), on my bed, on (greatly daring) my mother’s bed, and on the kitchen counter. It turned out that if I sat on the kitchen counter with my legs apart, it was just the right height for Bob to penetrate me while he stood between my thighs, both of us bending over to watch my labia kiss his penis as it thrust in and out of me. And we fucked over and over in the missionary position, too, where in my orgasmic throes I clutched him so tight that I left bruises on his shoulders and ribs.
In later years Bob and I have met often, but only screwed one time again. It doesn’t matter. He has a healthy sex life, with a succession of girlfriends, and I can’t complain about my own erotic existence either. And both of us will always have a piece of each other in our hearts.
I sometimes wonder if Errol and Valentina can say that.
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