Message-ID: <15968eli$9810041957@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Theodore@Spoonbender.demon.co.uk (Spoonbender) Subject: **** ASSM New Spoonbender Story - First (First Time, Cons) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: Theodore@Spoonbender.demon.co.uk MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <3614f4be.259523640@news.demon.co.uk> First (Cons, First Time) ************************************************ (c) 1998 Spoonbender. A short story of an adult nature. Not to be read by minors. If you don't like this sort of stuff or you are underage then don't read. Contains allusions to naughty, erotic goings on. Can be freely distributed as long as it is not changed, including this heading. If it is to be archived on a fee paying archive then please email me first for permission. Note that the characterisations are mine. I do not like people stealing them for inclusion in their own efforts. Please email me with comments, constructive criticism, fantasies you want put into words etc. Don't flame me if you don't like the content or you don't like my style. ************************************************* Your first time was in summer. It was always a summer in your mind's eye wasn't it? It was spring when it started though. Do you remember? I do. It was important to me. It triggered my voyage into manhood and it helped me to understand girls. At least that's what I thought at the time. Of course the test of time proved me wrong, but it still gave me a swagger in public. Except when you were around. You were too precious. Claudia. Claudia, where are you now? I remember you so well. You weren't the prettiest girl in school, but then I wasn't the best looking boy either. But I felt the pull and the pull was from you. My heart lurched when I saw you looking at me, then your eyes darted away and you blushed prettily. I remember you standing there in your school uniform. Blue skirt, white blouse, striped tie, white socks. Ah the memories. You weren't one of the girls who rolled their skirts up after they had left home. You couldn't if you remember, your mother was a teacher. So you were always the modest one. Long skirt below your knee while others had hemlines that barely covered their knickers. Do you remember those knickers? The blue serge ones? You told me that you had other ones underneath and that these were just for modesty. But I found out didn't I? I'm sorry I am jumping ahead of myself here. I can't recall who asked who out? Thinking about it, it must have been me? Wait a minute, that rings a bell. Yes! I've got it, it was Sally wasn't it? She always was a matchmaker wasn't she. Pneumatic Sally. Big breasts, curvy hips, the whole works. The full monty. You were much more petite as I recall. More my style, more my cup of tea. You were brainy too, must of come from having clever parents. I wasn't so clever. I wasn't stupid, I just didn't apply myself. You came close to the top of the class. Not the very top, that would have been too pushy, but close. You always were a modest girl. Maybe shy would have been a better description. I was shy too. I tried hard not to show it though. I had to be one of the lads. I didn't fit in though. I came too late to the school. You'd all been together since you started and I had been transferred in my final year, when my parents moved. So I was the butt of the jokes and I spun outside the orbit of the classroom cliques. I was alone. But you didn't mind. Maybe you felt some pity for me. Maybe we had a mutual pity that drew us together. The plain, rather shy girl and me the class maverick. Whatever it was the chemistry seemed to work. We came together. We walked hand in hand through the school playing fields. We tested our courtship and tried to make some sense out of our frantically yo-yoing hormones. Me with my voice that was cracking and you with the embarrassment of your burgeoning breasts. Puberty had burst upon us leaving us dazed and unprepared. We suddenly noticed each other. Girls changed into dreams. And boys....who knows, maybe you can tell me. We held hands. I liked your hands. They were soft and yielding. I hurt you once, I squeezed too hard. Tears came into your eyes. I'm sorry Claudia. I know its too late now, but it was just a boy-not-quite-a-man thing. I was revelling in my strength instead of drawing it in. I hadn't learned that my strength was for your protection not to hurt you. It was for you, not against you. I thought I'd lost you. But you endured. We still walked together. Across those playing fields. Can you remember sitting by that tree? Over on the far side of the athletics track? The school buildings squat and grey in the distance, the other students like ants. Not that we noticed them of course. We only had eyes for each other. Yours are brown. You see boys do notice these things. I know, I stared into them often enough. Except when we kissed. You always closed your eyes then. I didn't want to, I wanted to see you, your face smooth in bliss. We tried French kissing once. It was awkward and our teeth kept mashing together. We practised though, until we got the hang of it. We became quite adept if my memory serves me right. Hey can you remember when I put my hand down the front of your blouse? And you asked me in such a common-day voice what I was doing. I could have died. What could I say? I wasn't prepared for that sort of question. Not from a girl. I think I mumbled something while you sat there looking quizzically at me, as I blushed scarlet. We must have strolled around the school grounds at least four or five times before I had the nerve to touch one of your breasts. Through your blouse of course. I could feel your bra, I could feel every stitch holding it together and every seam. I held it cupped in my hand gently like it was a captive bird. I don't think I did anything else except hold it, except kiss you of course. Your eyes were closed and you seemed to moan. I thought I'd hurt you and I let go. That was the end of that lunchtime dalliance. Another day at our tree I held you properly. An arm forcefully around you, my hand resting lightly on your breast. You didn't push it away. We kissed and you moaned. I went to move my hand and I found yours over mine, holding me firmly to your young bosom. It was an electric moment as I played gently with you, tracing the outline of your bra with my thumb, my fingers beating a light tattoo on the soft, springy flesh beneath. You moaned quietly and I understood. Thinking back I don't think you ever touched me. Not in a sexual way. You held my body and even, in one of your bolder moments, pulled my head towards yours as we mashed our mouths together. How did we know what to do? Kissing is not logical, just natural. Every break-time was a new voyage of discovery as we learned each other, or should I say I learned you. You lay there, silently. It was always done in silence. Isn't that odd? We didn't talk, we just kissed and touched. And I learned. The day I actually got my hand directly onto your breast was a revelation. It was so soft, so warm. Pulsing lightly under my hand with your tiny nipple poking lightly into my palm. Then it grew hard, insistent. It was a voyage of discovery for me. We met in town one day and walked along by the river. You were in jeans. Not tight jeans of course. Not you. Not Claudia. That was the day I touched you between your legs. There was a build up of course. We kissed and I fondled your breast as you lay there on the riverbank. There was a radio playing somewhere. Mungo Jerry - 'In the summertime'. I still think of you when I hear that. I knew your breast by then. We were intimate you could say. Your nipple rose to my touch and you had that faraway look in your eye that I loved so much. Maybe I should have told you that I loved it. It transformed you Claudia. You were no longer the plain Claudia. You were a pretty girl. My girl. I bestowed that look on your face. That day I explored. And you let me. Revelation was piled on revelation as I mapped out your curves with my wandering hands. Feeling the soft velvet of your body pushing against your clothes but yielding to my hand. The inside of your thighs were as soft as your breast, even through the coarse denim. They parted slightly, instinctively, as my hand delved between them. I kissed your lips and stroked, not daring to believe my luck. You lay, hair gleaming a dark red in the sunlight. I'd never noticed that you were red-headed before. Your eyes were closed, your arms were at your sides. You yielded as I caressed. Then I touched you. Down there I mean. I remember you shifted your position and muttered something quietly as I sawed gently at the gusset of your Levis. I didn't know what I was doing but I did it anyway. It seemed right somehow. Like trying to tease the button of your jeans open. You croaked no and the moment was lost. We walked along the riverbank holding hands and looking shamefaced in our silence. We did other stuff other than explore each other, but for the life of me I cannot remember what. To me you were and always will be my lover. My lover, my guide into the mysteries of sex. Other things blur into the mists of time. Maybe they didn't happen. You were again wearing your jeans when I found out that women could get wet down there. It was always 'down there' wasn't it? Never your vagina or even your cunt, just 'down there'. Each time we met I pushed a little further and you yielded a little more. I don't recall any pressure from me. I don't think I knew how. I didn't threaten to leave you like some of the other boys. Or so they boasted in the locker room. I was excluded from among them anyway so I never talked about you like they talked about their girlfriends. I listened though in a welter of jealousy. My time with you was different. There was no jealousy just mutual understanding and the longing for each others touch. We, boys that is, all thought that girls didn't really want to do it and that it was only our skill (yes I know it sounds silly now - what skill eh?) that persuaded a girl to 'drop them'. It wasn't until a lot later that I actually saw a girl drop them. As I recall my early experiences always involved me pulling them down, while she lay supine. Except to lift her hips for me of course. I should have noticed that at the time, maybe it would have given me the hint that girls really did want it too. When the time was ripe. When they were ready. You were ready that day Claudia. I had my hand down your knickers and I touched the edges of your pubic bush. It was damp under my fingers. You were always damp for me weren't you? I didn't cotton on to the significance at the time. I just thought that girls were just wet all the time. Until I met one that wasn't. You told me that you were uncomfortable that first time. I swiftly removed my hand and we lay there unsure of what to do next. I think you wanted me to pull down your jeans, but I was scared. This was a big moment for me. And I blew it. It was when you were in your school skirt that I finally touched you there. I tried putting my hand up your skirt, but it seemed such a long way that I became embarrassed. I really thought that you were going to complain as I slid my hand up your thigh. While I kissed you. In the end I slid my hand down the waistband of your skirt. It seemed less obtrusive somehow. Maybe I thought that you wouldn't notice. Then I touched you. My hand deep inside your knickers I touched your core. It was soft and wet. It was marvellous. I pushed my finger inside. I had not learned finesse, that would come later. Now I just wanted to press against your wetness. You cried ouch and I withdrew. Another moment, gone for ever. Bolder and more daring we became. It was our little conspiracy, only we knew. It was a world peopled by only the two of us as I explored and you lay there with that look. I got your knickers off one day. It was May the something. I can't remember the exact date but it was a Wednesday and the venue was our tree. I was bolder now. Those knickers seemed to inhibit me. Now there were no holds barred, no hills left to climb. You were offering something precious to me. I made you come. I rubbed and fondled and your breath quickened. Then your hands shot down between your legs where my fingers were busily caressing. I thought you were going to draw them away but you pushed me harder onto your sex as you spent yourself. My fingers were slick with your odour as you told me that it had been beautiful. I marvelled. I hadn't done anything before that could possibly be construed as beautiful. We did it a lot after that. Until that day. June. A sports day. The parents cheering and bare legs flashing in the sun. We sneaked away. Away, away, beyond even our tree. Into the woods that brooded in the sunlight. We kissed, explored, fondled and you offered. It was all done in silence. I was as hard as a pole and you opened your eyes to peek at it. I thought it was going to put you off. It was so ugly when compared against your beautifully discrete organs. You lay back as I prepared. I'll always remember you Claudia. Until my dying day. We were both 16 years of age. Legally we could do it, morally? Maybe not. But the sap was rising and you had offered yourself to me. I took. You were so tiny down there and so very wet. I thought it wouldn't go in. You screwed up your eyes as I pushed and pushed. I thought I was killing you and I was going to stop but you reassured me, in that faraway voice that it was ok. Cautioning me to be gentle. Finally I was in, barely. I felt resistance within you and stupidly I thought I'd plumbed your depths. Still your eyes were screwed tightly and your hands gripped my shoulders. I reached down to kiss you and I pushed. It was an involuntary act. Pure Instinct. Some forgotten strand of DNA urged me to it and I, we, became adults. I was quick. Too quick. I don't think you had time to come. I thought, afterwards, that I had really hurt you because you were bleeding. You had tears in your eyes and you asked me if I had enjoyed it. It was heaven, it was bliss. It was everything, and better, than the other boys had described. It made my heart pound and my head sing. I think I told you that it was ok. We didn't hold hands leaving that wood. We seldom held hands after that. I'm not sure why, maybe it was the scare. You weren't on the pill and I wasn't wearing anything. But it passed. But you were too scared to ask your mother for her consent to go on the pill and I didn't know where to buy rubbers. I'd tasted the forbidden fruit and I wanted to taste more. We'd passed the boundary point where I was content to evoke feelings in you without any reciprocation. The magic had gone. We drifted a little. Then came the row. I called you a big nosed bitch, I could talk. You cried and Sally became all motherly and protective. I was truly an outcast now. I left school very soon after that. I'd flunked anyway so the Army seemed the best bet. They took me far away and I never returned. I think about you every now and then Claudia. Do you ever think about me? ***************************************************************************** A bit slushy perhaps? -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----