Message-ID: <7866eli$9801271544@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Tom Subject: Christine Anderson (m/f) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: tje@mail.nls.net 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: <05201306275929@nls.net> CHRISTINE ANDERSON I first met Christine Anderson, when I was twelve years old and had moved to a new city, to which my father had been transferred. I was a small, shy boy with very blonde hair, the face of a pretty child and totally naive. Christine lived across the street from my new house. I saw her watching her younger sisters play hop scotch on the sidewalk, the cement chalked unintelligibly with, perhaps, Masonic symbols. I stood on my side of the street and looked at her. She seemed to be about my age, and I thought that she was very pretty. I was too shy, however, to cross the street and introduce myself, although she looked at me and smiled That first day in my new home I partially explored a vast undeveloped area that lay just north of the house. Much of it was a dump in which piles and heaps of dry refuse extended for acres. I wondered at the large quantity of bathroom tile. A rutted dirt track ran through this desolation, and at one point beside it there was a copse of willow trees, the branches of which fell to the ground. When I pushed through the branches, I discovered a round open space with the tree trunk at the center and the limbs around serving as walls. There were five trees, and so five "rooms", which I immediately claimed as my hideaway. It was so much neater than the earthen bunkers that I had built back in my old home. The ground under each tree was very dusty; nothing grew there. There was also no litter, so I assumed that my special place was not frequented by others. I became ecstatic by my find, which made it much easier to accept this new home of mine, where I had no friends. The dust hung in the air. It clung to the narrow willow leaves. I decided that I would soon sprinkle water all about and settle it. I would bring a chair and a table, and a blanket to lie upon. That place, I thought, could be the mission control of space ships which would take off and land in the large expanse outside. I would push aside the branches and go forth in my space suit, climbing into the rocket ships and discover new universes. I lay upon the ground, the dust covering me, as I dreamed most splendidly. I felt hungry, so I got up and went home. I walked down the dirt road for a couple of hundred yards, until I reached a side street that did not have much traffic. Then I went down three streets of warehouses and a foundry, until I reached a boulevard where the cars and trucks passed by without end. I finally got across and came into an entirely new enviroment. There were houses with manicured lawns. I knew that my house was just three blocks away. "Where have you been!" my mother demanded to know "You're filthy. What have you been doing?" I wanted to tell her about the neat place that I had found, but I knew that she was more concerned about the dirt on my clothes. "I'll take a shower and change my clothes," I responded. "I was out exploring." * * * Late that afternoon my mother called me down from my room. I went downstairs, and in the living room were the girl I had noticed earlier in the day and an older woman, her mother. They had come to greet their new neighbors, and my mother introduced me to them. I learned than that her name was Christine, that our birthdays were only six days apart, which meant that she was twelve years and three months old.. But she was a girl, so she was half a year more developed than I. She was a couple of inches taller and she had small breasts which pushed at her blouse. My hormones had not yet begun to strike me to any appreciable degree, but I did notice that Christine was very pretty. Her face seemed to be a bit pale, although there was a rosiness to her cheeks and lips. The seeming paleness was perhaps the result of a contrast with her hair, which was lustrous, raven black, fixed that day in two braids on either side of her head. Her eyes were bright blue, and they stared at me boldly. She had delicate features, very symetrical, but I was particularly struck by her bare arms, which were so shapely and soft looking. Christine smiled at me and we went out onto the porch with glasses of lemonade, away from the grown ups, to talk and become better acquainted. She was very friendly, and I felt quickly at ease with her. She promised to show me around the neighborhood and to introduce me to my new class mates on Monday. It was late Spring and we were both finishing the sixth grade. I was so pleased to have a found a friend in this new home of mine. I was tempted to tell her about the special place that I had discovered under the willows, but I decided to keep the secret to myself for the time being. Over the next several days I met a lot of other kids at school, but Christine remained my only true friend. After a couple of weeks some of the guys taunted me about having a girlfriend. I did not mind, nor did she. We were very comfortable with each other. After school she had to look after her two younger sisters, ages eight and ten, and I would usually join her, doing our homework together. Her mother worked. Her father was dead. We really did not spend all that much time alone together, except for a few hours on weekends, and we did not feel any particular need for privacy, because we were not at all intimate. We were, I suppose, just good buddies who admired each other's prettiness, just kids for whom sex was, not quite yet, an issue in our lives. I do acknowledge, however, that I was fascinated by Christine's small breasts, and I wanted to touch them, just out of curiosity. Within a month the school year was over, and Christine's sisters were sent off to spend the Summer at their grandparent's farm. She would stay home and care for the house while her mother worked, about which she didn't mind, because, she said, she liked playing with me. We then had an enormity of time to spend together, the kind of time that seems to last forever, when one is twelve. One day I told her about my special place, and she informed me that she already knew about it, that everybody knew about it. The news deflated me. I had taken a blanket there and a small chair. I had fashioned a table with debris which I had collected from the dump. I had scattered water to hold down the dust. "The high school kids go there to make out," she said matter of factly I was crestfallen, but then I thought that perhaps I was becoming to old to play by myself, pretending about mission control and space ships. "Have you ever been there?" I asked. "Nope. It's a dirty place." I thought that I should go up there and retrieve my blanket. "Do you want to come with me to get some stuff I left there?" Not having anything better to do that morning, Christine said "OK". * * * "Watch out for that bus," I called to her, taking her hand and pulling her across the boulevard, so crowded with traffic. We then walked past the warehouses and the foundry, and after a short way she disengaged our hands. We talked of nothing consequential; tv programs, movies, one of which we had seen together, along with her two sisters. We gossiped about kids in our sixth grade class, none of whom had done anything particularly naughty. Then we came to the quiet side street, beyond which lay the vast desolation of dump, weeds and stunted trees, except for the copse of willows, which stood out, however forlorn they appeared. "It's ugly," Christine sniffed. "Ya," I agreed, wanting then just to retrieve my blanket and to get away from there. Christine and I walked slowly up the rutted, dusty track that stretched deeply into that terrain. "High school kids drive their cars up this road. Up ahead there are paths that turn off. The kids make out in the back seats." "How do you know this?" "My cousin told me." I wondered what "making out" meant exactly, although I knew that it had to do with sex. "What do they do when they make out?" "You, dummy. They have sex together in the back seats of their cars." I knew that, but did she mean that they fucked in their back seats? "Isn't that hard to do in the back seat of a car?" Christine became annoyed at my ignorance, although I really thought that she didn't know either how they did it in their back seats. "I don't want to talk about sex." "OK." We approached the copse of willow trees, which seemed to me to have taken on the desolation and squalor of its surroundings, no longer the proud headquarters of a valiant young space explorer. When we came up to the first one, we heard a sound, a human sound. We looked at each other, unsure of what we should do. So, we did what any normal young twelve year old would do. We approached the tree on tip toes and peered through the branches. Christine drew in her breath quietly at the scene we beheld. Two older kids were lying naked on my blanket, a girl and a boy. They had their heads between each other's legs. The boy had his face in the girl's pubic hair and was obviously licking on her. The girl, moaning, had the boy's cock in her mouth and was moving her head up and down on it. I was fascinated watching that cock go in and out of the girl's mouth. I sprouted a stiffie, the first of the day. The girl's moaning increased. It was a brief, repeated sound, starting low in register and then rising higher. It increased in tempo and grew louder. Christine grabbed my hand tightly. I looked down and saw that the fingers of her other hand was scratching at her groin. She was breathing irregularly. I turned my attention back to the older kids having sex, when the girl pulled her head up from the guy's cock, arched her back and cried aloud as though she was in some horrible pain. It lasted for a few seconds. Christine was panting, and I could feel her rubbing herself quickly as she grasped my hand. The girl then quieted somewhat and returned her head back to the guy's cock and sucked it into her mouth. Christine made a noise like a small animal in pain, and the girl turned her head and saw us. Her scream was frightening. It was so angry and loud. I pulled on Christine and we ran down the dirt track as fast as we could. I heard an outraged male voice shouting behind us, but I dared not turn to look back. Then it was quiet and I turned my head, as we still ran hand in hand. No one was behind us. So we stopped and caught our breath. We walked on hand in hand. I was embarrassed to have witnessed that scene with Christine. She appeared flushed and was very quiet. She still held my hand. The humor of it all then came to me and I giggled, but Christine did not share my mirth. She was very solemn. "They won't make a baby that way," I observed with a chortle. She looked at me, annoyed. "That was the whole purpose, stupid." We walked back to our street, and all the way Christine held my hand. I wondered about that. For the next couple of days Christine was different somehow. She looked at me more softly, and she did not call me names. She would hold my hand and touch me, stroke me; my upper arm; my leg near my knee. Then, when were alone in my basement, she put her palm on my cheek and kissed my lips. As I recall, it was more a pressing of our lips together than it was a real kiss. It was the first kiss for the two of us. I was naive, and I had not yet masturbated for the first time. Other kids in the neighborhood, kids I knew from school, were beginning to do it. Jimmy Martin boasted that he did it at least once a day and sometimes more. It seemed that kids my age and a little older were all atwitter about the subject. I thought about doing it, because it was supposed to be an incredible pleasure, but I was worried about what some guys were saying about it; that it turned you crazy and made hair grow on your palms. Jimmy Martin, though, seemed healthy enough, and there was no hair on his palms. I finally accepted the fact that I would do it before long. My stiffies were becoming more frequent, and, when no one was looking, I would squeeze them My fascination with Christine's titties increased, and I also became very aware of the shapeliness of her limbs and the softness of her flesh. This sexual awakening had been underway for some weeks before the episode under the willow tree. But after having seen those older kids having sex, my hormones really clicked in. I wondered about the way Christine was treating me, so differently than in the past. She touched me gently, but she would not let me touch her. During the three months that I had known her we had gotten into the habit of rough housing, during which I would seek every opportunity to grab a tittie. She would always push my hand away and scowl at me, but she was still always ready wrestle and tickle on the couch or on the floor. About five days after the episode at the willow tree, and the day on which I had decided to masturbate for the first time, whatever the risks, Christine called me out of my house. She had a serious look on her face, when I joined her on the sidewalk. She was clad in a sleeveless blouse and shorts, which displayed her soft limbs magnificently. Her raven hair was pulled back into a pony tail. She looked into my face, her eyes fixed on mine. I was worried that she was ill, because she had been acting so strangely for the past few days. Yet she appeared splendidly healthy. "Let's go to my house," she said. "I want to talk with you." She took my hand in hers and we crossed the street. We went in her front door, and I knew that we were alone in the house. She pulled me by the hand, up the stairs to her room. She shood before me, very close. We were by then the same height She had just bathed. I could smell her distinct aroma of Ivory soap and baby shampoo. Christine placed one hand on my shoulder and the other on my cheek. She leaned forward and kissed me, our second kiss ever. I put my arms around her eagerly, kissing back. "I want to snuggle with you," she whispered into my ear. I didn't know how to respond in words. I held her tightly. I licked her neck and she shivered. We lay together on the bed in each other's arms, and we lost count of how many times we kissed. I was aroused, but I realized that something special was happening between the two of us, and I didn't want to ruin it with horse play and tittie grabbing. "Tommy?" "Ya?" " . . . . . . . you're very pretty." "Girls are pretty. Guys are handsome." "You're prettier than most girls, although in a boyish way." I did not respond. "Do you think I'm pretty?" "Everyone knows that you're pretty, especially you." Christine jabbed me with her elbow and we giggled. We kissed some more, very sweetly. I knew that I loved her and that she loved me. Her ragged breathing told me that she was as aroused as I. She clutched at me and we kissed some more. "You can touch me," she whispered. My hand was unsteady as I placed it on her breast; not a grab, but a fondling. It was small and pointy, not an entire handful. Her hard nipple poked at my palm. Her two titties clung to her chest tightly. I rubbed my hands over them. We kissed some more, experimenting with our tongues. I reached under her blouse and felt the flesh of her pointy mounds, which were braless. "Touch my legs," she pleaded with a gasp. I stroked her soft thighs, so slender and shapely. Christine pulled on my hand, forcing my fingers under the hem of her shorts, to a place which was warm, moist and mysterious. "Rub me there." "Not so hard." "Right there. Yes. That's right." Christine squirmed against my fingers as she sought out my lips and moaned into my mouth. In a brief moment of clarity I realized that I was engaging in sex. Then Christine began to make sounds in my ear, not the same kind that the girl under the willow tree had made. These were her own sounds. She spasmodically coughed out shrill gasps of air and then wailed for a few seconds as she pushed her body against mine. She lay in my arms, her eyes closed, her beautiful face at rest. I licked her nearby cheek. She opened her eyes and smiled into my face wonderfully. "Cristy, I'm hurting," I whispered. She understood, but she didn't know what to do. I could not tell her, because I had never done it before. I pulled her hand to the bulge in my shorts, needing something. As I looked into her pale face, which smiled beautifully at me, as I grasped a handfull of her raven hair, Christine kneaded the bulge in my shorts, gently, lovingly, doing innocently what my body most required. "Don't stop. Don't stop!" I made loud sounds of my own, an uncontrolable noise, as I felt a sting in my cock and then unbelievable ecstasy. Wetness filled my underpants. I had grasped her too tightly in my passion, and Christine pushed me gently away. She looked into my face with an expression of wonder at her power. Then we snuggled properly, our urgent passions assuaged, until the next time. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |