Anne

Anne

In the mid 1970s I would sometimes travel from my apartment in San Francisco to spend the weekend at a former girl-scout camp in the mountains. We called it a "poor-man's Esalen" because for only $30 a person could participate in encounter groups, tai chi, massage, and various games with strangers and the occasional returnee I would recognize from previous weekends. This was part of what was called the human potential movement. Sometimes there would be guest speakers, announced ahead of time in the organization's newsletter. On a given weekend there might be 40 people or so, most of whom would sleep outside on the grounds. The leader was Clark, ex-preppie turned amateur guru.

One of the best things about "the camp," as we called it, was the food. A couple of the staffers, who lived in the main building, were fantastic organic cooks. Most dishes were variations on miso soup and brown rice, but they were great, served with fresh fruit and whole-grain bread that was still warm from the ancient cast-iron oven.

Another good thing about the place was the women. It was an opportunity to meet women of all ages and income levels. Moreover, since they had come to a place like the camp, they all had open minds.

The weekends were loosely structured to allow plenty of playtime. Sitting on the grass and watching a volleyball game, I first saw Anne. She was in cutoff jeans and a T-shirt. She was cute -- long brown hair on the curly side; big blue eyes; firm, round breasts with no bra and no sag. Our eyes locked for a couple of seconds as she was playing. Then again. And again. Once she missed the ball because of it. I can't remember why, but I wandered off while the game was still going.

After dinner that night, there was a bonfire in an old swimming pool, which was empty and cracked -- it had seen better days. There was wine, marijuana, drumming, and individual dancing. Clark, showing off, circled the fire while improvising a native dance and chant. When he chanted louder most of us joined him, at times swaying and clapping. Suddenly he halted, and there was silence. "Hug somebody," he roared, arms outstretched. In about two seconds, I felt arms around my torso. Anne had come up behind me. I turned around and made it a mutual hug, which we held for at least 5 minutes, I guess, though no one was watching the time.

When the hugs broke up, ours included, we looked at each other by firelight. We were both smiling broadly. Without words, we climbed up out of the pool and wandered away together across the grass, holding hands. We drifted over toward the edge of the woods, into the darkest shadows. I stopped. She stopped. We turned to face each other. I put my hands on her waist and drew her close. She put her arms around me again, and this time we kissed. It turned out to be the right move, because it was a good, deep kiss; I could tell it was just what she had been hoping for.

Still hugging, still standing, we drew our lips apart and started to talk. We told each other where we lived in the city, where we had grown up -- the basics. We were both in our mid twenties, but she was two years younger. We recalled the volleyball game earlier that day, and agreed there had been a mutual attraction. Then we went back to kissing. After darting her tongue into my mouth for a split second, she bashfully lowered her head and whispered, "I'd like to sleep with you tonight." I was delighted, of course. "There is nothing I'd like more," I replied.

I know it sounds weird these days, but Anne was shy in spite of her aggressiveness. The era and the setting gave her license to take the lead, yet she had a reserve that made her even more attractive.

It was late, and chilly, and by now the others were drifting off to their tents. I just had a sleeping bag. I showed her where I had laid it out, just a few paces away. I suggested she get her bag, but she said she'd rather squeeze into mine.

We undressed quickly and scrambled into the bag, which remained unzipped; she was on the open side. It was so good to feel her uncommonly smooth skin against mine. I was nude, and it did not take me long to feel that she had left her panties on. I ran my hands over her back, shoulders, neck, face, legs, as she did the same to me, kissing or nuzzling all the while.

We were on our sides. I ran my hands under her panties to feel the globes of her firm ass. She rolled, still in my arms, so my chest was against her back, and I gently took her frontal globes in my hands. They were perfect, and they seemed to grow under my fingers. One stroke around her nipples, and they were standing out, hard. I pinched them gently. "Mmmmmmmmmm," she hummed. I was so aroused that my erection was almost painful. She realized this, of course. She snaked her arm around behind her to grasp my hard penis. "Mmmmmmmmmm," again. I think I groaned. I now I slid my hands down her flat tummy, under the waistband of her panties and into a triangle of silken hair atop her spongy mound.

But that's as far as I got -- she pulled my hand right back up, out of her panties and away from the fragrant jellyroll I was so hoping to caress, lick, and stick all night long. "Not tonight," she said. I told her I had rubbers in my pack nearby, but that made no difference; she had decided not to go all the way. "OK," was all I said. I was frustrated, but I had to respect her wishes. I respected her, not just her wishes. She was coming across as a woman who knew herself. And I knew that without her taking the initiative with that first hug back at the bonfire, I'd be sleeping alone, so I still came out ahead. In silence, I held her. "Don't worry," she said with a chuckle as her hand returned to my penis. "I'll still make it worth your while."

With that she rolled back to face me, gently nudged me onto my back, kissed me briefly on the lips, then the neck, then the chest, sinking down inside the bag, kneeling, drawing her lips down my abdomen all the way to the real me, whose head she popped into her mouth. I sighed. I moaned. I surrendered totally. I remember well the sense of relief, the yielding. It was good to be the passive one. It was all good, as we'd say today. I looked up at the stars, zillions of them. It was a new moon, so there was nothing to dilute their shine, or ours.

There was no hurry, but with talented licking, kissing, stroking, and sucking she made sure that my pleasure built steadily and ended with a brain-crashing ejaculation. And she swallowed it! That was my first time with a swallower. She swallowed it all, then licked me clean, like a pussycat. Then she slid up my body and took my face in her hands.

"Thanks for understanding," she said. I could tell by her voice that she was grinning.

"You're thanking me?" I replied. "My god, girl, that was the best!"

As we hugged, I felt her pantied crotch against my limp organ. The smell of sex was powerful, including the smell of her arousal, but I didn't move; I was still recovering. Eventually we crawled out of the bag and went into the woods to pee, separately. A minute or two later, we were back in the bag, me on my back again. Anne climbed in and pulled the zipper all the way up this time. I had welcomed her back with my arm around her shoulders, and she pressed herself against me, lying on her side with her hand on my chest. We didn't talk much. We went to sleep.

That is, we slept for a few hours, then started kissing again. Aroused again, I touched the mound between her legs, outside the panties, which were still on. "Let me make you come with my fingers, or better yet my mouth," I said. "Not tonight," she replied, and down she went again, taking my hard-on in her mouth, stroking it with her soft fingers, sucking gently, then less gently, and bringing me to another shattering orgasm. I was spent. We went back to sleep.

In the cold, sunny morning, we kissed a bit, but then jumped up, shivering, and pulled on our clothes. After a hearty breakfast of whole-wheat pancakes, we skipped the morning group and went for a hike. By now it was a dry, warm day, and we could smell the pine trees all around us. When we came to a meandering stream, Anne took of all her clothes, but kept her back to me. My eyes locked on her heart-shaped ass. She lowered herself into the cold water, which was only a few feet deep. She swam a few strokes underwater, just above the smooth stones. She looked graceful, like a mermaid, I said. I think she liked that. Getting out, she sat on a rock next to me, drying in the sun, but her legs were together and she soon put her clothes back on, keeping her back to me again. All dressed again, she gave me a hug and kiss. I told her I wanted to make love, and suggested we look for a good spot. To my surprise, she seemed to seriously consider the idea, and we began to look for a soft, dry spot. The best place we found was covered with pine needles. We sat down, but they pricked our hands. She said she'd rather wait.

It was Sunday, so we knew we would both be returning to the city that evening. I offered to give her a ride home. She said yes, she would tell her roommate, who had brought her.

Riding home that night in the dark, we talked some more. When we were almost to the city, Anne invited me to come up to her apartment. I asked if this meant we were going to make love, awkwardly trying to make it sound like a joke, as if I were making fun of myself for my one-track mind. "We'll see," she answered. "But if I said yes, how would that make you feel right now?"

"A little scared," I replied, looking over to see her reaction. It was too dark to see her face, but I could see she had not turned toward me. She was watching the road.

At her place, an upstairs apartment in a three-story building, I said a polite hello to her roommate Donna, who had arrived home a few minutes earlier. Anne and I walked down the hall to her room, where she led me to a straight-backed, wooden chair. I sat down. She sat on the edge of her bed, opposite. She bit her lower lip, looking down at the floor for a second, then at me. I didn't know what to do, but I didn't want to make the wrong move, so just looked into her big eyes.

"Wait right here," she said, then stood up and left the room. I heard her walking down the hall and closing the bathroom door.

A few minutes later, she returned in a robe, barefooted. She asked me to undress, which I did without further delay. "Now sit back down," she instructed. Hesitantly, she took a deep breath and opened the robe. She wore nothing underneath.

"No panties," I smiled.

"What could that mean?" she panted.

It was the first time I had seen her pussy. Through her wispy pubic hair I saw the crease I craved, framed by endearing outer lips -- a pouty little purse of honey. She was standing right in front of me, her knees touching mine, and I reached out with one hand to feel the sticky wetness between her legs. As I drew my middle finger toward me along her slit, I smelled her arousal, along with a whiff of spermicidal jelly. Her knees buckled, but she quickly recovered and removed my hand.

"I put my diaphragm in," she said, bending down for a quick kiss. Then she put her lips right up next to my ear and whispered, "Don't do a thing. Just sit."

Standing back up, she shrugged off the robe, which fell to the floor. She lowered her eyes and I saw another flash of modesty. But then she took a step forward and opened her legs so that she straddled my knees. My penis was already erect, of course, but when she reached down and took it lovingly in her hands, I swear it grew another inch. Then she nudged forward and hovered her darling cunt over my hard-on, which she lined up with her welcoming vagina. Slowly, ever so slowly, she lowered herself onto me, biting her lower lip again, then smiling wickedly when she hit bottom. I'm telling you, it was exquisite. She began to milk me with her vaginal muscles. I called out in a long moan. The passive position was again paying off for me, big time. I clenched my buttocks to hold back my orgasm; I wanted this to last as long as possible.

I don't know how much time passed; I was swept away. Eventually, she started to move, just a little rise at first, and back down. A little bit higher the next time -- you get the idea. I reached out to her waist, then I moved my hands to her breasts and began to knead them. She gasped. She pushed herself up higher, until only my glans remained inside her hot snatch, then quickly plunged down, mashing her lower lips against my pelvis and bending down to kiss me. Our tongues wrestled. She pumped me, tightening up her vagina on every upstroke. Meanwhile, she pulled her face away and threw her long hair back behind her. Looking up at the ceiling, she started making little yelps on the downstrokes. By then I was holding her by the waist and sucking on her nipples, changing from one breast to the other about every 15 seconds. All of a sudden, she let out a scream that could have been heard on the street outside. Her vagina quivered, then contracted in staccato bursts, out of control. I was already close to coming, and that naturally set me off. All the muscles in my body shuddered, as if I were having a seizure or something, while I spurted what felt like gallons of semen into Anne.

When the shaking subsided, we looked into each other's eyes with awe. Our jaws hung open. Our eyelids were half closed.

"Was that an earthquake?" I asked.

"It was," she answered. "Our own private earthquake."

Later, I asked her what made her decide to fuck me that night. She said what did it was my admitting, on the way home from the camp, that I was somewhat scared. That made her like me more than ever, since she had been nervous too. Right then, she said, is when she decided to let me inside her.

Anne and I fell in love, and the better I got to know her, the more I loved and respected her. She was mine in the sense that we were monogamous, yet she retained her independence. We never lived with each other, but would sleep together most nights, sometimes at her place, sometimes at mine. On a camping trip we finally had intercourse outdoors, on the beach. One night, I had to stay at the office until 11 or so. I drove to her house and let myself in (I had a key). She had been asleep, but she drowsily held out her arms to me as I undressed beside her bed. I remember she was nude except for satin panties, through which I massaged her mound after stroking and kissing her breasts. As she began to moan softly, I realized something was different -- she had shaved her pubic hair. I slid my hand down inside the panties to feel the smooth skin of her bare vulva, which excited me tremendously. She giggled. Sliding a finger into her gash, I felt her juices flowing. Immediately I mounted her, pulling aside one leg of those panties and plunging into her slick warmth.

After about a year, Anne and I went our separate ways. Sometimes I regret that parting, because to this day I recall that first time in the straight-backed chair as my best sexual experience. When I decide to masturbate, it is my favorite fantasy, and the best part is that it really happened. Remembering the fellatio in the sleeping bag can also make me hard. However, the excitement I felt as Anne's vagina enveloped my penis for the first time -- there is just nothing else to match that memory.

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