No part of this work may be reproduced for distribution by any means physical, mechanical or electronic without the express written permission of the copyright holder. This is a work of fiction intended for adult consumption only. All characters and locations are fictional or used fictitiously and are over 18 years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Copyright Kelly Lovall, September 2020.
I hope you enjoy this story. Please feel free to comment. Thanks.
XX, Kelly
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I was a good girl. From the time I was little I was made to understand the value of being a good girl. Good girls are nice and polite and don't ask too many questions. We don't yell or run inside the house or play with all the interesting things that live in the dirt. We help without being asked and we make our bed every day. Most of all, good girls know better.
And that's how everyone thought of me. It helped that I looked the part. Big, blue eyes, tawny blonde hair, angelic smile and, as I got older, not too curvy or athletic or curious, just nice and good and wholesome. Good girls were highly prized by my mother and grandmother. Judgements about goodness were handed down kindly but firmly and it was always clear which side of the line you were on.
Of course, I wasn't a good girl all the time. I played the 'I'll-show you-mine' game with Tommy, the neighbor boy, when we were kids. We dated later, for about a month, in high school and he showed me how to French kiss. I think he wanted to play the game again. Not sure what ever happened to him. He started getting tattoos and driving a motorcycle and I never saw him after high school. Too bad.
I smoked a cigarette once with Julie from my summer softball league when I was in junior high. She was a rough girl from the east side and liked to shock the west side girls with swear words and threats of physical violence. We smoked in her bedroom which had been her older brother's room and still looked like it. She smoked a lot of cigarettes but mine kept going out. Every time she relit it she asked me if I was sweaty "from baseball" and did I need to take a shower. I wasn't and I didn't. She moved to Portland and lives with her girlfriend now.
And one time, in college, I fucked my boyfriend's roommate.
The summer between freshman and sophomore year had been kind of a blur. I'd spent a whole year on my own and then, all of a sudden, I was back at my parents' house feeling watched and like I couldn't breathe. I went out a lot, found myself drinking too much, smoked pot for the first time and couldn't wait to get back to school.
The first weekend back at school my boyfriend's fraternity had a beach party. And a beach party meant lots of bikinis and bouncy boobs, myself included. I was drinking hurricanes, which for us meant everything in a cup with fruit punch. And for me, five-foot-five and a hundred thirty pounds soaking wet, meant two drinks was one drink over the line.
A short, cute girl with huge boobs that strained against a pink cut-off top stood on the wide brick wall surrounding the frat house patio and lifted her top slowly revealing the heavy globes of her breasts eliciting cheers from party-goers and passersby alike. Pretty soon the wall was filled with bouncing boobies and within moments I had joined a line of girls dancing on the wall eager to lift our tops as the crowd chanted and cheered. I watched with a mixture of anxiety and excitement as the other girls lift their shirts, bikini tops and bras releasing their boobs to a crowd of ogling eyes and baying cheers. Very quickly, it seemed, I was the only girl on the wall who hadn't lifted her top.
I took a deep breath and tried to look through the faces of the crowd, past the classmates and friends and strangers, all smiling, laughing and cheering. I curled my fingers under the flimsy material of my little red bikini top. I danced and swiveled as the crowd cheers swelled, blowing into me like a warm, irresistible narcotic. I hesitated, giggling in disbelief at being carried away by the crowd, the heady thrill, and lifted the fabric up an over. And then they were free. My boobs, milky white and sprayed with freckles, the tiny pink nipples becoming instantly hard, now belonged to the crowd. A victory whoop escaped my throat, in embarrassed, giddy relief.
My eyes wildly raked the crowd and, for no reason, landed on Ben, my boyfriend's roommate. Our eyes locked and a grin spread broadly across his handsome face. My face reddened and I laughed. A sprinkling tingle spread from my bare nipples to my clit and suddenly I was wet. He lifted his drink to me and laughed with me. Another first for me, the good girl.
Next thing I knew, Eric, my boyfriend was leading me by the hand up the stairs of the huge old frat house. The dancing and exposure and subsequent attention had gotten me really horny. Like, if you don't take me upstairs soon, I'm going to fuck you right here on the patio in front of everybody. Not that I said that, but he could tell I was hot. It was the excitement of a new school year after the end of a long summer. It was the partying with a crowd of nearly naked people who felt the same way, all of us sort of angling on each other and all of us getting collectively turned on. And the dancing and the flashing was the climax. The urgency for each other pushed us up the stairs stumbling into Eric's room.
The music was thumping up from below, like a heavy heartbeat we could feel in our feet, like some harmonic counterpoint to our own thudding hearts. He closed the door and turned around and our mouths were open and frantic and panting. We stumbled back onto the bed and I realized he was kind of drunk when his hand slid off the bed as he landed, and he rolled into the wall next to the bed. An oh-my-god laugh burst between us, and we kept kissing.
I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him against me hoping to feel his erection pushing against my crotch, but he wasn't hard. I humped against him trying to be sexy, to encourage him, unsure what else to do. We'd only had sex a handful of times, the totality of my experience.
After a couple of minutes of him kissing me with an increasingly sloppy mouth, I reached down, unstrung my bottoms and scooched out of them. "Lick my pussy baby." I said, in the sexiest voice I could muster. I still cringe a little thinking of it but I needed him inside me.
He was game at first, licking and kissing and breathing heavy. He moved down between my legs, my hips lifted eagerly to meet his mouth. I was so wet his finger slid right into me without any warmup pulling an involuntary moan from me. My hips flicked against his mouth and finger, willing him to fill me. My hands came to the back of his head, my hips began to swivel against the movements of his tongue as he licked the length of my slit. It seemed like it was going to work and then, slowly at first and then, all of a sudden, he was out. Out cold.
I freaked out a little at first. I thought he was dead or having a stroke or something. Stupid, I know. But no, he was breathing and had half a stupid smile on his pussy-glazed face.
I was able to get him to move up the bed a little further and, well, we just lay there like that. Eventually, I fell asleep, an unrelieved swelling between my legs.
It couldn't have been more than an hour later when I heard a voice whispering in my ear. "Tilly. You awake? You okay?" The room was dark as I turned toward the voice and I could tell I was still a little buzzed. Then I felt a hand on my naked hip and lips on my lips. His mouth opened against mine and I opened reflexively. His mouth was hot and vital. I turned further toward the unknown figure kissing me.
