Nymph

I love sex. I mean I REALLY love sex.

I've loved sex since I first discovered what sex was. I've been preoccupied with thinking about sex since my breasts popped and my pubic hair curled. I couldn't get enough vicarious sex. I roamed the internet, alone in my room, getting more and more frustrated. But I was too young for the real thing. I was a 'good' girl and I always listened to my mother. She looked at me and couldn't help but see my early development. She carefully and frequently, reminded me about the dangers of careless sex, pregnancy and what happens to girls who stray. She emphasized the legal age in our state was eighteen and what happened to folks who were caught having sex before then. As I said, I always listened to my mother, so I resolved to wait at least until I was eighteen. The wait was torture. My body wanted to experience what I saw on the internet and what other girls were describing.

The first time I had sex, I was barely eighteen. I was a junior in high school and the oldest student in my class. That's what happens when you're born two days after the cutoff age for kindergarten. The guy was eighteen as well, inexperienced and clumsy. It might have been his first time. It was in the backseat of my father's car in the garage. It wasn't very satisfying but it did feel pretty good and I wanted to try it again, soon. Two weeks later, the father of my best friend and I got off on the sofa of his den. He knew I was only eighteen but I was legal and overdeveloped and, with a little encouragement from me - I pulled off my shirt and shook my boobs at him - he didn't care. He was experienced and definitely not clumsy. He was gentle and careful with my body. He tongued me to the first orgasm I had not done myself and then he carefully and fully penetrated me with his erect penis. His stroking was initially slow and gentle and progressed to a forceful pounding. I had three orgasms before he emptied himself inside me.

I was hooked. Sex became my hobby, my mantra, my preoccupation. I was young but I wasn't stupid. I knew sex eventually led to pregnancy and I needed to take precautions. I'd gotten lucky with Susan's dad. I wasn't pregnant. I learned I needed to be aware of two things, timing and protection. The timing was easy. Up to fifteen days every month seemed safe. Ten days before I ovulated to five days after. That was extremely conservative; most web sites recommended eight to ten days. For protection, I walked into a nearby chain pharmacy and bought a dozen condoms. I was nervous but the clerk seemed indifferent to an eighteen-year-old girl buying condoms. He remained indifferent as I returned frequently over the next two years to replenish my supply.

For the rest of high school, I managed to have sex with someone, mostly other students, two or three times a week. I wasn't very selective and I was demanding as well. They had to bring me to orgasm, a task that became easier as I got older, and if they ever told anyone, I'd cut them off forever. As compensation for keeping their mouth shut, I gave hand jobs, blowjobs and tit fucks. I came back for more frequently and offered my ass as well to my more deserving partners. It worked. Nobody wanted to upset the 'sure thing' applecart. To the rest of the uninitiated, I was just another hot body prude not interested in boys. I never had a 'date' and I was usually a loner unless I was with other girls. Even with the girls, when they talked about their boy friends and the excitement of seeing or holding a boy's cock, I remained silent.

I'm sure some of the boys thought I was a lesbian. Their speculation was not without evidence. Three months after I had my first orgasm with her father, Susan, another frustrated eighteen year old, and I were alone in my bedroom while my parents were at work. Susan was sharing her experiences pleasuring herself and the frustration she had knowing about sex but not experiencing it. We were holding hands as I comforted her and pretended to understand her distress. I could sense she was really emotional. I touched her cheek with my right hand, leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips.

She went wide-eyed as she processed what I had done but she kissed me back when I moved in to kiss her again. Soon we were very close, with our arms around each other, and tonguing each other's mouths enthusiastically. I leaned back and, looking into her eyes, reached for the bottom of her t-shirt and began to lift it up. I smiled and she smiled back and nodded slightly. I pulled her t-shirt up higher, over her breasts and, as she lifted her arms, over her head and off.

I looked at her small tits in her pink bra and smiled more broadly. She giggled silently with one hand over her mouth. She might have been a little nervous but I felt empowered. I lifted my arms slightly away from my body and she understood. She leaned in and lifted my t-shirt over my head and tossed it next to hers on the bed. My more ample breasts strained my simple white bra. I could feel my nipples swelling and, when I looked, I could see them through the fabric of the bra. I noticed her nipples were becoming more distinct as well. Her breasts may have been small but her nipples were much larger than mine and definitely more erect in the moment.

We kissed again and repeated it more passionately. While we kissed, Susan reached up and cupped my left tit in her right hand. It was unexpected. I thought I was in charge. However, it was perfect. I was surprised it felt so different. I had had my breasts held, squeezed, pinched, kissed and sucked by a dozen boys and one man but none had produced this reaction from my body. Her touch was electric. I realized then that sex with a woman was going to be different.

I returned the favor, using my right hand to press against her left breast. As we kissed, I moved my hand until I could run my thumb around her nipple and move it back and forth. Susan moaned into my mouth and pushed her tongue in more deeply. As we finished the kiss, I leaned back to look into her eyes again. I reached behind her back and began to unhook her bra. She moved slightly to assist me. When I had it undone, I lifted the shoulder straps and moved them, and her bra, down her arms and off. I added it to the pile of clothing growing on the bed. Her breasts were on display for me and her eyes told me she was delighted.

Her breasts might have been small but her nipples were spectacular. They stood up at least a half-inch and looked as hard as wooden pegs. I touched each of them and then leaned in to kiss one. As I kissed her left tit, Susan fell back on the bed and surrendered herself to me. Using both hands and my mouth, I tortured both tits and nipples until her body stiffened and then shook. I moved up and kissed her again and then began to kiss down her body until I reached her navel. I sat up, and looking at her face again, I unbuttoned her shorts and unzipped the fly. She lifted her hips slightly. She never opened her eyes as I slid the shorts down her thighs, over her calves and off her bare feet. I repeated with her pink panties.

Susan was completely exposed to me. Her pussy was beautiful with soft, dark hair and swollen and wet labia. It didn't seem possible, but her clitoris was larger than her nipples, poking from under its hood and begging for attention.

I couldn't resist. I moved closer and took her clit between my lips and sucked. Susan jumped, stiffened and then relaxed as I kissed her clit and nibbled on it gently. I did for her what her father had done for me. I used my tongue and mouth around her sex, seeking the places where she responded most. I rubbed her labia with my hand and moved my fingers between her lips. I pushed one, then two, fingers into her steaming opening and began to stroke into her as I sucked on her clit. She grabbed the back of my head and held me tight to her. When she came, she came in buckets.

My hand was covered with her secretions and some dripped off my chin. I let her down slowly, gently reducing the pressure of my mouth and hand. When I slid my fingers out of her, I lay down on the bed next to her. When she opened her eyes, she laughed softly. "Look at you," she said as she leaned up and began to lick her cum off my face. I held up my hand and she saw the mess on it. She took my hand and licked the goo from my palm and fingers. When she was finished she kissed each finger and then leaned in to kiss me on the lips. She tasted wonderful.

"Sit up," she said.

When I did, she reached behind me and unhooked my bra. When it fell off my chest she inhaled slightly.

"Your breasts are gorgeous," she said. "Can I touch them?"

"You can do anything you want with them," I answered.

She held one breast in both hands as she leaned in to kiss my nipple. "I've never done this before. Am I doing it right?" she asked.

"You can't do it wrong," I said. "Just do whatever gives you the most pleasure. I'll be right there with you."

She played with, rubbed and kissed my breasts for what seemed like hours but was only minutes. I was over the moon emotional as she did so. Her touch was so different than anything I'd experienced. It wasn't better than the touch of a man. It was just different and very pleasant.

When it didn't seem as if she would ever stop, I took her face in my hands and kissed her again. I stood up next to the bed and slowly removed my shorts and thong. I stood in front of her with my neatly trimmed pussy exposed and very wet. She looked into my eyes and, when I smiled, she reached out to touch me.

She was tentative at first; then she moved with more confidence. She rubbed between my legs and found the opening to my vagina. She slipped two fingers inside and pulled me closer. Before I could react, she was on her knees on the floor with her face planted firmly in my bush. I could feel her tongue and fingers as she searched for my most sensitive spots.

I gently moved her head back and climbed on the bed. I crawled to the center of the bed and spread my legs provocatively. She needed no further invitation. She crawled between my legs and picked up where she had left off. She was very good. Her father was the last, and only, other person with the courage to devour me with their mouth. She was infinitely better. It was as if she instinctively knew what I wanted and she delivered.

My orgasm built slowly. I had several small quakes before the final, Richter scale, trembler.

Afterwards, we lay together on the bed, hugging and kissing for an hour. We shared what we had experienced, what we liked and what we didn't. Fortunately, the latter list was small. It was getting late and we knew we had to get dressed, although neither of us seemed anxious to do so.

At the door as Susan was leaving, she asked, "Joe, I've never felt so perfect. Can we do it again?"

Yes, Joe. It's short for Josephine. Calling me Josephine will get you blacklisted faster than talking about me.

"You bet your pretty little ass we can," I said, as I kissed her, patted her on the ass and opened the door. I watched her as she danced down the walk and turned to walk to her house. She turned, smiled and waved to me as she walked away. "I hope nobody notices how happy she is and asks questions," I thought as I closed the door.

Back in my bedroom, I opened the window to air it out the room and sat on the bed. My world had changed in the last few hours. I knew now that I was bi-sexual. My desire for another woman was as strong, if not stronger, than my desire for a man. I had to have either, or both, and I wanted them soon. I got on the internet and looked up 'nymphomaniac.' The dictionary definition was "a woman who has abnormally excessive and uncontrollable sexual desire."

That seemed almost right. I did have an excessive sexual desire but I thought I could control it. I sounded like an alcoholic who thought he could have one drink. I hoped I was right and I committed myself to controlling my sex drive. I would put myself on a budget. Only so much sex each week, or was that each day?

Never mind. I resolved not to let sex get out of hand, no pun intended.

I looked further. One definition I found was a "lady with standards, who still likes to fuck as much as possible." That sounded closer, particularly the "lady with standards" part. Further reading revealed the problems some women had when their sex addiction led them to unsavory and violent men. That sobered me. I had to make "lady with standards" my mantra. I resolved not to fall into the 'get laid at any cost' trap. If I resolved it now, before it got out of control, I knew I could make it work. I began to tell myself "lady with standards" every morning when I woke up, every night when I went to bed and several times during the day.

It worked. Over the next few years, the rest of high school and through college, I walked away from several situations with men that gave bad vibes and one with a Goth woman who just scared me.

Speaking of college, I left home to attend a liberal arts college about fifteen hundred miles away. The emphasis was on "liberal." I lived in a coed dorm. Fucking was the dominant occupation when not going to class or studying. Everybody fucked and everybody talked about it. Most afternoons or evenings we could be found in small groups in somebody's room. We played cards, darts, foosball and beer pong among others. Most games were identified with the adjective 'strip' as in strip poker, strip darts. You get the picture. It was the perfect environment for me. I didn't have to keep my 'hobby' secret nor did I have to work too hard to have sex. Everybody was having sex at the drop of a panty. In twos, threes, fours and even more in just about any combination. The guys were great. Unlike high school, they didn't have to chase after sex. The ratio of women to men worked in their favor. There was so much sex that all they had to do was wait to be invited. They did wait and they were invited.

The end of school was a serious letdown. I was thrust into the real world where sex was infrequent and private. I was offered a job as a copy editor in a large publishing house in the city and I took it. Two other women from my class also had jobs in the city, so we pooled our resources and shared a four-bedroom apartment downtown. It was close enough that I could walk to work.

Back in the real world, my 'hobby' suffered. I actually went ten days without fucking except for my fingers and my vibrator.

The job was fun. The place was loose and people seemed to actually enjoy what they were doing. Maybe that some of their titles could be labeled 'erotic literature' contributed to the environment. At lunch, soon after I started, I met a nice fellow also called Joe. The same name helped break the ice. A couple of days later, Joe and I went for drinks after work. After we had a couple of burgers and three drinks, I tactfully inquired if he was interested in exploring our relationship, and our bodies, further. He accepted the premise quickly but not so eagerly that I felt endangered. I couldn't take him back to my place, at least not yet, so we went to his place.

His apartment was small, a one-room efficiency apartment. It wasn't particularly neat but it had a bed and Joe had a cock so I made do. It wasn't the best lay I'd ever had but after ten days it felt sooooo good. I hadn't cum but I'd take care of that later. I used Joe several times during the next week. Eventually he learned enough to give me an orgasm, a small one but I can't complain given the circumstances.

When I wasn't chasing Joe, I hung around the small tavern after work where we went that first night. I dressed conservatively for work but, when I went to the tavern, I unbuttoned a couple of buttons on my blouse and pulled my skirt up a little when I sat on the barstool. I thought the result was more than acceptable. I was showing considerable cleavage and, if you looked at me from the right angle, you could almost make out the color of my panties in the shadow of my skirt.

The bartender noticed me right away. She came over to take my order and hung around to talk when she delivered my drink. Her name was Angela and she was wearing a blouse similar to mine but open almost to her navel and without a bra. Her skirt was short enough that I thought she could pee without pulling it up. When I commented, she shared that her outfit increased her tips immensely and, since she didn't swing that way, it was easy to keep the hound dogs at bay.

That first night, a gentleman in a nice suit, no tie, approached me and asked if the stool next to me was taken. There were twelve other empty stools so I knew what he had in mind immediately. He had approached from the right angle so I moved my legs apart slightly so he wouldn't be disappointed. He sat and introduced himself as Joe. Who woulda guessed. He asked what I was drinking, ordered me another drink and a pint of beer for himself. Our conversation went really well and I agreed we should move to a more private place to talk. Joe paid for the drinks, including my first. When Angela brought his change, he left a too large tip and she touched my hand to say goodnight. The way she caressed my hand as I left told me everything I needed to know. Tonight I was with Joe. Tomorrow, Angela?

Joe's idea of a private place was a room at the nearest hotel. I shouldn't have been surprised. He had no idea who I was and I certainly didn't have any information about him. He could've been married. I didn't care. The hotel would be fine and his privacy would be protected.

Joe was an expert with a woman's body. He tried several things with his hands, fingers and tongue and never repeated anything I wasn't comfortable with. I had a number of small orgasms while he experimented. Joe was just as efficient with his cock. I was on my back when he entered me and, after a while, we rolled over so I was on top. I climaxed hard when he took me from behind. It was thoughtful of him to come on my back since he hadn't asked if he could cum inside me.

The next night was Friday and the tavern was busier than usual. Angela saw me immediately and created a space for me at the end of the bar. She brought me my usual drink and, as she delivered it, she said, "On me."

The way she said it, it sounded more like an invitation than a statement about a free drink.

When she brought my second drink, she hung around to talk for a minute. "I get off at eleven," she said. "Can you hang around 'til then?"

I nodded. She smiled and patted my hand affectionately.

Four drinks later it was nearing eleven o'clock. Not a single, or a married, man had approached me all evening. I think Angela had something to do with that. Once I caught her looking daggers at some guy ogling me.

Angela told me to meet her outside. She never asked me to pay for the drinks. I'd been to the tavern three times and I hadn't paid for a drink yet. I walked slowly outside. After five drinks, walking quickly was beyond my ability. Angela pulled up to the curb in a very sleek, two-seat Mercedes convertible. Bartending braless certainly had its benefits. When I got in the car, Angela placed her hand on my thigh, gunned the car and we were off to Never-Never-Land. First star to the right and straight on 'til morning.

The wind and my hair blowing in my face sobered me up. Ten minutes later, when we pulled to a stop in front of a large, three-story townhouse, I walked without assistance to the front door. Angela produced a set of keys and we went inside. We entered on the middle level with a great room leading to a large kitchen and a powder room. I excused myself and used the powder room. When I returned, Angela was wearing a sleek, satin robe. A similar robe was on the sofa. Angela told me it was for me if I wanted to get comfortable. I imagined how Angela's skin would feel through the satin and then how I would feel being felt. "What the hell," I thought. "In for a penny, in for a pound," as I grabbed the robe and headed back to the powder room.