The following material is sexually explicit erotica.
If you are offended by hard-core pornography close this file.
Chapter 1
First Fumblings
Looking back from so many years later it's very clear that my sexual predilections were actually formed very early. I don't remember exactly how old I was when I first felt a boy's fully erect cock, but I could have only just turned eighteen. It was a year or so later before I had my first, fumbling and totally unsatisfying fuck, but by then I knew one thing for certain - once I had gained some experience, and had found a guy who could do it proficiently - I was going to really, really like sex!
Nearly all the girls I knew were mad about boys and men - both those that were available locally and the older, fantasy-figure, sport, pop and movie stars - and apart from clothes, they spent virtually all their spare time talking about them, dividing them into mainly just two categories; those that were gorgeous and the others, that were repulsive. At that time I felt much the same way and joined in with my friends of course - but even then I sensed that there was something different about me or at least about the way I felt about the boys we were talking about. Once past the obvious attributes - good-looking, interesting, exciting - the other girls seemed to think of them in an almost abstract way, as prizes to be won and then owned, while I thought of them as being the possessors of cocks - cocks that I wanted to see, touch, arouse and in time, feel inside me.
Although, like my friends, I was turned-on to boys that were attractive; had style, great bodies or some other special attribute - it was always their cock that I eventually found myself thinking about. What would it look like limp and later, erect - what shape, how big? How would it and he react when I touched and fondled it? What would we do with it - would he want me to suck it or to get him off with my hand? And then, if we did have sex - would he be gentle or rough? Would he caress my breasts, suck them for me? Would he come too quickly or would he actually be able to get me off too? Would he be able to do it again? How long would I have to wait to find out?
The girls talked about their supposed sexual activities - about what their latest had or had not done or tried to do - but their stories were usually told with a lot of embarrassed giggling and when I tried to join in by telling them what I had done and how it had felt, I quickly found that they weren't really interested in my feelings and certainly didn't want to know that I had actually enjoyed it. It was as though for them the important thing was really just having a story to tell.
Even the girls who had 'done it' seemed to get more pleasure from having the others know that they had, than from recalling the excitement or pleasure of the experience itself. To most it was just a way of keeping the boy interested in them, to some it seemed to be a way of getting status amongst their friends and to others something they had to do just to keep up with the girls in their particular group.
But, as I said, by the time I was nineteen or so, I knew I loved sex itself. I loved everything about it. The feeling of anticipation, the growing tension between the boy and myself, the variety of thrills I felt as different parts of my body reacted in different ways, the ways boys and their bodies reacted to what I did to them. Even the complicated business of planning where and how to get away by yourselves so that you could do it - at that age, even with a steady boy-friend it was hard to get away from the rest of the crowd and there was rarely anywhere where you could be comfortable together. How I envied older girls, girls who lived away from home, to me the idea of having a place of my own meant having a bed-room constantly available for sex and that seemed the ultimate reward for getting through the problems of the late teen-age years.
Many of those problems involved boys of course and I had just as many as the other girls, falling madly in love with one who totally ignored me or being hounded by one that I simply couldn't stand the sight of. But, even when I was suffering from a bad attack of unrequited love I found that if there was another boy, who was in some other way exciting, he could help me forget the one my heart yearned for - I found that physical pleasures could smother the painful heart-ache, for a time at least.
Then sometimes, I found that even when I had been successful in attracting the attention of a current idol, he didn't always turn out to be very exciting physically. So I quickly understood that what we then thought was 'love' was not so good if the sexual excitement wasn't there - and that a good petting session with a boy who knew what he was doing could make a very nice, if temporary substitute for it.
By this time I had also learned enough about the likely reactions of my girl friends to know that this was not something to be talked about with them.
I had realised very early on that girls who were 'easy' quickly developed a bad reputation with both their girl friends and, more amazingly with the boys too. It took some time for me to understand the boys' reactions - at first I couldn't puzzle out why it should be so - surely a girl who enjoyed doing what virtually all the boys spent most of their time trying to get a girl to do, would be extremely popular and held in high esteem. But no, not only did those girls get ostracised by their girl friends, the 'nice' boys looked down on them too - some of them might surreptitiously try their luck with them but even if they were successful it wasn't something they were proud of and they gave the impression that what she had done just went to prove how much of a 'slut' she actually was. I couldn't understand it - but I did realise that I needed to keep quiet about my own, different feelings and, if I wanted to remain liked by my friends, restrict my natural inclination to get as much experience as quickly as possible. So, like most teen-agers - but for different reasons - I spent a lot of time masturbating - and had a whole library of imaginings, interspersed with just a few actual memories, that I used to excite myself when I did it.
There had been one particular boy that I had been out with a couple of times and as he had already finished college I had been astonished and a bit over-awed when he had asked me to go out with him. Maybe he'd sensed something about me - but he was just a bit premature, at that age I was still too scared to 'go all the way' and as that was what he was really after, when he found out that I really wouldn't, he didn't ask me out with him a third time.
But I hadn't been too timid to miss the opportunity to get him off with my hand and it was frequently his cock that I saw in my mind's eye when I was alone. In my imagination I probably made it even bigger and more powerful than it had really been - maybe not. But at the time and for quite a long time after, it was by far the biggest and most beautiful cock I had actually touched.
For our first date he took me to the movies, I don't remember what we saw as I'm sure I spent the entire time in a state of nervous anticipation, much of which was sparked by the way his hands began to wander over me once the lights had gone down - one result of which was that by the time we got up to leave I found that I was so wet that my panties were sticking uncomfortably to me. For his age he was very self-assured and at various times his hands had felt all of the easily accessible parts of me, as well as trying for others that were more difficult to get at, he had done it nicely, slowly, caressingly - definitely not just a series of quick gropes, as was more usually the case with boys of my own age.
He had borrowed his father's car and on the way home he naturally drove us to a secluded spot and parked. We did a lot of kissing and some pretty frenzied fondling for a while until, when he tried to get my bra off before even undoing my blouse, I eased him away from me and began to undress myself. I could see he was surprised by that and at first he didn't seem to know how to react to it, then he quickly began to do the same. In fact he was down to his underpants before I had finished and I remember stopping to look at him. The bulge in his underpants was enormous and I just couldn't help staring at it, then as he got them down over his hips I heard myself gasp as his cock literally sprang up. I'll never forget that moment or the sight of it, it seemed monstrous and I felt my heart racing as I continued staring down at it, my fingers literally itching to feel the hot hardness of it.
I don't know if the actual sight of it made me realise what was about to happen to me, or that it was just the sheer size that scared me - but suddenly the implications of taking off my panties, making myself completely available to him, were just too much for me.
Thankfully he gave me the excuse for stopping the awkward struggle I had been having with my wet and clinging panties by pulling my head towards him with one hand and, as he kissed me, reaching for my breasts with his other. Then, as we continued kissing and he began to fondle me, I found I could feel the soft heat of his cock-head pulsing against my stomach and reached down for it, thrilling as I felt the thick shaft jerking powerfully between my fingers. Although our lips were clamped together and our tongues probing deep inside each other's mouth, I heard him groaning with pleasure as his cock responded to my touch and that and the actual feel of it pulsing in response to my strokes, raised my own excitement to near fever pitch.
Looking back I'm quite sure that if I had not still had my panties on he could have flipped me on to my back and got inside me in a flash. As it was he got so excited from what my hand was doing to him that within a minute or so I heard the sounds of pleasure becoming much more urgent and felt him thrusting his cock up through my fingers.
It didn't seem possible but I was sure it had got even bigger, even harder and I tore my mouth away from his to look down at it - just in time to see the first jet of thick semen burst from it and spout up over my breasts. He was like a wild thing, jerking himself right up off the seat, one hand still gripping my breast, so hard that it almost began to hurt me but, in a strange way that only seemed to increase my own excitement even more and I watched in fascination as my hand forced a second, third and fourth jet from his spasming cock.
That climax seemed to satisfy him for that evening - but when he asked me out again about a week later, even though he didn't actually say so in words, I knew that this time he expected proper sex with me. I had time to think about my reaction to that and although I met him as we had arranged, I did make sure he understood that though I loved doing what I had done the previous time, I felt I was still too unsure about 'going all the way' with him.
