TO THE READER: This story contains characters from the Jason Garrett series of stories; however, this story is not part of that series.
It was my wedding day, and I was getting married a virgin.
Of course, the fact of the matter is, when your father is a Missouri Synod Lutheran pastor and you grew up in St. Louis, you are going to be told from about the age of three that if you have sex before marriage, God will smite you.
And so, I had grown up through elementary and junior high thinking that sex was evil. Living in the South, and being part of a very conservative German Lutheran church, I was surrounded by an atmosphere that supported that very idea. I figured that if I had sex, God would punish me by making me grow a penis and turning me into a dude or something. I even thought that masturbation was a way to surely incur God's wrath.
In March of 1998, the day after I turned fourteen, my dad came home from the church with a smile on his face. "Pack your bags, we're moving to southern California!" he said.
WHAT?!
Southern California?
Apparently, my dad had been a candidate for a pastoral position at a church in Anaheim, California. He had received a call, and he had accepted it.
Now you might think that for a teenage girl, moving to southern California would've been a dream, but it wasn't. I had to leave all of my friends and familiar places behind. I was unhappy for the first few months that we were there – but I adjusted quickly.
High school in the far more liberal atmosphere of the greater Los Angeles area brought with it much more pressure to have sex. I knew of so many people in my class who had had or were having sex. It seemed to be acceptable – after all, there was nothing happening to them (that
I
knew of). However, I still had this nagging fear in the back of my head that if I gave in to the temptation, God would infest my skin with flesh-eating maggots, forever rendering me completely unattractive to all men.
So, I got to my senior prom in May of 2002 still a virgin, and I intended to keep it that way. My date was a bit disappointed, but after a bit of pressuring, he did talk me into letting my guard down a little. He offered me a "handjob" – I really didn't know what that meant – and I reluctantly accepted.
When he stuck the middle finger of his right hand right up into my vagina, I was shocked.
How could I be doing this?
I thought to myself. I was about to object, but then his index finger found my clitoris. A wave of a wonderful feeling that I had never experienced before washed over me, and I thought to myself,
Oh, okay.
It took him a few minutes, but he was apparently quite skilled at it, and he brought me to my first orgasm, there in his car, on the night of my senior prom. It was fantastic.
So, I felt a bit guilty – but hey, there had been no genital penetration involved anywhere – mouth, vagina, or rectum (I didn't really know any slang for those parts at that point in my life; I was a very sheltered child). Heck, he hadn't even seen any part of me naked. So, it must've been alright.
Now, I figured that these handjobs worked both ways, so after a bit of Internet research and a few shocking images that I was sure God would burn my eyes out for having seen, I figured out how a female-to-male handjob worked.
The first handjob that I ever gave to a guy was during my freshman year of college. I was dating this guy at the time, and I asked him one night if he wanted a handjob. He said sure. It took a bit of effort to get his penis hard, but after a few minutes, he was ejaculating all over the place. It was quite an experience, feeling the hard warmth in my hand and watching the white fluid shooting out the end of his penis.
The only thing I was quite puzzled by was when he said, "Oh yeah, stroke my cock Jack; make me cum!" while I was doing it. That mystery was solved when two weeks later he dumped me – for a guy named Jack! I had been dating a gay guy. But hey, I knew my first words of sexual slang – cock (which I figured must be penis) and cum (which I figured, since it seemed to be a verb, must mean ejaculate).
That was the last handjob I gave for over a year and a half. In that time, I learned most of the sexual slang out there – words for genitalia, sexual acts, so on and so forth. In reality, it was a turn on for me just to think those words and then masturbate – although I always felt guilty after I came. I was sure that one day God was just going to show up at my room and give me the beating of a lifetime.
But He never did. Instead, one day, I was sitting in one of my advanced psychology classes next to a really cute guy who I knew pretty well. His name was Jason Garrett, and he was far more interesting than Professor Dracamus' lecture. So, I wrote him a little note that I slipped to him.
Hey Jason – you know what would really get me off? If you fingered me, right here, in the middle of the lecture. – luv Andrea
He looked over at me, shocked. I just gave him an innocent little grin. With a shrug of his shoulders, he reached over and tugged out the back of my skirt. I wasn't wearing any panties, so the cold plastic of the chair came in contact with my pussy right away, making me inhale deeply. What made me take a deeper breath than that, though, was when he stuck his middle finger deep up inside of me and started rubbing my clit with his index finger.
Well, I kept trying to take notes, acting like nothing was wrong, but I couldn't. After a moment, I just had to stop. Fortunately, Jason chose that moment to whisper, "Don't worry, you can copy mine." Well, that was my cue. I just sat back and enjoyed the ride, as it were.
It was so amazing when he brought me to orgasm right in the middle of class. If we had been caught, we probably would've been in trouble, but he was very discreet, and I was able to keep my cool. After that, the rest of class went fairly quickly.
As Jason and I were leaving class, I expressed just how I felt about that orgasm. "Oh my God," I nearly shouted. "That was unbelievable. I've never done anything like that in public before. I don't think I've ever cummed so hard or so quickly, either."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it so much," he replied, appearing a bit pleased with himself.
That's when I chose to take a bit of initiative. Grabbing his wrist, I pulled him into an open maintenance closet and locked the door behind us. It was handjob time!
I pulled out his cock, which got instantly hard.
Good
, I thought.
He's not gay!
I got a bottle of hand lotion out of my backpack and lubed his cock up good. I slowly started stroking him, then increased speed. It didn't take too long before he announced that he was about to cum. Fortunately, it was a janitor's closet, so I just grabbed a shop towel and was able to catch all of his cum. Then I grabbed another towel and wiped off his cock and my hands. I dropped both down the garbage chute, said, "Bye," and walked out the door, leaving him standing there in a somewhat catatonic state.
It would only be a couple of weeks before I would give my next handjob. I came home one Wednesday evening after church got out early to find my roommate fucking some guy I had never seen before. When I opened the door, he turned around, looked at me, picked Tara up, and started to get up.
"Sit back down, Jacob," said Tara. Then she looked at me. "Andrea, come here."
And then I was introduced to a guy with his pants down and the biggest cock I've ever seen – easily ten inches long when erect. "Andrea Semora, Jacob Martinson," she said.
