This is the first story I ever wrote. I have rewritten it, as there were many grammatical and context issues. It is about the first married woman I ever slept with. Not that I ever intended to sleep with a married woman. My mother brought me up well and tried to instil a good set of moral values in her darling boy. And so, at the tender age of eighteen, I was living under the assumption that I would never sleep with a mate's girl and definitely never with another man's wife.
One can't make allowances for a standing cock, though. And when the woman concerned is making most of the moves, it takes a man much stronger than I to say no. Suffice it to say, once you have broken through a barrier, the second, third and fourth times are much easier.
It is based on actual events, but I have taken some artistic licence and embellished some of the sex.
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It was the summer of 65, and a bunch of my mates and I rode our motorbikes down to Ohope Beach on the east coast of the North Island. We were all eighteen and at the end of our first full year working.
A mate's father had delivered our tent and some camping gear for us as he drove through to Opotiki, where the family had a holiday bach. Shaun's father's ability to deliver our heavier items was one reason we chose Ohope Beach. But the fact that we'd heard Ohope Beach was overrun by dozens of eligible girls and not many guys also had a bearing on our decision. Rumour had it that all the guys went to the big party beaches North of there, like Mt Maunganui and Waihi Beach.
When we arrived, we found the rumours to be mostly true. However, a few of the girls we saw on the first day were not old enough to be partying with us in a rowdy lot. We were all around eighteen, and the legal age in NZ was sixteen, but many girls we saw on the first day were younger than that. One of our mates had an Anglia van, and we filled the back with more than a few cartons of beer to last the duration of our stay.
The campground owner didn't look too happy when he saw us arrive, thinking he had a biker gang on his hands. But we were all pretty respectable and holding down good jobs. Shane's father had already set up the large 12' x 12' tent on our site, so the camp owner, with words of warning about noise, directed us down to our site. He must have had some inkling of the fact we were a lot of young-blooded youths, though, as we were right down the far end of the camp, as far away from the showers and kitchens as you could get.
We began to party as soon as we had our sleeping bags off the bikes and into the tent. By 8:00 pm that night, we had our first warning about keeping the noise down and avoiding our hassling the young ladies walking by. I should point out that none of the girls walking by seemed to object to our yells of appreciation. A couple of the boys managed to lure a girl back into the tent that night, but mostly we just got pissed and had a lot of fun. We didn't upset too many people, and quite a few of our neighbours visited and had a beer with us. Many of them were fathers who came to check our bikes out.
The next day we spent on the beach. We did a bit of surfing, but as we only had two boards, we mainly just sunbathed and told stories. We had quite a following of girls, but I doubted many of them would be let out at night to party with us that night. So the talk turned around to our packing up and heading back up to Mt Maunganui, where we had spent the previous Christmas. Those arguing against moving pointed out that we would struggle to get our tent and other heavy items up to Mt Maunganui on the back of our bikes.
I wasn't keen on travelling to Mount Maunganui. The others seemed to have very short memories. We had not exactly been overrun with females when we had stayed at the Mount the year before. The consensus was we would give it another day.
That afternoon, I met a cute little redheaded teen named Jenny. Right away, I found she knew who we were, as her elder brother worked with some of us guys back in Auckland. In between swims, Jenny and I chatted until dinner time, then arranged for her to try and sneak out to our party that night.
We started drinking about 4:00 pm and were raving by 7:00 pm when Jenny turned up to tell me her parents wouldn't let her out. I walked her back to the campsite and spoke to her dad, but although he seemed okay with me, he would not give in. He could not come to terms with his daughter hanging out with a bunch of young hooligans on motorbikes.
Jenny walked back part of the way to our tent. She kissed me, and we arranged to meet at a park further down the beach after lunch the next day. There was a walk through some native bush at the back of this park, so I was dreaming about getting her alone.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of drinks, jokes played on one another and teasing the guys who had managed to pick up a girl.
The next morning, we talked with some guys camped near us and found they were travelling up to the Mount the next day, as they'd heard some campsites had come free. They offered to put our tent on their trailer if we wanted. So we all agreed to pack and leave the following day.
At about 10:00 am, my mate Phil and I were headed to the other end of the camp for a shower when a car drove up behind us and honked its horn. We turned to find two girls in a Falcon station wagon trying to drive past us. Phil was always a cheeky bugger and would not get out of the way, making them stop. He leaned in the passenger window and proceeded to chat up the girl on that side.
I headed for the driver's window. "Hey, beautiful. Where are you going?"
I was face to face with an attractive lady much older than the young girl sitting beside her. My immediate thought was, bugger, I have picked the wrong side and saw that I had, as the young lady Phil was chatting up, was pretty. She had long blond hair and wore a yellow halter neck over her bikini top and cut-off jeans. The lady I had in front of me looked to be about thirty, but she was quite hot.
I have always had the gift of the gab and no problems talking to older women. In fact, of the girls I have dated so far, I always got on well with their mothers--so much so that in a couple of cases, I got some dangerous vibes from the fathers.
"Cheeky young man," she quipped back, "I am old enough to be your mother, and I'm sure you are not the slightest bit interested in where we are going."
"My mother! I don't think so; you must think I am about two years old."
"That's very nice of you, but that is my daughter your friend is trying to chat up," she said.
"No way, you're just trying to put me off. You two look so much alike. You must be sisters."
"You sure do talk some rubbish, but keep it up; you may get to believe it," she said, giving me a mock-serious look.
I just laughed and replied that no matter what she said, I could not believe she was old enough to have a daughter that age.
"Besides, you are far too pretty to be a mother, with the best set of tits I have seen at this beach. What are your names?"
"Allison! And this is my daughter Hayley. Please keep the language clean around my daughter. Thanks."