Now that I am eighteen, the sky is the limit. Still a virgin, technically speaking, the world is full of women and I've made my mind up to sample as many as possible. The first problem, naturally enough, is to lose my virginity.
Although I've fooled around a bit, like all guys of my age, I still haven't taken that step. Yes, there are plenty of experiences with girls of my age. And I have done just about everything, except full blown sex.
My fantasy is for an older woman to take my virginity. I have this thing for older women, you see. And straight away, let me confess I'm a breast man. That doesn't mean they have to be large. I actually love any size. But what really turns me on is to see a woman's cleavage, or the sight of erect nipples pushing against the material of a blouse, T-shirt or bikini top. That definitely guarantees an erection. But that's another story. I get an erection at the drop of a hat.
But come to think about it, the sight of a rounded ass is a great turn-on, too. So are sparkly eyes. Or a flat waist. Or a tattoo. Fuck, I guess I'm just a normal, horny teenager. Except, now I'm eighteen. That makes me an adult. And although I need to get fucked, this has to be special. Janice or Vera would fuck me at the drop of a hat. They're both six months older than me, too. But no, I want an older woman. A special older woman. And dare I say, I don't mind if she's attached or not. I'm not looking for marriage. I'm just looking for someone to make me a man.
I'm big into seduction, too. The Mrs. Robinson thing. Know what I mean? But I guess that works for most men. I'd love to seduce an older woman. But even at my age, I realise that with my current level of experience, that's a couple of steps too far. But an older woman seducing me? Fuck, yes. That would be a fantasy come true.
So let me confess straight away that this story is not true. It's a fantasy -- one of them -- as to how I came to get laid for the first time. I consider myself good with words. All my teachers have told me that. So I hope I can describe this well. Fuck knows, I've read enough stories on here to know how not to do it. But a good number have fired my imagination. This is only chapter one, but I hope it fires yours, too.
My parents told me that Tamara and her husband were staying with us for a week or so. I had the usual reaction that occurred whenever I thought about Tamara. She was a hot wife. And that was putting it mildly. I'd seen her around a lot. I'd fantasised about her regularly. Fuck, I'd masturbated over her more times than I could imagine. And now she and her husband were staying with us for the week. My mom told me why. But I still don't have a clue. I wasn't listening. I was thinking about Tamara's body and trying to contain my erection.
My introduction to Tamara was embarrassing. At least for me. She seemed amused.
I headed for the bathroom, rubbing my early morning hard-on. I had arrived late in last night and had missed their arrival. Forgotten about it in fact. As soon as I pushed open the door, I knew I had made a mistake. Tamara was there, facing the mirror. All she was wearing was a light cream towel. The one with ducks one. I'd always thought that was a girly towel. Now I thought it was the best looking towel I'd ever seen. It ended just below her bottom. Her arms were raised and she was just finishing putting on makeup.
It seemed she was ignoring me, so I took the opportunity to spend longer than I would otherwise have done to ogle her body. Fuck, she was hot. I licked my lips. I rubbed my hard-on. Then I suddenly realised she was watching my every move through the reflection in the mirror. Oh, God!
She acted with class. "Hi! I'm not in your way, am I?" she asked.
"Uh... uh... uh... No...!" I stammered, removing my hand from my cock.
"You must be Tommy," she added, applying lipstick to her lips. Don't women know how sexy it is when they put lipstick on? "I'm Tamara," she eventually said, kissing her lips in the way that women do.
I shook her hand and then backed out. Here I was, face to face with my wet dream. And I had acted like an eighteen year old kid. The only excuse I had was that I was an eighteen year old kid.
For the next couple of days, I was shy with Tamara. But shyness was not one of her attributes. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought she was flirting with me at every opportunity. This basically meant, among other things, that I had a permanent erection. And I mean permanent. When I was in her company, I had a hard-on. When I wasn't, I thought of her, with the inevitable consequence. But the flirting she did was tame compared to our next encounter.
*
I arrived home one afternoon and made my way upstairs to my bedroom. The house was empty, or so I thought. I glanced in the spare bedroom on my way past. Tamara stood there. In her underwear. A matching black bra and thong. Fuuuuuuuuck!
"Hi honey," she greeted me. She didn't bash an eyelid.
I'm not sure what I mumbled.
"Can I ask you something," she said.