Drews First Time

A note about writing: I write as much as possible from first hand experience freely incorporating my own fetishes and prejudices, but a person only has so much sex, and some time back I ran low on personal stuff because I write a lot. Still first hand experience and fiction seem to mix well, but after a time, I started to yearn for something fresh. That's when I started interviewing friends, friends of friends, Internet chats and anyone who would talk to me at a party. Occasionally a fan will tell me of their personal experiences. This story is one of the best of those - with names changed, of course. I had to email her several times for particular details and more importantly her feelings about particular incidents to flesh out the story, and of course I had to make a few things up. Her name isn't really Drew, but this is her true first time story. I hope you like it!

Pelios

I didn't get into sex when most of my friends did. I'm not sure why, but at thirteen and fourteen when my friends were starting to take an active interest in sex and boys, I just wasn't that interested. I suspect my hormones were late bloomers or something. It wasn't until I was sixteen that I started to feel the urges, and I tried to deal with them at bedtime by touching myself with very little results for some reason. I had seen sex in the movies and had a pretty good idea about what it looked like, different positions and so forth, and one night after watching a DVD of "Basic Instinct" I managed my first orgasm by fucking my pillow and pretending I was Sharon Stone fucking Michael Douglas.

I am hardly a beautiful movie star though. I have a common shade of dark brown hair, pale skin and a body that tends to look plumper than I really am, or maybe I just never found the perfect clothes for my shape. My legs and torso are full and rounded, and my breasts while not huge are large. I exercise regularly to prevent getting fat out of fear that if I ever lost my discipline I might balloon up. People tell me my face is pretty, but in the mirror I just look plain. Somehow, alone at night, with one end of my long pillow cuddled to my breasts and the other end snug between my thighs, I could become, at least in my own mind, a sensuous wild-fucking beast of a woman.

And that was my sex life until I was eighteen when my parents started to let me date. I don't think they would have let me then if they had any say in the matter, but with me old enough to move out, they backed off and allowed me a little freedom. Not that I abused their trust, really. I had been raised as a strict Southern Baptist and had no intention of getting pregnant before marriage, so the most I would allow boys was some necking and petting, never letting them get inside my clothes. This also helped prevent serious attachments, which was good, as my parents had planned for me to go to college.

In defense of my real sex life - my pillow, I have to say it was pretty good sex. I did have some occasional better sex - but that is my dark secret, and I tell about that later in the story. Meanwhile, I was always on the look out for new pillows and sometimes used more than one at a time. But my favorites were big, long pillows, and there wasn't a position I couldn't do it in with a pillow. On the down side, I was kept pretty frantically busy with cleaning pillows and pillow cases without having my mom sniff them, which would of course have revealed all. I'm not all that stinky down there, but I do get pretty wet, and there is some lingering smell, and I desperately wanted to keep that aspect of my life hidden from my parents.

Anyway, there I was virtually sexually inexperienced in the broad sense of the term. I was eighteen and in my senior year of high school. I frequently went to slumber parties and spent the night with friends, as these social activities met with much more approval from my parents than actual dating. My best friend was Marcie, and I frequently spent the night with her and her mom, at least once a month. Marcie's parents were divorced and I never met her father. Her mom was really cool and would fix us really great meals and even let us drink some beer or wine at times. This was strictly against my religion of course, but I found that I really liked getting a little buzz on, especially before bed, since Marcie always went right to sleep.

I would have liked more girl talk I guess, but Marcie was a good friend, and other than her one imperfection of sleeping at least 9 hours a day, she was good company. Marcie was pretty, with blond hair and blue eyes and a nice rounded figure, and had a great sense of humor. Her mom, who was in her early thirties, was obviously the major influence in Marcie's appearance, only her mom had a lush full figured body of movie star quality and shoulder length honey blond hair that looked like she was fresh off a commercial. It was hard sometimes for me to take my eyes off Mrs. Stengal, partly because she was so beautiful, and partly because her movements were almost hypnotically graceful.

But Marcie was certainly a lovely and sexy girl, and I loved her as my best friend. I sometimes wished I were as pretty as she was, or as sexy. Heck, I wished I could get a nice even tan like she had - all I do is burn. She was warm and loving like her mom who blew us both away with Mrs. Stengal's superior and stunning face and body. But like most real people, I was most touched by their warm and loving characters - the fact that I could feel like I was hanging out with beautiful people was an unexpected bonus. Sometimes I wished I was in their family instead of mine, but then, I might not have appreciated Marcie and her mom as much. My family was a dynamic contrast, and that is enough said about my family.

It was a Saturday night, and I had spent most of the day with Marcie and now we were having a lovely dinner of home made tacos, cucumber salad, and some nice white wine from Germany. I know, it doesn't sound like a good mix, but it was. The tacos were spicy, and the cucumber salad was cool, and the white wine was icy cold. After dinner, we cleared the dishes and then went to the living room to watch a DVD. About an hour into the movie, Marcie nodded out. Her mom and I let her sleep there on the sofa between us until finally her mom nudged her and said, "Go on to bed sleepy head."

Marcie straightened gave me and then her mom blank looks, smacked her lips and answered, "K. Goodnight mom. Goodnight Drew." And off she went like a blond zombie.

Mrs. Stengal chuckled, "I was just like her at that age. But sleeping patterns change, and now I get by fine on six hours a night. What about you, Drew?"

I suppose I would have been uncomfortable with a lot of my friends parents, especially left alone with them after my friend went to bed. But with Mrs. Stengal, I was not only comfortable, but I liked her as much as I liked Marcie, and this wasn't the first time that Marcie had pooped out mid-evening. "Oh, if I get seven hours sleep, I'm as fresh as a daisy. I usually go to bed about 11:00 and get up around 7:00."

I glanced at Mrs. Stengal and noticed that she was looking at me in a pretty curious fashion. I glanced down at my self and I was wearing a tee-shirt and blue jean shorts and flip flops - nothing unusual there, unless of course I compared myself to Mrs. Stengal. She was wearing a metallic green sleeveless dress and high heels. It was an evening dress, really, but it was what she usually wore at home in the evenings. I had always thought it strange that she dressed so formally, but I'd known her for years and she always had. She was even wearing a pearl necklace that I knew to be made from real pearls.

She was still looking at me a little strangely and I was wondering about that, so I changed the subject to something more familiar between us, "You sure look dazzling tonight, Mrs. Stengal. That's a really sexy dress! And your legs! They're so smooth and perfect it looks like you are wearing hose." She wasn't wearing hose of course, but her legs did look that great, and besides, I strove for outrageousness in our compliment contests. I had seen the dress before of course, she had about a dozen evening dresses, but over the years, I'd seen them all.

She took a deep breath and smiled, "Why, thank you, darling! You're so sweet to say so! And I have to add, you are particularly stunning tonight yourself!"

I giggled. This was a game we often played, and next she would complement me on my taste in flip-flops or wonder at the wittiness of the logo on my tee-shirt. It was practically a ritual between us. "So what is so stunning about me, Mrs. Stengal? These are old flip-flops, and my tee-shirt is just white with no logo, and I borrowed the shorts from Marcie - my parents would kill me for wearing shorts this short." I had deliberately tried to make it more difficult to compliment me, and sat grinning and waiting for her response - something like - aren't those Parisian flip-flops? But her response wasn't what I expected, and she didn't play by the usual rules.

"All you need to be stunning is your youth and your hot little body, Drew," she was almost murmuring absently, as if to herself, "The way your nipples show against that tee-shirt, your extremely lovely, smooth and rounded legs and your full inviting lips. Right now, I'm thinking you are about the most stunning thing I've ever seen. It's like you grew up since the last time you were here." She was looking at me boldly, too, her eyes roaming my body as she discussed the various parts.

I was shocked, embarrassed and even a little aroused at the way this beautiful woman was looking at my girlish figure, although the way she was saying it did make me feel like a woman for the first time, but that just added with the rest to confuse me. I tried to grin and keep it light, "Wow, Mrs. Stengal, you really took off the gloves there! But don't you think it is a little mean for a beautiful sexy woman to make fun of a plain little girl?" I gave her a smile and a wink to show I wasn't as hurt as I was making out. I was over my head.

Shockingly, and for the first time ever, I saw Mrs. Stengal blush before she answered, "I'm not making fun of you, dear. I guess I'm still reacting to your telling me that you masturbate every night, or is it every morning? Either way, it made me look at you for the first time in a long time. You are not a little girl any more, and you have a very hot eighteen year old body!"

My jaw dropped. I didn't know what she was talking about! I had never told anyone about my pillows - no one at all! I desperately searched my mind for something I might have said...

"Well do the math," she said with a little smile and fanning her bosom with a hand, like I had made her warm or something, "You sleep 7 hours a night, and 11 to 7 is eight hours. What else would a girl being doing in bed by herself but masturbating? And you carry on for an hour! My, my." She stopped fanning her bosom and gave me an intense look, "I want to thank you for the most erotic few minutes I've had in years. I have mainly been trying to picture you in bed and getting yourself off. It's such a lovely image..."

She closed her eyes a moment and smiled, but I was still horrified. Found out! Discovered! It didn't even enter my mind to deny it, besides, I could just tell from the things she said and her expression that she really knew from what little I had said. I was suddenly fervently grateful that my own mom wasn't as sharp. Poor Marcie! She would never be able to keep a secret from this woman!

I don't know. Maybe it was that I still hadn't closed my mouth, or maybe it was the look of horror on my face, or even the tears gathering in my eyes, but she finally clued in to how shaken I was. Her expression changed immediately to concern, "Now, now, dear! Please don't be upset with me! You know that I know, but I'm not thinking less of you in any way. Isn't it obvious that instead, I'm delighted by what you told me? You've really given me something, Drew. Thank you! Thank you very much!"

I guess it was her sincerity that got to me as I felt the horror draining off, and in it's place... well that was really confusing, too. Instead of horror, suddenly I was feeling relief, warm acceptance, and definitely something sexual stirring in my groin. I was even feeling affection toward Mrs. Stengal - more than usual, I mean. I was mostly confused by these feelings at the time, but thinking back, I think it was the pressure I had been under to keep my secret sex life safe from my own parents. Sometimes sharing a horrible dark secret is a powerful release - a freeing thing. In answer to her thanking me, I just shrugged and turned beet red.

She scooted closer to me, put her arm around me and kissed me on the cheek - something she had done before. She had even occasionally given me a peck-type kiss on the lips in the past, something I had always enjoyed for some reason, but this time it was just a kiss on the cheek, then she whispered, "Won't you please tell me a little more? Like how you do it?" Then as suddenly as she had come close to me, she withdrew, "But no, don't say anything yet. Let me dress for the occasion. Is that okay, Drew? Can I go slip into a nightie or something if we are going to do some slumber party girl talk?"

This was too much, and I had already run an emotional gamut in the last few minutes, I laughed out loud and said, "Sure!" then laughed some more. She was giggling when she ran out of the room. The moment she disappeared I sobered a little. What we were doing was intimate and erotic - discussing sex. Now that wasn't any big deal in itself - that's what girls spend a lot of time doing, especially at slumber parties. But now, Mrs. Stengal was going to ask me questions about my own extremely personal and secret sex life. I was of two minds on this. First, I was uncomfortable if not still a little horrified, and second, I was feeling a little aroused by this - especially the sexy things she had said about my body.

It isn't that I hadn't heard them before. It was the kind of things that boys said when they are earnestly trying to explain why I should let them put their hands in my panties. It is not even a very good argument - You have sexy legs so you should want me to put my hand between them. What was different here was that it was more believable. I don't know, maybe Mrs. Stengal did want to put her hand between my legs, but that isn't why she had said what she had said. She was just telling me what she thought when she looked at my body, and what she thought was pretty darned flattering!

I was suddenly shocked again, and this time by my own thoughts - did Mrs. Stengal want to do sexual things to me, with me, or whatever? Surely not! I thought, but at the same time, this time the shock wasn't horror. But what if she did? As shocking as the thought was, I wasn't hearing the usual alarms go off in my head. Could I let a woman do something like that to me? Still no alarms - strange. Well, at least she wouldn't get me pregnant - so that is one of my major alarms not going off. But surely not Mrs. Stengal, this was crazy thinking!

Mrs. Stengal coming back into the room wearing a plain white nightie that looked like a simple slip spared me from my dark introspections. There were some differences of course, sometimes slips had lace on the trim like that, but there was no bra under this slip as was obvious by her nipples outlined against the silky fabric - or was that satin. Yes, it was white satin. It was quite lovely as nighties go, hugging her curves, and only down to mid-thigh - lovely and very sexy. And for the first time ever, I saw Mrs. Stengal barefoot inside the house. I had seen her barefoot at the lake, of course, but this was much sexier.

She cuddled next to me on the couch, put her arm around me again and gave me another kiss on the cheek, just as if she was taking up where she left off - then, she took up exactly where she had left off, "Won't you share with me about how you like to masturbate?"

I looked at her. Her honey gold hair framed a lovely face with generous dimples, rich full lips and very intense blue eyes. A quick glance downward revealed a generous cleavage barely restrained by the low cut nightie. I quickly averted my gaze back to her face where I could faintly smell the wine on her breath, and I noticed the glitter of her emerald earrings - she had taken off the pearl necklace. Her perfume, although not strong, still seemed to fill me dizzyingly. I had never in my life wanted a woman to kiss me. I felt like I was going crazy because I wanted Mrs. Stengal to kiss me now - it was a really powerful urge, but fortunately I didn't feel the urge to initiate the kiss, just to let her kiss me. So nothing of the sort happened.

So instead, hardly thinking about my words, "I fuck my pillow. I just hug it, wrap my legs around it, and fuck it until I come. Sometimes it takes a while to get my head in the right place." I just said it, even more than I intended to, since my mind was still swirling with Mrs. Stengal's perfume, and some part of my body below my waist still really wanted her to kiss me, and my heart was beating faster. Mrs. Stengal sighed, practically in my mouth, she was so close, and she licked her lips.

"Are you naked when you do this?" she breathed. The hand attached to her arm around my neck squeezed my shoulder warmly, and I tried really hard not to glance down at her cleavage again, but I did, and I noticed her nipples were pressing against her satin gown more than before. She followed my gaze, gave me a little smile to let me know she had noticed, but mostly she just waited for me to answer.

"Sometimes," my breath caught in my throat and I had to swallow to continue, "Sometimes I am wearing a tee-shirt and panties, and sometimes I take the panties off, although it doesn't make much difference."

"Goodness," she seemed to shiver a second with her eyes closed, then she licked her lips again and asked, "So what do you mean it doesn't make a difference?" She leaned even closer and touched her lips to the tip of my nose, then added with a faint whisper, "Tell me everything."

I blushed again because this was really embarrassing, but Mrs. Stengal was so intent, it didn't occur to me to refuse to answer, "I mean, uh, I get, well," it was just so hard to say it! "I get wet." There I said the awful truth. "Whether I am wearing panties or not, I still get the pillow wet. I can't help it." I offered this last a little more feebly. I knew it was no excuse for the disgusting behavior of my body. Then I quietly hissed, "It's even worse when I'm coming. I get real wet then." I was already breathing as hard as if I was fucking my pillow, and my heart was pounding as hard. Despite my disgusting words, I could sense that Mrs. Stengal was somehow as aroused as I was, and I was admitting it to myself now, I was intensely sexually aroused. "Do you think I could have a sip of wine?" I squeaked.

Mrs. Stengal jerked her head back as if I'd slapped her or something. She gulped and said, "Of course!" in the same sort of squeaky voice I had used. She bent over the coffee table to reach my wine glass and I could see her gown turn nearly transparent, as it was backlit by the television. Her large and lovely breasts swayed slightly from the motion of holding the glass up to my lips instead of handing to me. She poured the entire contents of my glass down my throat, then reached back to the coffee table and tossed off the rest of her own glass. In a more normal voice she asked me if I would like a refill.

Numbly, I nodded my head eagerly, needing the few moments to myself to calm down a little while she headed to the kitchen to refill our glasses. I watched the muscles in her legs as she walked away and didn't find the sight calming at all. So I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing. What was going on with me? I had never felt this way around other girls before, or had I? I could certainly remember appreciating a nice curve when I saw it, but nothing that hit me in the groin like this, well, maybe with Marcie - but more about that later. Had I always felt this way about Mrs. Stengal? That was harder to answer because I realized that I had always had a great deal of affection for her as a person, and sure she had always been beautiful and graceful...