Some Firsts For Me

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If you are not 18 or over, well - I encourage your curiosity, but please pursue it elsewhere... this story is for adults only. Thanks.

We are M & Y of MyMPTP. It's me writing at the moment - I'm Y.

This story is mostly just a remembrance M shared with me and then wrote for me a long time ago. He posted it in one of the "newsgroups" of yore.

So, please note: you may have seen this story long ago - but it was M who wrote it and this is his Literotica profile and we're here as a couple.

Comments or questions are welcome...I can spot a flame a mile away, and I don't read them before I trash them, so don't bother. Constructive criticism is always welcome. (Take me, use me, lick me, eat me, fuck me, whip me...EDIT MEEEEE!!)

Part I

I was barely 18 ... at least I *think* my birthday had passed. I was young, and though I'd gotten laid the first time when I was 14, I was just then really coming into my own sexuality. I had more than one really important relationship going, all of them with more or less understanding women ... all but one was older than me. And I suppose my hormone-driven ego was cranking right along. Pretty full of myself.

But SHE had me by the balls, plain and simple. She had worked for a while at the bookstore where I did. Early thirties, slender, graceful, with the posture and poise of a dancer, although she wasn't one. She just moved well and carried herself with pride and grace. Dark, especially her hair and eyes, but all of her. Her ancestry was Russian and French. She had a soft, deep sense of humor; she seemed to have read everything. She was surprisingly raunchy, but in a sort of quiet way - a way that was actually a form of flirting. She would make a sexual pun or double-entendre and just check with a subtle glance to see if you got it ... and smile with pleasure to see that you had. She would treat you as a co-conspirator in her naughtiness. She would especially do this when she had been slyly teasing one of the many customers or loiterers she attracted to our end of the store. She toyed with them, driving them, and me, completely nuts. "Here comes one of my regulars," she'd murmur as one of the earnest young intellectuals made his way up the aisle, trying to look uninterested, preoccupied. "Wonder what's on his highly educated little mind today?"

We had only worked together for a brief while when she began to casually place a hand on my leg or arm or shoulder. She would sometimes seem "little-girlish" with me, but only subtly. I doubt that anyone else who worked there could see that she was coming on to me. In fact, they would have thought I was flattering myself if I had said anything. I mean, she was nearly twice my age, gorgeous and sophisticated in a near-bohemian way, married, for Christs' sake, and I was this bearded young buck. But I knew, or rather, suspected. Hell, I didn't know what to think. I was becoming obsessed as only a brand new man can be. She was just too delicious. Was I kidding myself? No. Absolutely not. Maybe. Definitely. Oh, for Christ's sake ...

Soon there were lunches. My invitation. She said no the first time I asked her if she'd like to join me for lunch, but it was a very studied "no." She paused a long time, looking into my eyes before saying, "no, I don't think so ..." and let her voice trail off as a slight smile crossed her face. She *enjoyed* saying no to me! Put her hand on my goddamn THIGH when she said no to me.

Somehow, as nonchalantly as I could, but terrified I'd come across like one of her asshole "regulars," I managed to ask her again, and to my astonishment, she agreed. We started having lunch together nearly every day. And then I casually told her I was going to a movie after work, and she asked with whom, and I said no one, just love this guy's films ... we have some of the screenplays back in Film and Theater... We talked for a long while about his film, looked over some of the screenplays together, talked about one we'd both seen ... then she just invited herself along.

She let me listen to her calling her husband to tell him she'd would be home late, that she and "a friend" were going to a movie. She glanced at me and smiled slightly as she said "friend." Agony. "No, darling, you stay home ... well, sure, maybe ... if it's good I won't mind seeing it again with you sometime ... right. And we'll probably stop somewhere for a bite afterwards ... love you too."

It was the beginning of a long seduction. I wanted it to be a seduction of her by me, but of course it wasn't. I learned a lot.

The movies after work became sort of a regular thing. I decided just to try and set my sexual desire for her aside, at least while I waited for some sort of flash of insight that would make her mine. I rationalized it in a very high-minded way: she's married. I've got plenty of opportunities for sex with women who don't carry that particular baggage, and besides, it's dishonest. Hah! It was equally dishonest to pretend that I didn't want her. But that's life when you're seventeen, eighteen years old.

We were great spiritual partners for one another. We had a passion for poetry, for films, for art, for the outdoors ... it was sooo good to be together. Off and on I would see that we were in a sort of love. It began to be ok that we didn't sleep together. In fact, we started to talk about our relationships - she about her marriage, I about my girlfriends and the occasional one-nighter. Once she asked me if I ever went out after being out with her, and I honestly told her yes. Had I ever gone out and had sex after being out with her? Yes. She looked down at her napkin, and I thought she looked a little flushed under her golden skin. When she looked up, she *was* flushed, and her eyes had a twinkle ... tears? She smiled tenderly, and said simply "Good. I like that." She paused again. "Sometimes after we go out, I go home and I ... I have to um ..."

The waiter came and broke the spell. I didn't know what to make of it all: wasn't as bright as everyone thought I was. Some say that I'm still as oblivious about sexual matters now as I was then ... or that I'm better at seeing other people's stuff than my own.

Three times, I think it was, her husband joined us for lunch. First time, he was sort of short with me. I was, at least, smart enough to be flattered. I was a threat to a 35 year-old husband! But her willingness to let him join us was unnerving. Was I that benign? Was I so young, such a sexual irrelevancy that it was "safe" to hang out with me and her husband together? It was gratifying that HE didn't think so.

But the second time, I realized I really sort of liked the guy. He was funny. He was smart. He looked cool. He seemed to really love her. He treated her well. Better than I did, actually. I was always teasing her about things, being sort of sarcastic ... he was soft and kind with her, and she soaked it up. I had to admit that I liked him, and I liked them together. I was more tortured than ever. Because however I idealized them and their marriage, however I tried to "platonize" our relationship, there were her dark, deep, naughty eyes, her slender fingers, her full, smiling lips, the crease in her brow when she frowned (which she did a lot) ... her absolutely sculptural collar bones, her soft, jet hair, her breasts, not large, just perfect and full, ripe ... her round hips as she walked away on her long legs, arm-in-arm with her husband, turning on a perfect ankle to surreptitiously smile over her shoulder at me. Did she just wink at me? I believed it was some sort of love that I saw in her smile.

She invited me to her place for dinner. When the night came, we went straight from work, I on my motorcycle, she in her car. It was a great place ... they'd remodeled an urban townhouse before it was popular to do so ... a carpenter friend had helped them with the design, and shown them how to do much of the work themselves. And it was beautiful, full of pottery and soft lighting and art. They were affluent - that had been obvious from the casual but expensive clothes she wore, and the occasional piece of jewelry. She worked because she liked to, and it gave her an escape from her doctoral work and her teaching fellowship. She lit candles, brought drinks over to the couch where I sat, and settled in next to me ... we chatted a bit about the day at work and eventually I asked when Tim would be home. "He's out of town on business ..."

I nearly dropped my drink. She adjusted herself on the couch, letting her shoes drop to the floor, tucking her long legs up under her as she looked at me over the rim of her glass ... "Are you disappointed?"

No, of course not it's fine with me ... it was too good to be true, but I was so flustered, I couldn't help trying to be cool. I started trying to chat about where he was. The conversation just stalled and sat there, until she said "Let's talk about him after dinner, OK?"

She slowly slipped her feet back into her shoes - fairly serious fuck me slides - and liquidly made her way to the kitchen. After a few moments I followed. We nearly collided in the passage between the dining room and the kitchen, and she had just reached for the light switch. The kitchen light went out, and we were face to face in the candlelight. I realized, oddly, that even with her heels on, I had a good two inches on her. I wiped the thought from my mind as she simply rose up and put her soft lips to mine. That's all that was touching: our lips. Her breasts where painfully close to my chest. Her hand on the wall switch was near my face...her smell - God, her smell! - was all around me, climbing down into me.

Her tongue touched mine, and for a moment, I thought I would grab her and take her right there on the floor or over the counter. In truth, I was too flustered, too excited to know what to do. I was trembling, and so was she. We broke our kiss after a long while, and looked at each other ... she was smiling, her eyes sparkling, and shaking her head from side to side as if in wonder. I smiled too, and soon we were holding each other and laughing.

We recovered and shared another kiss. Hot, wet and hungry. When we came up for air, I said something suave like "so now, what?" and she said "I'm not sure. I don't know where all this is going, but whatever comes next, I don't want to do it on an empty stomach!"

We ate in near silence. It was some sort of pasta I'd never had. After dinner, we returned to the couch. "Do you want to stay with me tonight?"

"You know I do." A long pause.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure." I leaned in and kissed her deeply, and wonder of wonders! I touched her breast through her light blouse. She gasped softly into my mouth, and pressed her lips tighter to mine, her tongue probing past mine as her hand on the back of my head pulled me closer.

"I want us to do something different tonight. Something really special. I promise you'll like it and ... and it's something I really, really, want. I mean for us. I want to share something special with you. Just trust me tonight ..." She murmured these words softly into my neck and my ear and we returned to our kissing.

She silently rose and led me to her bedroom ...*their* bedroom, I dimly thought. She gently pushed my hands away when I reached for her, and with a deliberately wicked smile, she began to draw my shirt up over my chest, kissing up to my nipples as she went. I pulled the shirt the rest of the way up and off, and she began to massage my stiff cock through my jeans as she licked and sniffed and sucked at my chest and my armpits. I tried to put my arms around her, but she firmly brought my hands down to my own hips as she worked at the button fly and belt. My cock sprung forth as she lowered my briefs and she let it brush her cheek as she went down sliding my jeans and underwear down to my ankles. I stepped out of them as she knelt there helping, her breath on my thighs.

She tried to rise, but my hands on her head were firm - or did they plead? She gave in, and settled on her knees, looking up at me. So serious now, my laughing lady. So serious and so inquiring as she sought my eyes. She stroked me and searched my face from down there, then she examined my cock and balls, all the while stroking and holding. Then she looked back up into my eyes as she brought her soft, full lips to the wet tip of my cock. Her tongue flicked out, and her eyes remained on mine. She drew my clear fluid into her mouth and seemed to swallow before pressing my cock to her lips, dragging it over their softness, harvesting more pre-cum with her tongue. Still staring into my eyes with that inquisitive look, she used my cockhead to press her lips open, and took the head into her hot mouth, her tongue softly stroking the underside of it.

With a groan, she finally broke eye contact and took several inches of me into her mouth holding onto my thighs as I gently held her head, my fingers in her dark curls. She sucked and pumped at me for what seemed several minutes. Could she feel how my knees were shaking? Of course, she could. She must. She pulled away from my penis, breathing heavily, holding my length against her cheek, kissing into my pubic hair, and drawing my balls forward in her hand to kiss as her other hand held my cock.

"It'll be so good. So good," she murmured as she nuzzled me. I had to force myself to listen, to concentrate on her words. She was telling me something. "You just have to trust me, just trust me to make it good ..." Her voice was muffled against my scrotum, and the soft vibration of her voice, her breath, her elegant hand still stroking my length. I had to strain to understand what she was saying. Why was she saying this? "Just tell me you'll trust me ... do you M___? Do you trust me to make it good for you? For us?"

I looked down and saw that her face was turned up to mine. She was nearly childlike, her eyes had the darkness and the openness of a child who wants so to be taken up and loved. I didn't know what it was that scared and thrilled me in her just then, but now I do: it was a need that, had I known how deep it went, would have been more than my half-man soul could have faced. But I was a vain boy - everyone had always thought I was older than I was, especially me.

"Trust me, M___, you have to trust me and it'll be good ... mmmm ... so good ..." There was no seduction in her voice, just longing, so sincere it could break a heart, break it open.

I drew her up as a man would, by her upper arms. I had felt my strength with girls, and with women, but now I was feeling my power with *this* woman - this very special woman. I drew her up to me, and kissed her soft lips, warm, slick and puffy from their tender work on my cock. She yielded so sweetly ... became almost small as I held her arms in my hands and her head tilted back to take my tongue into her mouth, then urging me on as I kissed along her neck and throat.

On the bed, her yielding was gone. We were partners, playing in the waves, nearly knocked silly by what was washing over us. Pulling each other back, sliding over each other as clothes fell away and our breath surged. I wish I could tell you what she wore ... usually I'm eager to savor peeling away layers of mystery and clothing, but I truly don't know. Maybe she undressed herself as I lost myself in her spicy smells and her strange new textures. I know she spoke, but I was past listening. Her voice was just wind, birdsong, heartbeat. And my mind was veering toward the fuck, the splendid fuck. In my mind I was deep in her already, her cunt, so hot and wet, was already mine. I was in her mouth and cunt and ass between her tits and in her hair all at once, and at once was just when I wanted her I wanted her at once, all at once ... I would tell you what I "did to her" and what she "did to me," in the ancient tradition of these tales, but god help me I just don't know, and can't make it up. It was wet and it smelled of nearly everything given to us-the-undeserving, and I was alive ... the earth was ours and it was all over us.

Whew. OK. I'm back now.

Sorry. Got a little zoned out. The thing is this: all of a sudden, everything stopped except the tripping of my heart and the throbbing of my cock. The groaning and squealing and growling had stopped. She was suddenly straddling me forcefully, and leaning over me, holding my face, staring into my eyes, a smile of disbelief on her glowing face. She was seated on my belly, my ribs clenched between her knees, my face held in her hands, my eyes held fast in hers.

She said it again - her breath ragged and her voice shaking: "Will you trust me? You do, don't you? You know how I love you, don't you?" (She said "how I love you," not "how *much* I love you" - "*how* I love you" - for some reason that stuck in my mind.)

I could only nod yes. I don't know if I really trusted her. I think "yes" and "no" were maybe the only answers I knew back then. "Yes, I do, I trust you," I nodded silently as my chest heaved and my wet cock touched her ass, nudging into her crack ... the spot I now felt with my fingers and found downy, soft. God, yes, sure, I trust you, just let me fuck you and fuck you and fuck you.

She produced a loop of cloth - it was a necktie - classic, no? Its ends were knotted together to form a loop. She gave it a twist and put the smaller loop she'd formed over my wrist. Hah. She'd done this before ...

"See ... it comes right off ... all you do is a little twist, and you're free. See?" She hooked the other end over some feature of the headboard, and did likewise with the other wrist, all the while working her amazing ass over my lower belly, her ass crack and pubic hair pressing the length of me, rolling my cock against my own hard belly.

And so I was tied. Sort of. It was true that with a twist of my wrist I'd be free. Was it bondage? Hardly. I gripped the cloth in my hands and held on tight ... good god! Her wetness was drying on my fingers.

She slid down and my feet were in her hands, her back to me, her small, round ass still in touch with my cock. And my feet were tied. Her vulva glistened, her lips were exposed, nearly scarlet.

She wriggled backward up my body, and her ass and sopping cunt were there, there to lick ... and I strained up into her and heard her gasp as her lips opened to my tongue ... I tongued her open like licking an oyster up from its shell, and she settled onto me as her hot mouth took my cock, took it for hers, her head bobbing but in circles, like a child who wants to get dizzy, but slower. It was a sweet, slightly savage sucking, and I felt teeth and rough tongue, and slippery lips and clutching throat.

And then she was rearing up ... my cock was rocking in the air ... she was over me, her hands on my belly, her ass and puss pressed to my face as I ate there and ate there like some crazy-assed squirrel with the last and sweetest nut.

Beyond the sound of my own feasting I heard her say "Isn't he beautiful ... isn't he just too beautiful? Oh god, he's so good ... I told you he'd be like this ..."

At first I thought she was talking to my cock! I nearly laughed as I hungrily lapped at her. In fact, the sheer craziness of it filled me with happiness ... my crazy lover ... talking about me to my cock!

But that was just for the briefest of moments ... I continued to probe deeper into her sweet core with my tongue, and she never ceased the subtle undulation of her hips over my face. I heard her again: "Come on, baby ... do it for me ... I want to see you like this, do it, baby ... Pleease, Timmy ... for me, baby ..."

It was her husband. For a moment, I considered giving my wrists the simple twist it would have taken to be free. I could be out of there in less than a minute, and on my way back to the world.