Carol's introduction to the backseat.
I was introduced to sex, like many girls, in the backseat of a car.
My parents were stringent, which did more harm than good. Believe it or not, my dates in high school consisted of my father driving us to a movie and then picking us up.
I turned eighteen in October of my senior year. The only boy I had made out with was Bob Wilson, whom I had known since grade school. He was a year older than me, and I adored him. While kissing in the movies, I had allowed him to squeeze my ripening breasts. He was a little rough. But when his lips brushed, then sucked my tender nipples, it felt so good I could feel it in my pussy. Emboldened by the darkness of the theater, I spread my legs slightly. I was able to sneak my hand between my legs and stroke my pussy gently. I couldn't stop touching myself, and with an audible groan, I experienced my first orgasm.
I thought he was a god. He had made my tits feel so good.
He left for college the next morning. I cried for two days after he drove away. I vowed I would not date anyone while he was gone.
I remained true to my word, but I heard stories about him with girls at college; foolishly, I didn't believe them. He stopped calling, saying he was busy with schoolwork, and I believed him. I was a love-struck girl, and no one could convince me he was a bum. The recurring story was that he lived with a divorced woman in her thirties.
I couldn't imagine my guy with a woman that old; what could they have in common? Yes, I was that innocent.
He called to say he would be home for Christmas, and I couldn't wait to see him. I had a feeling he was going to want to have sex, so I was a little nervous, not knowing what to expect.
He came over on Christmas Eve, bringing a present. After we held each other and lightly kissed, his hands traveled over my butt. I moved his hand and told him to take it easy. He knew my sister was the only one home, and she was up in her bedroom on the phone.
Bob suggested we go into the family room. We sat close together on the couch; he turned my head and kissed me hard; our mouths opened, and our tongues found each other. I could smell beer on his breath; he was rougher than I remembered as he rammed his tongue into my mouth.
The trouble was that I had imagined a romantic night in which he would be gentle and kind, and after we kissed and touched each other, I would give myself to him.
The problem was that he acted like a jerk, and I was not in the mood. We relaxed briefly, and he announced he would get a beer out of the refrigerator. I had on a wrap-around skirt that had a habit of flapping open. I looked down; both legs were exposed, almost to my waist, not that you could see anything. I was wearing solid brown pantyhose and, under them, black panties, but I still felt vulnerable.
He returned with the beers. I took a sip of mine and put it down. I don't like to drink. My mother had warned me about guys getting girls drunk so they could do things to them. But I knew Bob wasn't like that.
He sat down, our legs touching. He picked up my bottle and brought it to my lips.
"Come on, Carol, drink up; it's Christmas."
"Can't we just talk? I don't feel like drinking."
I was annoyed; I knew what he wanted. He had a spoiled brat look on his face. Standing up, he headed for the door, saying.
"You can talk to yourself. I'm going out and get drunk; call me when you grow up."
I found I was crying myself to sleep again because of him. I wouldn't give in to him the way he was treating me. I hadn't opened my gift yet; I was tempted to throw it in his face.
I sat on my bed, broken-hearted. I had expected something completely different. Let him live with his "older woman" I didn't care.
I ran up to my room and flopped back on my bed. I lay in the darkness, feeling sorry for myself as my hand strayed to my crotch.
I slipped my hand under my pantyhose, then my panties. My finger parted my soft folds and found my clit, massaging it carefully. Just a light pressure from my fingers started sparks flying. It felt so good. Why did guys have to be such jerks?
I had been ready to give my body up tonight, and Bob ruined it. I felt my muscles tighten up, and I shuddered with a strong orgasm; I lay there, spent, my hand slick with my juice.
I licked and sucked my fingers clean, wondering what the guy's cum tasted like?
I was definitely having a "pity" party for myself. I was eighteen and, by all standards, "Hot," and I didn't have a date for the holidays.
I didn't hear anything from Bob; after three days, I didn't expect I would ever again, and once I resigned myself to that fact, I felt better.
My mind drifted to Pete, our next-door neighbor. I knew he had a crush on me but was immature, even though he was one year older than me. I felt like he was a kid compared to me. He had asked me out a couple of times, but only jokingly. He was never expecting a serious answer. I was able to get away without saying no and hurting his feelings.
I looked out the window, checking if his car was there. His parents had gone out with mine, so I knew he was alone. My thoughts went to his older brother, Jack. I prayed he would be there. He was twenty-two, and I've had a crush on him for as long as I can remember.
I would walk over and hopefully get my ego stroked and maybe something else.
But there was only one car in the driveway. I was sure Pete was the only one in the house.
I was definitely out of his class. With my angelic face framed with shoulder-length blonde hair. My boobs filled my thirty-two "c" cups nicely. I probably should have a "d" cup; sometimes, my boobs looked like they were going to overflow my bra.
But my most striking feature is my legs. I'm five feet seven inches, and I'm all legs. I wore three-inch heels to my prom and towered over my date. I must have fed his inferiority complex because I never heard from him again.
I wanted to look nice but not send a message. I wanted romance. I chose a pleated black skirt that reached my knees. I didn't want to wear tights; they were too dark. I wanted to display my perfect legs. I needed male approval, even if it was from a loser.
I had no appropriate pantyhose; they were too confining, so I entered my mother's room.
She was like me, very feminine, always wearing skirts and heels. I was taller, and it bothered her.
I checked her underwear drawer. The only off-black nylons she had were sheer hold-up stockings. I felt daring and took them. I noticed my mother had a collection of garter belts. It got me to wonder when she wore them and for whom. I had always been intrigued by regular stockings and garter belts, but I thought you would wear them to please your husband on special occasions.
I slipped into the stockings. They were soft and almost reached my butt cheeks. I decided to wear a red Christmas sweater my aunt had sent me. It was a little tight, but the bra I wore was full coverage, so my jiggling was kept to a minimum.
No spike heels for me. I saw a pair of four-inch stilettos in my mother's closet and left them there; I had a pair of two-inch heels. They were sexy without making me tower over guys. I didn't want him to get any ideas. Guys think that if a woman wears nylons and high heels, they want sex. I realize that is probably true sometimes, but not tonight.
I teased my hair, checked my makeup, and headed next door.
Standing on his porch, I could hear the sound of a video game being played. I wondered if this was a mistake. The night air was cooler, and then I realized I should have worn a jacket. My nipples were clearly visible through the thin material. Pete was calling out that he was on the way. Opening the door, looking shocked, he said.
"Are you locked out, Carol? I'll get the spare key."
