My life wasn't supposed to be like this! I was supposed to live just like all of my brothers and my father before me; quiet, married with kids, 9 to 5 job, educated, house in the burbs; all the usual stuff.
That's the funniest thing about life though, isn't it? It doesn't always turn out the way it was supposed to.
In the beginning, it started out just as me, the usual perpetually horny, shy, pimply, desperate to be 'Mr Cool', (at least with most of my friends), typical 18 year old teenager. It was this desperation to be part of my clan of mates from high school that led me to accept an invitation to attend an 18th birthday party that 'everybody' from my class was going to. No problem. It wasn't going to be a rage party. It wasn't advertised on social media, so only those invited could attend under the watchful eyes of Matt's strict parents.
Matt, by the way, was the birthday boy and also one of my playground mates. We hung out together, ogled the always sexy female classmates together and discussed in great virginal detail what we would love to do with each one of the said girls. Typical high school stuff!
The party. The party! Yep, everyone was there in their own versions of cool personas and clothes. I wore jeans, tee shirt and slip on runners, as did most of the male species at the party. The girls seemed to be split evenly between conservatively primish, you know, skirt, button top, shoes! Obviously button top so that parents who checked during prior party inspections would be ok with the lack of displayed cleavage and uncovered thigh. Same tops and skirts which could be hiked up or unbuttoned at will depending on the member of the opposite sex close by, or the quantity of alcohol consumed.
The other half of the girl party goers were just like the boys; jeans, tee shirts, etc. My mind's jury was out about which of the two dress styles showed off more of the sexy bits of the opposite gender!
Problem was, no alcohol! Why was that a problem? We were all underage legally to consume grog, so why would it be a problem? That was precisely the problem. It became a competition to have the sneakiest, cleverest, most innovative way of bringing grog to the party.
It was here the the girls had the advantage. They had boobs, which apart from their obvious reason for existence, to drive shy virginal boys like me mad with desire to touch, squeeze, ogle, lick, suck, etc. They stuck out in varying degrees, with a perfect hiding place in between. One of the girls, Liz, seemed to have real advantage here. Her massive melons were the envy if every female present at the party and I am sure every boy there took mental pictures every time she showed even the slightest amount of cleavage. Hey a boy has to have some spank material when alone. We can't all hide magazines under the bed, or watch porn on the net, well not always at will anyway!
Skirts, or should I say 'up skirts' was also a popular method. Whenever one of the girls would produce a small bottle of some suitable mixable alcohol from under her skirt, us boys would always wink and snicker uncontrollably with the notion that the smooth round bottle came out of some part of the girl's anatomy which, by the way, none of us had actually seen in real life, touched in real life, or even entered in real life. Thank goodness for the internet when we could check it out!
Us boys on the other hand were restricted to what could fit into our socks.
Needless to say, the party went as well as could be expected. There were the usual eats, official punch drinks and present giving, the usual loud music and pseudo dancing and the usual innuendo and flirtatious behaviour expected at a monitored gathering of a group of hormone charged, slightly merry, slightly scared of the opposite sex, teenagers.
Matt, my mate, who seemed to have had a fair few 'birthday swigs' from many of the alcohol supplied guests, was the first to suggest a running, obstacle course type of race around his backyard. His backyard is at least an acre and is covered with various gardens, walking tracks and seats. His parents were right into the gardening bit.
Everyone agreed and after a few fairly energetic rounds of the various tracks, it became just a constant stream of groups walking, running around. Perfect for anyone who wanted to get frisky with anyone else but not perfect for anyone given the task of guarding the moral well being of this group. Matt's parents couldn't stop it once it had started. We had fun. There were a few cuddles, giggles and discrete feels here and there amongst the bushes. Liz was a very popular running mate, but mostly never came back early and when she did, it was usually quickly adjusting her hair, or checking her buttons! I think quite a few boys got their first titty feel that night, judging by the glazed look on their faces. Maybe some even got their first cunt feel as well! There was lots of kissing, fondling and general exploration of the opposite sex that night.
I went for a 'run' with quite a few girls, but only one suggested we stop for a break. Her name was Melinda. We often talked at school and I silently thought she liked me, but typical shy teen that I was, never did anything about it. Melinda was about my height, 180cm, with long black hair and eyes that seemed to suck you in like some sort of dark whirlpool. I could never get enough of her eyes! Her tits were not too big, but still quite noticeable. Which tits aren't to someone my age, right? I often daydreamed about what they really looked like. (as I wanked off, of course)
Melinda sat very close to me on the cold stone seat and I swear she was breathless. Maybe she was just as innocent at this as I was. She talked about stuff... girl stuff mostly... about the party, about the other kids there, etc. As we talked, she slowly, ever so slowly inched closer to my face. I could smell the sweet breath of bacardi and coke and sensed that wonderful warmth when two people breathe in and out each other's breath. Our eyes seemed to be both locked on each other's lips.
It was strange but we both touched lips at the same moment without realising it. Our lips were so dry from nervousness that it took us awhile to register that they were touching. We both carefully licked our lips and touched again. This time they slid over each other in a slippery, roller coaster sort of dance. Head one way then the other and back, all the time while our eyes were semi closed, squinting in sheer joy at this newfound sensation. "Wow!" she whispered. "This is nice."
"Yeah. I'm loving it too," I stammered back. At this point, we both tentatively touched tongues and the real dance began! We explored every inch of each other's lips, tongues, teeth and mouths until our faces were a mess of lipstick (from her) and saliva. We just couldn't stop. That's when we realised that we had an audience!
Two other 'runners' had stood and watched for we don't know how long. "Bravo!" they both whispered, "Now go because others are wondering where you are."
"Crap!" I replied. "Let's go Melinda." I noticed that she was sort of hesitant to go, but did the hair adjustment thing, wiped her face and followed me back to the rest of the party. Some of my mates saw us surface and gave me the discrete thumbs up along with a sly grin.
I wanted to stay with Melinda, but she soon disappeared back to her cohort of female buddies and they were lost in huddled conversation for quite a while. I did see her again, just before the party ended. She came over to me and looked directly into my eyes while she said, "Just so you know, you're an ok kisser and I would really like to do it again some time." I sort of stammered, "Yeah. Me too." She then went to her ride home.
My head was in a turmoil. I was scared, turned on in equal measure and my dick responded accordingly. Remembering those slippery soft lips, darting tongue and intoxicating smells sent my dick into overdrive, but the sheer enormity of it along with nagging doubts about when, how, will I be good enough, what if I can't get it up, etc, sent it back down again.
I walked home that night in a turmoil for all of the above reasons. I liked Melinda as a girl to talk to at school. Did I really want to have sex with her? "Yes!" said my dick. "No!" said my sense of morality. "Crap!" said my mouth. I knew I was as horny as a goat. If I was at home, no problem. I would have dealt with the dick situation in a flash. And that is long as it usually took, hence my insecurity in the sex department. What if I was not good enough? Or last long enough to give the girl a good climax, orgasm, whatever. Imagine the angst at school the next day... the sniggers behind hands.
All these thoughts went through my head, but my dick only knew one thought... cum now!
I walked past an empty field, which was dark and empty... duh! Without thinking too heavily on it, I walked to the middle of the field and dropped my pants... as you do of course! "This would only take a minute," I thought, as I took my frustrated cock into my hands and began the familiar tugging which all teenagers know so well.
I was lost in thoughts of guilt, flashes of naked tits, naked pussy, Melinda's lips and eyes while my right hand continued its well-practised backwards and forwards motion. I was so lost in these pre-occupations, that I did not register the approaching thunder storm. My dick felt good, my eyes were closed, my right hand was moving, my knees were trembling, my buttocks were tensed, my lower stomach area had that familiar sweet ache, my breathing was rapid, my mind went overtime. "What if I am not good enough? How can I make my girl feel really good? How can I help her to relax enough to have sex with me? Will I make her cum?" This coupled with tits, nipples, pussy, lips.
I was just about to cum (believe me, I know and appreciate and welcome the feeling, especially tonight) when a large bolt of lightning came from the heavens in my general direction. In the same instant, I must have registered some element of danger because my right hand went up in some primitive gesture of self defense, while at the same time my dick exploded as the inevitable result of all that tugging and mental reviewing of the female anatomy.
My orgasm seemed to last a huge length of time. Usually, three quick blasts and some minor after squirts sees the end of me. But this time was different. My muscles from my knees to my chest were contracting so tight, it was a wonder I could breathe. My nipples, normally, a non-participant in the whole wanking thing, stood out, almost hurting, begging to be licked, sucked, nibbled, rubbed, whatever. My dick seemed to expand in size, length and breadth, slowly pumping, yes, pumping that glorious semen from my poor balls, outward, ever outward in huge slow motion spurts, each of which sent my mind into spasms of absolute, pure pleasure. It just went on, and on, and on, until I collapsed into what some French erotic writers describe as 'petite mort', the little death.
