It all started when I turned 15. My mom and dad were getting divorced and my grandmother told my mom that I was going with her to camp for my birthday. I didn’ t want to go. I didn’t want to do anything, least of all spend time with a bunch of screaming girls. Grandma explained that it wasn’t that kind of a camp. It was a private camp, for families. We would have our own cabin. I could go swimming, play volleyball, play horseshoes, or any of a number of other games and activities. I still didn’t see the point in going until Grandma told me she wanted to give me some girl time, on my own, away from my parents, away from the divorce. When both my mom and dad told me they thought it was a good idea for their daughter, I decided to go, but I wasn’t going to enjoy myself.
“Can I just sit and do nothing?” I asked Grandma.
“Sure, Annie, you can do nothing at all!” she said, and smiled.
The camp was up in the mountains. I got sick on the drive up. The winding road finally snaked down into a valley with a beautiful, emerald lake. As we drove around the lake on a small, one-lane road, I remember how excited Grandma got when she first saw the camp.
“Look! Look! There it is!”
As we came around the corner I saw a green patch, rising up from the lake, like a huge welcome mat. There was a break in the trees where a lawn rose with the slope of the hill. We turned right onto a road that climbed up the middle of the lawn. I saw cabins perched on the hill, in a semicircle around the lawn.
“There’s the horseshoes… and the firepit… and the clubhouse.”
Grandma spoke with a sparkle, and I started to get excited, in spite of my best efforts.
“We’ve got Cabin #7, there, on the left. I got it specially for us.”
Grandma pointed up the hill as she barely missed driving off the tiny road. We parked at the bottom of a long pathway of stairs leading to the front door.
“I have to get the key. You start unpacking.”
I pointed to a door that was too many steps away.
“Yes, up there. It’s not so bad, once you get used to it. Now get to work. I expect to see everything by the door when I come back with the key!”
Before I had time to object, Grandma had gone off up the hill. I took a deep breath.
“I thought I didn’t have to do ANYTHING!” I grumbled, as I lugged one after another load of blankets, food, and clothes up the hill.
Between loads, resting at the top, I looked out over the rest of the camp. It was sure green! There were pine trees everywhere, especially behind the cabins, which were like circled wagons, a boundary against the wild forest. Inside the circle I could see all sorts of different areas. I found the volleyball court, basketball court, tether-ball, several big bar-b-ques, and the beach along the lake across the road.
“That’s where we go at night to make some-mores and sing,” Grandma said, giving me a scare. I had been sitting on my suitcase, staring out at the lake. “Did you get everything up from the car?”
“Where have you BEEN! I got done at least ten minutes ago!” I complained.
“I had to check in, Annie, get the key, and visit for a little bit,” Grandma said. “Let’s get set up!”
We spent some more time moving everything inside and preparing the cabin.
“This is your room. Mine is on the other side. We share the bathroom.”
By the time we finished making the beds, putting away our clothes, sweeping, washing dust off the kitchen counters, checking what we had and what we still needed, it was late afternoon. Grandma sat down at the picnic table on the deck overlooking the camp.
“How about a nice glass of iced tea?” Grandma said.
I nodded in agreement.
“You see that machine down by the clubhouse?”
Grandma pointed out a square box beside a building in the middle of the lawn.
“Why don’t you go get me a bucket of ice.” When she saw my frown, she added, “No complaints, young lady. You can take your time and explore. I’m not in any hurry.”
She handed me the plastic bucket and showed me out the door. I wasn’t in the mood for getting ice, or for iced tea, or exploring, but I knew if I stayed, Grandma would put me to work doing something else. And she said I could take my time, so I would take my time.
I walked down the steps and across the lawn to the building Grandma called the clubhouse. As I got closer, I saw there was a pool table inside, and I heard someone playing ping-pong. I peeked in the window and saw a man hitting a ping-pong ball up in the air, over and over, each time spinning the paddle to hit the ball on the opposite side. When he saw me, he stopped. He waved me to come in.
“Hey!” he said, “I’m John. I’m in Cabin #13. What’s your name?”
I looked around for anybody else, but it was only him. He was older. He looked to be 20. He had dark blue eyes. I remember how my heart skipped a beat when he looked right back at me and smiled.
“I’m a friend of your grandma’s,” he said. “You guys are in #7, right?”
I relaxed. He knew Grandma.
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” I said.
He walked out the door, looked up to our balcony and waved to Grandma.
“This one yours?” he yelled up to her.
“Yep! That’s the one! Annie, John. John, Annie.” she yelled back.
I smiled and waved up at Grandma. She gave me a wave, then went inside the cabin.
“Nice to meet you, Annie. You play?” John said, waving the paddle.
I thought it would be better if I was inside, and out of view, in case Grandma thought of something else for me to do.
“Sure,” I said.
Then John did something that surprised me. He held out his hand and waited for me to put my hand in his, like I needed help or something.
“I’m not a kid!” I said.
“Okay. And does that mean you don’t hold hands?”
I gave him my best sideways inspection look.
“Oh…,” he said. “Okay, let’s make a deal.” He bent forward and put his face very close to mine. “I won’t treat you like a child if you don’t treat me like an old man.”
“You’re not an old man!” I said. “You’re a young man.”
“And you’re not a child, you’re a young woman,” he said, making me blush. He made a point of looking me up and down. I was afraid he had x-ray eyes and could see under my clothes. I looked down and slipped back into being little girl.
“Oh…” he said, which only made me turn even brighter red. “Here, let me get you a paddle.” He got a paddle off the table and handed it to me. “Ready?”
I was glad for the distraction. When I missed the ball on the first swing, I turned and chased the ball this way then that as it bounced away. “Gotcha!” I finally announced as my hand closed around the white ball. The hair on the back of my neck prickled as I knew without looking that John was staring at me. I stood up, but didn’t turn around right away, instead letting myself feel his stare. I got a flutter in my stomach, then turned and smiled.
“Come on, let’s play,” he said.
I jumped back to the table and looked across the net at John’s eyes. When he smiled, I thought I would melt on the spot. I launched a hard serve and missed the table entirely. We both laughed and I watched John’s body move quickly to trap the ball. I swallowed hard when he bent over and his jeans pressed tight against his behind. I imagined I saw a slight bulge on the left inside thigh. I was so embarrassed that I almost looked away, but didn’t. If he could do it, I could do it, too.
“You’ll get a lot better by the time you leave,” he said, returning to the table. “If you want, I can give you lessons!”
“I’d like that,” I said, looking across the table at his dreamy eyes and comforting smile.
We played until it started to get dark..
“Come on,” John said, running around to my side of the table, grabbing me by the hand and dragging me outside.
“Hey! Not so rough!” I said.
“Look!” he said.
He pointed up to the ridge. The last flash of sun dropped out of sight. It was beautiful: a hundred diamonds flashing between the pine needles. I blinked my eyes and saw lots of sunspots. I looked at John, and saw he was blinking, too. We smiled and blinked at each other for a few seconds, then I realized we were still holding hands.
“It’s not because you’re a child,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze.
That week I learned to play ping pong. I also learned about hugging. John was the first man I let hug me front to front, since I had started growing. He would hug me every time we met and every time I left. On the last day of my stay, he took me for a walk over the ridge. We held hands. When we got out of sight of the camp, he stopped, turned me, wrapped his arms around me like a hug, but lifted my face with his hand and kissed me. I was so nervous I ended it before I knew what had happened. John waited and after a few seconds I leaned back into John, stood up on my tip-toes, and kissed him. This time, we stayed together longer. The feeling of his lips against mine swallowed me. I relaxed into his arms as he lifted me right off my feet. I opened my eyes to find his eyes twinkling with a smile.
“I hope you come back next year,” he said.
“Will you be here?”
“I’m here every year.”
We kissed again and I wrapped my legs around his, pressing my crotch into his body.
“We better get back,” he said.
He lifted me by the waist and waited until I let my legs drop down. We walked back, hand in hand. I looked at him, so happy I could scream. I wanted to tell him how I felt, but I was afraid. Instead I looked into his eyes and tried to show him. He looked back, smiled, then squeezed my hand, our fingers wrapped together.
“Be patient, Annie” he said, then kissed me.
When we got closer to camp, he let go of my hand. When we got to his cabin and he climbed the stairs to go in, I wanted to follow him.
“You come back next year,” he said, then turned and went inside. When he shut the door, my heart took an arrow.
Although I looked for him that night at the campfire and the next morning as we packed, he was nowhere to be found. Grandma, noticing I wasn’t very happy, said, “We’ll come back next year. You want to come back?”
I just started crying.
“Okay, but this year it’s just you and me, like the first year.”
I gave Grandma a hug.
“Oh, thank you, Grandma!”
It was going to be my 18th birthday, and like my 15th and 17th birthdays my grandmother was taking me to camp.
I had almost died when Grandma got sick and we couldn’t go to camp for my 16th birthday. For my 17th, I asked Grandma if we could take my two best girlfriends. It had been a difficult trip, not only for Grandma, who found three teenage girls quite a handful. It had been hard for me, too. One of my friends, Mary, had spent most of her time competing for, and winning, John’s attention.
John was the unofficial ping-pong teacher, swimmer, and guitar player at the camp. He was older, good looking, and liked being doted on by teenage girls. I had met John when I was 15. He had given me my first real kiss, and I’m sure he would have given more, if I had been able to go back when I was 16. Instead, I came back two years later, and Mary was such a successful flirt. I got mad at John when he paid attention to her instead of me.
Now, this year, I was sad my friends weren’t coming, but I was wondering what it would be like to have more time on my own with John.
When we got to camp, I helped Grandma get the cabin ready. It didn’t take long. I’m sure Grandma saw me looking out across the lawn to Cabin #13.
“Why don’t you go and explore,” Grandma said, setting herself up on the porch with an iced tea.
“I’ll be back for dinner,” I said, turning before she could see my face light up.
I’m sure she knew I was anxious to find John, especially since last year I hadn’t hidden my frustration whenever Mary hung around John. But this year I was alone. “And I’m 18,” I thought to myself, blushing, imagining what might happen, if John wanted to.
I flew down the steps, then slowed as I came into view of Grandma.
“No need to hurry,” Grandma called, “we’ll eat when you get back,” she said, waving and smiling. She knew, all right, and my heart pounded with the thought that she seemed to be encouraging me.
I walked across the lawn and up to the door of Cabin #13. The screen door was closed, but the main door was open. I gave a knock, waited, then gave a louder knock. When there was no answer, I called into the cabin. “John… John? Are you here?” I waited, but didn’t hear anything. “He must be at the clubhouse,” I thought, turning to leave.
It was John. I turned back around.
“Annie! I didn’t hear you. I was just taking a shower.”
Indeed he was, and he now had on only a towel wrapped around his waist. I was glad I was hidden by the screen door as my eyes just about popped out of my head looking over his bare arms and chest. His legs were hairy and I felt myself pulse with moisture as I imagined the thick black hair that grew at his crotch.
“Come on in,” he said, turning to return to the bathroom.
I watched the towel, open at the back, reveal thick, muscular thighs. I pulled open the screen door just as he disappeared. I waited for a second, then thought, “He invited me in!” So I walked towards the bathroom. When I came around the corner, I watched him pulling on his pants over his bare behind.
“Oh,” he zipped and buckled, then turned and reached for his t-shirt. “Hey, Annie.”
I was surprised by my own boldness, and now felt a little foolish watching him getting dressed.
“I’ll wait out here.”
“No need. I’m done.”
We walked into his living room. I looked over into his bedroom.
“You here for a week?” John asked, moving between me and his bedroom door. My heart was pounding as I imagined he held out his hand and walked me back to his bed.
“Oh, yeah, a week,” I said. Then, louder than I wanted, “I turned 18 last month.”
“That’s great! Happy Birthday! Are you off to college, now?”
He reached back and closed his bedroom door. I felt stupid, like a rejected little girl.
“You want something to drink? A cola?”
John moved to the kitchen, but I just wanted to get out. All I could think about was the way he had doted on Mary last year, ignoring me. Now, he didn’t seem that interested. Well I wasn’t going to stand for it.
“No, thanks. I gotta go… help my grandma.”
“Oh. Okay. See you soon? Say hello to your grandma for me.”
I left and was down the stairs in no time.
For the next few days I moped around. Grandma noticed. When I said I didn’t want to play cards, she looked concerned.
“What’s the matter?”
When I wouldn’t tell her, she seemed to know already.
“Why haven’t you been seeing John?”
“Oh, Grandma,” I cried, then couldn’t stop.
Grandma held me until I couldn’t cry any more, then helped me into bed for the night.
“Get some rest, dear,” she said. “Things will look better in the morning.”
Grandma decided it was time to have a talk with John. And she better do it before Annie woke up. She got dressed and headed, quietly, for Cabin #13.
“John, it’s me. I need to talk with you.”
“Evening Ms. Corbett. Come in.”
As she came inside, John gently placed his hand on her shoulder and let it slowly slide down her back as she walked by. She felt a shiver go up her spine.
“May I offer you something to dirnk? A sherry, perhaps?”
It was her favorite, and she did feel a little nervous.
“The cabin hasn’t changed much in all these years,” she mused, after being handed the small glass and taking a sip.
“You knew Tom, didn’t you?” John asked.
“He told me about you,” John said.
Ms. Corbett took another sip and let the smooth alcohol run down her throat, warm her stomach, and float to her head. John sipped at his own glass, waiting until he saw the color coming into her cheeks.
“Tom said you were the best,” John went on. Seeing her smile, he said, “Tom said there was a lot I could learn from you.”
John looked straight at Ms. Corbett, who looked up and looked right through John. She remembered another face – Tom. She had been so young when they had first met. Just like she had brought Annie, Ms. Corbett’s mother had brought her to this camp. Now, looking back, she knew her mother had known Tom, too, and had wanted him to teach her, wanted him to be her first. And Tom had been so gentle, so good. Ms. Corbett had come back year after year until one year Tom was gone, replaced by John.
“How did you know Tom,” Ms. Corbett asked, remembering how she had met Tom, how he had taken her on a walk, and kissed her, and touched her, his fingertips. She remembered how she had sneaked out one night to visit him in Cabin #13, and he had shown her what it meant to be a woman with a man.
“I’d known Tom from my bar dating days,” John said. He stepped over to the couch and sat down beside Ms. Corbett. “He’d seen me, knew my reputation, my needs. He said he’d asked around and thought I might be interested in double dating. Over the next few months, we found we had a lot in common, even though I was so much younger. We both loved women, and Tom was the best. He taught me quite a bit.”
John let his hand lightly touch Ms. Corbett’s arm.
“We both wanted to be the best,” he said, his fingers rising up her arm, lightly dancing on her skin. “We both were obsessed with pleasing women, especially first timers.”
Ms. Corbett closed her eyes and let herself imagine it was Tom touching her. When John took her glass and leaned over and kissed her, it was easy for her to imagine Tom’s lips against hers, Tom’s hands wandering over her body, Tom’s fingers on her knees, sliding up her cotton dress, up her thighs. Ms. Corbett let her knees drift apart as she imagined it was Tom’s fingers that moved up to her crotch.
“Ms. Corbett!” John said. “You’re not wearing any underwear!”
She giggled, like a school girl, caught in her naughtiness, glad of his reaction, relaxing into his easy manner. She could tell her age didn’t matter to him, that he saw her spirit, not her body.
“It’s time you taught me all you know,” John said, standing, putting his arm under her and lifting her easily up off the couch, carrying her into his bedroom, laying her gently on his bed. She watched as he took off his shirt. She smiled as his body reminded her of Tom, when he was young, when she was just a girl, and she had been so impressed by his muscles.
As John’s fingers slid down his pants, she remembered how surprised she had been, at how big she thought Tom was. She was glad as she felt herself getting ready, getting open and wet, preparing for their union. She tried to remember how scared she had been, but the countless times they had made love merged into only a loving memory. As John slid onto the bed, she slipped the cotton dress over her head and pulled John down on top of her.
“Teach me,” John whispered.
And she did. Tom had said she had amazing control. He said she was a gusher, a woman who squirted with her orgasm. Tom said she could control how much she released, letting each contraction release a little squirt. John had never sucked and swallowed a woman’s ejaculate. But with her help, he was going to learn. She was a very patient and talented teacher, and soon he was downing every drop. With her final climax, she released a flood of fluid, which John downed like a pro.
“You’re a fast learner,” Ms. Corbett said.
“I have a good teacher,” John said.
John rolled onto his back. Ms. Corbett lowered her head to his crotch and gave him everything Tom had told him she could give. When she was finished, John curled up in her arms and fell asleep.
When he woke up, she was still holding him.
“Why haven’t you made love to my granddaughter?”
“She doesn’t seem interested, and these days, I don’t press it.”
“Oh, she’s very interested. She thinks it’s you that’s not interested.”
“I’ve been interested since she was 15, but it’s not like the old days. I have to be very careful, you know.”
“But she’s 18, now. And she’s been waiting all these years. She’s just very unsure of herself.”
John looked at Ms. Corbett, seeing the beautiful girl Tom had know.
“You’re leaving day after tomorrow,” John said. “That only leaves tomorrow night.”
“Sing for her. She loves hearing you sing. I know she’ll be ready.”
John smiled and rolled his hips up and down between her legs, feeling the wetness, feeling himself grow with each press forward.
“Okay. I’ll sing her to bed!” he said, a smile sweeping his face. “But right now, I’d like to have some more practice!”
I slept in. We were leaving tomorrow, and I didn’t want to get out of bed. It was almost lunch time. When I didn’t hear Grandma, I got worried. I knocked on her door, afraid for a second that something might have happened.
“I’m awake. Come on in,” Grandma said.
I swung the door open and found her lounging in bed.
“Oh yes! I feel so young this morning!”
“But you never sleep in this late.”
“I did when I was your age!”
We both laughed. I got dressed while Grandma made pancakes for lunch.
“I hear there’s going to be a campfire tonight.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure I want to go,” I said.
“Nonsense! Roasted marshmellows, singing… I heard that John was going to bring his guitar and sing.”
I looked up at Grandma and couldn’t hide the sadness that pinched at my heart.
“Look, girl, if you want that man, you better start acting like it!”
I was struck dumb. I had never heard Grandma talk like that.
“Stop mopping and get yourself prettied up! Tonight, you’re going hunting!”
I couldn’t help smiling as Grandma got up and pulled me over to the mirror.
“There’s not a man from here to Maine that wouldn’t want to hold you in his arms, kiss your lips, and tickle your fancy!”
I laughed and blushed as Grandma started going through my clothes and my makeup.
We spent the better part of two hours getting me beautiful. When we were done, I actually knew I WAS beautiful. I looked at myself in the mirror: open blouse over a short halter top, short-shorts, and a pair of stylish sandals. All told, there was lots of skin, not so much clothing.
“Now, for your own good, I want you to try this.”
Grandma went to her room, then came back with a small bottle. She tipped the heart-shaped container and put a dab of liquid on my finger.
I held it to my nose. It was a rich scent, not fruity or sweet, but complicated and sophisticated. It made me think of intrigue, and dark nights, and hands on my body…
“Now, this is a very expensive perfume,” Grandma said. “I have never known it to fail me.”
She put a dab on my wrist.
“Rub your wrists together.”
I was in her spell, and did what she asked. I held my wrists to my nose and drifted off again into a land of handsome men, hot lips, and cool hands.
“You want to put a dab at every port of call,” she said, putting a dab just behind my ear, then at the back of my neck. Her fingers sent a shiver down my spine. She put another dab on her finger and bent to touch touch the inside of each leg, just above the knee.
“I leave it to you, but there are three more critical points.” She looked from one breast to the other, then let her eyesbrows rise as her line of sight went to my crotch. “You know what I’m talking about.”
I had turned bright red and smiled. My grandma was telling me to put a dab of perfume at my crotch!
“But who would smell that?” I laughed.
“Don’t play coy with me, young lady!” She gave me a tap on the head. “Just above the top,” she said, “about this far above the hood.” She indicated the distance by putting her hand up to her face, her thumb on her lips, her forefinger at her nose.”
I let out a nervous laugh.
“This is no time to be nervous and shy! It’s way past time! Why in my day…”
I waited, but she just turned and left me to put on the finishing touches. Was I really going to go for broke tonight? Grandma was certainly giving me the green light, but was John going to notice? Was he going to find all the places I had marked with the dreamy scent? A shiver of excitement and fear swept through me as I imagined John at my neck, behind my ears, at my knees…
That night, John came down to the fire pit with his guitar.
“Yay!” I cheered and clapped when I saw him. He noticed, smiled at me, and came over.
“You look, different,” he said.
I leaned over to his ear and whispered, “I love hearing you sing.”
I lingered as his nose turned and touched my neck. I could tell the perfume was having an effect on him as he breathed deeply, slowly letting his nose cross my neck and linger under my ear.
“You are so… beautiful, tonight,” he whispered, then moved back as more people arrived. We made room for him to sit in the middle.
As it got darker, and I watched the fire light up John’s face. He sang the same songs he’d sung in previous years. I joined in, and even had a duet with John where he pulled me beside him, put his arm around me, and gave me a squeeze. I made sure John knew how much I loved his singing by asking him to sing song after song after song. By 10pm, Grandma decided it was time for bed.
“I’ll help you,” I offerred.
“No, no… You’re having too much fun! You stay down here and come home when you’re done.”
Grandma walked off into the dark and I heard her climb the stairs as John started singing another song. Soon, others called it quits, thanked John, and left for their cabins. By 10:30pm it was just John and me.
“Please, let’s sing some more,” I said.
John looked at me in the firelight. I didn’t look away and we just looked at each other. Then he leaned over and kissed me. My heart jumped and my head went dizzy. I felt like I did when I was 15.
“You’ve grown into a beautiful woman,” John said.
When I didn’t say anything, he leaned over and kissed me again, this time letting his lips move a little more. They felt soft, and I kissed him back. When he pulled away, he asked me, “I remember our first kiss.”
My heart pounded in my ears. I just nodded, remembering the time we had hiked over the ridge. John leaned forward again, this time letting his mouth open. He seemed to be waiting for me, so I opened my mouth, too. My lips softened as his lips pressed into mine, then moistened as his tongue passed my lips.
I was melting. I couldn’t move and just wanted to puddle on the ground. His hand settled gently on my bare leg, just above my knee. I opened my mouth, more to breath than to kiss, and he lightly touched his tongue to my tongue. My whole body swelled and my breathing quickened. His fingertips slid up the inside of my thigh sending jolts of electricity through my body. I couldn’t breath, and lifted my head back, and gasped.
His fingers moved further up my leg and I began to shake. I wanted him to touch me more, but I was scared. My knees were shaking and I twitched when his fingers went under the edge of my shorts. He gave my thigh a squeeze, kissed my neck, then dragged his lips to my ear and whispered, “Have you ever made love?”
As he said the word “love,” He put his hand at my crotch and pressed, squeezing until the pressure reached my pleasure button. “Oh my god!” I exhaled, as his fingers gently pinched and massaged. My legs slipped wider with each pulse of pleasure. Then he leaned back, letting his hand fall away, his fingertips sliding back down my leg to my knee.
I looked into his face, that face that I had imagined so often during the years. That face that I imagined when I lay in bed, reading romantic novels, and pleasuring myself. I so wanted to bury myself in his arms. I wanted to… but I was afraid. I looked down and moved my head slowly back and forth, embarrassed to have him know that I had never been with a man.
“Would you like to?”
I was shaking now. I took a deep breath to calm my heart and clear my head. I had dreamed of this, of making love with John. I had wanted to last summer, but was too afraid, and my friend, Mary had been so much more sophisticated and mature. This year it was MY year! My 18th birthday! And it was now or never. I took another deep breath, looked up into his eyes, and nodded once, “Yes.”
John stood up, holding his guitar in one hand, and offered me his other hand.
“Remember?” he said, “The first time we met and you wouldn’t take my hand?”
“Yes,” I said, putting my hand in his and standing. I was a little wobbly, but John just waited patiently. When I started walking, he gave my hand a squeeze. I felt my reaction, the slippery wetness. I was elated, I had never felt happier, and another wave of anticipation crashed at my crotch.
We walked across the lawn and up the hill to John’s cabin. I was swirling with such feelings. I was going to make love, for the first time! I was going to make love with John! I was going to make love! My head grew dizzy and I stopped walking.
“Just a minute,” I said.
John stopped and pulled me into his arms. I sank my head against his chest, feeling the warmth, hearing his own heart beating fast.
“Are you scared, too?” I asked, looking up.
“Not scared, ” he said, “excited. I’ve been waiting a long time.” He looked down at me, put his fingers under my chin, tilted my head and kissed me softly on the lips, then said, “I’ve wanted to make love to you since the first time I met you…”
We hugged for a long time, just standing there. I pressed my face into his chest, feeling his nipple, hard like mine. John moved his arm and his guitar bumped into my back.
“Let’s go play inside,” he said, his big smile reflecting in moonlight.
I smiled, looked down, scared again.
“You ready?” he asked, his hand light on my arm. I thought about saying no, that I wasn’t ready, that I was too scared. But I had run away so many times before. I pulled my courage together and quickly nodded. There was no turning back, not for me.
He led me towards his cabin. As we climbed the stairs, I counted them, a final countdown. At the top, he opened the door and walked in. My legs got very wobbly and I wasn’t able to move. I was shaking. John saw me standing in the doorway. He came back and stood just inside.
“It’s okay to be nervous.” He waited a little, then said, “I’ll be gentle… and patient.” When I still didn’t move, he said, “You decide when you’re ready.” I stared back at him, unable to say anything. He held out his hand. I reached for it, squeezed my fingers around his, and stepped inside. He closed the door behind us.
John led me to his couch. I looked over into his bedroom. I know I blushed. John saw me and smiled.
“Let’s just sit here for a while,” he said, sitting on the couch. “Let’s take it slow.”
I sat down beside him, looked into those beautiful eyes. John leaned over and kissed me, just a whisper of a kiss, lightly touching my lips. He pulled back. We looked into each other’s eyes. John kissed me again. I didn’t need any more prompting and let his lips melt into mine. They were wet and slippery. I opened my mouth and let his tongue touch mine. Our lips slid over one another. I started to get the feeling again, that pounding heart, shallow breath, “press-into-me” feeling.
Our tongues were dancing. He opened his mouth wider and pulled back his tongue, leading my tongue into his mouth. As I played with his tongue, his hands touched my sides and squeezed my waist. John pulled back and took off his shirt.
“Here,” he said. “Touch me while we kiss.”
He put my hand on his chest. I felt the hairs and his naked skin.
“Swirl your fingertips around my nipple,” he whispered, and he pressed his lips into mine.
I used my finger to draw a circle around his nipple. It grew upright and stiff. As I touched the tip, John pulled me tighter. I scratched my fingernail over his nipple and he started to rock his hips, in time with my fingers.
“Yes,” he said, “yes. Now pinch, just the very tip. Yes! Pinch harder.”
I pinched him, and imagined he was pinching my nipples.
“Harder. Don’t you like it harder?”
John was making little moans each time I pinched. My breasts were growing full, wanting to be touched. I pressed my breasts into John’s chest. John took my hand and held it to my breast. “Show me,” he said, ” how do you like to be touched.” I took his hand and tried to slip it under my top.
“Here,” I said, and reached down, pulling my shirt over my head.
“Pinch my nipple,” John whispered, moving his lips to my neck, where he sucked and licked. I pinched his nipple. “Do it like you want me to do,” he said. He reached behind my back and unsnapped my bra, releasing my swollen breasts. “Show me how you like it,” he said, sliding the bra forward and down my arms. He moved a hand up my side, grasped one of my breasts and gave a squeeze.
“Yes!” I blurted out.
His hand felt so good. I leaned forward, putting my lips to his ear, and let him hear my breathing, the sounds I made as the pleasure rolled through my body.
He took my nipple between two fingers and rolled it. A jolt of desire flowed down and tugged deep inside my vagina, a contraction, and the moisture seeped out of me. He rolled again and I wanted him to touch me, press into my crotch. I moved my legs apart, pressing one knee into his, the other knee swinging free, inviting, asking him to press on my swollen vulva. He put his hand on my knee. I wanted him to press into my crotch, so I rocked my hips forward as my tongue dove deep into his mouth.
John answered my urgent call and gently leaned me down onto my back as he pressed his knee between my legs. I lay down and he slid his hand up my thigh to my shorts.
“Spread wider,” he said, holding one knee up against the couch as he pressed the other knee out. He used his knuckles to give me another nipple roll. As if on their own, my hips responded, opening wider. John slipped his fingers under my shorts, then under my underwear.
I gasped as his finger pushed against my opening. How different it felt compared to my own fingers. He felt drier, bigger, rougher. He pressed and his fingers slid into me. “Oh… John…” I exhaled, as I closed my eyes and experienced his every bump, his every callous against my tender skin. He slid his fingers down then up. My lower abdomen cramped when he passed over my clit, first one finger, then another, and another. “Yessss…” I hissed.
I had masturbated many times, imagining John’s fingers, his tongue, his manhood inside me. But now, now that he was actually touching me, I had never imagined it would feel this good. He passed his fingers back and forth over my clit and I began to jerk and twitch. He was rougher than I was with myself, but somehow that was even more exciting. He flopped his finger back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I was seized with an exploding orgasm that forced all the air from my lungs. I disappeared into the pleasure of it, warm fluid gushing with each spasm from my vagina. I cramped, released, cramped, released, and cramped again, each time a wave of sheer joy crashed through my body. When John pulled out his finger, I jerked. He put his hand atop my crotch and pressed lightly, just holding his hand there, keeping me warm. With only his gentle squeezing, My vagina twinged with contractions as I let myself float in time.
“We better get you out of those wet clothes,” I heard John say as I floated back. I felt the cool damp of my shorts against my thighs. I realized I had peed. “Oh! I’m sorry…” I started to fumble. I was mortified.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. It just means you came really hard. And you trust me, by letting yourself go like that. I’m glad you felt safe enough.”
John smiled and I relaxed. He gave me a kiss, then put my legs together. He was going to take off my clothes and he was right, I did feel safe. And I was happy. My body was so relaxed I felt like my bones were made of rubber. He could do whatever he wanted. I watched as he gently unbuttoned my shorts and tugged them over my hips.
“Lift your butt,” he said, and I did. The wet shorts came off, as did everything else. When John finished, I was naked on the couch, looking up at his chest, wanting to run my fingers through the hairs around his nipples, wanting to take off his pants, to see his whole body. My knees swung open and closed, letting the cool air on my crotch as I stretched the skin around my opening. I wasn’t afraid any more. I was a butterfly, spreading my wings, wafting my scent on the wind, inviting, waiting for my mate.
“I’m ready,” I said, grabbing John’s hands, pulling him down on top of me, wrapping my legs around his waist.
“Yes, you are,” John said, as his fingers found the slippery fluid that I was oozing. John pulled back and I blushed with wanting as he stared at my crotch. In his eyes I saw a new look growing, one I knew without ever having seen it. I saw John’s eyes respond to me, looking at me, looking at my sex. It made me even more ready. John watched as my lips swelled, my breasts swelled, my labia swelled. I was ready. I wanted him on top of me, inside me, our bodies moving together.
John got down on his knees. He put one hand on each of my legs, then slid his fingers up my legs. I closed my eyes, my neck and back arching, overwhelmed with anticipation. His fingers crawled up my thighs and I pressed my head into the couch, wanting, needing him inside me.
I gasped when he slid over my entrance. He curled his fingers to press and pull my labia lips open. His cheek brushed my leg, scratchy and rough, my skin sensitive, unable to distinguish pleasure from pain. He lowered his face into my crotch, first lightly, then pressing full into me. I imagined his whole head slipping inside me. A wave of fluid smooths and lubricates his prickly beard.
John pulled back, his face easing away from my crotch. My heart beat hard and pulsed in my labia. Something else pressed into me, like a finger, but softer, smoother. Another wave rolled through my body as I realized it was his tongue. He probed and searched, looking for, then finding my clitoris. I was helpless as my body shook with a precipitous orgasm, clamping John’s head as he leaned forward and sucked on my love button. I gushed, this time knowing, this time letting myself go, and the pulses flowed out of me, sucked out of me with an intensity I had never known. I floated in the safety of utter freedom and complete trust.
As I slowly returned, I put my hand on John’s head, my fingers wrapping into his hair. Without saying a word, he had known when to stop. He turned his head and his warm breath tickled my thigh. We lay there for several minutes. I was floating, and felt myself beginning to come down. John turned his face back and forth between my legs, the scratchy roughness of him made me smile as I let myself enjoy a man between my legs.
John turned his head down, and his tongue began another dance. I shook my head, unable to imagine another climax, exhausted already from where John had taken me. I pulled gently on his hair, trying to lift his head, but he just lifted himself enough to barely touch the lips of my slit, reaching down and slowly licking up. He was so gentle and careful that I eased my grip and let him continue. He repeated his tongue’s slide up to, but not touching, my clit over and over. I let my breathing match his pace, breathing out slowly as he climbed, then inhaling quickly as he stopped just short of hood.
My second climax came slower, building imperceptibly with each breath, climbing a ladder one rung at a time, until my breathing was joined by the rock of my pelvis, then the tightening of my abdomen, the arching of my back, until with each breath my body disappeared into a single feeling, a mounting pressure. This time, my climax leaked out, as if a balloon had been pricked, and the air was slowly seeping away. My body wrenched into a single mass, cramped in ecstasy as John wrung the pleasure out of me like a wet rag. I kept tumbling down, inside myself, into the depths of pleasure, as John kept his light rhythm, never actually touching my clit. Finally, after I don’t know how long, I gasped for breath, breaking the spell, as I realized I had stopped breathing.
I had never known such bliss, such depth. I felt… I was beyond feeling. I could barely keep myself breathing. I focused on breathing, in, out, in, out. My body felt heavy and useless. I was a little sad. Sad that I had to return to this world.
When I had enough energy, I opened my eyes. John was looking at me. I tried to smile, but wasn’t sure I had really made my lips move. John stood up and reached to undo his belt. He waited. I found it hard to imagine him inside me. I was so relaxed, so close to death. What was he thinking? He slowly undid his belt, his pants button, then lowered his zipper. He let the front on his pants flop down. Everything seemed to be in slow motion, each movement an incredible dance. He reached to his hips and began sliding his pants down. I briefly saw the bulge, but then he bent over to slip his pants off each leg. He slowly straightened up, and I could not help but stare at how big his erection was, long and thick, standing stiff and hard. John tore open a condom he had in his hand and placed it over the head of his penis.
“Roll it down,” he told me.
I looked at John, his hard dick, the condom, then back up to John. He didn’t move or say anything, so I finally willed myself the energy to reach out and touch him. At first I was very tentative. I had never seen, much less touched, a man’s erection before. As I saw how I was pleasing him, I became more confident and I followed my urge to wrap my fingers around his thick rod. It felt good in my hand, hot, pulsing, so big compared to my fingers. I began to unroll the condom. I looked up and John had his eyes closed. It was clear from his face that he was enjoying my touch. As I rolled down the tight rubber covering, I let my other hand wander down his shaft, then down to his clean-shaven ball sack. It was smooth and so supple compared to the closely cut hair around his shaft. I looked up at his face and watched his expression as I gently rolled his testicles in my fingers. I had heard how sensitive a man’s balls were. I was careful not to press them too hard, but just rolled them gently, one against the other. They passed over each other, so slippery and fluid. I was aroused by his trust. I lightly squeezed, and John groaned, not a groan of pain, but a groan of want.
When I reached the base of his cock with the condom, John opened his eyes, they were burning with hunger and desire. He leered as I reacted to his wild, bestial drive. I was suddenly afraid; afraid to let this animal penetrate me with that gigantic organ. John leaned forward and I saw the lust in his eyes. I knew it was too late, I had already gone too far. Even if I didn’t want him to have sex with me, I knew he would rape me if I refused him. I was shaking as he pressed my shoulders back, laying me on the couch. His hips, already between my legs, spread me further apart. His eyes never left mine, and I couldn’t help but see him as a stranger, someone I didn’t know.
He followed my body down, his weight becoming heavier and heavier on top of me, pinning me. He pressed his lips to mine. I held mine tightly closed and felt disgusted as his wet tongue tried to slip inside my mouth. I jerked my head to the side. I wanted to get away, but I felt completely helpless. He turned my head and kissed me hard while pushing his hips into my crotch. I felt the length of his hardness press against my slit..
“I feel you!” he whispered.
He pulled me tighter, then pressed his chest into mine to lower his hands to my buttocks. He lifted, spreading me, pulling up my legs, lifting me, wrapping my thighs around him, lifting my knees behind him. I suddenly felt embarrassed and hurt. Why was he being this way? Didn’t he care? Didn’t he realize I didn’t want this?
He arched his pelvis back and his dick head slid over my clit and sank between my labia. He wiggled until he found me, found my hole. Tears welled up in my eyes. He slid forward and I felt the bigness of him as he entered me. I began to cry. I looked up into his face, blurred between blinks, as he slid his rod deeper and deeper into me. I winced when his erection bumped the top of my vagina.
“Ow!” I sobbed. He kissed me hard. I turned my face away and tried to get my hands free.
He wrapped his arms tight around my arms, around my back, holding me like a vice. He rocked his hips back and pulled his long dick out, then thrust hard and quick. I jerked as he banged into my body. I was sick to my stomach and tried to break his grasp. He became more forceful. I tried wiggle away to shorten his deep penetration. But the more I tried to limit him, the more he held me tight and forced himself on me. My pain only seemed to feed his raging need. I cried out as his full length banged hard against my cervix. The pain made me dry up. Now his raging fullness grated against my insides.
“Stop! Please, stop!” I whimpered.
“This time is for me,” he growled in the voice of a stranger, more animal. He thrust hard into me, again and again. It was like sand. The more it hurt, the drier I became. When I cried out loudly, he slapped his hand over my mouth and held me tight. Tears rolled down my face as I slipped away, as I imagined I was somewhere else, somewhere safe.
“Give…,” he grunted, “in…” Each word was matched with a piercing thrust. “Give… in…”
When I only continued to sob, he let go of my mouth and pushed his hand down between us. I felt his fingers move down lower. I was startled when his fingers soon rolled over my clit.
“Let go,” he snarled.
“Please, stop,” I wept.
His fingers rolled back and forth over my clitoris. I closed my eyes, hoping it would all be over soon. I remember the time I had seen a stallion mount a mare, his gigantic organ searching, probing, the stallion dancing behind her spread stance… That huge organ… John flicked my button faster and I felt a small spark of pleasure. It was my escape hatch.
“Let go,” he said.
Another few flicks and I felt my hips jerk on their own. Another and another and… The growing feeling triggered a release of my slippery fluid.
“Let go,” he whispered.
The words echoed in my braid as his thrusts grew more urgent. “Let go,” I thought, and another spurt of lubricant was flowing from me, carried quickly inside by his pumping pud. The irritation lessened. “Let go,” I thought, and I felt my vagina respond, relaxing, stretching my cervix back, until his fierce piercing began to be replaced by the pulsing pleasure of the base of his penis on my clitoris.
He began to grunt like a wild animal. I remembered the stallion mounting the mare, imagined how his huge dick, as long and thick as my arm, finally found her opening, how he thrust deep inside her, to lay his sperm as close to her egg as possible. The image rang through me like a clear bell. We were mating. This beast was offering me his sperm, to fertilize my egg, to impregnate me. We were locked in the miracle of conception.
The thought of his sperm fighting their way to my egg engulfed me, and my body took over. I let go. I gave in to my primordial instincts, my primary purpose. I gave in to that deep understanding and let my body do what it needed to do. I stopped trying to control with my head.
Now each powerful swing of his hips pushed him closer to my door, the entrance to my womb, the keyhole through which his sperm would frantically swim to find my egg. I slipped into this other being and lost myself in our mating dance. I was overwhelmed by the need to have him deeper inside me. I banged back against him, my hips and crotch crashing into his. I crawled my legs up higher, spreading myself wider so he could penetrate even further. I felt him respond with a force that lifted me up. I heard the wet slap as my opening became flooded with my juices.
“Deeper, deeper…” I tried to say, but the only sound that came out was a grunted gurgling. He responded with more groaning and grinding. We fell into a rhythmic beat, gasping as we crashed together, his groans sounding more frantic, pained, until he became that wild animal. I was afraid and excited as I realized he was out of control, too. I trusted in creation and let the fear flow through me, which fed my desire to have him come inside me.
He cried out and slammed into me and shuddered. I watched his eyes roll into his head and knew his twitching dick was spurting his seed. I slipped into my own orgasm, disappearing, folding into myself into my climax. He gasped, dying. He shook, again. I felt my own body’s heave with contractions as I wanted to suck his semen through the condom, pulsing in ripples of spasms, ripples of guiding waves that vibrated through my body.
He grunted twice more, thrusting each time, then held himself still. His face contorted and tightened into a pained grimace. We stayed frozen there as we let our bodies speak to one another deep inside the protected corridor of my womanhood.
Then, one by one, I felt his muscles relax. When his back and hips slumped, his limp penis slipped out of me. I was saddened as I remembered the condom, knew that his sperm had left with him, that I hadn’t, really, mated with him at all..My vagina gave a last squeeze as it tried to suck his dick dry. John twitched as his penis fell, useless now. I imagined it dangling, wet and floppy, between his legs, imagined what it would be like to have his sperm searching out my egg, circling it, fighting for an opening, impregnation.
John collapsed on top of me and I held him tight, his weight now welcome against my breasts, between my legs. He was protecting, now, guarding my womb. His head drooped into the crook of my neck. His face was nothing but sweetness and contentment. He whispered, “I love you!” in a slurred, drunken drawl.
I held him, one hand around his back, the other hand on his head. I ran my fingers through his hair, paying attention to the sensation of my fingernails gently scraping his scalp. I pet him until his breath dropped into the slow, regular beat of sleep. The last muscles of his body gave in, and I joyfully accepted his full weight.
I imagined my egg, a miracle of life, the beginning of a new generation, my child, implanted in my uterine wall. Before long, hypnotized by the tender tickle of his hair slipping between my fingers, I fell asleep, to dream of the time when I carried my first child.