Chapter 1

Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Fiction, Spanking, Group Sex, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Size,

Desc: Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The story of a young man's introduction to women and the allure of sex. Donald is taught what women want and like by the first few women he has sex with. Of course, he begins to share his 'expertise' with women his own age and even much older as he moves from HS to College.

In the beginning I was not known as 'The Sensualist, ' I was, and in most quarters still remain, Donald Stevenson Clark. I was born to wealthy parents in the heart of Savannah, Georgia, with its charming period architecture, oak-lined streets and antebellum hospitality. Our home was located on Gwinnett Street, and if you know anything about Savannah, sat across the street from one of the many small parks the city is famous for.

My greedy bastard of a father, Jeremy Stevenson Clark, was an affluent banker, well acquainted with other nefarious bankers, realtors and developers, who was kind enough to pass on after acquiring several million dollars during and shortly after the Second World War. If you get the impression I didn't care for him, you're absolutely right. He was a miserable father. He flaunted his other women in front of my mother, sisters and I.

I detested him for the way he demeaned my mother and yet here I am, detailing my own many dalliances with the fairer sex most likely because I have his genes raging relentlessly in my testes. And I should add that because of his actions, I have never entertained the thought of marrying anyone, although I have met and bedded quite a few promising women of whom I have little doubt would have made me happy as a loving wife.

My mother, Hillary Margaret Bronson, was the daughter of a United States Senator from California. Her vivacity and wit made our home a place people wanted to visit. I think, and there are those who support me in this, my mother possessed most of the intellect in my parentage, with my father having all the financial skill; both of which I apparently inherited and consider great gifts in helping me wend my way through a decadent lifestyle.

At any rate, there were three of us—Maureen, the oldest--Ashley, the youngest--and myself. We were all partially home schooled as my mother had set her mind against the local private Jesuit run schools after my sister, Maureen found she was unable to get into Harvard because of her grade point average, my mother decided on having Ashley and me taught by a tutor skilled in helping students gain admittance to the school of their choice.

With Maureen going off to her second choice, Vassar College, Ashley and I were met each afternoon at approximately four PM, unless a particular school activity intervened. I was already halfway through my seventeenth year; mother's health began causing her problems that would eventually shorten her life. She would ultimately succumb to the cancer that gradually riddled her body and was gone a week before her forty-seventh birthday. I was twenty-one at the time.

With the onset of mother's illness, we were recalled from school in order that we spend as much time with our mother as was possible. Maureen remained at Vassar, only coming home when her schedule allowed. A new tutor, a young woman, scarcely five or six years older than my sister Maureen, answered the ad mother had placed in several newspapers statewide.

The young woman, named Ginger Robleski, was selected from a group of twelve applicants, and in two short weeks became one of the family.

I can still recall Mother telling Miss Ginger, as she came to be called by my sister and I, not to spare spanking any of us if we presented her with a problem in obeying her instruction. Mother made a show of giving Miss Ginger, a sturdily made pointer with which she was to apply any needed discipline. Needless to say, we were sufficiently cowed, well, Ashley was; I never felt threatened by the pointer, for I was in love with Miss Ginger from the first. Not that any of it mattered, for we were all enchanted by her, and she proved to be an excellent tutor and quickly prepared us all for our collegiate experiences.

I've read that the average male thinks about sex every eight seconds. Thinking back to that period in my life, I would certainly agree with that supposition. I had an almost constant erection. I recall getting hard on looking at Irene Murkowski's neck; and Emily Smith's ankle, not to mention my sister's anatomical parts partially revealed to me during hasty retreats from the shower, or on several occasions in our pool while swimming. Maureen was certainly more advanced in the breast department than Ashley, but a glimpse at either one of them, clothed or partially clothed would send me to the bathroom or my bedroom to jerk off. And, I will admit that I had several fantasies involving what I imagined fornicating would be like with my mother playing the leading role.

Like most males I began masturbating on reaching puberty. I imagine my sisters did as well, but cannot say this with any certainty. I recall playing doctor with Mo, who was a year older than me, but not with Ashley who was a year younger, when I was about eight. Nothing untoward occurred, other than the fact that Mo and I satisfied our personal curiosities about the basic differences between boys and girls.

Now, with Miss Ginger Robleski on the premises, things began to change. Perhaps I wasn't in love with her, per se, but I was certainly in awe of her physical attributes. I was seventeen, and as I've pointed out earlier, almost any female I encountered would stimulate me to the point of frenzied masturbation. Miss Ginger, while not a Miss America candidate, was possessed of as fine a figure as any young woman might wish for. That's polite English for telling you she had a great pair of tits and a fine ass.

As for myself, I wasn't all that tall until I reached sixteen, when a sudden growth spurt left me nudging six feet, while impersonating a rail-thin scarecrow. My body would fill out as I matured.

I had two socially redeeming qualities. Somehow I never suffered from acne, although my sisters did. They claimed to hate me for having this advantage over them, but I doubt they meant it. The other 'quality' I mentioned earlier. I was 'discovered' in the boy's restroom at school and had to suffer the indignation of being measured with a borrowed a tape measure by several of the bigger, and older boys. My status among them skyrocketed when the tape was wrapped it around my fully engorged appendage and found it to be seven inches in circumference. Length-wise I came in at eight and one quarter inches. I had to fight off several of the 'gayer' boys, but had the goodwill of the others. Unfortunately, the boys were kept separated from the girls during my time at the Jesuit run school.

During Miss Ginger's early weeks of tutoring us, I noticed that my sister Ashley was practicing her femininity on me. I suppose she may have been impressed by Miss Ginger as well, as I saw her trying out expressions and posturing that had not occurred prior to our tutor's arrival; as for what occurred in my presence, let me just say that I began to encounter her in various forms of undress on leaving my room for the bathroom.

There would be "Eeeks" and "Close your eyes, you pervert!" type comments made, but I was well aware that it wasn't me walking around with only a towel on. Then too, there had been several prior instances with both sisters while swimming that a nipple, or in two instances with Maureen, when most of a breast was exposed while diving or climbing the ladder out of our pool. Was it deliberate? Inasmuch as women practice every pose to see how much of their anatomy is revealed when leaning this way or that, I think that, yes, it was deliberate. I seriously doubt they had any intention of seducing me; but obtaining my reaction provided them with some means of gauging their effect on a member of the opposite sex.

I was probably as guilty as my sisters in that respect, especially after Miss Ginger condescended to join us frolicking in our swimming pool. A member of the school's swim team, I usually wore a pair of European style Speedos, and since it took so little to excite me, my package was usually visible to anyone caring to look at it. I found this to be an embarrassment that I attempted to hide at first, but inasmuch as I was of an age when erections occurred at the slightest erotic thought and those came every ten or twelve seconds during that period of my life, it seemed I always had a hardon. In any event I had a major crush on Miss Ginger and after seeing her in what was a most respectable and modest swimsuit, I hurried off to masturbate at the first opportunity after these meetings.

Time passed swiftly, Ashley turned sixteen and now thought about boys constantly. However, mother had other ideas and kept them away, and forbid my timid sister from any dating at all. This stringent position caused poor Ashley to spend many hours languishing in front of her mirror crying and wailing that she would be an old maid for the rest of her life. As for our relationship during this period, it was simply a matter of her repeatedly asking me if I thought her pretty. I, of course, told her that she was. That was easy, for she was and remains a beautiful woman even today. I should add that this sequestering, begun when Maureen was the same age as Ashley now and probably caused Mo to become the campus slut on reaching college free of Mother's overly protective hand. I'll discuss that at length later on.

Ashley also sought me out to ask about boys in general, but kept glancing at my crotch, which of course, reacted in the same manner as any normal teen by pressing for freedom as best it could. And so I spent the entire time with her trying to hide my swollen appendage from her inquisitive eyes. Although another lifelong lesson was learned from it; women are fascinated by a man's penis, just as men are by women's breasts and genitals.

All this interaction served to instruct me about the ways of women in general. I learned many things about them, such as their way of analyzing everything a person said in their presence, to their concerns, which to a non-observer would appear meaningless while the woman regarded them as important as life itself; if only for that moment. I was also able to see how they reacted under stressful moments, and more importantly, how they acted when they thought no man was around.

All of the foregoing was but a prelude to my entry into manhood, of which, Miss Ginger would play a most meaningful role. But lest I get ahead of myself, I should return to her earliest days as our tutor.

I became enamored of Miss Ginger from the first. She wore a certain fragrance, a not overly expensive lavender that I trained myself to sniff out so as to know if she were nearby. Then I would, and I readily admit I was clumsy about this at first, attempt to make bodily contact with her by placing myself on the other side of a the door and trying to go through it as she was entering the room.

The first two times I became giddy after brushing against those magnificent breasts and almost forgot to apologize. I was blissfully unaware that Miss Ginger knew exactly what I was doing and chose to ignore it; but she was much more careful about going and coming from room to room after the second time. I was never the wiser until she confided it to me sometime later.

After a week or so, I became frustrated at no longer having the opportunity to bump into those luscious globes of Miss Ginger's; I devised a simple, but feasible plan. I will digress for a moment to say that I never felt any compulsion to arrange similar collisions with either of my sisters, although the thought of incest being repugnant never entered my mind. In fact ... well I won't go there for now.

The plan was to drill a small hole in the wall of my bedroom, for on the other side resided none other than the gorgeous, Miss Ginger. I did the deed when everyone was outside enjoying a sunny afternoon. I snuck into Miss Ginger's room, swept up the plaster that had fallen on the floor and left after sniffing several of her under things, but not taking any for future use in helping my masturbatory dalliances.

At eleven that evening, sweating like a pig, I camped out by my peep-sight, and watched as she undressed. She had her back to me as she took off her shoes, but turned slightly toward me as she rolled down her stockings, providing me with a long look at her lovely legs. My eyes widened as she removed her dress and stood before me in her bra and a half-slip.

I recall it as if it was yesterday. I remember wiping my eyes after a bead of sweat rolled off my forehead and into it, obscuring my heavenly vision for a long moment. By the time my eyes cleared she was reaching behind her back and unclasping the fastenings of her bra and exposed a pair of high rounded, creamy globes, the likes of which I'd tried to imagine for years. I tried to stifle a sob of joy, but couldn't and nearly fell to the floor from my suddenly useless knees.

That was all I dared to do that night, but from then on I remained glued to my peep-hole to watch as Miss Ginger removed her clothing each and every night. Oh, I saw her hairy pussy too, but she never played with it, at least not while I was watching. Looking back, I realize that my mother must have been aware of my manhood's arrival from the seemingly perpetual erection I displayed and from the remains of all those nocturnal and other emissions on my sheets. But nary was a word ever spoken about it. Mothers tend to keep such things to themselves.

Time passed, and to my smarmy, sex-addled mind it seemed that every other night Miss Ginger would present her body in a more provocative series of poses then she had the night before. Actually she was merely repeating her previous performance in that she was a very meticulous person, and seldom varied her personal actions.

Now I had actually seen a cunt before Miss Ginger's. A year before she came to tutor us, the Robinson family paid us a visit with their three daughters, who I had the opportunity to watch as they amused themselves on our swings. Sophia, the eldest, about nineteen, was swinging a sister about two years younger, a very fine, fully developed young woman. Indeed, all three sisters were more attractive than the average young ladies I had known.

Another sister, Agnes, was not seated, but standing on the board between the ropes. Sophia was making both mount as high as possible. They were laughing loudly, one in advancing, and the other retiring. Agnes's light muslin summer dress bulged out from the wind as she sailed away from me, exposing her lower limbs up to her belly and I could clearly see the dark patch of pubic hair already adorning her cunt. Sophia, coming toward me, threw her legs up, and exposed all the underside of her thighs and a part of her bottom, and I could discern that there was dark hair between the lower thighs and bottom.

As they considered me but a child, I was no check to their mirth and sport. On the contrary, they gave me a long rope to pull down the swing when at its highest, and I sat down on the grass in front for greater convenience, enjoying the magnificent view of their legs and hairy cunts generously exposed to my young eyes for neither of them wore more than one petticoat, and they had no other underwear on, so that when they mounted to the highest point from me, I had the fullest possible view of all. My cock soon rose to a painful extent, which I really believe was noticed and enjoyed by them, but nothing else occurred during the visit, and I have not heard or seen any of the Robinson's since that day.

But I digress--back to my adventures with the wonderful Miss Ginger.

I woke up one morning--well it wasn't just one morning--it was the morning of the day before my eighteenth birthday, and as usual, all thoughts eventually turned to Miss Ginger's body and in short order I was imagining myself plowing into her hairy cunt. That, and the pleasurable feelings generated by my fingers on my stiff cock were enough to blot out everything else in my little universe. And so, with my eyes closed and my hand a blur as it jerked my cock, I sensed rather than heard the door to my bedroom open.

My eyes few open. My hand leapt away from my cock as if it was molten steel and as the door closed I heard a muffled, "Ooop's, sorry," and footsteps on the stairs. There was no mistaking it--that had been Miss Ginger's voice. In my mind, I crawled into the tiniest hole possible and slammed the hatch closed on it. Whatever shame I felt, my cock obviously didn't share it. I stared at it as it jerked inches from my shaking hand-- stiff as a crowbar, waiting for me like a contented cow to finish milking it off.

I thought about my dilemma. How could I bring myself to look her in the eye at our tutoring session only minutes away? Would she mention it in front of my sister, Ashley? Or far worse, would she mention it to my mother?

The more I thought about it the hornier I got, and it wasn't long before I was rubbing another one off, imagining Miss Ginger wanting to handle my big boy for me.

That afternoon before our lesson, Miss Ginger joined my sister and me at the pool. As usual, my almost perpetual erection surfaced and it was impossible to keep it hidden from the feminine eyes swimming in the pool with me. Now I was more than accustomed to my sister's passing glances. However this time I knew that Miss Ginger had caught me whacking off and had no idea how to handle this certain confrontation.

But she said nothing out of the ordinary to me or to Ashley. However I did catch her showing more than a passing interest in my groin, and just like that I began to understand the power of the penis over women. I said women, not girls, with good reason, and will amplify my reasons shortly. It wouldn't be long before I decided to act upon my 'certain knowledge.'

With all sorts of possibilities racing through my mind, my subconscious was also at work and I realized that I had resumed whacking off again. I closed my eyes and waited for euphoria to overtake me. In my mind's eye, Miss Ginger was diddling herself and smiling at me whilst I watched her through the peephole. I exploded, sending perhaps the biggest load of sperm I'd ever discharged onto the sheets, my hand, and a corner of the blanket.

A few minutes later, Miss Ginger and I found ourselves face to face across the dining room table we used for our lessons. I was quite nervous about this unavoidable confrontation. I had spent considerable time thinking of a way to avoid this meeting, but had come up empty. Fortunately for me, my sister, Ashley had some inane idea about a story she was writing and kept pestering Miss Ginger who apparently wasn't her usual self. Even I, as self-centered as a teenager can be saw this, but failed to realize its import just then, and so instead of using it to my advantage, I allowed my teenaged mind to wander off again, zeroing in on my lesson for the day, and then going off on various sexual tangents

Needless to say it wasn't long before I had a hard-on evident to anyone who cared to look. I glanced nervously at my sister, Ashley, who was still engrossed in her stories plot, and therefore not looking at me or the bulge in my slacks. But it took me considerably longer to garner the courage to peek over at Miss Ginger.

She was looking directly at me, or should I say, my erection. "Can't you sit still, Donald?" she said coolly, although I was hardly moving. And then to add to my confusion and embarrassment, she began to discuss Ashley's plot with her, seemingly dismissing me as one might an irritating child.

I doubt that I had been fidgeting up to then, but mortified as I was by her comment, now I couldn't sit still. Moreover, I was thoroughly confused, Miss Ginger had burst into my room and caught me in mid-jack-off only that morning. Now she was treating me like a boy of five or six.

Confusion notwithstanding, my erection remained intact, even seemed to continue to grow, threatening to burst the seams of my slacks and slay the two females in the room. Of course, that was my imagination running amuck. Still, it was a formidable erection, and was certainly becoming a problem of monumental proportions--at least so far as I was concerned.

As best I recollect, two things happened in quick order. First, my sister left the room for some unknown (to me at least) reason. And second, Miss Ginger sighed and got my undivided attention before asking, and I quote: "Are you going to make it go down or not?"

My brain functioned sufficiently to allow me to respond, "Whatever are you talking about?"

Yes, deny-deny-deny, was my single safe refuge.

This interchange, as it were, provided the impetus for me to make the dammed thing subside in size, at least to the point where it was no longer a major talking point to everyone in the room.

"I can't teach someone whose mind is so obviously elsewhere. Go on, get out of here. And Donald, do something about that, it's nauseating."

And as soon as I got to my room, I did just that.

It was that night that I had my revenge on Miss Ginger. Well, not revenge exactly, but more of pro quid pro as it were. Peeking in on her as she was about to retire for the night, I could see the outline of her legs under the thin summer blanket, one straight out, the other bent at the knee so her thighs were wide apart and higher than her waist. Now this was something I hadn't seen in my other peeping sessions--she closed her eyes, but I knew she couldn't have fallen asleep so soon. More importantly, her hand stirred under the blanket. I knew where that hand was as the genitals, both male and female, are located in approximately the same anatomical area of the body, and further, having jerked off a thousand times under my own blanket.

Miss Ginger was masturbating! Instant hardon!

A split second later I surmised what had caused Miss Ginger to touch herself like this. It was me! Or more likely, it was my cock. My wonderful, steel-like, thick-veined throbbing prick!

It occurred to me as I jerked off while watching my gorgeous tutor do likewise, that she had not stopped to take her evening bath. Naturally I had a colossally stupid idea; I grabbed my robe and a towel, quietly slipped out of my room and across the hall to the guest bath, to which Miss Ginger had exclusive use.

My nerves grew frayed as I waited impatiently for the tub to fill, and when it was I climbed in and lay down. As quietly as I could I soaped my cock and balls, got them nice and slippery and began a slow stroke, satisfied that having just ejaculated in my room I could do this indefinitely, or at least until Miss Ginger made her greatly anticipated appearance.

I tried to envision her reaction on finding me in her tub playing with my dick. I thought of her doing it--slipping her finger in and out ... in and out--Oh, what a lovely picture that was!

I was squeezing the base of my prick to keep from cumming when the bathroom door opened and Miss Ginger took two steps into the bathroom before freezing in mid-step and took in the tableau I'd laid out for her benefit. You know what they say about the best laid plans often going awry. Mine went down the drain the moment she gave me a disdainful look and said, "You have your own bathroom, I believe. Your mother gave me this one. Would you mind leaving it?"

And before I could form a sensible reply, she added, "Must you constantly play with your doodle, Donald?"

My doodle? I don't think I'd ever heard the term before, but I took her point and covered myself as best I could, climbed out of the tub, accepted the towel she had the good grace to extend to me and abashedly returned to my room. Twenty minutes later I heard her return to her own room, and now dried and semi-clothed, I went to my peephole.

Miss Ginger had just entered the room; and after placing the wet towel on the hamper to dry, let her robe drop forming a puddle of blue on the floor, joined soon after by a pair of her black panties. I gasped in awed appreciation at this wonderful view of her hairy cunt. It was by far the best look I'd had of it thus far. But the best was yet to come. Instead of climbing into bed, Miss Ginger pulled on a pair of blue shorts and settled down in the love seat that was covered with a sheet. The sheet had always puzzled me, as I couldn't fathom any reason for doing so. My jaw dropped when she cradled a breast in her hand. Specifically, it was her right hand cupping her left breast, and then she began strumming her thumb over the nipple. The nipple wasted no time in spurting out about a half inch and then she did the same to the other. Then with both nipples thick and stiff, she leaned down and took the right teat into her mouth and gave suck!

I can't tell you how much I wished that it were me nursing away on that teat!

It took me less than four strokes of my cock before I shot a rope of jizm onto my bed, covering a good sized portion of the sheet. And as Miss Ginger switched nipples, my cock remained rampant and I continued deriving pleasure with each and every stroke.

But she was not done. After nursing on her teats for several delightful minutes, she hooked a leg over the arm of the love seat. I had this ghoulish thought that her cunt was an eye and was staring right at me through the peephole. I took several deep breaths and managed to compose myself, at least to the point where I resumed looking through the hole and was rewarded with fantastic view of her fleshy nether lips and somewhat shiny opening, just a slit, actually, but I knew what lay inside!

Was she doing this to torment me? Did she know I was watching? Was she trying to drive me insane?

Of course, such thoughts would occur to a self-centered teenager, who would take an inordinate period of time to figure out that it was about her and not him, but I digress.

Needless to say, I continued to gawk at this, for Miss Ginger, brazen exhibition, but was certainly not turning away as a gentleman might. Her hand moved so slowly over those lips that I wanted to shout for her to hurry it up! But I was able to contain myself by resuming my own masturbation, stroking slowly and letting my juices simmer within my testicles while Miss Ginger moved to another stage of play. Still using long, slow, tantalizing movements, it seemed she was touching everything but what mattered, i.e., her cunt.

Then just when I thought I couldn't bear another second of this ineptitude on her part, Miss Ginger let the blue shorts fall around her ankles, spread her pussy lips, and using two fingers, held them open, providing me with my first memorable view of pinkish flesh. Her other fingers appeared to be skimming over the upper portion of her cunt, but as it had nothing to do with "the old in and out" as it were, I couldn't figure out just why she was doing so. I would later come to understand that she was teasing her clitoris, but at that time I really had no idea the delightful clittie even existed.

It was vexing to me. Robbie Flaxton had been certain that girls used their fingers to masturbate. He'd spied on his older sister. He must have bragged about it a dozen or more times. Milford Lambert had confirmed it too, stating that he'd caught his aunt fingering herself. And yet Miss Ginger, here before my very eyes was paying scant attention to the hole I so longed to prong; while she had three fingers rubbing away at what to me was the wrong damn place.

About then it occurred to me that unless Miss Ginger was deliberately deceiving me with this demonstration, I might have matters wrong. I gave this serious thought. She didn't seem to realize I was watching, so she had no reason to deceive me in the first place. Furthermore, it was obvious that she was intent upon pleasuring herself; which meant that she was jerking off woman style, and therefore she did know what she was doing. In summary, she knew how a woman went about jerking off and I didn't. So why didn't I stop fretting about her getting it wrong and watch, and then figure out just what the hell was happening?

Miss Ginger's climax appeared to coincide with my own conclusion to stop worrying and just watch. It was quite a sight. Her hips raised themselves from the chair, her body spasmed and her legs opened and closed over her flying fingers. I thought, though I couldn't be sure, that I heard a voice yelling 'yes' over and over. I was mesmerized, unable to look away even if I'd wanted to, and certainly unaware that my right hand was feverishly stoking my cock until it began to erupt for the umpteenth time that day.

When I had recovered enough to resume peeking in on Miss Ginger, I found her slumped in the chair, legs splayed and her hand lying quietly across her stomach. More than satisfied that Miss Ginger was finished with her actions, I eased myself carefully away from the peephole, and lay down on my bed to think about what I had seen.

I didn't get more than an hour's sleep as I continually thought about what had happened the night before. When I slipped out of bed I didn't have an erection for the first time in ... well, since I could remember. But after a second or two, I recalled having jerked off twice more during the night thinking about Miss Ginger rubbing herself to a climax.

I encountered Miss Ginger when she barged out of the bathroom as I was passing by. "Am I to expect you to be hanging around my bathroom now?" She snapped as she opened the door and beckoned me to enter.

"What?" I said, having been caught off guard.

"What now, Donald? Will you be sniffing the toilet seat?"

"Huh? I ... I don't know what..."

Miss Ginger was about to pass me by and go downstairs to breakfast, but cast a glance at my groin and spat out, "Honestly, Donald, don't you think about anything else?"

"What?" I asked innocently.

"You and your erections ... you're pathetic!" That said, she walked off in a huff to her bedroom, and did not come down for breakfast.

Suddenly I realized that I had the upper hand with Miss Ginger. She must masturbate as much as I do!

Well, that theory was disproven that very night, for I kept my eye to the peephole for hours, waiting for her to do something, but all that happened was Miss Ginger followed her usual bedtime routine. Not even a flash of flesh.

The next few days found Miss Ginger going out of her way to avoid me, or so it seemed. If I met her coming up the stairs, she would act as if she'd forgotten something and turn back down again. And other than our daily lesson time, she'd skirt round me as if I had the plague. The biggest tell to me was that even during our lessons, she never looked me in the eye, and I made certain that she had every opportunity to see a certain bulge in my slacks several times a day. But as much as I kept an eye on her--and I did get to see her naked once or twice--she never came close to anything resembling a masturbatory act.

It was on a Tuesday that everything changed. It was by no means planned, but happened naturally.

I arrived for our daily lesson a few minutes early. Miss Ginger was leaning over the study table, setting her lesson plan in order. She was teaching us similar subjects but at somewhat different levels. The idea being that the youngest would move through this material at a faster rate when presented again the following year. Actually it has a great deal of merit. Both Ashley and I greatly benefited. But back to the moment at hand.

I moved silently across the room until I was standing behind Miss Ginger. As usual, I had an erection and I took a deep breath then slowly pressed it against her rear. She responded immediately by pushing her behind back at me ensuring a firmer contact. Rather than pull away, I just stood behind her, my lips an inch from her ear as her firm, round ass continued pressing against me.

In truth, what happened took only seconds. To me, however, it was like a slow-motion movie in which each and every single detail is studied with profound interest.

Admittedly, I was sweating profusely as I gambled everything; knowing she was fully aware of what I was doing, I began humping her backside, there would be no denying what I was doing if she failed to accept my advances.

I was ecstatic when she hung her head and hunched slightly forward over the table causing her ass to press even more firmly into my hardon. At the same time she wriggled that backside against me I heard her gasp. I almost came then, but managed to hold off, and reached around her to grasp each of her bountiful breasts in my young hands.

Either I had gone too far, or she feared discovery by my mother or sister and she attempted to move away from me. But I was too far gone and pulled her tighter against me while squeezing her breasts.

Miss Ginger fought back, trying to get away from my stupid attempt at fornication, and managed to do so, but not before I ejaculated in my pants, wetting both my pant front and the back of her skirt.

"Donald ... I can't believe..." Was all she said before leaving me standing alone in the study.

I hid away in my room for most of the day. I have no idea what transpired at the lesson if indeed there was one. I heard Ashley leave to go shopping with mother, and feeling more secure, I ventured down to the living room.

I have no idea how long I sat there, but suddenly Miss Ginger appeared. It was the first time we'd been alone since my attack. I forgot all that had happened momentarily, caught up in the way the sunlight looked on the nape of her neck.

Of course, I had the requisite erection to boot.

"Must you always behave so boorishly!" she said challengingly.

I decided to fight back, and replied, "It's not entirely my fault. It just keeps popping up."

"That's what you call what you did? Popping up?"

What?" I said caught off-guard.

"Well why don't you deal with it on your own? Why bring me into it?"

I think both of us were stunned by what she'd just said.

Flustered by this turn of events, Miss Ginger threw up her hands and told me: "I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that."

She was actually telling me to go jerk off!

As embarrassed as I was, I called what I took to be a bluff on her part and said, "All right, I will," and started getting up. But something told me to stay in the room and I hesitated a moment and then started to leave.

"There's no need to leave on my account," Miss Ginger said in a voice I'd never heard before. It had a nervous quaver to it, and it convinced she wanted me to do it in front of her.

"Let's be sure about this," I said. "You want me to do it right here? In this room?"

"I don't want you to do anything. It makes no difference to me," she said, ostentatiously picking up a magazine and flipping it open then pretending to read.

I knew one thing, I may have been in over my head, but there was no way I was backing down. My right hand dropped to the bulge in my slacks. I let out an involuntary groan at the idea of her watching me and started to stroke my cock through the taut material of the slacks. I couldn't recall ever jacking off with it in my pants, but it felt great, particularly the crown, and in seconds I was ready to cum. My leg shot out of its own volition, enabling me to stoke my shaft's full length. I couldn't risk looking at Miss Ginger, but just the thought of her watching was sufficient stimulation to bring on that uncontrollable feeling of elation and I grunted as my cock fired salvo after salvo into my boxers and upper thigh.

To say I was uncomfortable after that would be putting it mildly.

"That didn't take long," Miss Ginger said, looking up from her magazine. There was a flush spreading up her neck that indicated she'd been watching. "Well, don't you think you should clean yourself up?"

"I was going to wait for you to do it before leaving the room. Tit for tat, you know," I said, and couldn't believe I had the nerve.

"Don't be ridiculous!" she replied trying to take the initiative, but failing after I came back with: "Oh, hold on now; let's not play the innocent victim here. You do it and I know you do."

As I realized what I'd said, a guilty look came upon me and she knew instantly that I'd seen her masturbate. The where and when was answered easily enough. She'd done it the one time. My room was next to hers. So I'd either had my eye to the keyhole, or ... Miss Ginger was out of her chair in a flash and raced up the stairs. I had no choice but to follow, I didn't want to be late for my own execution.

She was already in her room. I followed. She looked around, selected a point on the wall just a foot or so from the actual peephole, and placed her hand on the wall and ran it over the surface. It took all of four seconds to locate my peephole.

She tried to look outraged, but it didn't come off. She flopped down in the very chair I watched her masturbate in, and spoke quietly and softly. "Perhaps I do ... what of it?"

I took small satisfaction in the fact that she had admitted it to me. And then she shot me down with: "But at least I have the decency to do it in private, or at least with the expectation of privacy!"

I attempted to salvage something, some shred of respect on my part and offered, "Yes, I invaded your privacy. But I think in some sense you knew I was there, maybe you thought I was listening, I don't know. But when you gave me the opportunity to return the favor as it were, I did, and I have to think you enjoyed every moment of my performance."

"No, it's different. I'm a woman. I have a right to privacy as a guest in your home."

"True enough," I said, "and for that I sincerely apologize." The room was silent for a short time, and then I had this crazy idea, and said, "We could do it together ... you know, watching each other. I'd like that."

"Are you crazy? You're a child!" Her face was bright red, and I knew she'd thought about just such a thing herself.

"I'm not a child. At least not in the eyes of the law. I'm eighteen. Come on, let's try it."

'Don't be absurd," she exclaimed. But it didn't carry much conviction.

"Come on, touch yourself. I'll get hard in seconds if you do."

'Don't be disgusting, Donald. It's out of the question. You saw what you saw and that's the end of it."

"Come on," I said hoping it didn't come out whiney, "You know you want too."

When she made no reply, I tried again. "Come on, show me!"

"What do you mean, show you?"

"Lift your skirt up; let me see you touch yourself."

"I have no intention of showing you anything," she said defiantly. "You're just a child. A child who's messed his pants."

I shrugged as if it didn't matter, but she had made her point. Or had she? She was trying to stare me down, but I managed to meet her eyes without blinking, well not for a while anyway. I called it a tie.

To my surprise Miss Ginger sighed. "Okay, but only to keep you quiet, understand?"

Unable to contain my joy, I could only shake my head and sat down and waited.

With what I took to be feigned reluctance, she slid a hand inside the waistband of her skirt. I felt betrayed. I had been sure she'd lift the skirt and show me everything. But that wasn't going to happen. She moved her legs slightly apart and I saw the outline of her hand slide between them.

She closed her eyes.

I could clearly see the hand moving toward her cunt. It moved rapidly and then she gave a little breathless cry. I coughed for no apparent reason. Miss Ginger's eye's fluttered open, and she turned to face me. "Do you want me to do this or not?"

"I'm sorry ... please, continue."

"Don't you go getting any ideas," she said sternly.

It took me a moment to understand the implications behind those words. My heart leapt! It was possible that we might have sex before we were finished.

Then, as if talking to herself, Miss Ginger said: "I can't believe I'm doing this. I must be an idiot." But then her eyes closed and her head tilted up as if she'd just touched a particularly sensitive spot. "Oh, God, I can't..." Her hips rose and fell in time with her busy fingers.

"Oh, it feels lovely ... I can't believe it, but I think ... I think I'm going to cum!" Under her skirt I could see her hand pressing down as if trying to prevent something from escaping.

"Are you all right?" I said, concerned with her actions

She didn't answer me, but countered with, "Oh, it's happening! I'm cumming! I can't stop it!"

I watched in awe as her pelvis thrust up off the sofa as if trying to swallow her hand and the tendons of her arm stood out as she held her fingers firmly against her sex.

I waited, a gentleman at last.

Perhaps a minute passed before she opened her eyes. "I can't believe I did that. That's the first time I've ever done it in front of anyone."

"There's a first time for everything," I said finally finding my voice again.

'Oh, listen to the man of the world," she replied, but she was smiling. "I must have really been turned on. That was the quickest I've ever cum."

"Really?" I said, impressed that I might have had at least a small role in that event.

But then she stood up and composed herself, making it clear that nothing much had changed. "Well then, we've both had our fun. Now we're done. And I mean done, fini, never again. Understood?"

When I made no reply, she gave me a stern look and said my name. "Donald?"

Telling myself that silence is indeed golden, I kept my lips sealed.

"Let's get something straight between us, I was hired to teach you and not play sex games."

"I'd love to get something straight between us," I blurted before even considering the implications.

"Fuck off, Donald!" she snarled and stormed away. I heard the door to her room slam. And when I finally returned to my room I found the peephole covered by a picture.

Several hours later, after having masturbated twice more, it occurred to me that my birthday, my eighteenth birthday, had come and gone without so much as a happy birthday from my mother and sister. No cards, no presents, no cake, nothing resembling a celebration of any type. It bothered me, but I let it pass without comment, although I was admittedly puzzled by it.

The following afternoon, a Friday, several momentous things happened. My sister Maureen returned home from Vassar College, and everyone made a big fuss over how she'd changed. Actually, she looked the same to me, but mother and Ashley couldn't contain themselves with comments about this and that as having changed her, and I might add, they meant for the better.

Ashley and I sat with Miss Ginger through a rather boring lesson, after which Ashley skipped off to see if she could pry some information about the college boys from Maureen.

Miss Ginger, who had been much more cordial to me since our show and tell the day before, asked me to remain in the dining room for a moment longer. I sat back down and she checked to make sure n one was about to barge in on us.

"Well, Maureen certainly has grown, hasn't she?"

"I guess," I replied, no really interested in my sister. I was staring at Miss Ginger's breasts, which appeared to be heaving, although they really weren't.

"And it won't be long until you go off to university too; will it, Don?"

"I suppose I'll be going this September, Miss Ginger. Unless you think I'm not adequately prepared to do so."

"You are certainly prepared for it. I expect you to garner top honors, at Harvard. After all, I've striven to be the best tutor you could possibly have."

"I'm going to the University of Georgia, Harvard doesn't appeal to me."

"But why?" Miss Ginger was genuinely puzzled by my response.

"They made the mistake of snubbing Maureen. That aside, I expect to receive the highest honors. In fact, I know I will, thanks to your expert tutoring.

"Well, thank you, Donald. I ... I have a special birthday present for you," she said in a whisper.

Childishly I responded, "You do! How nice, may I have it now?"

"No, it will keep until tomorrow. I'm certain you'll find it memorable. But, let's keep it as our secret, all right?"

I nodded.

"Remember, tell no one, understand?"

I was standing when I said I understood, and more than shocked when Miss Ginger stepped up to me and kissed me on the lips, and then brushed her hand over my usual erection before leaving me standing there with my mouth open. I stood there for the longest time, savoring the memory of her soft lips pressed against mine, and then I bolted for my room and relived myself.

I went for a walk in the woods the next morning with my mind racing with the possibilities that awaited me and Miss Ginger that night. Thoughts like, Should I even keep calling her Miss Ginger? To was she going to let me touch her, or would she touch me? Then I realized that she had already touched me on brushing her hand over my erection when she kissed me. It could have been accidental, no; she knew what she was doing. Such an action is deliberate, not accidental.

So walking and pondering such weighty matters caused me to lose my place in the woods. And despite knowing every square foot of the area I got lost and wandered around until stumbling upon a well worn path that led to our house.

On returning home around four, I went to my room and hopefully went to the peephole. Miss Ginger had removed the picture! She was giving me permission to watch her as she dressed, or touched herself seeking pleasure. I was ecstatic with lust. I contented myself with watching as she performed the most mundane tasks, not caring that she was painstakingly painting her nails, or spending a seemingly endless amount of time trying to choose a blouse to wear that evening.

Normally I might have screamed out my frustration, but I was content to let her take all the time she wanted without once thinking that she was deliberately doing these things to cause me agonizing frustrations. Even when she plopped herself down on the bed, legs slightly apart, but fully dressed and revealing next to nothing in an erotic way, I took it well. Further, I refrained from masturbating in hope that I would need that seed later on.

I maintained my place at the peephole until hearing the dinner bell, then checked my appearance in the mirror, and satisfied that I looked my best, took the stairs two at a time.

After dinner, I was suddenly besieged with birthday presents, accompanied by hugs from my mother and sisters and even Miss Ginger gave me a light hug, with a nervous look on her face, hoping that I wouldn't grab her in front of everyone else. I knew better, of course I did.

But that was only the beginning of my belated birthday. It seemed that mother had insisted on delaying my party for two reasons. First, my sister, Maureen couldn't come home until today, and then, after blowing out the eighteen candles on the chocolate layer cake, and accepting presents from my sisters and Miss Ginger, Mother handed me a small box, on opening it I found the keys to a new sports car.

Of course this called for a major celebration and a quick ride to town was settled on with everyone squeezing into the car. My sister Maureen, home for the weekend, sat next to me and managed to keep her breast pressed against my arm for most of the ride. I almost lost control of the car at the first sharp curve, but recovered and settled down to concentrate on my driving. But I had to wonder if it was on purpose, decided it was just the close quarters and ignored it--well, tried to ignore it for the remainder of the ride. Still, it did affect me in the usual manner an eighteen year-old is affected by prolonged contact with a girl's breast.

We had ice cream at the Mayberry Restaurant before heading back to the house. This time my sister again managed to work her breast into my right arm even as I attempted to avoid it. There was a message there, but at the time I was thinking about Miss Ginger and her 'memorable' present, and didn't give it the consideration it deserved.

On returning to the house, I opened my other presents: A very nice sports jacket from Ashley. Four tickets to a Broadway show in New York City from Maureen, and a book of poetry from Miss Ginger, who managed to whisper, "More later," when I went to thank her.

Although she was considered a member of the family by now, Miss Ginger excused herself around nine and I spent the next hour and a half listening to Maureen regale us with stories about her first semester at Vassar.

At ten-thirty, I yawned and told everyone it had been a long day, especially having gotten lost in the woods, and I went to my room. I removed most of my clothing before returning to the peephole in the wall. Fixing an eye to the tiny portal, I was stunned to see Miss Ginger naked on her bed; her legs were parted--no they were spread widely apart--providing me with a head-on view of her cunt.

I lost my balance on the bed and bumped my head against the wall.

"Can you hear me, Donald?" Miss Ginger said coolly.

I couldn't find my voice.

"Can you hear me, Donald?" she said again.

"Yes," I replied weakly.

"Put a robe on and come to my room and get your present."

I will state that it was very difficult for me to take my eye from the peep-hole. A thousand or more thoughts raced through my head. She knows I can see her through the peep-hole. What's going to happen when I go?

"Donald!" she said in a more commanding tone, "Are you coming?"

"Yes, Miss Ginger," I managed.

"Then get over here ... NOW!"

In my haste to obey, I forgot the robe and tore out of my room and into hers.

"Did you remember to close your door, Donald?"

I hadn't, and hurried back to do so.

"You also forgot the robe, you're standing in my room in your underwear," she said accusingly, apparently forgetting that she was nude before me as she lay on the bed.

I started back to my room, but she stopped me by holding a hand up.

"Forget the robe. Come over here by me," she said and got up from the bed.

I was embarrassed, but my erection wasn't the least bit ashamed about standing up and out. Miss Ginger stood in the middle of the room waiting. My eyes hungrily roamed over her large rounded breasts, her narrow waist, and full behind. She gestured for me to sit in the armchair across from her bed. Yes, the same chair in which I'd watched her masturbate and suck her teats.

I sat down and remained still as if made of stone. She moved next to me, totally nude and sat on the arm of the chair and asked: "Wouldn't you like to touch me, Donald?" I was still absorbing things despite my nervousness. There was a distinct quaver in her voice. Was she as nervous as me?

Without answering, I reached out tentatively and touched the closest breast, only to have her pull me face first into the cleavage between them. "You've admired them for so long now, Donald ... it's time you touched them. I want you to kiss them--I want you to suck them--I want you to bite them!"

I was frozen for a moment, for each was more than just a handful, and they appeared to be so luscious and dense to my young eyes. I started by nuzzling them; making sure neither one was neglected. I licked and sucked her nipples until they were a deep dusky rose color and hard as the pebbles they so resembled. Miss Ginger was gasping for breath; I abandoned the teat I held to give her a gratuitous, yet voracious kiss.

She whimpered low in her throat and sucked in my invading tongue. Her pelvis, held down by my hand, was making little involuntary thrusts. When I came up for air, I saw how wide her nostrils had gotten and almost missed hearing her say that she couldn't believe the local girls hadn't grabbed me already. "You are a real prize, Donald. You are a man who will know how to make a woman happy."

I know I must have said something stupid, like, "I am?" for Miss Ginger sighed and basically slapped a teat into my open mouth, only to have it slip away because I hadn't expected it.

Sighing with frustration, she muttered "Once a teacher, always a teacher," and then addressing me in her formal tutoring voice said, "Kiss me, here, Donald," and tapped herself between her breasts, to signify exactly where she wanted me to go.

I could certainly follow instructions as vivid as those, and did.

"Yes! Yes! That's good, Donald! Now, just the nipples!"

Her nipples felt firm, yet spongy and hot between my fingers.

"Ahhh ... twist them. Gently ... yesssss ... back and forth!"

I felt them stiffen.

"Now pull on them!" she said, her voice husky with pleasure. "Yes, oh, yesssss!"

She let herself fall against me, but kept her place on the chair's arm. I leaned into her and gently placed my lips in the space between her full breasts' pausing only to inhale the sweet fragrance of her body before sending my face back into the deep cleft. She smelled like sandalwood, or some exotic spice.

"Now suck on them, softly, like a little baby. That's right ... just the nipple. Close your lips around it and pull."

I tasted her and felt the nipple swell between my lips. She let me take more of her into my mouth: I hungrily opened wide and tried to swallow both nipple and areola. I couldn't get enough. I filled my mouth with first one, then the other. Back and forth she guided me between them, with soft words and the gentle touch of her hand.

Her eyes sparkled with joy as I suckled on each lovely breast in turn. I heard her moan. Felt her hand brush over my erection and then slip into the open of my pajamas and touch my rampant cock. It was my turn to moan as her silken fingers clasped my rock hard appendage.

"Oh, Miss Ginger! Oh, Miss Ginger!" I groaned and discharged a copious load of semen onto her wrist and palm. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed, in my chagrin at my unexpected seminal release.

Miss Ginger was already whispering sweet nothings to me, while wiping a line of semen from her wrist. It took a minute or so before I made sense out of what she was saying. It was a simple mantra: "It's okay, Donnie ... it's okay, Donnie."

Things went smoother for me after that. I continued nursing on her nipple and her hands gripped the hair on my head. Soon my hands were exploring her slender body--from her breasts to her slight shoulders down to her waist. Her body was firm to the touch, yet soft, my fingertips found her skin smooth, silky and warm as they glided over her flesh.

When I released the nipple from my mouth with a soft pop, she swiftly guided me to the other stiffened nip, asking me to "Make little circles around it ... yes, just like that! Now suck me ... lightly, gently."

I appreciated her telling me exactly how to touch her: even though her voice had a hypnotic monotone to it.

"Now pinch them!"

I complied, squeezing the underside of her right breast between thumb and forefinger.

I managed to bring my hand to her thick hair, grasping a handful as she aroused a series of totally new sensations in me. Moving slowly along my upper chest, Miss Ginger left a trail of kisses across my neck and let just the very tip of her tongue graze my ear.

"Jesus!" I gasped, and heard her quiet laughter as a shiver overtook my spine. Then she was licking, sucking, nibbling and blowing against this sensitive area, causing a million or more waves of shivering goosebumps to crawl across my neck.

Instinctively I wrapped my arms around her slender waist. The woman I'd been ogling over for months now was now in my arms, and it had been her doing!

"Oh look at you! You're getting hard again!" she squeaked quietly in a delight I had never heard from her before. And I almost lost my mind when she leaned over and kissed it right on the tip.

Ohh, I'd wanted this. It was difficult to believe it was actually happening. But she WAS squeezing my rock hard cock, I was sure of it. I almost pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming, but then her tongue plunged without hesitation into my mouth I knew it wasn't a dream.

Miss Ginger's vastly more experienced hands (or so I thought at the time) teased my nipples and caused my heart to speed. My tongue began to dance with hers, and for the very first time I tasted a real woman's mouth. We spent several long minutes dueling with our tongues, and then I blurted, "Oh ... oh, Miss Ginger, what must I do to make you happy?".

"Kiss me..." she croaked hoarsely.

"I thought I..." I started to protest, but she cut me short, "No, not there..." and covering her face with one hand, pointed to her hairy cunt, "There ... right there!"

I needed no further inducement. My eyes went right to the small triangular patch of downy hair. "Have you ever seen a woman's body before?" she asked. "I mean all of it?"

"No," I whimpered, knowing I was about to meet the Holy Grail.

"Then let me show you. Get on your knees." She took my place in the armchair almost lying on her back as I knelt before her. "Push my knees apart, slowly."

I eased her legs apart and watched as her body unfolded before me. Her full thighs parted revealing more of the downy hair, and pushing her knees further apart caused her to unfold even more. I was in no-man's land, or so I thought at the time.

I saw Miss Ginger's outer lips part and reveal the soft bare pinkish flesh as her inner labia just managed to cling together at her center. I looked, captivated by the sight of her. There was more to this than I had imagined, much more.

"Give me your hand," she said and guided me to her soft outer lips.

"Stroke me here first. Softly, go up and down."

She took a deep breath as my fingers grazed through her curly hairs and found the soft swelling mound of flesh beneath, stroking up one side and down the other. I found the tiny crease, where the top of her thigh joined her body and ran my fingers along it, then outward, down the inside of her leg. The sight of her labia still folded together fascinated me. I saw that they closely resembled the lips on her mouth, but were perpendicular. Hers were curled in what I thought then as an almost vertical smile.

To this day, years later, every time I behold a woman's cunt I'm reminded of Miss Ginger's vertical lips and how they appeared to smile at me as my mouth descended upon it.

At first I couldn't keep my hands away and I let my fingertips graze that soft skin, slowly pushing them from side to side. "That's nice," Miss Ginger whispered. "Now open me. Be gentle with those big fingers--open me like you would open the wings of a butterfly."

I used both hands to gently separate her lips and exposed tender pink flesh. She took my hand and brought my fingers up to her mouth and sucked on them.

I almost came a second time then and there.

Releasing my hand, she whispered in a husky voice, "Now stroke me. Right down the center. Yes ... just that way. Up and down. As gently as you can."

I looked up to her face. With her eyes closed she looked like a little girl sleeping. I spread the moisture from her entrance across her delicate folds. My finger began to glide more easily up and down as she produced more and more wetness.

"Do you know where a woman's clitoris is?" she asked.

"I think so," I said, and then quickly admitted that I had no idea, though I had a vague notion.

"Do you know where it is?"

"It's just inside you, right?"

"Not really," she laughed. And taking my hand, guided my finger to it. "It's ... right here ... feel it?" I felt a little nub, like a tiny nipple under my finger. "Mmmm, that's it. Now, rub me there, but ever so gently. Spread some of my moisture to it.

I found I was good at following directions, and was rewarded with a sharp intake of her breath and a hissing, "Yesssss!" And then, "Go round and round, but keep touching it in different places. I know it's small, but do try to find different ways and places to touch it."

I did as she asked, and felt it stiffen under my finger. She let out another small gasp. Feeling more comfortable as I grew more familiar with her genitalia, I tried different ways of touching her there and was rewarded with a series of gasps and even sharper intakes of breath on her part.

Her thighs began clenching and unclenching as she moved her pelvis up and down. "I want you to taste me," she said under her breath but with some urgency. "Lick me there!"

I lowered my face between her legs: I could smell the deep fragrance of her body as her sex stood open and glistening in front of me. Bringing my tongue against her, I tasted her: salty, tangy, a musky-damp, like nothing I had ever tasted before or imagined.

Miss Ginger cradled my head in her hands and moved my mouth from cunt to clit and back again.

"Ummm," she groaned happily, then raised herself up from the armchair and told me to grab her. I took it to mean she wanted me to hold her by the ass, and did so.

"Yes, Donald! Now squeeze me hard!"

The moment I did, she began rocking her pelvis against my face. I felt the muscles in her buttocks clenching and unclenching in a rhythm matching my hands squeezing her cheeks.

"Yesssss! Baby, yesssss!" she hissed happily. "You're soooo good at this!" Then she placed her hands to my temple and moved my head to her clit. "Stay there for a while, my birthday boy. No, don't stop. Keep licking!"

I circled the little bud with my tongue for about a minute, and then felt her muscles tighten. She stopped moving and went rigid. "Just like that. Just like that! YES! Keep doing it just like that!" she croaked in a ragged whisper.

I could hardly breathe but she kept on telling me not to stop; I went on, gasping for what air I could get. At last she let out a long, low wail and lifted my face away from her.

"I'm cumming," she gasped, and clamped her thighs together. Her body writhed and squirmed. With her eyes still closed she reached for me and squeezed my shoulder.

"Come up here, Donald, my love. Kiss me." She pulled my mouth, wet with her juices, to her own and kissed me deeply. Still in the throes of her orgasm, she writhed and I had to hold her tightly to keep my mouth on hers.

I was in thrall of having heard her call me her lover.

When she calmed down, we found ourselves on her bed looking up at the ceiling. A minute went by, and then apparently having a change of heart, or guilt, she tried to push me away, crying out, "No, I can't do it!"

But I expect I'd already gotten past any real objection, for she was quite moist and juicy, and of course, she'd already enjoyed one cum already. However, I was still naive enough to think she meant what she was saying and started to pull away only to have her pull me back. Now I was belly to belly with her, with my stiffened cock nudging against the entrance to her cunt.

I sighed deeply, "Oh my lovely Miss Ginger, do help me, am I doing something wrong?"

"No, Donald, I'm the one who is wrong ... so wretchedly wrong!"

Instinctively, I resorted to the time honored line no doubt used by millions of men before me and countless after--"But I love you!"

"Oh, God help me!' she all but bleated, and somehow she reached down and guided my prick between the Mona Lisa like smile of her pulsing opening. And suddenly she opened her thighs and canted her hips and there I was sliding into the hot slickness, the all encompassing grip of her vaginal sheath that I had dreamed about ever since I'd learned about what the birds and bees really represented.

Miss Ginger let out an "OHH" of pleasure, and wrapped her arms and legs around me, pulling my cock deeper. The muscles of my back and ass and thighs told me what to do then, and I did it. Her body flexed and thrust back at me and I marveled at the countless sensations reverberating throughout my body, and especially within my prick and testicles.

Her face had that same look of inwardness, of concentration, that I had seen that time I'd watched her masturbate in the armchair. I felt myself readying to cum, tried to hold off, but failed miserably.

I came, pulsing into her in what may have been the best climax I would ever know. Surely I have had others that matched, or ever surpassed this one, but my heart will not allow me to admit it. Miss Ginger was my first and in keeping with that, shall remain the foremost of all my women.

When I could think again, I opened my eyes. Miss Ginger was still moving under me, just a little; her hands were laced lightly behind my neck. Her expression seemed remote. We said nothing; both of us were panting after falling apart, my still hard cock, sticky with our juices, waving between us. I uttered what I would later come to realize was an all too frequent excuse from a man to a woman. "I ... I came to soon, didn't I?"

Miss Ginger stopped moving, uttered a small sigh and opened her eyes. "Don't worry, Donald. I didn't expect anything else. It was your time; I wanted you to enjoy yourself without worrying about me.

"But I thought..." I began, only to have her interrupt me and say, "Well, if you're that concerned..." she grabbed my right hand and brought it down between her legs. My fingers skidded into slippery folds of flesh, amazingly hot and slick with our comingled fluids. She held my hand in place, and then began to tilt and rock and rub herself against it. It wasn't long before she uttered a low, heartfelt "Ahhhhhh..." and her body stiffened as I had seen it do before. I felt her vulva contract as she pressed my fingers against it. Her breathing was strong and heavy. Below her breasts, I could see her rapid pulse. When she was done, she took my hand and kissed the back of it and then licked the fingers clean of her juices. Moments later we were locked in an embrace that ended with her snuggling her head under my chin like a cat might.

The following afternoon Miss Ginger arrived in time for our daily lesson. She was very pale, but embraced me tenderly as my sister had not yet joined us. Of course, I became excited and had to hide my erection when Ashley burst into the room stammering her apologies for being tardy.

After our studies were completed I inveigled Miss Ginger to take a walk in the garden. I did observe a certain stiffness in her stride and managed to coax her into sitting down on a bench near the tool shed.

"We would be cooler out of this sun, Miss Ginger," I said soothingly.

She faced me uncharacteristically quiet for a long moment, and then said: "But my clothing with get dirty in there." But I saw a familiar sign in the way her eyes twinkled and how her tongue came out to moisten her quivering lower lip. I'd seen this before and knew it meant she wanted me.

Although my heart was thumping violently, I managed to hold my composure and say, "I beg to differ," and relieved her of the book of poetry she was carrying, saying: "The gardener keeps the shed immaculate. I've never seen anyone as fastidious as he is."

"Really," she replied, sounding dubious. However, I glanced down at her chest and saw that her nipples were hard, thrusting towards me--she was definitely excited!

Hurriedly I opened the door and let her look inside. When there was no protest, I quickly ushered Miss Ginger inside, and after she saw the loveseat in the corner and commented on its cleanliness, I embraced her. She didn't resist and met my eager mouth with her own.

After the kissing ended, I led her to the loveseat and sat down next to her. She took my hand in hers, and we began a conversation as to how we should regulate our conduct, so as not to raise suspicions and how we should manage to be together from time to time.

"You, dear boy," she said, "I cannot live without the comfort of your embrace."

I ignored the fact that her words seemed as if straight from as cheap romance novel found by the check-out counter at our local grocery.

I wanted a repeat of last night more than anything and heady with the success of getting her into the shed, and began to kiss her. Soon we were sharing a series of torrid kisses and I managed to awkwardly open the last half dozen remaining buttons of her blouse and freed her left breast before she feigned any protest.

"Stop! Stop! Stop, Donald my love! Just for a moment, please!"

I dropped my errant hand to my lap and waited.

"This is wrong, Donald. If we are discovered, my dearest, it will be I who is ruined. Your youth will protect you from any criticism at all, but I would be reviled for taking advantage of your youthfulness."

"I won't allow them ... anyone to come between us, my darling," I said, half meaning it as my hands pried her blouse and skirt open, exposing her generous fleshy cleavage down to her soft, rounded belly and deep navel to the thick dark fur between her legs.

"Oh, you are so precious, Donald darling. But you don't know how the world reacts to situations like ours. My guess is it's always been that way."

My hand wandered under her skirt and whether unconsciously or not, Miss Ginger parted her thighs to grant me access to her treasured cunt even as she murmured supplications that I leave her alone. "We have to stop, Donald!"

"I can't," I said in as husky a voice as I'd ever spoken. Miss Ginger groaned from deep in the back of her throat before launching herself into me, her arms wrapped possessively around my shoulders as if she had to prevent me from running away; her lips smashed painfully into my own, and her tongue invaded my mouth before I knew what was happening. Her hands were all over me; from the top of my head to groping my bottom.

And do you want to know what I thought about, what I worried about, was not that we might be caught, but that she might find me too sweaty from my excitement. Talk about maturity!

Miss Ginger awkwardly reached beneath her skirt and pulled her panties down to her ankles, then kicked them away. She shoved me backward into stack of boxes and chests and I wound up in a sitting position. Suddenly it was she who had taken control, straddling my lap; reached between us and grasped my hard, throbbing prick after violently yanking open my fly and unzipping my pants.

Before I had any time to realize the enormity of this moment, I was inside her. Her face changed from determined fanaticism to that of a woman who had just sampled the finest pastry a French chef could make, and was savoring it.

She placed her hands on my shoulders and began to move up and down on me; my small brain just taking note of the sudden heat and wetness surrounding my prick. But I must say that I certainly heard the sound; something sloppy and so very suggestive, that I have never forgotten it.

Then her smell seemed to change from delicate flowered perfume soap to a sharp earthy smell that filled my head and made me dizzy with lust.

Up and down she went, steadily moving herself to some unseen metronome; her face slowly becoming more determined with each passing second. And when my brain caught up to the reality of what I was actually experiencing; what I was doing, and where my dick was and why it felt so fucking good--I exploded convulsively into the woman writhing above me.

She whimpered as my seed flooded her, but the small muscles within her body milked every drop I had out of me.

I just looked at her in awe, as she slipped off my lap onto her unsteady legs; saw the brown kinky hair of her pussy glistening, and the pink lips with several droplets of what had to be my sperm beneath it. Her skirt fell back into place and she stood there trying to fix her head of hair, her eyes looking everywhere but at me.

And then she noticed that although I'd cum, my cock was still formidably hard. I never thought about how lame a question it was until some days later. "You're still hard?"

That now-familiar twinkle sparkled within her gaze. "Would you like to make love to me again?" I nodded dumbly, of course I wanted more!

A quick smile came to her normally somber lips and she looked around and then came to a quick decision. Miss Ginger raised her skirt to her waist then lowered herself onto the dusty, grimy, cold wooden floor. She positioned herself so that her legs were wide and that secret place between her legs beckoned to me, exposed and gaping wide with wet pink flesh surrounded by damp curly hair.

She looked at me almost nervously, anxious for me to mount her. Later I concluded that Miss Ginger, not exactly a woman of the world herself must have been embarrassed at putting herself in such a position where I might laugh at her, or make some inappropriate remark smacking of adolescence. But wanting me inside her won out and she composed herself and silently urged me to get on with it.

I was not yet anywhere close to thinking about things as they occurred, but sometime afterward. My entire being concentrated then as it always seems to--that slippery looking pink vagina and puckered web of her asshole, which I saw clearly for the first time as I dropped to my knees between my lovely tutors nude limbs.

Her small hand reached out and once again began to guide me into her. From my position I could see everything, or almost everything. I recall her fingers wrapping around my dick, and the gentle pulling of it towards her gaping pink entrance, and swooshing between those meaty lips, stretching them deliciously before easing into the hot wet folds of her cunt.

It was at that moment, I would later realize, that I was hooked on sex, on women, on cold, filthy floors, in filthy alleyways, in the bed next to a snoring husband, in the vestry of a cathedral during High Mass, and so many other places that I have honestly lost count.

A whole new world had opened to me and I welcomed it with my entire being.

My hips began to thrust with the enviable energy of youth--Miss Ginger's body beneath mine was bouncing wildly. I would have slowed my pace if not for the huge smile on her lips, her eyes tightly clenched and her own hands groping her wobbling, flouncing breasts now half in, now half out of her blouse.

I had a sudden realization that I was actually acting out a part of Hieronymus Bosch's famous painting, The Garden of Earthly Delights. I recalled Jeffery Morrison's snide remarks about the carnal scenes in Bosch's work, saying that he wished he could find that garden. Wasn't I in a garden? Well, a tool shed in a garden, actually. But I was certainly delighting in carnal pleasure and wanted more, much more of it.

I knew then that I would move heaven and earth to repeat this moment, whether with Miss Ginger or someone else. And at that moment I made a pact with myself to pursue carnal pleasure for the remainder of my life

And so, there I was--fucking my tutor, who only days before had seemed unattainable. Now I was ramming my dick into her and had her clamoring for more.

I started to concentrate more on my actions than my future dreams and was soon dripping with sweat. All that didn't matter though, Miss Ginger's responses were growing louder, her body reacted more and more violently to my ceaseless thrusts, and when she screamed out a half-second before clenching every muscle in her body, I watched in amazement, not fully realizing what I was witnessing until much later.

Miss Ginger eventually calmed to the point that I considered shoving myself even harder into her cunt, only to have her hands leave off her breasts and tenderly stroke both sides of my face. "Easy, Donnie, please go easy now. I'm sort of tender there," she whispered and I saw the love she had for me in her eyes.

My body slowed to a more leisurely pace, and she seemed to enjoy it. Her hands drew my face down to hers and we kissed again, less rushed and with more tenderness.

This closeness, this slow fuck, lasted for some minutes more before I was groaning and trembling as I pumped my seed into the first real love of my life. Her arms and legs wrapped about me, holding me tight against her as my orgasm subsided and my cock finally shrank with exhaustion.

Several minutes passed before we regained our senses only to discover that both our sexual organs were already pulsing with anticipation of another round.

But wanting to pay homage to her I found myself sliding down her body, and before she could stop me, glued my lips to the pouting portal waiting there for me, and greedily devoured our comingled delicious discharge -- not stopping until with her thighs clamped around my head--I had her cumming repeatedly and begging me to desist.

At that point I rose up, kissed her and turning her onto her bottom, brought my impatiently throbbing prick into play and set it at the entrance of Ginger's cunt.

Ginger wrapped her legs over mine and murmuring her appreciation, humped her hips forward and summarily engulphed my shaft, while murmuring for me to go hard and fast; which is exactly what I did given my youthful exuberance and strength.

We rutted like animals until cumming again and sinking into one another's arms insensible to our surroundings.

We dozed off, only to wake with a start and scramble back into our clothing and try to make each other presentable to anyone we might meet on our return to the house.

An hour later my dick was rock hard again, but Miss Ginger was not available to me, and so I jerked off, recalling the events of that afternoon and reinforcing my memory of them.

We might have continued our secret sexual rendezvous' indefinitely, but for one thing-- Miss Ginger discovered she was pregnant. There being no doubt as to who the father was, we debated any and all options, including having an abortion.

However, Miss Ginger was a practicing Catholic, and would not even consider that alternative. Instead, while I remained in my room like a coward, she told my mother and Ashley that her mother was gravely ill and that she would be leaving the following day for Scotland to be with her.

Mother gave her a generous bonus for her good work, and Miss Ginger told her that I was ready to go off to college in three months time when the next semester began. As for Ashley, she recommended Mother advertise for another tutor to finish preparing her for college the following year.

That night I slipped into Ginger's room and remained in her arms until the break of dawn. We made love in all manner of ways, and she murmured things like: 'I cannot bear the thought of parting from you; you have become as necessary to me as life itself; and the thought of parting is bitter, and breaks my heart. Oh! Love me again and again, my own darling boy!'

I never saw her again. Oh, we kept in touch in a manner of speaking; she followed my career by checking my name on the internet, and I remembered to drop her a card or letter on or around her birthday's, along with a financial gift which I know was appreciated. A year or so after she left us, Ginger married a young lawyer, who accepted the fact that she had a daughter, and they had four children of their own, two boys, two girls.

I've never forgotten her, and still appreciate the way she brought me into her bed and helped make me a man.

Chapter 2 »