Sunday Love Songs
Copyright© 2015 by Always Raining
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Ten years after leaving school, Kevin Conners hears his name on a Radio Programme. A girl he was intimate with then, wants to get in touch. However, after they meet and he expresses interest, she proves elusive. Can he catch up with her? Will he want to? Though written in the first person, this is purely fictitious. The Radio Programme is still broadcast at the time of writing.
Every Sunday on the BBC's Radio 2 Programme, there is a two hour programme called 'Steve Wright's Sunday Love Songs'. Listeners ring, email or write in with requests for loved ones. Children ring in about parents, husbands about wives and vice versa; wedding anniversaries and birthdays are celebrated. It is generally a programme to give one optimism about the human condition. All these people love each other and want to extol their love, while surprising their loved ones. Wonderful.
Well, yes. Except there is one part of the show when 'long lost loves' are featured. Someone would ring in and tell of a person with whom they have lost touch. It was when my name was mentioned that I wondered about the wisdom of listening to this particular programme.
"Nicola Grayson has emailed us to find a lost love. Ten years ago she was at school with Kevin Connors and they lived near each other in Sunderland. They were 'close' for their final year at high school, but after school they lost touch. Kevin it seems went off to Oxford University, while Nicola went to Durham. They wrote for a while but then university life intervened and the letters stopped."
Yes, I bet it did, I thought, and I bet I know what she was doing to lose concentration!
Also I didn't think 'close' aptly described how we were for the whole final year of High School.
"So, Kevin, once of Sunderland, if you'd like to link up with Nicola, ring us at BBC..."
I had severe doubts that I wanted to 'link up with' Nicola. The intervening ten years had been peaceful; enjoyable. Busy, but peaceful. The same could not be said of that final school year, 'The Year of Nicola'.
I still called it that; it was etched, bitter sweet, in my memory. Mainly bitter, come to think of it.
Nicola Grayson was by far the prettiest girl in the school. She had always been pretty, but at sixteen, in our final year at High School, she was stunningly beautiful.
Let's start at the top. She had shoulder length straight lustrous rich dark brown hair with lighter highlights, all natural. She kept it clean and it always shone. It was thick and she sometimes wore it in a pony tail, sometimes in a chignon, or an updo style. She had blue eyes, very blue, startlingly so. Delicate features, small nose, wide mouth. Her neck was long and slender; she was slim, her breasts medium in size and still growing, her waist narrow and her hips still slim but wider, giving her a graceful hour-glass figure, and there were those long shapely legs. The effect was staggering. She smiled easily, and when she smiled, her face seemed to shine.
She took after her mother in looks. We had all seen her mother, who was a devastating beauty in her own right. Her father was some sort of executive. She was highly intelligent, but tended towards languages, where I was into maths and science. Yes, stereotypical.
However she had always been held on a tight leash by her parents ever since we all started at school at age eleven. They never let her out of their sight, always collecting her after school. She was never seen at weekends or evenings.
However, It seemed that her parents thought she was safe enough to walk to school on her own. None of her friends lived on her route, so she walked alone until we met one morning in second year, and from then on, she and I always walked to school together.
It happened like this.
I had to take a message to one of my aunts on the way to school. I emerged from Aunt Mary's front gate to find Nicola with her back against the garden wall, and in front of her a large dog growling. She was crying and terrified, and the dog sensed her terror. There was no dog owner in evidence.
At that time we had a dog, and I knew what to do. I strode confidently up to the animal and shouted at it in as gruff voice as I could manage. I think I told it to go home. Its tail went down between its legs and it slunk off.
"You OK?" I asked.
"Yes thanks," she said giving me a grateful smile.
We fell in step and I walked with her to school. We talked about our families, where we lived, and school. The dog was not mentioned.
When we reached the school gates, she said offhandedly, "If I come by your place tomorrow morning – walk in with me?"
No more was said. I got some grief from my mates, but I realised they were jealous and told them so. So began a routine that continued throughout our school life, until that fateful last year. We walked to school together, and parted at the gates. She joined her mates, and I joined mine.
On the way our conversations changed as we grew, and we shared a great deal about our lives, our hopes and dreams. We promised each other that our talks would never go further than each other, and they never did.
She lived a number of roads away from our house. We were an average income family, but her family were wealthy, and thought they were a cut above the rest.
That daily routine changed in our final school year. She was now sixteen and as I said, was strikingly beautiful. Something had changed at home for her: her father had to spend a year in the middle east and her parents both went, leaving her to lodge with an aunt who lived even closer to my house, only two roads away.
Now her parents were not picking her up from school, she and I walked to and from school together. My delight could hardly be hidden: I was walking the prettiest girl to and from school, though once at school she was monopolised by the captain of the football team.
My younger sister Lorraine teased me unmercifully about her.
My relationship with Nicola was all to change dramatically for the worse shortly after Christmas. Nicola asked me out. Astonishment is a word that does not do justice to my feelings.
"May I take you out for a meal?" she asked on the way to school.
"May I take you out for a meal? I want to talk with you."
"Um, well, yes!" I replied. Heaven opened its doors and the heavenly choir sang loudly.
"OK, thanks Nicola."
If I was surprised by her invitation, I was about to be confounded by what she had to say. She picked me up at home in a taxi, and took me to a high-end restaurant. My family had a little money, but I knew she had much, much more. We passed the time chatting until the dessert and coffee. I was in a mellow mood, when she got to business.
"Kevin, I asked you out for a meal to ask you a favour."
"Yes?" At that stage I would have granted her anything, but I was not prepared for what followed.
"You know I'm going with Barry?"
Barry Wilkes was the aforesaid Captain – one of the jocks. I was what is now termed a 'nerd'. I was not on a school team, and had little interest or association with those who were. I was on my way, I hoped, to Oxford and a well paid job thereafter.
"Well, he's on at me to have sex."
She stopped and looked at me inquiringly, as if waiting for a reaction.
"So?" I replied, wondering where this was going.
"I want to as well," she stumbled on, "but I want it to be good."
"That's up to you and him, isn't it?" I rejoined, now totally at a loss and miffed at the direction in which her sexual interest lay.
"Well," she hesitated, "There's a problem. Thanks to the vigilance of my parents, I've never done the deed, you see. I know first time sex is painful, and I don't want my first time with Barry to be a disaster, because I'm still a ... you know ... a virgin."
"I don't follow," I said. "What's this to do with me?"
"Well," she said looking even more lost, "Don't take this the wrong way, but I want you to be my first."
Now I was floored. The most beautiful girl in the school, bar none, was asking me to deflower her. My first reaction was YES! Then wiser counsels prevailed. I was to break her in for Barry, the idiot (relatively speaking) jock, just so she could give him a good time. I was interrupted in my thoughts.
"What do you say?" she asked.
"Let me think about it."
She looked surprised. She was a highly intelligent girl, and she knew she was gorgeous. Why was her geek friend having to think about this gift from heaven? However she sat still and waited.
I thought some more. OK, so she would fuck Barry, and after him probably the rest of the football team, then a train of blokes at college and then university. I was not in her league, and there was no chance of her hooking up with me long term. On the other hand...
I was pretty certain that I was now a fairly skilled practitioner in the art of love-making. I could give her a really good time, even with the defloration. Barry would have a lot to live up to. Then a question popped into my mind, and out of my mouth before I could stop it, and when I heard the answer I wished I had had more control of my tongue.
Now she really was embarrassed. It was not going the way she had envisaged it, I could tell. Still, she wanted to use me, so serve her right.
"Well," she ventured. "Pamela told me about what you did with her, so I know you're experienced."
I had had one girlfriend, Pamela, in that final year. We had sex shortly after she turned sixteen and had been deflowered by her boyfriend as a birthday present. She had not been impressed and finished with him. I had studied sex intensively in text books, manuals, videos, magazines and the internet, and not just for my own gratification. I had learned about the way women react, what turns them on, and how to set the scene. Pamela was apparently impressed. We went together for a few weeks and finished after Christmas: at that age there was no such thing as a permanent relationship.
Nicola had not finished, and this was the crusher. "And Barry's supposed to have a big thing, and that would hurt."
A long pause, then she gave the coup de grace, "I don't know how to say this, and I don't want to hurt you, but..." another long pause. "Rumour has it you are quite ... small ... thin. So it won't hurt so much."
Well, thanks a bunch. I thought.
Then thought again.
Where did that idea come from? I'd been in the showers with Barry and the rest of the Form. Some of the lads had bigger cocks than I did, but Barry didn't look all that big. My cock looked small and wizened when at rest, but by the heavens when it grew, it grew. I was a good seven inches erect (which boy hasn't measured himself?). OK, six and a half inches and a bit, but I was also thick in proportion.
No one in the showers had seen me 'in action', so no one knew my engorged dimensions. Some men are 'showers' and some are 'growers'. I fell into the latter category.
I swallowed the insult. I was annoyed. I would sort this girl out. She might find I was a little bigger than she expected, but c'est la vie!
"OK," I said. "When and where?"
She smiled ecstatically. "Oh, thank you, thank you!" she gushed. Then, more sensibly, "My aunt is going away next weekend; how about Friday?"
"I need the whole weekend," I said. "I want you for the whole time."
"But I was going to go with Barry on Saturday night..." she countered hesitantly.
"No chance! Listen. I know about these things. You might well be sore on Saturday, and that would ruin things for you. I need to be with you from Friday to Sunday. By the time I've finished with you on Sunday evening, you will not only be healed, but you will have a certain expertise. So that's my condition for doing this."
She seemed impressed. She thought for a moment.
"OK," she said.
I smiled inwardly. I was now going to be her first, something no one could take from me, no matter how many partners she had for the rest of her life. I was going to have my way with her for a whole weekend. It could not be better and I had put the captain of the football team off for the weekend to boot (pun intended)!
"Protection?" I asked. "You're a virgin, and I'm clean."
It was nearly a lie, for Pamela and her boyfriend were both virgins according to Pamela, but I didn't know how honest her previous beau had been.
"Pill?" I added.
She nodded shyly, "I don't want a condom between us for my first time."
"Barry has had quite a few girls," I cautioned. "I'd make sure he wears one. He's been with some real slags from the local college; you don't know if he's clean."
She did look thoughtful, then grateful, and nodded.
At her gate, she turned to me, put her arms round my neck and kissed me. It was a long kiss and my arms went round her waist. She pressed against me and must have felt my growing erection. She looked confused, as well she might.
"Sorry," I said, "but you do that to me."
"Not that," she said, smiled and kissed me again. We necked for about half an hour and then she went in.
For the rest of the following week we continued our journeys to and from school, and she continued to hang out with Barry during the day.
On Thursday morning she said, "Come home with me tomorrow. I'll order in."
I told my parents I would be spending the weekend with a friend; I was sixteen and practically an adult, so they did not question it; they had my mobile number. Lorraine knew what I was up to, don't ask me how, but assured me of her silence. My mate Joshua was green with envy.
On Friday, with my clothing I packed a tube of lubricant jelly and a vibrator I had bought as an experiment. It did nothing for me, but it sent Pamela through the roof.
Nicola and I walked to her aunt's house side by side, not touching, in case someone from school saw us and took the news back to Barry.
She smiled nervously as she ushered me into the house and there was a short moment of discomfort as we faced one another in the hallway. She broke the spell by taking me on a tour of the house and we ended in her bedroom.
"Would you like to shower and get out of that uniform, while I order us a meal?" she suggested.
She offered me a bath towel and left the room. I unpacked, undressed and took my toilet bag to the bathroom, where I showered.
I came out of the bathroom wearing the towel round my waist, to find Nicola in the bedroom, sitting on the bed.
"The meal will be here in twenty minutes," she said.
I went to the other side of the bed where my rucksack was, and fished out some boxers, which I put on. She kept her back to me, but I noticed she could see me through the mirror on her dressing table. I caught her eye, and she smiled at being found out looking at my naked body.
"If you go down, I'll have my shower and change," she said.
I found a tee shirt and put it on, and then went down as I was. I heard her giggle and then the shower running. I resisted the temptation to do as she had done and sit on the bed waiting for her to appear naked in front of me.
She came down wearing a housecoat and smiled shyly. She knew I was wondering what, if anything, she was wearing under it. I smiled in my turn and then the doorbell rang and the meal arrived.
We ate Chinese together with chopsticks, talking about the day and the various teachers we had encountered. We talked about our plans for university after college. She was on edge, and nervously played with the belt on her housecoat, glancing at me as she talked too fast. The meal over I interrupted her flow.
"Nicola, let's go and sit in the other room."
She looked startled and stood up, and I followed her into the living room and onto the sofa. She now looked frightened.
I sat facing her, and took her hands in mine.
"Nicky," I said quietly and with what I hoped was a gentle smile. "Calm down. Nothing will happen this weekend that you don't want to happen. You can call the whole thing off now or at any time. I won't be offended or even upset. Relax. You want this?"
She nodded, and smiled, but it was obvious she was still unsure of me and of herself.
"OK," I said, sitting back on the cushions. "Come here."
She moved over the few inches. I held out an arm and she came within it and rested her head on my shoulder.
"That's better," I said, holding her against me. "Let's just sit here in the growing darkness and relax. You comfortable?"
Again she nodded, and looked up into my eyes. I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. She looked puzzled.
"I don't understand," she said, nestling into my shoulder. "Aren't we going to–"
"Make love? Have sex?"
"Yes, I thought you'd–"
"Jump on you?"
She laughed. "Sort of."
"Do you want your first time to be good for you?"
She nodded again.
"Do you trust me?"
"I do now," she said, and her smile was confident.
What a warm feeling that comment gave me! I could hardly keep my hands off her.
"I asked for the whole weekend so it would be good for you," I said, "and to make it good, you have to get in the right mood. You need the atmosphere to be right. The situation – ambiance – is more important for women than men. Making love is about our brains as well."
She nestled deeper. I continued.
I told her that I was doing this because I cared for her, and wanted her to be happy. I talked of how the boys in our form wanted her, lusted after her, but were in awe of her beauty. How we all worshipped her.
"You too?" she asked.
"Yes, me too," I replied. "But now I know you, I care about you and how you feel."
"You love me?"
"Yes, of course I love you. I'm doing this because I love you."
She made a small contented sound. Then, "I think I'd like to go to bed now."
So we stood up, and she embraced my neck and I her waist and we kissed at length, soft lips caressing each other's mouth, nibbling. Then her hands began to roam over my back and mine over hers.
"Come on," I said, and we ascended the stairs, our arms around each other, and entered her room. By the bed we disengaged, and I undid the belt on her robe, and pushed it off her shoulders.
Under it she had a sheer dazzling white baby-doll nightie, and, I was later to find, a pair of translucent dazzling white hipster knickers in the same fabric. Her legs seemed impossibly long and slender below the short nightie. My cock twitched in recognition. She giggled.
"What now?" she asked, with arched eyebrows and a devilish smile.
"Now you get into bed and so do I."
She climbed onto the bed affording me the first glimpse of her pudenda, shadowy through the translucent fabric of her knickers, and lay on her back, her legs a little apart. The panties stretched over her sex, outlining her lips.
I went round the bed and took off my tee shirt and slid down the boxers before getting into bed with her. She looked a little surprised as her glance travelled south. She stared for a moment, puzzled, then seemed to shake herself.
"And now?" she asked, as I moved closer to her body, and leaned on my arm facing her.
"Now, my darling," I smiled, "We do whatever you want to do. Take your time, we have all night and all day tomorrow and then tomorrow night and all day Sunday. You can just chill for a while, sleep with me. Wake with me. Whatever you want."
"But we're here to take my virginity," she said, almost plaintively.
"We are here for a weekend of love," I said, beginning to sound like Barry White without the deep voice. "It will happen when you are ready and only then. No pressure, no hurry." How I managed to suppress the urgency of my desire, I don't know. I was desperate to fuck her.
"Oh." There was a silence. Then, "OK."
She turned onto her side and faced me. She smiled. "This is not what I thought was going to happen," she said and traced a finger over my face, my eyebrows and along my lips. "You are very good."
If only she knew!
I lay back and pulled her against me. She snuggled and then began tracing her fingers over my chest, and down to my stomach.
I kissed her hair, and ran my hand over her back, returning along her side, over her flimsy nightie. We continued to do this for a while, and then she suddenly sat up.
"This is in the way," she said, and pulled the garment over her head. Her breasts now displayed were so perfect it hurt, perfect in shape and in proportion to her young body, her nipples pointing slightly upward and already standing proud. She looked down at her new nakedness, then glanced at my enraptured gaze and coloured, but made no attempt to cover up.
She was so slim. Her back was elegantly curved and her spine rested in a delightful depression from her neck down to her buttocks. She lay down again and this time her bare breasts were pressed against my side and my chest. It provoked the inevitable reaction and I stiffened even further.
At first she avoided touching my cock. She continued stroking me in safe areas, while I caressed her back and side, brushing her breast as I did so. She sighed. This time my hand went over the roundness of her buttock, came back in the crease of her behind through her knickers, and once again brushed her breast. She gave another contented sigh.
Now her hand strayed further down and found my erect cock. She grazed it, and then my balls, and she made another little sound of pleasure. It was the sign I needed.
I pushed her onto her back and knelt up to stroke her legs, over her calves and her knees. She bent them upward and I caressed behind them. She groaned, and her legs fell apart, inviting my hands to journey up her thighs then under her knickers along the creases of her groin. She lifted her hips to encourage me to touch her sex, but it was too early. She moaned in frustration and grasped my cock firmly.
My hands were now on her stomach and up to her breasts, taking my palms lightly over her nipples. Her eyes had been closed, but now they opened wide in surprise.
"Oh," she reacted to the sensation. "Again please, Kevin."
I obliged and she smiled as she sucked in a breath. Her nipples were now even more erect and hard and I made a third pass over them, and cupped them, squeezing gently, and rubbing the nipples. Her eyes closed with the pleasure, and she began to tug idly on my cock. It was an involuntary action on her part.
I kissed her lips and her eyes opened again and gazed into mine. She had not expected it. I kissed down to her breasts and tongued those hard nips. Now she was gyrating her hips. I felt her hips rise and her hands left my cock; she was sliding her panties down her slim thighs. I looked upwards to her face, and she smiled and nodded, her breath coming in gasps.
I kissed onward, downward, until I met her bush. It was dark brown, trimmed neatly and short. As I reached the junction of her legs, she opened them wide. There was no shyness, she was bold and open to me. I looked up and her eyes, a darkened blue, smouldered in her desire for me.
Now I was using everything I'd learned to give her a good time. My fingers glided slowly over to the inside of her thighs from her knees, and along each side of her sex. She moved her hips to feel a touch on her vulva but I denied her. Again and again I followed that path and her gyrations became more violent in her frustration, until at last I heard what I wanted.
"Ah! Kevin, stop teasing me!"
Immediately I scooted down the bed and off the end, pulling her legs with me, so her sex was near the edge and her legs over my shoulders. She yelped with the sudden movement, but only once.
How was it possible for a perfect girl to have a perfect pussy as well? It was tidy and the lips, while now inflamed and delicately swollen, covered her inner lips perfectly. There was little time to admire it though; there was work to do.
Then I began a series of finger touches from anus to clitoris, but avoiding the now hard button. Her moans were becoming more intense, begging for touch. She was panting and sighing and giving little yelps of anguish. At last I applied my tongue to the same journey, dipping into her vagina on my way along her inner lips until I brushed her clitoris firmly with a flat tongue.
"Aah Yess" she cried, and exploded in her climax with a series of loud cries and guttural shouts and yelps, while her legs gripped my head, pressing my tongue to her little nub, which I continued to lick to and fro. Her climax went on and on, but eventually she quietened and relaxed her grip completely.
"Ohh, Kev!" she gasped. "That was..."
I crawled up the bed and pulled her to me. She hugged me tightly for what seemed an age, and then we worked our way back up the bed, until we lay together, heads on pillows.
"Oh, Kevin!" she repeated. It was all she said, as she hugged me and kissed me, open mouthed, her tongue darting in and out. We parted, her eyes locked on mine adoringly, satiated.
"I can taste myself," she said, licking her lips. Then her expression changed to a look of trepidation and anticipation.
"I think I'm ready."
She began to stroke my cock again, which was hard and wet. I knew her sex was wet. I ran a finger up and down her vulva, swirling round her clit, and her excitement began to rise again, as she moved her hips against my hand. When her breathing became ragged, I pulled her over me.
"Sit up," I ordered, he looked puzzled but did so.
"Now lift yourself over my cock. Now position me at your entrance."
She did all this and hovered over me, as I rubbed her clit. with a finger until her breathing became ragged once more.
"Sink down, in your own time." I groaned as I began to caress her breasts, fondling them and gently pinching her nips, while resisting the urge to push up into her waiting virginal passage.
She stared wild-eyed into my eyes as she sank down and the head of my cock pushed between her lips and made its entrance.
"Ahh!" came from her lips, surprise on her face at the sensation.
She was tight, very tight. Then she winced and stopped.
"Your maidenhead," I said softly. "Your hymen. Now you can do it quickly, or slowly," I moaned at the grasp of her vaginal entrance, "but you have to push through. Or do you want me to do it?"
"When I say now," she gasped, "will you push up hard?"
"You want it quick?"
She nodded. Smiled. Then she raised herself slightly, screwed her eyes tight, and "NOW!"
She dropped and I pushed up hard. She cried out and was fully impaled on me, her bush against my root. Her sheath gripped my cock tightly, and so warm.
"Ugh!" she groaned and made as if to rise.
"Sit still!" I urged, as I held her hips firmly in place. "Give yourself time to get used to it."
"I feel so full of you," she breathed, looking into my eyes with love. "It's wonderful. It's done isn't it? I'm not a virgin."
I nodded, "We can have some fun, but first, get used to it. Try lifting a little and falling back."
She winced again, and exhaled.
"Stings a little?" I asked.
"Not as bad," she replied and repeated the action, this time with a concentrated grin.
From then on she began to learn for herself. She rose and fell, higher and higher, she rotated, she fell forward, leaned back, and gradually increased her pace until she was quite frantic. Her hair was flying and her firm breasts bouncing, straight armed, her hands on my shoulders, and concentration etched into her face.
Her eyes were so expressive as she sampled each new sensation, sometimes closed, sometimes squinting and other times open wide in surprise. It had its effect on me and I warned her I was near to coming.
"Come Kev! Come now!" she shouted, and I spewed my juice into her. It was intense.
She came as well, a heartbeat later, with a high pitched squeal, and then fell forward onto me.
"Urgh! Ah! Oh! So good! I love you!" she gasped out as the climax rippled through her, and she wriggled against me to get maximum sensation from my cock, until it wilted and slipped from her.
She gripped my left thigh between her thighs, and in that position we rested a while.
When she lifted off me, she looked down and gasped. My pubic area and my left thigh were red. "What's–?"
"Your blood," I laughed. "Proves you were a virgin. You know in days of yore when girls had to be virgins when they married, they used to hang the bloodstained sheets out of the window so everyone would know their girl had been a virgin."
I climbed out of bed and we looked at the sheet.
"That'll need changing as well," I said, as we noted the few blood marks.
We stripped the bed, remade it, and then had a shower together, which was difficult In a bathtub with a shower above! We soaped each other, and needless to say, eventually, with much giggling, touching, stroking and kissing all over each other, washed the blood from me and from between her legs.
Then she herself bent forward away from me as an invitation, and I entered her from behind and we fucked under the falling water until it ran cold and we shouted and squealed, and scrambled out of the tub, laughing loudly.
We dried each other everywhere, which was a supremely intimate moment, and then, dressed in bathrobes, went down to the living room and drank some wine.
"Is there more?" she asked. "Have you more to show me?"
Her smile was really lustful and lascivious. My sated cock twitched and began to grow again. Oh yes!
I had of course a number of things to demonstrate, and we set to immediately. Over the weekend we made gentle, slow, intense love, we fucked hard and violently, we cuddled, and we hammered at each other. She willingly tried as many positions as I could think of with varying success.
We enjoyed oral and manual sex. She confessed to giving Brad a hand job but she had never had a cock in her mouth. After begging me not to come in her mouth, when I warned her I was near, she would not let go. She grimaced at the sharpness of it, but swallowed and gave a triumphant grin. Fortunately there was not a great deal to expel from my drained prostate. It was not the only time she took me that way.
By Sunday evening we lay exhausted in the bed. She said she had never had so many orgasms and couldn't manage any more. At last it was time to go. I had deflowered, and had sex with the most perfectly formed teenage girl I had ever seen, in as many positions as I could remember. I had seen her most intimate parts, and fingered and licked them to her distraction. I had given her orgasms both mild and intense, and had them myself.
At that moment I forgot all my previous realism about the weekend and naïvely thought that surely now she was going to be mine for the future. We had been so close, so affectionate, so in tune in all our love-making. This must be true love. We were meant for each other. Then it was all shattered.
"I can't thank you enough," she said as I stood at the front door, and we kissed for the last time. "I feel more than ready to do it with Barry now."
It hit me like a brick in the face. All that was so she could forget me and fuck the school jock. I felt a deep jealousy and anger, but kept a bland face.
I just thought The bitch, she just used me!
All that love talk of hers, all those adoring looks – an illusion, it meant nothing to her.
"Good night," I said, turned and walked away.
The fact she had told me this would happen did not impinge on my anger and feeling of rejection one jot. At that age all emotions are intense, and I was steaming! The wonderful girl I had tutored was a manipulating bitch.
It was unfair of me; I had known the score before we had the weekend, but during it she had professed love for me, and the tryst had been supremely intimate, affectionate and a great deal more than just sex. More to the point I naïvely thought my sexual prowess would eclipse her desire for the best physical specimen in the year! My resentment ran deep and lasted.
The following day, I went to school earlier and by a different way, and dodged her at the end of the day – in any case she went home with Barry.
I avoided Nicola all week, and on Thursday she found me in school. This was a surprise as she never spoke to me in school.
"Where've you been?" she asked with a worried frown. "I missed our morning walks."
"You haven't a clue, have you?" I muttered. "I give you a whole weekend. I love you to death, give you pleasure you'd never known before. Did you hear yourself on Sunday? 'I'm more than ready to do it with Barry now'. Work it out. I'm only a geek, you hang out with the jocks.
"You used me and dropped me like a piece of used wrapping paper. Now I mean nothing to you; you got what you wanted. I don't want to walk with you any more knowing that. I don't want it, knowing you're fucking someone else and couldn't care a damn about my feelings. So fucking leave me alone."
I walked away, leaving her looking puzzled. For a highly intelligent girl, she could be really thick. At the back of my mind I think I knew I was being unfair, but I couldn't help my feelings. Hormones!
I saw nothing of her after that, except at a distance in Form Time, when she ignored me pointedly, and I ignored her. Two months later, my mother called me downstairs one Saturday evening, saying I had a visitor. Yes, it was Nicola.
She looked embarrassed, worried and fearful.
"Kevin," she said hesitantly. "Can we talk?"
I took her to my bedroom and she sat on the bed. I sat at my desk.
"I miss you," she said, after a long silence I had no intention of breaking.
"I'm sorry about that, but you know my feelings," I said. "Barry should be filling your life and your cunt now."
She flinched at the word. "Please Kevin, don't be like that; anyway I'm not with Barry any more."
"He dumped me after we had sex. I'm not sorry, he was useless. Apparently he just wanted to be my first, to break me in. I let him think that. By the way, he's smaller than you."
"As if his size matters; don't be so fucking crass," I growled at her. "So it was really pointless using me wasn't it?"
"No, Kev," she said with some feeling. "I'll never forget that weekend."
"Big deal!" I said with some heat. "So you want me to fill in until you find another jock boyfriend to wrap your legs round, is that it?"
She winced. "No, I'm with another boyfriend. I'm with Lee now."
"Lee?" I laughed loudly. "My, you're really slumming now aren't you? He's a Neanderthal!"
"He's very nice," she said angrily. "He's very patient. We're not having sex."
"So?" she said scornfully. "I'll sleep with whoever I like!"
"Exactly," I said. "You can sleep with anyone. They'll be falling over themselves to get between your legs; you're quite a trophy fuck, or didn't you know?"
I could see her trying to control her anger.
"Kevin," she said at length, "I came because I miss you as a friend. Can't we be friends?"
"After what you did?" I snapped. "I don't think so. There's a saying about sex you know, 'Once you've done it, you can't go back to holding hands.'"
"We were such close friends, can't we be that again?" she begged. "I feel sort of lonely without you."
"OK," I said. "You want me as a friend? How badly? Badly enough to be my girlfriend, we start going together exclusively? That's what it will take. You willing to do that?"
She looked embarrassed and uncomfortable, and said nothing, but it was as clear a reply as if she had said it out loud. She did not want me like that.
"I thought so. That's your answer: I'm not good enough: going with me will hurt your image in school. So, I suggest you use your current boyfriend to cure your loneliness," I said with some heat. "I don't like being used. You even want to use me as a walk to school friend only. You're a user.
"Your last chance. Us together, all or nothing. What do you say?"
She looked at me sadly. That was enough for me.
"That's how much you care for me. I knew it. Good bye, Nicola."
I sat eyeing her stonily until she got up and left.
That was the last time we talked, but I suddenly found that a number of the really fit girls in class now wanted to go with me, and most made no secret about wanting sex. I had a whale of a time with a succession of hot randy sixteen year old nymphs. Apparently Nicola had rashly shared details of our weekend with her best friend, who told her best friend, etc, etc.
From time to time, I caught Nicola looking wistfully at me when I was with yet another girl and clearly about to score again. It was little consolation.
I said that that meeting in my bedroom was the last time I talked with her; that is not strictly true. After GCSE exams we had the leavers' promenade dance and I was a victim of a sting. Cloë, the girl who must have been the second most beddable in the year and whom I had proved to be so, asked me to the prom. Heavenly!
I did notice Nicola at the prom. How could one not? Her dark green gown was held up by two spaghetti straps, and hugged her form like a second skin. The skirt of the dress was slit up the side almost to the waist, revealing tantalising glimpses of her hold-up stockings and even her high-cut knickers. The 'V' of the bodice dipped low enough and showed enough of her breasts to assure all the males in the hall that there was no bra, and that her breasts were firm and pert. She was devastating. I noticed she danced with a succession of guys, while I kept to Cloë, who was an entrancing partner and a lot of fun, especially in some of the slow dances!
Then Cloë disappeared. It was nearly at the end of the evening's proceedings. I looked for her and eventually saw her deep in the arms of Craig, the lad who had brought Nicola. I should have suspected a trap, but I was nearly seventeen and leaving school. I fell into it.
Nicola was suddenly by my side.
"Kev?" she said gently, "Cloë and Craig always fancied each other and this is their last chance to be together. I told him to go to her. I know this is an imposition, but would you dance the last dance with me and take me home?"
Yes, of course muggins would, and did. I held her and she held me. Tight. It brought back all the memories of our sex-laden weekend. Then on to her aunt's who was not in evidence. She asked me in for 'a coffee'. Even in my callow youth I knew what this meant – especially after the prom! We would be going to a much bigger college, and I wasn't passing up the chance of another fuck. This time I wouldn't be so loving and caring.
In her bedroom, suddenly the spaghetti straps were off her shoulders and the dress gently floated to the floor. There was no bra, as everyone at the dance suspected, and her knickers were the laciest high leg briefs, which she slipped to the floor to keep the dress company.
I was faced with the dream girl of the year, whom I had loved all the time though I would not admit it even to myself, standing before me in a pair of thigh-high stockings with lacy tops, high heels and nothing else.
"Please, Kev," she pleaded, "We might never see each other again. You were my first lover, and the best one believe me. Please, love me again."
Look, we're not talking about a mature man of the world. We're talking about a girl standing in front of a lad in nothing but lacy thigh-highs (the girl I mean), inviting him to have sex (to misquote a famous film). There is no flesh weaker than a hormone driven teenage boy-man.
If there was any reasoning it might have gone like this: "Girl, naked, wants sex with me. Does it matter that she's slept with most of the hunks of the year? No, of course not. Go for it!"
There was no need for any justification. I'd wanted her since we'd made love. It was quite selfish, it was impure lust. Now nothing would stop me, certainly not she. At least I thought so. I was to be dreadfully disappointed. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the pack of condoms. She frowned.
"What do you need those for?" she asked.
"Every girl I've been with since you, I've been protected. Have you never heard of STDs? AIDS, Clap, Chlamydia? You've been with a lot of guys and I don't know if they are clean – I doubt it if the rumours I've heard are true. So you're no longer safe; I can't take the risk."
Her face clouded, "But–"
"No buts, Nicola. Have you done it bareback with anyone?"
"Well, yes, always. I hate condoms; I'm on the pill, but I'm sure they were all clean."
"You want to have sex, I wear one of these. Otherwise it's good night."
She looked at my cock with a certain eagerness, but hesitated just too long. Then shook her head, full of regret.
"Good bye, Nicola," I said quietly. "I loved you so much, you know, before you became the class bike. At the very least, get yourself tested for Chlamydia if you want to have babies later on."
I left, and I could hear her sobbing as I closed the front door. It sounds as if I had a hard determination in our exchange, but in fact I was sorely tempted to risk it and fuck her brains out and blow the risk. The result was that I was angry, not at her so much, but because I desperately needed to have sex, and I dared not.
I did not see her to talk to again. We went to the same sixth form college, but totally different departments, and socially were miles apart. I caught glimpses of her from time to time, but made no effort to talk to her.
She wrote to me a terse letter, telling me she was grateful I'd told her to get tested. She had the disease, but no others. It was caught early, and she was safe. She would never have bareback sex again until she married, she wrote, and was I telling the truth about loving her?
I wrote back telling her I did love her to distraction until she started sleeping around. Even though I was put off by her sluttish behaviour, I would always remember her fondly and treasure the memory of our early friendship. That was rank hypocrisy on my part: I had slept around as much as she had.
She wrote back a last time, telling me she was looking for someone who would really turn her on as I had done.
I wrote telling her that was utterly stupid. She did not write again. i suppose it should bring a smile, we lived four streets apart and only communicated by snail mail.