Two Loves, One Lover
Chapter 1: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/ft, Ma/ft, Consensual, Romantic, Fiction, First, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, Petting, Slow,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania - Love is impossible to measure. Science cannot explain it. It's ethereal. It can be complex and confusing and sometimes painful. It can also be joyous and fulfilling and wonderful. Experience is the only way to appreciate its astonishing power. For one man, love transcended all in a most unusual way. (Adult male/14 year old girl)
DARKNESS COULDN’T COMFORT ME or provide the insulating cloak from harsh reality I so desperately wanted. I sat in a chair, holding her hand, and let memories drift through the corridors of my mind; the good times. I remembered the first time I noticed her. I’d had no inkling of how deeply she was going to impact my life.
It was her first year in high school; a freshman. She stood apart watching the girls soccer team practicing, separate from other groups of supporters as if a social outcast. It didn’t surprise me. She was not an attractive girl; her chestnut hair a tangled mess, nose a bit too large for her face, and her mouth showed the distortion of braces. She was tall, slender as a reed, but without any outward signs of adolescence.
I watched her from a distance out of fascination. She studied the girls playing soccer, occasionally shaking her head as if disappointed by their skill, her right hand moving as if trying to guide the soccer ball on the field. An overly large Budweiser red sweatshirt fell to mid-thigh, partially hiding worn blue jeans, the arms rolled up. Laces on one of her worn high top sneakers were undone. A large backpack decorated with stickers rested on the grass at her side.
She might not have been attractive, but she had an animated and intriguing face, wincing or frowning at the game.
I noticed her again several days later, sitting alone on a low wall overlooking the parking lot at school, her head bowed as she read a textbook on her knees. Early fall weather was warm, yet she wore a large blue Roots sweatshirt, sleeves pulled up, her wrists festooned with colored plastic bangles. She really wasn’t what my peers would call a pretty girl. Quite the opposite. Yet there was something about her; isolated and apart. Maybe that’s why I wandered over - curiosity.
“Hi,” I said, as I neared her.
She looked up, startled, and I saw pale green eyes stare at me. Up close I noticed light freckles on high cheekbones, her face oval with a few spots of inflamed acne on her chin, more around her nostrils. She stared at me without a trace of shyness or embarrassment.
“So you lost the bet?” she asked, her voice soft, teeth replete with metal braces.
“What was the bet? To see if I could talk? To embarrass me?” She glanced around. “Where are your friends hiding?”
She studied me for a moment. “Why are you talking to me? Because I’m a lost cause? Or did you wonder if I’m as strange as people say?”
“Clearly you’re the sharp end of the pencil,” she observed, then turned back to reading her textbook, ignoring me.
She made me feel stupid. I stood there for a moment, shrugged, turned and left. What a strange girl.
I saw her again the next day, now sitting alone on the parking lot curb, a textbook on her knees, her long chestnut hair still a tangled mess, laces on one sneaker still untied, and her wrists festooned with turquoise-inlayed silver bangles. Lord knows why, but I went over to her again.
She glanced at me and back to her algebra textbook. “You again. You’re a glutton for punishment.”
“What?” I asked automatically.
“Is that your pick-up line? If it is, I have to tell you it’s destined to fail.”
“That’s just as weak,” she commented, still reading.
I grinned and sat down next to her, not saying a word. She may not be pretty, but she was quite funny.
Eventually she sighed loudly with exasperation and looked at me. “What do you want?”
“None of your business.”
Smiling broadly, I said, “Give me a name and I’ll leave you alone.”
She sighed. “Fine. Penny. Now go.”
On Friday, as I watched the school football team practicing their routines, I saw her sitting, again separated from other spectators in the stands. I went over, dropped my backpack, sat next to her and said, “Hi, Penny. How’s it going today?”
Her pale green eyes turned to me. “My name’s not Penny.”
“You told me it was,” I reminded her.
“No. You asked me to give you a name, so I gave you one - Penny.”
I laughed at being duped. “You don’t make it easy to socialize with you.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Socializing with me?” she asked. “Why? Do you think I’m lonely? Have no friends? A lost cause needing charity?” Neon plastic bangles on her right wrist clicked as she moved her hand, using it to emphasize her words.
“Good for you. You’ve done your duty. Now go away,” she said, turning back to watch the football team practice.
I didn’t. She amused me. I sat quietly, watching her. Eventually she turned to look at me.
“What’s your problem?” she asked.
“What’s yours?” I countered.
“You. Go away.”
Grinning, I asked, “What’s your real name?”
“None of your business.” She turned back to watch football practice.
“I’m not going to stop asking,” I told her. “You’ll get rid of me faster if you tell me.”
She sighed. “Maryam Mirzakhani.”
I laughed, now really amused. “So, Maryam, what was it like when you won the Fields Medal?”
She looked very surprised, then smiled slightly - a curl at the corners of her mouth. “You’re not as dumb as I thought. How would you know her?”
“My mother’s Persian, that’s how.”
She let out a soft laugh. “Farrah Connolly.”
“Nice name,” I told her. “See ya later, Farrah.” I grabbed my backpack and walked off, expecting her to ask for my name. She didn’t.
The dark silence was broken by rapid footsteps. The room smelled of disinfectant cleaning solution. Electronic machines beeped quietly. I shifted in the chair, my butt numb.
Closing my eyes, I forced myself to think back. Farrah was such a strange girl, so full of quirks. She’d never asked for my name. I’d eventually told her and she showed no interest, as if she didn’t even register it.
For almost a month, I’d spend a minute or two with her at the end of school and slowly a reluctant friendship developed. She was reticent, sharply witty, and brutally honest; unlike any girl I’d ever encountered.
Slouching down in the chair and resting my head back, I let cherished memories flow.
“Your shoelace is undone,” I told her, pointing at her left foot.
Sitting beside me on the waist-high wall around the school parking lot, Farrah extended her feet, looking at her high top sneakers.
“I know. It’s good luck.”
“How do you figure that?” I asked.
She wiggled her shoes. “It’s a reminder that order is balanced by disorder in life. Yin and yang.” She glanced at me. “Why are you spending time with me?”
“You’re weird. I like it. And you have a brain. That’s unusual for a girl.”
Farrah snorted. “So you’re a misogynist.”
“Nope. I happen to love females. But have you talked to some of the girls at school? Helium-filled balloons have more intellectual activity than they do.”
She laughed lightly. “So you’re sexist and a stereotypical male. Let me guess, you’re a jock, too.”
“Yup. I ride a bike, I walk to school, and I swim. Jock’s my middle name. Why do you wear so many wrist bands?”
She fiddled with dull pastel bangles on one wrist. “This one is for health. This one wards off the evil eye,” she told me, pointing at different bands. She lifted her other wrist, full of twisted wire bangles. “And these seven help my chakra.”
“You’re really weird.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what I’m told.” She went back to studying her textbook on statistical analysis.
On Monday, I caught up to Farrah as she left school and walked with her. My peers noticed me and laughed, not in amusement, either. I knew they were making fun of me.
She didn’t stop. “Your friends are laughing at you. Maybe you should leave me alone. Your social standing is taking a beating.”
I laughed. “It is. Fun, isn’t it? Where do you live?”
“Don’t you care what they think of you?” she asked.
“Not really. Real friends don’t judge. So, where do you live?”
“In a house. I imagine most people do.”
A cool wind gusted, rattling dead leaves on old oaks. We walked together.
“What classes are your favorite?” I asked, trying to start a conversation.
“What do you like about math?”
“It’s the one universal language. No matter where you come from you can understand it. It’s the language of life.”
I noticed, as she talked, her right hand moving again, as if punctuating her words.
“You can mathematically define patterns of football and soccer players. The way they converge on a ball is like the way blood cells converge on a virus, and they can be expressed in a mathematical formula.” Her index finger made a circling movement as she talked. It looked like an unconscious act.
I disagreed. “You can’t express chaos or chance in a formula.”
“Of course you can.”
Before I could argue, she turned up a crossroad and walked away, no “goodbye” or “see ya later.” I shook my head with amusement. She was really strange.
We continued to meet and have short conversations. The short conversations grew longer, and as winter passed, she surprised me one day by casually inviting me to her home when we left school.
Farrah lived in a neat, two bedroom detached house. I met her mother, a real estate agent; a tall, slender, and beautiful woman of exceptional elegance. I thought Farrah must have taken after her father, the difference between her and her mother so sharp.
I returned the invitation, asking Farrah over one day after school. My parents were out. Farrah and I had an odd friendship growing. We talked about anything and everything, but she never let me get stupid or let sardonic comments pass without a retort. She wasn’t deliberately funny and rarely laughed. Emotion was communicated through her eyes, her hand, and a curl at the corners of her lips.
One afternoon after school, sitting on a bench and enjoying spring sun, I asked with a smile, “How come you never flirt? Do you know how? I can teach you, if you like.”
Farrah crossed one knee over the other. She tossed her long tangled hair back with a flip of her hand, rested her elbow on her knee, her fist propping up her chin, looked at me, batted her eyelashes and said, “So, you’re, like, into video games. How fascinating. I hear they’re, like, really hard. Tell me, what’s your favorite game?” She gave me her full attention and batted her eyelashes again. “Are you good at them? You must be really smart. I’m useless at playing. Perhaps you could, like, give me some private lessons?”
I laughed. “I guess you choose not to flirt.”
She looked away. “Why bother.”
It was a revealing comment about her-self image. True, she wasn’t the prettiest girl at school, but once you knew her, it was easy to see her other charms. Inside, she was an amazingly attractive girl and I started appreciating her. I started looking forward to the times we spent together, our short conversations.
Our friendship continued through spring. I was pleasantly surprised to see her in the stands watching me at swimming practice with the school team. She turned up at every afterschool practice and started attending every meet, quietly watching me, always alone.
Something else happened that spring, too. In April, Farrah lost her braces, her lips now almost lush and mouth very attractive. Her complexion cleared up and, while still somewhat skinny, I noticed how her plain unprinted T-shirts hinted at a developing bust. Then, in short order, physical changes assaulted her. As summer holidays approached, Farrah emerged like a butterfly from a chrysalis. Her face lost the final traces of childhood and became sculpted, and, in her, I saw her mother’s beauty - a youthful elegance. Farrah was transforming into a beautiful girl despite her long, tangled chestnut hair and quirky personality. In fact, to me her hair started looking like a high-end salon job.
She seemed oblivious of how she was changing. I wasn’t. I caught how other guys reacted with new interest, how they treated her differently. My peers, who had ribbed me endlessly and mercilessly, were now trying to catch her attention. They asked me what she was like and could I introduce them. I refused, waiting for Farrah to demonstrate anything other than friendship towards me; something I was now actively interested in. When she didn’t, I finally introduced her to some of the more trustworthy guys.
Richard, a good looking friend and one of the nicer guys in school, took a particular interest in her. One day when I left school, I saw him talking to her. She nodded. He grinned and strutted off.
“What did Richard want?” I asked, falling into step with her as we walked home.
“He asked me out on a date.”
A stab of jealousy revealed the strength of my attraction to her. “Did you accept?”
Angry at her, I avoided her the following week. It was immature of me but I couldn’t help how I felt; second best, an afterthought to her, not worthy of a date, just an acquaintance she chatted with.
This time, she was the one to approach me and sit at my table at lunch. It was the first time she’d sought me out.
“Where have you been?” she asked, setting her books on the table, her backpack thumping to the floor. When I didn’t answer, she added, “Huck? What’s wrong?”
She studied me with her pale green eyes. “It’s the date I went on with Richard, isn’t it?” she said, her expressive hand moving in a dismissive wave.
“No ... Maybe.” I sighed. “It would have been nice to go out with me first.”
“I might have if you’d ever asked. I waited long enough.”
“You never gave me any sign you were interested in a date,” I claimed.
“I told you, I don’t flirt.”
Looking at her, still bemused at how beautiful she was becoming - now seriously out of my league, I said, “If I asked you out on a date, would you accept?”
The corners of her lips curled in amusement. “Try it and see. An empirical test.”
“Would you like to go to the movies together? This Friday?”
She smiled, a rare event, broad and bright and damn gorgeous, very faint freckles dusting her cheeks. “Okay.”
In the dark room, I thought I felt her hand move in mine, drawing me back to the present. Standing quickly, I looked down at her in the hospital bed. Farrah was still asleep. I squeezed her hand. Heaviness in my chest made breathing hard.
Smiling to put lightness in my voice, I sat my butt on the edge of the bed, still holding her hand.
“I was just remembering our first date,” I told her conversationally. “Do you remember it? It was a complete disaster.
“I thought I’d checked the movie time. I had, but for the wrong cinema. We ended up watching Head Over Heels with Freddie Prinze Jr. It had to be the worst movie of the year.
“I was so nervous. Remember how I spilled popcorn all over us, which would have been fine if I hadn’t asked for extra butter. You kept telling me how much better your date with Richard had been, making me jealous beyond belief, so I only tried harder.”
Falling silent, I smiled. Taking Farrah for a burger and fries after the movie, I’d ordered for both of us - me being manly. Farrah had given me that slight amused and aware smile of hers and, when the food arrived, without comment, she’d casually opened her hamburger and carefully removed all the garnishes - lettuce, pickles, onions, tomato, and cheese - and wiped off ketchup and mustard with her paper napkin. With the buns and meat clean, plain, and tasteless, she’d eaten with pleasure, reassuring me it was a really good burger. Right. Her quirkiness fascinated and charmed me.
“You’re the only person I’ve ever known to like plain, dry burgers, Farrah.”
After a slight pause, I spoke again.
“Do you remember our first kiss? You’d think, being a couple of years older, I’d know how to kiss, but I was so damn nervous from your comments about Richard. When I kissed you at your front door, my mouth hit yours so hard the inside of my lip split against my tooth.”
For a moment I paused, holding her hand, and fought back emotions.
“I was convinced you’d never date me again after that debacle. Yet, you did. It was so you, too. Remember? Monday after that disaster? It was funny how you suggested I try kissing you again to see if there was any hope for me.
“I’ll tell you a secret. I liked that we kissed in front of the school. I figured, even if the kiss wasn’t good enough, the other guys would see us and know you were my girl, and to keep their grubby hands off.
“But, you know what? It was the best kiss of my life.”
I looked at my wife and, in a quieter voice, said, “All your kisses have been the best of my life.”
For several minutes, I listened to the muted sounds of movement in the hospital; soft-soled shoes walking quickly, the quiet beeping tone of a life monitor, the whisper of air conditioning.
I looked at her in the dim light, still so beautiful. My chest suddenly grew tight, breathing difficult.
“Don’t leave me, Farrah,” I whispered, squeezing her hand. “I can’t live without you.”
Fighting back tears, I spoke with false brightness I didn’t feel.
“I don’t think I ever told you how my heart misbehaved every time I saw you. It would trip or miss a beat. I really didn’t like the feeling. Back in high school, I used to point out pretty girls just to get a rise out of you; jealously, or possessiveness - anything, really. You never reacted, just giving me that subtle smile, the corners of your mouth turning up as if you knew what I was trying to do.
“When you didn’t react the way I wanted, it only made me work harder for your affection. I was so dumb. I didn’t know you were doing it on purpose. You really had my number.”
Another squeeze of her cool hand and I continued. “I told you I loved you when you were sixteen. But, do you know when I actually knew I was in love with you? It was the year before.”
Memories rushed back to me, bringing a smile.
I swam hard, arms churning, muscles burning. The final twenty-five yards were the worst. I could feel myself flagging, my stroke rate slowing. Glancing to my right, Derek Olsic was almost level with me. Digging deep into reserves I didn’t have, heart racing, I started the hard kick to the finish, shoulders rolling, water flowing past, hands like paddles pulling me through the water. The black line at the bottom of the pool gave me distance and, as the final five yards arrived, I charged, reaching out at the last second to touch the end.
Gasping for breath, I rested on the lane buoys and glanced at the timing board. Second place, beaten by the length of Derek’s fingers. Shit! The 400 individual medley was my enemy, my least favorite event.
Scanning the stands, I saw Farrah in her usual attire; plain light blue T-shirt and jeans. She was watching me, her fingers fiddling with a plastic bangle on one wrist.
When I emerged from the changing room, she took my hand, her fingers intertwining with mine.
“Let’s walk to the park,” she suggested.
As we strolled in the warm summer heat, she told me, “You’re using your energy all wrong. You would have won the individual medley if you’d conserved your energy on the initial backstroke laps.”
“I had to build a lead,” I claimed.
“No. You were evenly matched to the others. You have a faster freestyle but you used up your reserves on the first three elements trying to stay ahead. If you’d let Derek ease ahead and turned it on at the end, you’d have beaten him by almost a second.” Her index finger was active, emphasizing her analysis.
“You can’t know that, Farrah.”
She glanced at me. “It’s simple mathematics, Huck. I know what your times are in each style. I know what the competitor’s times are, too. You tried to be faster in each instead of saving it for the final freestyle.”
We walked in silence as I pondered her advice. Maybe next time I’d try it her way.
The park, a large expanse with rolling lawns broken by stands of weeping willow and oak trees lining the winding path of a small river, was spotted with families enjoying the late afternoon weather, some sitting together, others throwing Frisbees, dogs barking and running.
We found a private spot in the shade next to the small river. Water flowed past over pebbles and around rocks at a lethargic pace, lush green water grasses at the edges waving. The river brought a cooling breeze.
Sitting side-by-side, I admired Farrah. Now fifteen, she was becoming more beautiful every month. Or maybe it was my perspective changing. She looked at me and smiled slightly, her pale green eyes so enchanting. At that exact moment, with dappled light playing over her tangled chestnut hair, wrists festooned with colorful bangles, and one sneaker lace still untied, I knew I loved her. I felt it as an ache in my chest, heaviness, my heart thumping. I felt so privileged - so lucky to be with her.
Giving into the urge, I leaned in and kissed her, my lips touching hers gently. On the breeze I caught her scent; subtle honeysuckle with a hint of spicy exotic. Farrah kissed me back, her eyes closing. Reaching across, I held the side of her body and, as the kiss deepened with a soft brush of the tip of her tongue, I eased my hand to her front and cupped her breast; the first time I’d touched her intimately, and boy was it exciting!
Farrah’s breast might have been small, but it was perfect; firm and sensual, cradled by a soft bra. I caressed her, growing erect. Farrah let me touch her, but when the kiss ended, she gently removed my hand, holding it, and leaned against me.
Farrah wasn’t the first girl I’d kissed, or the first girl I’d touched. She was, however, the single most exciting girl I’d ever been with. I loved her quirkiness: her passion for disciplined mathematics mixed with unscientific superstitions; her casual way of dressing; her tangled chestnut hair enhancing her beauty; and her enchanting pale green eyes.
Noticing a new, red enamel metal bangle on her left wrist, I asked her about it.
Lifting her hand and studying it, she told me, “Red is the color of energy, passion, action, ambition and determination. I wore it for your meet. It worked. You won the freestyle and the butterfly events.”
“Do you really believe that stuff?”
Farrah looked at me. “It worked, didn’t it?”
We spent a couple of hours chatting, kissing, and Farrah letting me touch her breast over her T-shirt every so often. The new intimacy between us was very exciting.
Over the summer break, Farrah and I spent more and more time together. While we hadn’t verbalized we were boyfriend and girlfriend, it was accepted between us that we were. Our parents had no objections. Dad had a quiet word with me, reminding me to be respectful of Farrah, and not to forget condoms if the relationship progressed that far. It didn’t.
Our relationship had started as a friendship and that remained the core between us. Long conversations were the norm, Farrah calmly countering my sarcasm or jokes with reason.
Spending time with her, I noticed things. While aware of fashions, she wasn’t interested in clothes. Farrah’s wardrobe consisted of plain, solid color Tees, jeans or occasionally cargo shorts, and the always-present sneakers; left shoe untied. She had a large selection of wrist bangles. Every day some, but not all, would be changed. However, one, a complexly braided stiff leather one, glossy and ebony-dark with age, was always on her left wrist, never removed. When I asked about that one, she’d give me her slight smile of amusement and refuse to tell me.
I truly enjoyed her oddball beliefs. Her quirks defined her character and made her evermore fascinating. She liked ice cubes in her drinks except for Coke. Coke was ice-free because “It waters down the flavor.” She never, as in never, bad-mouthed anyone. She believed it would only tempt fate. Given she’d been made fun of by so many, it demonstrated the strength of her character that she refused to reciprocate.
And Farrah was completely, utterly unaware of how beautiful she was, inside and now out. She couldn’t see it.
When school resumed in the fall, I gloated every time Farrah politely brushed aside other guys’ approaches, and listened to my friends telling me what a lucky bastard I was. They had no concept.
Intimacy was slow to develop. In late October, when she’d come back to my house after school and we were alone, after chatting and eating a snack in the kitchen, I kissed her as she stood at the counter. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed herself against me and I finally held her buttocks. Her ass matched her tall and reed slender body perfectly, two wonderful buttocks with such shape, swelling out sensually.
When she pressed herself against the lump of my erection, making me even hornier, I eased one hand up under her plain green T-shirt. For the first time I touched her bare skin, traced her spine, touched her bra strap, and, with mounting excitement, brought my hand around to her front, my pulse racing.
Farrah eased her chest away from me and I experienced the thrill of cupping her bra-covered breast. Her bra was soft cotton, her breast supple but petite inside it. I caressed and tested its resiliency, then discovered the bump of her nipple. All sorts of sexy thoughts tumbled through my mind; lifting her bra, actually touching her bare breast, maybe seeing it.
Still kissing, tongues playing, Farrah pulled my hand out from her T-shirt. The kiss ended. She smiled slightly, kissed my lips gently and backed away.
“Why did you stop?” I asked, suffering from horniness.
“To make sure I can,” she answered.
Confused, I told her, “Of course you can. I’d never force you into anything.”
The corners of her lips turned up slightly, an expression I was beginning to recognize. It came when I did something that amused her.
“I meant, to make sure I could stop myself. You kiss really well, and when you touch me, it’s hard to resist you.”
I grinned, feeling rather proud.
Farrah studied me. “I’m not ready to go all the way, Huck. I hope you can accept that.”
“I can wait as long as you want. But kissing is mandatory.”
She moved into me and we kissed again, soft and fun, tongues teasing. The way she pressed herself against me had me hard again. And, man, did she have a great ass!
“You’d get me so damn horny back in high school,” I told my sleeping wife.
A multi-colored LED display provided a constant update on her condition. I tried to ignore it. Shuffling slightly, I sat fully on her bed turning my back to the monitor, kissed her slender hand, placed it down gently, and rubbed her leg. Maybe she could feel my touch. Maybe it would provide some comfort.
As sadness rose suddenly, helplessly and uncontrollably, once again threatening to overwhelm me, I continued talking to her, reminding her of better times.
“Did you know how jealous my friends were? They all claimed they’d seen the potential in you in your first year. They were full of it! You weren’t what anyone would call pretty back then. Even I had no clue how you’d turn out. Then you magically transformed into this elegant, gorgeous girl with brains. It was intimidating. I constantly worried you’d dump me for a better-looking guy.”
With a quiet chuckle, I told her, “I know you still don’t believe it, but I didn’t tell you I love you just to get you into bed. If I’d known it would work so well, I would have tried it long before you turned sixteen.
“In a way, I’m glad I didn’t. I would have missed our journey of intimacy, and that was the most amazing experience. I now know you set the pace back then, allowing me to do only what you wanted. It sure made for some painful erections.”
I chuckled again. Mom and Dad had drummed respect for women into me for as long as I could remember. It never occurred to me to be anything less with Farrah. But, Jesus it was agony at times, and caused a lot of dampness in my shorts.
“Do you remember the first time you let me touch your breast?” I asked her.
“How about coming over on Saturday?” I asked Farrah as we sat in the cafeteria, students loud around us. “Mom and Dad are going out to a party. We’d be alone.”
Her pale green eyes studied me. I could swear she could read me like an open book. The corners of her lips curled slightly, amused.
“How about taking me to a movie instead?” she offered.
Resigned to my failed plan, I nodded. “Sure.”
“I love your enthusiasm, Huck,” she commented.
Quickly, I corrected myself. “No. Really. I’d love to. I’ll even let you choose the movie!”
Farrah smiled, eyes twinkling. “You had plans, didn’t you? Thought you’d get me alone and what? Seduce me?”
I laughed. “Can’t blame me for trying. I’m a guy.”
Reaching across the table, she took my hand. “You’re a great guy, Huck.”
Saturday, in the cinema, I wasn’t really into the movie. I was more interested in Farrah. In the dark, sitting way up in back, we kissed and shared a bucket of popcorn. Farrah, almost absentmindedly, fed me. I had my arm over her shoulders. It was so much fun; she fed herself popcorn, then she fed me some. We’d pause for a kiss, then her head would settle against my shoulder. A couple of minutes later, the routine would be repeated.
Halfway through the movie, popcorn was finished. We cuddled. We kissed. And in the darkness, when our tongues played, I gently touched her breast over her T-shirt. I loved how small but firm it felt, perfect for her tall, slender body. Our kiss became more passionate as I caressed her and, feeling brave and influenced by horniness, I moved my hand to the bottom of her Tee, paused to let her stop me, and when she didn’t, with my heart racing, I eased my hand underneath.
Farrah’s skin was warm and so soft. She was wearing another of her soft bras. I cupped her breast. Through the thin cotton, I teased her nipple. I loved how it responded. So did her kiss, pressure increasing, our tongues wrestling lightly.
She shifted on her seat and extracted her hand from under my arm. I knew the sign. She was going to pull my hand out. No matter. I’d had an exciting grope and it would feed my fantasies tonight.
From outside her tee, Farrah eased her bra up, and suddenly I was fondling her naked breast. It was the first naked breast I’d ever touched and I was addicted, excited, and hornier than Hell. Farrah’s breast was silky smooth, warm, supple yet firm. Just less than a handful, it had such a sexy shape, her nipple a distinct bump against my palm. I caressed and explored, mapping its shape with my thumb, squeezing very gently, and rubbing her proud nipple. Damn it was arousing!
Farrah broke our kiss and rested her head against my shoulder. Her hand covered mine from outside the tee, holding mine in place. We watched the movie as she let me fondle her, my erection straining and damp and uncomfortable inside tight jeans.
A combination of extreme horniness and nervousness - touching a bare breast for the first time - made my hand hot and damp. I sat quietly praying for it to dry out, but it didn’t. It got worse. Eventually, embarrassed at being so nervous, I withdrew my hand. Farrah moved, readjusting her bra, and settled back against me. We kissed some more until the movie ended.
I was still horny as heck.
Walking home, holding hands, Farrah said, “It’s cute that you were so nervous, Huck. I like it.”
“You have no concept.”
Demonstrating her insight into me, she said, “It was my first time, too. I think, if we try it some more, we won’t be as nervous.”
“You’d want to?” I asked.
“That was implicit in my comment. But, yes, I think I’d like to.”
We did try again. Not that often, and mostly at the movies or when we were alone together at her house or mine.
In late January, Farrah invited me over for dinner. It was her sixteenth birthday dinner. Even though I knew her parents, I worried that I’d make a bad impression, and I really, really wanted them to like me.
Dressed up in slacks, a dress shirt, and pale blue v-neck sweater under my coat, I rang their front door bell.
You could have knocked me over with a feather! Farrah answered the door in a soft olive green dress; sleeveless, mid-thigh-length and cinched at the waist, wearing heels. Her tangled chestnut hair was pulled up at the sides, cascading down her back, and her legs! Her legs went on for miles, slender and shapely.
I was speechless, mouth gaping open. It was the first time I’d seen her in a dress, and Holy shit! She could easily have been a fashion model. She had the height, the body, and the looks.
Dinner was nice. Her mother and father put me at ease. Having been with Farrah for well over a year, they’d accepted me. Still, I was nervous and on my best behavior.
Eventually, Farrah and I sat on the couch in their small den.
I dug through my pocket and extracted a small, wrapped present, giving it to her. “Happy birthday.”
She studied the small gift, then opened it. Farrah wasn’t the easiest person to shop for. She was so quirky, ordinary girly things wouldn’t have been right. I’d bought her a gold charm bracelet and put two charms on it: one a dragonfly, the American Indian symbol for happiness, speed and purity; the other an Irish Claddagh ring, the symbol for love, loyalty, and friendship.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. She fingered the two charms and, not surprising me in the least, identified them immediately.
I’d been forced to research them.
“I’d like us to fill the bracelet with memories,” I told her, adding, “If you’ll let me.”
She added the charm bracelet to a variety of inlaid wooden bangles clicking together on her wrist, admiring it, then leaned over and kissed me softly. “Thank you. I love it. It’s a beautiful present.”
Sitting back, she leaned against me, taking my hand and playing with my fingers. As she did, I wondered what God had favored me above all others. I wasn’t as smart as she was. I wasn’t as good looking as some of the other guys at school. And seeing her in a dress, I was convinced she could have had her choice of any guy at school. She still could, too; she way outclassed me.
“Why me?” I asked, explaining my thoughts.
The corners of her lips curled in amusement when she looked at me. “You’re cute, Huck. You really don’t know how good looking you are, do you?” Without waiting for a reply, she continued, still playing with my fingers, “You don’t see how other girls flirt with you, but I do. I like that you don’t even notice them.”
Her beautiful pale green eyes twinkled. “You’re a really good guy, Huck.”
She kissed me gently and tugged out the small pins holding her hair, ruffling it. It sprang out, thick and tangled. When I combed my fingers through it and felt no knots, just silken hair, I realized it truly was her natural state; unique and quite gorgeous.
As spring arrived, I started swimming competitively again. Farrah was always there, always in a plain tee and worn jeans, and always with one high top shoelace undone. She’d sit quietly watching me and give me pointers after each meet, analyzing my pace and strategy.
Mid-May, on a Saturday, I asked her over to swim and relax; just us together. My eighteenth birthday was nearing. Mom and Dad were off on one of their intimate weekends; their annual getaway when they found time for themselves, to be together and rekindle their relationship.
Once again, Farrah shocked me. She was the most fashion-unconscious person I knew, comfortable within herself. However, when she emerged onto the backyard deck and unwrapped the towel around her, she took my breath away. Her simple black bikini exposed acres of skin. Slender and tall, her bikini revealed gentle, sensual curves; her small bust, the gorgeous shape of her ass, the sexy swell of her pubis, slender thighs, and long, long legs. In the pool waiting for her, I got an erection. I couldn’t help it.
With a graceful dive, she joined me, surfacing in front of me, her beautiful pale green eyes bright with a smile. God she was beautiful! Amusement emerged when she moved against me, her arms around my neck. She’d felt my erection. It was rather prominent.
We hugged and kissed lightly, swam, and hugged and kissed some more. I chased her and heard her laughter, light and full of pleasure. She made my chest ache. And I tamped down hard on the desire I had, the powerful urge for intimacy, an almost desperate need. She was so damn attractive and I wanted her so much.
Eventually we stood chest high in cool water, the sun intense, bright, hot. She moved into me, her beautiful pale green eyes so full of emotions.
“I love you, Farrah,” I told her for the first time. It was the easiest thing I’d ever admitted. I did love her, painfully.
She smiled and we kissed. I held her sexy ass. Our tongues teased, then mouths opened and I fell into a deeply sensual kiss. Farrah’s legs circled me, her pussy pressed against my erection straining up. As common sense started fading in the face of extreme arousal, with a Herculean effort, I ended the kiss and slowly extracted myself from her embrace.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I was on the tipping point of being stupid,” I told her.
That small curl to the corners of her lips emerged, her eyes twinkling.
“It’s not funny, Farah.”
She reached out, her hands pulling me by the neck, drawing me against her. In my ear, she whispered, “Maybe this time I don’t want you to stop.” Moving her face away, she smiled at me, her message loud and clear.
About to wrap her in an embrace, she placed her hands on my chest and held me off. “I don’t want my first time to be in the pool. Can we go to your bedroom?”
As Farrah walked up the stairs at the end of the pool and I watched the sensual sway of her ass, I had a hard time believing we were truly going to have sex; that I was going to have sex with such a beautiful girl. Slowly, nervousness displaced some of my ardor. I might have kissed a few girls and even felt their breasts, but I was a virgin and worries assailed me. Would I hurt her? Would I be able to make it good for her?
Then Farrah took my hand and all worries melted away. I led her to my room. Her towel dropped. We moved into each other. She looked at me, studied my eyes. That small smile emerged. I kissed it. Her eyes closed and she kissed me back.
Behind her back, I fiddled with the clasp of her bikini top. It popped open. Still kissing, I couldn’t see her breasts. However, I felt them press against my chest, naked, firm and so exciting.
The kiss ended. She crossed her arm over her breasts, and moved to the bed. Lifting the covers, she slipped underneath. I sat on the opposite side and pushed my swimsuit down over my erection, eased under the covers before turning towards her just in time to see her drop her bikini bottoms at the side of the bed.
For a couple of moments we looked at each other, her beautiful pale green eyes full of thoughts I wished I could hear. Then we moved. Farrah’s naked body pressed to mine, acres of sexy bare skin, warm and sensual. My erection poked her, then slipped to the side as we pressed together. We kissed again.
I reached between us and touched her breast, caressing, teasing her nipple. Farrah murmured into my mouth and when her hand carefully wrapped around my erection, desire for her slammed into me, my cock swelling and aching.
Easing my hand down, Farrah edged her body away to give me room, and I touched her pussy for the first time. I touched silken pubic hair, the swell of her mons, and cupped her incredible pussy, my middle finger pressing against her cleft. Farrah’s pussy felt full and lush in my palm, but what had my erection surging was the moist, slippery arousal I felt.
Our kiss intensified, tongues dueling. Farrah stroked me. I curled my finger into her cleft and rubbed her clit. My pulse raced, heart thumped, and I ended the kiss, needing to breathe.
“Do you have a condom?” she asked quietly.
Reaching behind, I fished around and found it in the bedside drawer. Farrah rolled away from me. Blindly, under the covers, I put the condom on, then moved towards her, my excitement mounting to unbelievable levels. She urged me on top, her legs parting, and I settled on her.
Reaching down, gripping my erection, I guided it to her pussy and pressed.
“Lower,” she whispered.
Edging the tip down through her cleft, it caught at the base. Jesus! I was going to have sex with her!
Looking into her eyes, I pressed in and made no progress. I tried again, harder, and felt a slight give. Another much harder thrust and Farrah’s face winced in pain, my crown penetrated her, gripped so damn tightly, and I came, erection swelling and spurting, cum filling the condom. I came helplessly, spurting, erection pulsing and, just like that, my orgasm passed leaving me aghast with shame and embarrassment.
Farrah knew. I could see it. She cupped my cheek with her hand.
“I’m so sorry, Farrah,” I told her as my erection faded and slipped out of her.
“It’s okay, Huck. It hurt a lot more than I expected.” She kissed my lips and hugged me. “I think we should try it again and see if there’s any hope for you.” She smiled. “Maybe this was the way it was supposed to be.”
The hospital room door opened. A swish of material on nylon made me open my eyes. I moved off the bed and back to the bedside chair. The night nurse bustled in. Mary was a stocky young lady with a kind face. I watched her move to the side of the bed and check monitors, adjust the intravenous drip, and check on Farrah, taking her wrist.
“How are you doing, Mr. Allison?” she asked, placing my wife’s hand down and straightening the blanket.
“Having a long conversation with her.”
She nodded. “I’ll be back in an hour to check on her again.”
Light from the corridor through the propped-open door faded away when it closed behind her with a quiet click. Once again, I was alone with Farrah in the dimly lit room.
Reaching out, I took her hand. A charm bracelet jangled, half full of charms.
Fingering them, I touched one. “Do you remember what this one represented?” I asked her, selecting the Dara Celtic knot.
“You bought it after the second time we made love; representing inner strength and endurance. Man I was hopeless that first time. It was your fault, though. You turned me on so much, I couldn’t stop myself.
“But the second time, God Farrah, the second time was it.”
Leaning back in the chair, holding my wife’s hand, I smiled at the memory.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, kissing Farrah’s cheek before entering school.
“Sore, and not that impressed.” She slipped her hand into mine and, with that curl of her lips, eyes bright with amusement, said, “Mom and Dad are out tomorrow afternoon. I think I’ll give you another chance to redeem yourself.”
Despite heated cheeks, I laughed. “Okay. I’ll practice tonight.”
Farrah let out one of her rare laughs, her smile so radiant I felt it physically.
Tuesday afternoon as we walked to her house, I tamped down my excitement. I had three condoms in my back pocket, just in case of another disaster ... or a stunning success. And I was determined to exert control this time; take it at my pace, lead. This time I wanted Farrah to experience pleasure even if it meant I didn’t. I had a plan and it revolved around all the senses.
Farrah’s room was as I’d expected; simple furniture, a cream carpet, desktop computer on a busy desk, and weird knick-knacks everywhere, most of which I couldn’t understand. Her walls had posters of Japanese symbols and landscape photography; a forest with blurred rushing streams and autumn leaves, dolphins leaping in the ocean, a nighttime volcano erupting.
Farrah dropped her backpack. I stopped her when she started taking her T-shirt off, and led her to her bed. We lay together, talking for a while, then kissed. I combed my fingers through her chestnut hair, still not finding any knots. Kissing led to touching; a caress of her back, of her side, and onto her hip. She smiled and charmed me, captivating me with her expressive pale green eyes. Her hand rubbed my arm.
When I cupped her breast, she watched me. Her nipple responded, firming. Farrah took my hand, moved it away from her breast and down to the bottom of her tee. I pushed her onto her back, leaned over her and kissed her softly.
“I love kissing you,” I said.
She pressed her palm to my cheek. “You’re a great kisser.” Her hand slipped to the back of my neck and pulled me into another kiss. The tips of our tongues toyed erotically. I edged my hand underneath her tee, slipping it up across silken skin to touch her bra. With a delicate caress, I explored the remarkably sexy shape of her breast, firm and upright even with her on her back. She turned slightly when I reached behind, and I opened her bra, bringing my hand back to brush her bra up and fondle her naked breast.
Farrah’s kiss intensified, then stopped. She tugged at my tee. “Take it off, Huck.”
While I did, she shrugged her tee and pink bra off. Before I could see her naked breasts, she covered them with her arm. It was the second time I’d seen modesty in her.
“Let me see,” I asked. Holding her wrist, Farrah, watching me, let me move her arm away.
“Jesus, you’ve got beautiful breasts.” And she did. On the petite side, they were perfectly formed with dark pink areolae and beautiful nipples.
Unable to resist, I kissed one, then pressed my lips against it, her breast supple, yielding. Opening my mouth, I took her areola and nipple in, sucking gently and tasting slight saltiness, her nipple rubbery.
Farrah responded with a sigh, her fingers combing through my hair. In my jeans, my erection strained for release but I waited.
Moving up, we kissed. Farrah’s kiss was much more intense, her tongue active. I reached for her jeans, cupping her crotch and rubbing. Slowly, Farrah started moving, a slight undulation of her hips, rubbing her pussy against my hand, and I found it so damn exciting. This Farrah, aroused, was another side to her that thrilled me. I loved her excitement. There was no inhibition, no shyness, just sweetness.
She broke the kiss with a quiet gasp. “Take your clothes off. I want to be naked with you,” she whispered, reaching down to her jeans.
I pulled her hands away. “Don’t. I want to undress you.”
Opening the button of her jeans was very exciting. It was even more exciting when, lowering the zipper, I saw the waist of pink panties with lace accents - such a girly color! Watching me, she lifted her butt and I tugged her jeans down and off, my eyes locked on the sight of her pussy stretching soft pink cotton. Elastic dug deep at the legs making her pubis appear full, a sexy triangle. I couldn’t resist kissing her mons and caught the scent of her; a teasing hint of exotic, erotic. My cock strained.
Farrah relaxed her legs and the full glory of her shape was revealed - her vulva rounded and sensual. But, what had me aching with excitement was seeing two small chestnut pubic hairs escaping from the elastic.
Moving up, I lay at her side. Farrah studied me, then gave me that smile, a curl of her lips. I smiled and kissed her. Her hand touched my jeans, fiddling with the button, opening it, then unzipping me. Together, we shoved my jeans off, and her hand gently touched my erection over my boxers, exploring its shape with her fingers, and driving me nuts in the process.
I cupped her sexy pussy, fondled her, then with my fingertips, lifted the waist of her panties. Heart beating hard, I slipped my hand inside and, once again, felt her silken pubes.
Farrah edged the waist of my boxers down. I did the same with her panties. Together, we kicked them off. I looked down.
Chestnut pubic hair covered her mons. Yet her bush hadn’t spread to the sides. It formed the sexiest delta, highlighting the sensual swell of her pubis. I almost moved down to kiss her, taste her, but Farrah’s hand closed around my shaft and stroked me.
Desire slammed into me, hot and urgent. We rolled to face each other, groping each other, fondling, caressing, and kissing; a dizzying storm of sensations.
Farrah, still gently stroking me, said, “Put a condom on.”
My elaborate plans for her evaporated, demolished by desire.
Putting the condom on was difficult with so much precum. Eventually, I rolled back into Farrah’s arms. Her lips curled with amusement at my fumbling. She kissed me and urged me on top of her. I resisted.
“It might be better for you if you’re on top,” I suggested.
“No. I want your weight on me, Huck. I want to hold you,” she insisted, tugging me.
Her legs parted, knees rising to cradle me as I settled onto her. This time, there was no inept fumbling. This time, hovering over her and holding my shaft, I eased the tip up and down her cleft, the condom deadening sensations slightly. And this time, when I lodged myself at the base of her cleft, Farrah’s feet curled around my legs and tugged, her hands on my hips pulling.
This time, with gentle, careful, small thrusts, Farrah’s pussy yielded gradually, stretching, and my crown slipped in to be gripped snugly; an exquisite feeling.
I lowered myself onto her. Her breasts pressed to my chest. She caressed my back, then hugged me, smiling at me, and tilted her pussy up slightly.
The experience was like no other. With surprising ease, my erection penetrated her smoothly, slowly. Our groins met. I was buried inside her, held snug and warm. We stopped.
Farrah smiled. “Much better,” she murmured, gently squeezing me with her pussy.
I groaned. It felt so damn good. Movement started slowly. It began as we kissed, at first our bodies just undulating. As pleasure washed over me, our movements found harmony; small withdrawals, small thrusts, each exquisite and exciting. Slowly, so very slowly, we moved faster, withdrawals longer, thrusts harder. Her pussy massaging my aching erection.
Kisses ended. I settled fully on her, my face finding her neck, her scent, thrusting, withdrawing, thrusting again, so incredible.
Farrah caressed my back. Her legs urged me on, tightening, her hips turning up to meet my thrusts. We fucked each other deeply, her warm breath brushing against my ear. When a wave of pleasure hit me, a prelude to my orgasm, I stopped moving.
“What’s wrong,” she asked quietly, her pussy still undulating on my erection.
“I’m too close.”
Farrah stopped moving. For a minute or two I wrestled my body back under control, then rubbed my groin against her pussy. A whole new sensation started. Deep inside her, I felt my crown moving. My groin rubbed against her clit and Farrah trembled. She rubbed her pussy against me and sighed, her arms tightening around my chest. And then the most amazing thing happened.
Farrah whispered, “Huck,” and she climaxed. She sighed quietly. Her body trembled, thighs tightening against my hips. And most amazing of all, I felt gentle clenches on my erection buried in her snug pussy, rhythmic tightening, the most erotic massage.
Her hands pulled my head up forcefully and we kissed as she came, her lips pressing against mine firmly, tongues touching. And with a deep sigh of contentment, she stilled. An occasional tremor made her pussy tighten. I was still achingly hard.
For a few seconds, we didn’t move. I nestled my face to her neck and enjoyed the wonderful sensation of being inside her, hard and throbbing. Then she moved again, a sexy undulation of her hips, and we started again, slow fucking, beautiful withdrawals, exquisite thrusts, and I let myself go. Desire raged through me again, pulse racing. Reaching down, I held her buttocks and stroked into her, faster, harder, urged on by her undulating hips, her pussy taking me deep, all the way with each thrust, one of her hands caressing my back, the other caressing my head. Too soon, I couldn’t control myself.
It felt like my erection was about to burst. Pressure built. My body strained to the point of pain, fucking her, thrusting. It hit. With a gasp, my erection swelled, swelled, and suddenly semen rushed up, released, and exploded with a burst of pure bliss. With no control, I thrust and came, spurting hard, sweet ecstasy washing through me. My body heaved. Every thrust brought beautiful bliss, spurting hard, hard, and as fast as it had arrived, my orgasm peaked and faded. I slowed and stopped, drained, sated, exhausted.
Sitting in the quiet, dark hospital room, I let myself meander through cherished memories. Our sex life hadn’t taken over. Farrah was cautious. Opportunities to be alone weren’t frequent. I didn’t mind. I liked being with her, being together. For me, that was what mattered the most. I was deeply in love.
Farrah, in her quirky way, had decided I was a good enough lover, so she’d keep me, giving me that small smile, her beautiful eyes twinkling.
I spoke to her quietly. “Do you remember how your mother almost caught us in bed? You could have told me she knew we were having sex. I just about had a heart attack and couldn’t look your mother in the eye for a long time after.
“It was so you to let me know obliquely. Maybe you engineered it. I wouldn’t put it past you. It was so out of character, too.”
That memory brought a grin.
“Can we borrow your mom or dad’s car,” Farrah asked as we sat outside Starbucks.
“I can ask. Why?”
The aroma of brewing coffee, sounds of milk frothing, and patrons chatting wrapped around us. An umbrella didn’t protect against humid heat.
“It’s going to be hotter tomorrow. I thought it would be nice to get out of Philadelphia. We could go out to the hills and hike.”
“I’ll find out.”
Saturday, late morning, we were hiking in the Wissahickon Gorge following the winding river, admiring small waterfalls, and enjoying nature. There was a wonderful feeling of isolation from the world, surrounded by sounds of birds chirping. Farrah, tall with long legs, kept pace with me easily. Comfortable silences were interspersed with conversation and observations. When we’d stop to admire the scenery, I’d hug Farrah from behind. She inevitably turned in my arms and we’d kiss before continuing.
A simple lunch of ham and Swiss on crusty Italian rolls, and fruit, was eaten sitting on large rocks at the riverbank. Early afternoon was more hiking.
Then, at one point, as we pushed our way through undergrowth, we emerged forty feet above a waterfall, huge rocks looking like they’d been carelessly scattered by a giant.
Farrah bent over a rock to study the rushing water below. I moved behind her and leaned over, our bodies together. Farrah wiggled her ass against me and I completely forgot about nature. An erection slowly formed, her gorgeous butt feeling so damn sexy. Wondering if she’d sent me a message, I reached around to cup her petite breast over her T-shirt.
She was suggesting! Her hand pressed mine to her breast.
“It’s so peaceful here. So isolated,” she said softly.
I caressed her breast. She undulated her ass against my groin and my erection strengthened. Then disappointment hit. I hadn’t brought a condom.
“What?” she asked.
“I’m horny and forgot condoms. Damn!”
Rubbing her sexy butt against the bulge at my groin, Farrah casually said, “It’s okay. Mom put me on the pill after I admitted we were having sex.”
“You told her?”
“She knew. She said I shouldn’t take any chances. It’s easy to forget protection when you’re in the throes of passion.”
Now excited, I suggested, “Let’s find somewhere private.”
“This is private. I like it here. We can see if anyone’s coming.”
“But it’s rocky,” I pointed out.
Farrah undulated her ass. “Don’t be so unimaginative, Huck. Live a little.”
“Uh-huh. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m horny,” she said, still conversationally.
Well, hot damn!
As I dumped the backpack to the ground, the sound of Farrah’s zipper lowering reached me. Glancing around, checking we were alone, I moved behind her. Farrah relaxed, leaning on the huge rock, slightly bent over. Excitement building, I edged her jeans down, one side, then the other. They caught around her ass, then slipped to mid-thigh, exposing plain white cotton panties that accentuated her slender, gorgeous rump.
Then the exciting part came; easing her panties down. It was intensely sexy; the top of the valley between her buttocks emerging, then the sensual swell of her cheeks, and as her panties fell to collect against her jeans, I held my breath, erection straining inside my pants.
Nestled between her beautiful buttocks, her pussy was exposed. In the bright daylight, I could see every erotic detail. Dark chestnut pubes dusted lush labia. Her cleft was tightly closed with just the tip of her clit peeking out.
I couldn’t resist. Kneeling, I kissed her pussy, inhaling the scent of her; light and delicate with a hint of something more basal and intense. Silken pubes tickled my lips. And then I tasted Farrah.
She shuddered lightly when I licked her cleft, settled my lips on her and sucked, my tongue teasing her clit. Farrah’s taste was unlike anything I’d experienced. Clean and moist, yet tinged with an earthy flavor. While I slowly eased the tip of my tongue into her cleft, I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, reaching in to straighten my erection.
Now urgently horny, with a gentle probe into her cleft to touch the entrance to her vagina, I stood. Moving in, with an erection jutting up, it nestled between her buttocks. Leaning over her, I brushed her bushy ponytail out of the way and kissed the light freckles on her cheek. Sunlight brought them out.
Farrah smiled slightly and moved her ass. “We have to try oral sex next time. That felt amazing. But I’m really, really turned on right now. I want to see what it feels like without a condom.” She reinforced her comment by undulating her butt up and down my erection.
I didn’t need any encouragement. Already hornier than Hell, I glanced around to double check we were unobserved and reached down to hold my erection. The idea of sex in the open added another thrill. Shaft in hand, I rubbed the tip up and down her cleft, gently pressing forward. Precum made her deliciously slippery.
Slowly, Farrah’s labia spread to hug my crown. I found her entrance and pressed, eased off and pressed again. Ever so slowly, her entrance stretched, so damn arousing. With small thrusts, I experienced the incredible sensation of penetrating Farrah, her pussy oozing down to surround my crown in liquid heat. With her legs together, she was so tight. Straightening, holding her hips, I thrust and backed off, thrust and backed off, watching my shaft sink deeper into her with every stroke, her labia bulging, pussy stretched. Jesus it was a sexy sight!
My shaft glistened, straining, so hard. Slowly penetrating Farrah without a condom was a completely different experience. Warm velvet caressed me, a sensual feeling like no other. Farrah’s pussy gripped and massaged me, her buttocks edging closer to my groin. And then I was there, buried inside her, cock throbbing.
Farrah reached down to touch herself. I pulled back until the rim of my crown oozed out of her and thrust in, sinking deep. Jesus it felt good! With pleasure flowing through me, with the sound of rushing water over the waterfall, I started fucking Farrah, long, exquisite strokes. My cock swelled, aching. I loved watching us. I loved the sight of my thick cock stretching her sexy pussy. And I loved the freedom of no condom. It was amazing.
Holding her hips, I fucked her, my thrusts speeding up, her pussy gripping me in liquid velvet. Pleasure morphed into need, a desire to find sweet release, cock aching.
Farrah gasped quietly. Her vagina gripped and relaxed, gripped and relaxed as she climaxed, her body trembling slightly, and I let myself go.
Pressure arrived. My erection strained, thick, hard, and sweet ecstasy hit, semen racing up to explode inside Farrah, her pussy milking me. Thrusting again, a harder eruption assaulted me, cum blasting into her. Tipping over the edge of control, I fucked and came in a storm of bliss, thrusting and spurting, straining, pleasure crashing over me. I thrust and spurted in an exquisite orgasm until, far too soon, I peaked and slipped down into slower pulses, heart thumping, and eventually stopped, drained and mentally still turned on.
Farrah’s charm bracelet jangled when I reached for her cool left hand. I hated the smell of hospital rooms; disinfected and sterile, dry filtered air, impersonal and institutional.
I thought about that year, my last at high school, and how insecure I was about our relationship. Farrah was so far out of my league. I knew one thing; I never wanted to let her go. She was my life.
I graduated and attended the University of Philadelphia to be near her, enrolling in the Huntsman Program in International Studies and Business. At the same time, our relationship continued and flourished.
I asked Farrah to marry me just before her eighteenth birthday. She refused, claiming it was too soon, we were too young, it didn’t make sense. She wanted to wait until she’d graduated from university. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Secretly, I was worried she’d find someone else, so I hounded her ceaselessly until she finally agreed.
“You were the most beautiful bride in the world,” I said aloud without realizing it. “I think I told you that at the time. Just sayin’,” I added.
Her parents surprised me. They put up token resistance to us getting married so young and caved quickly. At that point, Farrah and I had been together for over three years. They knew. They could see how we felt about each other.
Leaning back in the chair, holding Farrah’s hand, I pictured her that day, still crystal clear in my mind.
Nerves made my stomach churn. The church echoed with shuffling, restless guests. White calla lilies, dahlias, and amaryllis flower arrangements covered the altar. Family and friends watched. Two best men - one of them Richard - stood to my left, the priest waiting.
Then the doors opened and Farrah entered, her hand on her father’s arm. I forgot everything. The church disappeared. Noises faded.
Dumbstruck, stunned that such a gorgeous girl had really agreed to marry me, I saw a full-length white silk gown with a long train behind her, simple and elegant just like Farrah. I saw a white veil, and tangled chestnut hair carefully pulled back at the sides in intricate braids. I saw a swan of unbelievable beauty, tall and slender, walk down the aisle. When she stood in front of me and lifted her veil, her beautiful pale green eyes were shining.
With the bustle of people sitting, I whispered, “I can’t believe you’re marrying me. You’re so beautiful. I really don’t deserve you.”
The corners of Farrah’s lips curled in her amused smile. “Don’t you dare change your mind, Huck. You’re mine for life.”
The hospital door opened, light from the corridor making me squint. Mary walked in and to the side of the bed. She studied the monitor and took Farrah’s wrist.
Glancing at me, as she gently placed Farrah’s hand on the bed, she said softly, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Allison.”
So lost in memories, I hadn’t noticed how cold my wife’s hand had become. Unbearable sorrow tore through me, tears tumbled, and my world shattered. All the thoughts I’d held tightly at bay flooded in:
Farrah, in the final year of her degree, while working as a teacher’s aide that students adored for her quirky, friendly style of teaching, complaining to me about soreness in her breasts. Why hadn’t I done more? Why had I joked about pregnancy?
Why hadn’t I understood as weight melted from her and she lost energy, instead of telling her she was overworking herself?
Farrah’s calmness with the news - stage IV breast cancer - only hurt me more. My wife so young. Why? Why her? Why such a beautiful soul?
I leaned forward in the chair and wept as I remembered her fight so hard; surgery and chemo and radiation. And my body cramped in unimaginable pain as I remembered her just yesterday, whispering weakly, “I’m not leaving you, Huck. I love you too much. I’m never leaving you.”
I wept, pure agony assaulting me. She’d fought so hard to stay with me, struggled through such pain, and lost the fight. We’d lost. I’d lost everything in the world I cared for and I didn’t want to live anymore. How could I possibly live without her? I couldn’t. I couldn’t!