Chapter 3

I lay there, still horny. Sean my beloved had cum once, then again, then a third time, and he was now sound asleep, curled up like a baby. He told me once that his personal record was five orgasms in a day, he even remembered her name, used to play ball against her husband. But that was only one time; since then, he hasn't hit five again, even with me. I think he was dreaming about hitting five again. As for me, though I had screamed my orgasms each time I felt his delicious cum spurt into one of my holes, I still needed more.

I idly rubbed my clit, and bent to take a nipple into my mouth, loving the sucking sensation even though my breasts had no milk for me. My eyes closed, my pussy oozed, and my mind went back to the time when my nipples did give nourishment.

It was around the time of my thirteenth birthday. We were living in Alexandria, in Old Town; the General had been transferred back to the Pentagon for what looked like the rest of his career. He left work for home each day like clockwork, at 1700 hours. Mother also worked until 5:00 P.M., so I had a good three hours after school each day to do my homework or to do whatever else I chose to do. Being an Army brat, I obeyed orders when I had to, when I couldn't avoid them, but still I was kind of wild.

Sal was at the house that day. He often came over after school and we did our homework together. He was sweet on me, I could tell, and I liked him too. His was the face behind my eyeballs as I masturbated, and I felt that one day he would be the man, or the boy, to tear my maidenhead asunder, to break my cherry, to make me a woman. His parents liked me; well, maybe his father a little too much, judging from the way his eyes roamed over my body, but nothing ever happened. My parents likewise approved of Sal; he was "such a nice Catholic boy."

In retrospect, it had to happen. That day, I passed him a pencil or something routine like that, and as our hands touched, he didn't let go. Nor did I push his hand from mine. We looked at each other and Sal bent forward to kiss me. I closed my eyes and kissed back, but none of that tongue stuff we later learned. His lips were soft, warm, exciting. In a few moments, his hand was on the front of my sweater, moving toward my left tit-funny how I remember which one it was-but that's where I stopped him, quietly lifting his hand off me and putting it down at his side. I thought for a moment about the way Sal's father ogled me, wondering if I would have taken the father's hand off my body. Sal blushed, we were both silent, and finally I said something brilliant and inspired, like "let's go back to work." We did so, but the rest of the afternoon was tense, with a lot of silent but thoughtful eye contact.

He tried again a few days later, and again I stopped him at the kiss level.

"I'm not ready, Sal."

"Why not?"

"I don't know." In truth, I did know. I knew that after the first time he had touched me, I had treated myself to a wet, squishy orgasm as soon as he left, and that it would happen again immediately after he went home. I was just scared, scared of being caught even though my parents worked such structured schedules, scared that I might like it too much, scared that I would wind up pregnant, winding up waddling around with my belly sticking out while all the kids whispered behind my back.

The following week, though, I decided that I might like it, no, I knew I would like it, after all the times I did it to myself, and I allowed his hand free rein on my tits, but only outside my blouse. I did like it, the soft kneading of his fingers, the sensitive pressure on my nipples; our kisses lasted longer, but I didn't go near his groin area. Nor did I let Sal get under my blouse, which he obviously attempted, him being a boy, after all. After he left, though, I went to my parents' room and dug out my mother's vibrator. By that point, I already knew how to use it, and it soon brought me to another shuddering wet orgasm. I sucked it dry, tasting and smelling myself, the perspiration pouring off my face.

Sal and I began to do homework together much more often. You might think that was just an excuse for him to feel me up; of course, you'd be right. I could only assume that my virile thirteen year old boy friend, for I guess he was virile by then, went home each day to masturbate. I know that I did, but as I said, I had been doing that before Sal ever touched me, and I'm sure that he had also. I tried to imagine Sal playing with himself. Did he cum on his bed sheets, or in a tissue, or maybe the bathroom sink even. The only cum I'd ever seen was is a porn movie, and there the only masturbation was just before the guy shot onto the girl's face or snatch.

It wasn't long before he was under my blouse, fumbling; this was with my consent of course. The first time I had allowed it, he had so much trouble unhooking my bra that I had to push his hands away and open it myself. Amateurs though we were, his hands felt warm on my budding breasts, and Sal knew enough to be gentle with my nipples. By then, we had moved from my desk to the bed, fully clothed except for the bra, but still I had not touched him below the waist, my hands limited to holding his face as we kissed, to rubbing his neck. Any pleasure that his cock received would have to be self-induced; I told him as much and while he complained, he didn't try force or even pressure.

You know where this is going, of course. A few days later, we were on my bed, my sweater and bra were on the floor, and Sal's mouth was sucking my nipples. I was wearing jeans, had stopped him when he tried to open them, but I allowed him to rub my pussy through the denim as he rubbed his groin against my leg, his cock leaving no doubt about its rigid presence. I was hot as a firecracker and was moaning as I neared an orgasm from Sal's rubbing. My legs spread and I thought about letting him pull down my zipper. Suddenly, I heard a gasp and felt Sal press himself hard against my leg. I guessed what had happened, saw the spreading stain on one leg. His red face, red beyond a blush, confirmed it. He rolled onto his back and moaned, but not a moan of pleasure.

"Oh, shit, I can't go home like this."

A quick glance at the clock, a brief pause to think, and I said, "Get your jeans and shorts off; I can rinse them and throw them into the dryer. We have time."

He stood up, emptied his pockets onto my desk and stripped off his jeans and shorts. I could see drops of cum on his leg and at the piss slit at the head of his shriveling cock. I had never seen a live one before but I wasn't interested in studying it at the time; it was almost as though I were changing a little baby's diaper. I handed him a tissue for his cum and one of my bathrobes for modesty, though how modest could he be after a dry humping which turned into a wet orgasm. He gave me his clothing in return and followed me as I went downstairs to the laundry room.

I could feel his sticky cum on my hands, mostly from his shorts, only a bit from his jeans. The sliminess felt somewhat erotic and after I had dropped them into the washer, I briefly considered licking my fingers dry, to taste his cum. I settled instead for a tissue.

"We can't do that again, Sal."

This was not what he wanted to hear. "How about if you use your hands on me with a tissue to avoid making a mess?" I waited until his clothing was rinsed, dried and on his body before I said "OK."

The next day we raced home after school; Sal carried his books but homework was going to be the after play. In my room, we kissed, and I was soon topless, his hands and lips worshipping at my tits. This time my jeans were also on the floor, only my panties left to protect me. They didn't prevent his hand from getting under them through one of the leg holes. His fingers moved up and down my pussy lips, occasionally pressing in, my dampness easing the way. That was the first invasion of my feminine parts other than by my own fingers. Or my mother's vibrator.

Meanwhile, I had his zipper down and his blood filled cock in my hands, slowly masturbating him as we kissed, a tissue firmly in place to prevent his cum from inaugurating my sheets, something I didn't want to have to explain to my mother. In words of one syllable, she would fucking kill me. Sal pressed against me as I jerked, and he soon emptied his balls into the tissue. Unfortunately, he still hadn't made me cum. I wiped off the head of his cock and then, on a whim, sucked his cum from the tissue before throwing it away. I knew I would forever like that taste.

Before he left that day, I gave him the facts of life. "Sal, next time, you have to make sure that I cum first before you cum. I don't enjoy it when I don't cum, and if I don't enjoy it, guess who else won't get to enjoy it." I was already a bitch. He kissed me goodbye, promising to try.

We were by then getting onto my bed every day after school, a full five days per week. Sal was a quick learner, and the next day he held his groin off my leg and diddled my pussy and clit until my moaning and screaming cum. Then it was ok for him to unload into the tissue. Again I sucked it dry, enjoying the texture and taste; his was so much thicker and creamier than my own discharge. Tastier, too. And the idea of watching me suck his cum kept him hard.

Just because I had a virgin cunt didn't mean that I had a virginal mind, so a few days later, after I had jerked him off into the tissue, I first used it to wipe off the head of his cock and then bent my head to lick his mushroom, to give it a quick suck. I saw the glint of lust in his eyes as he recognized the message, that one day very soon he would probably be allowed-no, welcomed-to cum into my mouth, that he would enjoy the first blowjob of his life. And of mine, too. I knew I was giving him a very busy weekend of imagination and masturbation.

On Monday, both of us naked on my bed, Sal crawled up to my face and presented his three piece set for me to service.

"You promised to make me cum first, my love." By then, I guess we were in love, as much love as a pair of raunchy thirteen year olds can comprehend. He reached back to work my pussy; I could tell the position was not comfortable and so I hit him with step two. "Why don't you lick me, Sal?" To his credit, he didn't hesitate, but reversed himself to begin to eat his first pussy. He must have read some good books. As he licked, his hands kneaded my tits. I kissed his fingers and his tongue reacted by diving wildly between my lips into the promised land. My clit threw itself into his mouth and I soon felt my daily orgasm.

It was my turn to reward him for his loving ministrations and he was quickly positioned over my face. I cupped his balls to pull him gently toward me, my vision focused on that huge cock that would shortly be in my mouth. Huge then meant about four inches, maybe five, but I didn't know any better. I didn't suck it; rather I worshiped it, kissing, licking, sucking, gumming, jerking, devouring it. He could take only so much before he began thrusting, and my mouth had no trouble taking it all in. I felt the swelling which I knew meant that I would soon be treated to a mouthful of sweet creamy cum, prepared and delivered just for me. He gave one quick grunt and I felt it spew out into me; I lost not a single drop. I used his cum to polish my teeth with my tongue before I swallowed. On his way home, Sal's feet never touched the ground.

It didn't take a Rhodes Scholar for us to figure out that a sixty-nine position would give us a fighting chance to cum at the same time, and so that soon became our arrangement of choice for a few weeks. We alternated, top, bottom and next to each other. I liked it best when I squatted over his face. We were able to cum together about half the time, and no one complained.

We both knew where this was all going. Each of our daily trysts was but a step on the long route to coition, to that wonderful yet fearsome day when we would actually FUCK!, the day when two cherries would disappear in one glorious thrust, the day we would become man and woman.

I was afraid. I was ready to give my maidenhead to this boy I loved; I was not saving it for anyone else. Yet I knew the step was irrevocable, final, and I dreaded it. Sal like any male was ready at a moment's notice while I still hesitated. We were by then rubbing against each other without penetration, his cum spurting onto the outside of pussy and down my legs, only an old towel protecting the sheets from my mother's inquiring eyes. Sal kept asking, so lovingly, and I kept shaking my head. I feared that one day my dear Sal would force himself into me, but fortunately that never happened.

Then came that fateful, decisive night when I tossed and turned, masturbating without even realizing it until my orgasm woke me in a cold sweat. It was time. In school, I passed Sal in the hallway, winked at him and just said "Today." They could have pulled the electric plug for the entire school and no one would have noticed, for Sal's smile lit up the building from basement to roof. I barely made it through the day, and my knees shook as we walked to my house.

We stripped rapidly, skipping the foreplay inherent in undressing each other. In bed, under the covers, our lips stuck together, separated occasionally by the flick of tongues. Sal's fingers spread my legs and pussy lips, then caressed me into moisture. He hovered over me, and my hand took his cock to guide inside me. I whispered, "Remember, Sal, if you cum inside me, I'll have to kill you." I smiled as I said it, but he understood, and nodded.

I took the purple head of his one-eyed monster into me, and he slid it just a fraction until it hit the barrier of my cherry. The towel was under my ass, protecting the sheet, and we had already agreed that he would pop the cherry in one quick shot, just to get it over with. He plunged, it hurt like a bitch, my eyes began to tear, and it was over. I was a WOMAN! Sal's cock drove in and out, spreading my vaginal walls, which fought back to clamp him tightly. "Remember, Sal!" He nodded. We doubted that we could cum together and so both of us rubbed my clit as Sal stroked into me.

"I'm getting close."

"Pull out, Sal, pull out." I was almost shrieking.