Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Ma/Ma, Mult, Romantic, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Fisting, Sex Toys, Exhibitionism,

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A tale of a love struck guy and the girl he falls head over heels for. But with certain unexpected complications. Partly Illustrated.


"Hey, I'm just a 28 year old guy, you know, didn't have a girlfriend, hadn't had a girl in Gods knows how long well, 8 months if you hafta know just pretending it didn't matter; that football and basketball on the TV were the most important things in life. Putting on a good front, ya know?"

"Well, it seems some of my closer friends did know. They cared enough to try to do something about it. Of course I didn't know it at the time. In fact, it was quite a while before it dawned on me that I'd been set up for this. They made it appear that I was needed, plying me with a couple drinks to loosen me up as it were."

"'Say When' Gwen managed to convince me. Her earnest sincerity was impossible to ignore. 'Brief' Bernie helped me dress for the occasion. Actually he handed me my clothes. I put them on, no help required. Bernie wasn't my manservant. Nor was Gwen my maid."

"'Say When' came by her nickname honestly enough. Ten years earlier, Charlie Mitchell had her pants around her ankles in the back seat of his father's Lincoln. Thing was, Charlie couldn't find Gwen's pussy. He was poking and pushing until finally, you got it, he told Gwen to say when he was close. It was a giggling Gwen, with three or four martinis in her, who told the story on herself that got the nickname started. It never seemed to bother her, so I figure she must have liked the tag."

"'Brief' Bernie's nickname is easily understood. His premature ejaculation at the high school prom prompted his date, one Gladys Dirking to tell all her girlfriends. Bernie claims she was blabbing to them before he'd put it back in his pants."

"Anyway, I pushed his hands away, telling both of them emphatically that I was fully capable of dressing myself. As I slipped into my suit jacket Gwen got in my face, straightening my tie, and saying: "She needs to get out. Maybe you do too," "I don't know about you, really, but she definitely needs to get out."

Brushing imaginary lint from my lapel, she continued as though talking to herself, "It's Friday - date night, the girl has to get out and you've got to help us boost her ego back up after a devastating romance gone wrong.

And so there I was an hour later, after climbing four flights of narrow stairs in a narrow, brownstone on 44th Street knocking on Apartment 4B and trying to catch my breath. I heard her footsteps coming to the door. Gwen had told me she was good looking, but I wasn't prepared for the strikingly beautiful girl who opened the door, put her hand out and with a nervous smile said, "Hello, I'm Maggie. You're kind of late aren't you, for a first date and all."

I stammered out a profuse apology, "I... I... I almost didn't make it at all... my friends, my so-called friends... they kept delaying me. I think on purpose, so you'd be mad at me. I'm terribly sorry about being late," I ended lamely.

She kept staring at me and I went with the truth and babbled, "And I... I'm not... I mean, I wasn't prepared to meet someone as breathtakingly beautiful as you."

I was on the road to recovering my poise. She broke off the eye contact and glanced down at her hands.

"Well," she said, "you're off to a pretty good start now that you're here," her renewed smile was still nervous.

I still have a vivid memory of that first impression of her. Her shoulder length, champagne-colored hair was combed straight back above a smoothly rounded forehead in sort of a lion's-mane effect. She had high prominent cheekbones that slanted her eyes just the tiniest bit. But beneath the short, straight nostril-flaring nose, her mouth loomed out at me; it was her most attractive feature. Wide enough that it seemed to go all the way across her face although it didn't, and the full, sweet upper lip was so unusually short that it appeared unable to cover a perfect set of prominent upper teeth. Below the long, full lower lip was a tiny cute jaw and chin that further accentuated the mouth. And when she smiled, even nervously as she did now, the entire room seemed to light up. I would learn later that Maggie was embarrassed about her mouth and considered her Italian nose her best feature. Ahhh, but apart from her face, her figure was enough to drive men (and women) crazy with desire.

I don't know if I can adequately describe her body in words. There was something about her shoulders, which were unusually wide and square, and formed a long line that tapered down from them to her waist, only to flare out into a pair of high-assed hips. And above all this rode the slender neck and high small head of a goddess.

Actually, she needed the wide shoulders to support the big full globes of her breasts thrusting out in the tight black dinner dress. Her calves were perfect, her ankles strong and delicate. In the tight dress there was just a suggestion of her mons if you saw her just right. In heels she was just a hair shorter than I, standing straight, carrying herself high off her hips, the slender neck extended to carry the small head, in the manner of a Jamaican woman carrying a market basket on her head. This girl was the most beautiful woman I had ever met.

We made some small talk and then left to go out on the town. In the cab, glancing at her sideways, as she nestled down into the collar of her coat, I realized with a start that I had never been so proud to be seen in public with a woman. Hell, I'd never been with a woman this beautiful before. Silently I thanked the dating gods that I hadn't gotten tongue-tied. I thought that this was going to be one of the greatest nights of my life.

Man, was I wrong.

Oh, it started out well enough. We went to the Village Vanguard for dinner and the show. After a few drinks Maggie loosened up and lost her nervousness and began to display a really penetrating wit and humor along with a sexy charm. She was an incorrigible flirt. But then, she was stunningly beautiful, so sexually attractive that tables buzzed as heads turned towards her to gawk.

"Who was she?"

"What movie did I see her in?"

"Who was she married too?"

I became a problem. As Maggie loosened up after a few drinks, I began to fade. The drinks with my 'buddies' earlier started to take a toll. If Maggie was a little drunk, I was wiped out. I made my pitch for her right there in the lounge following dinner. I think I told her I wanted her to come to my apartment with me because I wanted to make violent love to her. I recall my astonishment when she told me no.

"Why not?" I blurted out, loud enough for everyone at the bar to hear. "What's wrong with me?"

Maggie had a hurt, embarrassed but determined expression on her face. "How do I know what's wrong with you? I don't even know you yet." She shook her pretty head and said flatly, "I never lay men the first date I have with them anyway."

I managed to sputter something like, "That's ridiculous!" in protest. During dinner she had been quite open about the number of men she had had in her life. "More than thirty," she'd said proudly.

"Maybe," she replied, looking embarrassed and stubborn, "but I don't care. I don't have to and I won't." Her eyes softened a little. "Anyway, you're getting pretty drunk."

Then I guess I lost it. After all, I'd only had four women in my life at that point and I wasn't sure about two of them.

"Thas my goddamn friends! And... and because I'm shy."

Maggie blushed, "People are staring at us."

"Fuck 'em!" I shouted. "Son's of bitches! What do they know about loneliness?"

"What do you know about it?" Maggie asked sharply.

"I think you're nothing but a..." I started, but couldn't bring myself to finish and switched to a less abusive tone. "I hate cockteasers." I muttered.

"And I think you're a shit!" Maggie said. "No girl would fuck a man with such a rude, crude approach as yours!"

And that was the way our first date ended.

Oh, I took her home all right. It was around four in the morning and a light snow was falling as we walked towards Maggie's place. I began kicking over wastepaper baskets as we walked because I was furious, frustrated and pissed at myself because I'd never see Maggie again.

"You're liable to get arrested for that." She warned me nervously.

"Yeah? Well I hope I do! I hope I do!" I muttered and kicked another one over. At her door she shook hands with me.

"Not only are you not a gentleman," she said in a whisper, I really think you're kind of crazy."

"You think so huh," I said. And for one clear, agonizing moment that would forever stay burned into my brain I stared at her. From beyond my alcoholic haze I tried to put into my eyes everything I felt about her and about myself. I thought I saw that her eyes understood. But she was very mad at me.

I turned and walked away. Sulking, I recall thinking, "she's no goddamn virgin, and she wouldn't even let me feel her tits."

I woke up on the floor of my apartment the next morning. I was nude. Drawing small satisfaction that I'd made my way home and managed to undress myself I put a pot of coffee on to perk and took a long shower. It was 8:30 when I took my first sip of coffee and then inhaled on my first cigarette of the day. Then after hacking hard to get the cigarettes and whiskey huskiness out of my voice, I dialed Maggie's number.

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