It had been a very long time since I'd seen many of my old high school friends and buddies. The last time had been at the ten year reunion, this would be the thirty year reunion, and I knew that most of us would have changed between now and then dramatically.
Although I was still in reasonably good shape, even without working out specifically, I had still put on a few pounds, but with the exception of a few perhaps, I figured everyone would be in the same boat as I was. I still had a full head of dark hair, though I had noticed just a sprinkle of gray had begun at the temples. The one thing about myself I had always considered my best feature however were my eyes, bright blue with just a hint of gray in them. There was a caption in the yearbook next to my photo, it read: "Bedroom eyes".
Though my wife Marsha hadn't attended the same school I had, nor would know any of my old friends, she was looking forward to going almost as much as I was. And I for one was looking forward to showing her off. Marsha had a great body, though a few years younger than I, and certainly my graduating class, giving her a bit of an edge perhaps in the looks department. Fairly large breasted, a tight waist and firm well rounded ass, I had no doubt she would be the envy of many women there. And though she knew I was secretly entertaining those very thoughts, she was looking forward to going for no other reason than to perhaps meet a few of my old high school girlfriends that I had shared erotic naughty stories about with her over the past few weeks.
And it was one in particular that came to mind, wondering if she would in fact be there, though she hadn't come to the ten year reunion, so it had been at least thirty years since I had even seen Stacy. I had shared the story of our dating experiences with my wife, which had excited Marsha tremendously. Mainly because of the somewhat unusual circumstances, and very erotic nature of my old girlfriend, which was far different than anyone, I had ever known, including now.
The thing about Stacy that was so unusual, was the fact she could climax simply by having her breasts played with. Maybe there were other women who could do this, but I'd never met anyone else, not like Stacy anyway. Even my own wife Marsha, who loved it when I played with her tits, as much as I wanted to in fact, she didn't climax simply from my playing with her the way Stacy did. And not that I minded, certainly not. The fact that Marsha enjoyed as much attention as I gave her in that regard was something I relished, enjoyed and was more than pleased with. Marsha has fairly large breasts with extremely sensitive nipples, though not too sensitive as to detract from the enjoyment of being able to play with them to my heart's content. I've actually known a couple of women who were exact opposites. One girl allowed my fondling of her with indifference. She had even forewarned me before hand that she felt virtually nothing when I, or anyone else for that matter played with her boobs. Basically, she got nothing out of it beyond seeing me becoming aroused myself. Unfortunately, part of my arousal and excitement has always come from seeing the woman become aroused or excited by whatever I was doing. So in this instance at least, it was a bit of a letdown, and thus took away from the pleasure I would normally have received.
On the other side of that same coin, I had also known a woman who's nipples were simply too sensitive. Once aroused, she could hardly stand to have anyone even touch them. Even just looking at them sent her into giggling fits, super sensitivity once again taking away from, rather than adding to the enjoyment and sensuality of that particular form of foreplay. Which was a crying shame too, as Gayle as I recall her name being, had a really nice looking set of tits too. But once she was truly aroused, it was always "hands off", after that.
Now the thing about Stacy was, she didn't have really large breasts either. She was the type of girl that a well-known saying was written for, "More than a (good-sized) handful is wasted!"
I guess if you were to classify her, her breasts would be considered on the small side. Certainly not flat chested, not by any means, and yes, when I held them within my hands, they filled them more than adequately with still a bit left over for good measure. But the thing was, Stacy literally could climax, and very often did, just by my playing with them.
We had started dating, had been going out for well over a month with nothing more than a few deep soulful kisses being shared between us. With her breasts being not quite so large, she very often didn't wear a bra, her pert nipples poking through and pressing against the material of whatever tee shirt or tank top she was wearing. But I always found it interesting that she only did that, going without a bra, whenever it was an activity or an event that virtually made it impossible for me to even think about trying anything. Both times we'd gone to the drive in theatre, she had worn a bra, making it obvious by her suddenly hidden and protected nipples that she was. (I later learned she even went so far as to wear a nipple cover beneath her bra, much like protective pasties, on those evenings when we'd gone out where the temptation might have been too much for either one of us to adhere too.)
Like I said, up until now, I hadn't even touched her, though I also hadn't made any real attempt in doing so either, not wanting her to feel like that was all I wanted from her ... sex. I mean I did, but not purely just for that either. I really liked her. Stacy was the first girl I felt like I could have real feelings for, and because of it, I was content to take my time and see how things went.
It was perhaps our seventh or eighth real date. We had gone to the drive-in movie, which was now becoming a weekly event for us, and something we both looked forward to. As was usually the case, it was a double feature with the movie we really wanted to see coming on second. Some twenty or thirty minutes before intermission, with each of us bored with the first movie already, we'd quite naturally gravitated to kissing and cuddling as we'd been doing every time we came to the drive in, waiting for the second feature to start. And not that I minded that either, Stacy was fun as hell to kiss, and it never failed to get either one of us all hot and bothered, though we very often had to force ourselves to take a break whenever that happened before things got too carried away. Intermission was always great for that it seemed, giving each of us an excuse, though I daresay, it was Stacy who used it as one. I'd have been content to continue on with what we were doing, even with the lights lit up on the blank screen in front of us. Needless to say, I was pretty much expecting that to happen as we sat there necking in the front seat of my car, wondering how much longer we had before the movie finally ended.
Now maybe this was typical of the times back then, perhaps many can relate to this. But there was a sort of a non-spoken game that I think was quite often played in the front seat of every car with a pair of young kids in it. Whether it be at a drive-in, or parked on some lover's lane some place, or even on the couch in the den at her parent's house. We all played it, and we all went home with smiles on our faces afterwards if we (in our minds) made any sort of progress since the last time we played it.
I think the unofficial name of the game was, "How close did you come?" And not meaning "cum" per say ... but how close did you get to actually touching her tits?" I know for a good many of my friends, it was very often the topic of conversation come Monday afternoon during gym class. "How far did you get? What happened? What did you do to get that far?" We all shared ... techniques that seemed to work, more importantly, the attempts that failed so that no one else would make the same mistakes.
I was in fact at that very moment running through my own mind the advice one of my closest buds had given me that past Monday afternoon. He was the first amongst us to actually succeed in the titty-department, now a God as far as the rest of us were concerned, and now armed with invaluable information, though I was scared to death to actually try it. As was most everyone else I could only guess.
"Just touch it!" He's said simply. Could it honestly be that easy? I mean you didn't just get in the car, reach over and grab her boob, certainly not. But ... once the real kissing had gotten started and had been going on for a while, and then it was time to try that. "No tentative, creeping up on it," he'd informed us. Which some few of us had tried, and had failed at. It gave the girls far too much advanced warning as we soon after learned. Allowing them too much time to think about it before it happened, most then chickening out, or deciding in that brief moment it was either far too soon for that, or they simply weren't ready for it even if it wasn't. According to Jim "The God" of booby fondling, you simply lifted your hand and placed it directly over your girlfriends boob, and then softly caressed it. With luck, she let you keep your hand there for a few seconds at the very least. And even if she eventually did decide to make you move it off her, you had still gotten to "cop a feel of her tit," as we called it. And that was better than running your fingers off to the side, never quite actually touching it, before being told "No ... don't," or feeling her hand moving yours away.
A little booby was better than no booby. And so far, I was still on the "no booby at all" side of things.
.... There is more of this story ...