Chapter 1: Getting that far

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Swinging, First, Slow, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: Getting that far - I needed help with math to stay on the football team. That's how it started.

It didn't take me a long time to become an adult. I'm talking about emotional maturity. Acting like an adult is a good deal different than being an adult. I ought to know.

My name is Steve Black. Stephen, actually. Stephen Oliver Black. Yeah, that's right, S.O.B. A dirty trick played on me by my parents. They claimed it was accidental, that they didn't realize it at the time. I wonder. For a while, in my teenage years, some people thought that acronym fit. I was deeply offended by that. I wasn't deliberately trying to be a jerk, it just came naturally to me.

My mother, Margaret, said I could be thoughtless and insensitive. She was right some of the time. My father, Matthew, said I was just taking up space and wondered more than once if I was really his progeny. I'm pretty sure he was kidding. My older brother, John, just tolerated me as he had virtually from birth. My younger sister, Pamela, looked up me for some strange reason. Go figure.

My theory, for what it's worth, is that I was afflicted with "middle child syndrome." I could see how John would get all the first run of things in the household. That's what everyone said about their older brother or sister. And Pam was a bit of an afterthought and was worshiped by both my mother and father. She could do no wrong. So there I was, stuck I the middle, sometimes ignored, sometimes picked on, sometimes left to wonder what the hell would I ever become in this life.

My Dad was a self-made man. He could never gather together enough money to go to college even though he was smart enough by far. He started out working for the government in radio services, mostly working around the local airports. As time and technology progressed, he became part of management and was sent to various places to upgrade radio and guidance equipment. I was really impressed when I realized just how much he had achieved without a college degree. It also got me to thinking wrong-headedly about the need for a college education.

Dad was a slim five-foot-eight and weighed about a hundred and fifty pounds. Like me, blond hair, but he had a moustache his whole life as far as I know. Maybe he was born with it. He was a pretty neat guy all around and treated me okay, considering what a jerk I could be. He had a high threshold of pain, I guess.

My mom was completely different. She was a housewife, born and bred. That's what life cut her out for and that's what she was. She was "bigger boned" as she liked to say. Not fat ... no sir, but sturdy I'd call it. She wasn't anywhere near as smart as Dad, but they loved each other and there was no doubt about that.

The thing I remember most about my parents is how many real friends they had. My mom was an outgoing person to start with, and Dad was very cool, with a quirky kind of humour. People just naturally liked to be around them. Hardly a week would go by that they weren't visiting some friends or having them over to our place to play cards or whatever.

My older brother, John, was kind of built like Mom; sturdy that is. Both of them had dark brown hair while Dad, Pam and I had blond hair. John was about five-ten and one-eighty, pretty solid and kept himself that way. He played halfback on the school football team and he was good. He was even invited to a development camp with our local pro team, the Lions. That's when he figured out just what the odds were of him making it. When high school ball was over, his football career would be over. Like Dad, he never went to college. They said he just wasn't cut out for it. I often wondered who "they" were.

Pam was four years younger than me. She was slim and tall, like me. Everyone in the family had blue eyes. Well, maybe Mom's were hazel, whatever that is. I had a growth spurt just before my sixteenth birthday and the next thing I knew I was six-foot-one and a hundred-and-sixty-pounds, soaking wet.

About the same time, I was afflicted with acne, and that set back my plans to plunder the female population of Panorama High School in West Vancouver. Every morning I would look in the mirror and get depressed. At least one new zit per day to replace the ones that had died out. Mom said it was because I didn't wash my face properly, but she was full of it. I washed and washed until my face was red from the scrubbing I gave it and it didn't make a damn bit of difference.

I think that had a lot to do with my attitude toward school. I hated to be seen in public because of my "poxy" look. Yeah, sure, my friends had zits too, but so what. I tried to hide them using some of Mom's makeup, but you could see that stuff a mile away and I figure it just drew attention to my face. Who needs that? I'd had a few dates, but nothing special. Pickings were slim since I wasn't the hot shot football hero and didn't exactly have movie star looks. Didn't those movie stars ever get zits?

The school used to test us for I.Q. every four years, and I hated it. Not the test, but the results. See, John would score somewhere in the average category, while Pam and I scored a lot higher. Why did I hate that? Because now everyone thought I should be a straight-A student like Pam, that's why. So the pressure was on from grade ten onward. Why aren't you doing better? Why aren't you near the top of your class? Like I said, I hated the damn test.

It didn't bother Pam. She was a genuine straight-A student and just cemented her place in the Black Family Hall of Fame. Now don't get me wrong. Pam and I got along really well. She looked up to me as a kind of guardian. Damned if I know why, but she did. If she had a problem with homework, she would come to see me. If she was trying to figure out something about life in general, she would ask me. When I look back on it, I never treated Pam like a bothersome sister. I never complained when she came to me with her problems. I just didn't.

I really wanted to play football like my brother, but I was way too skinny. The coach wouldn't take me seriously, and I couldn't blame him. When I looked in the mirror, I was all rib cage and elbows. John suggested I get on a weight training program and after ignoring him for a while, I decided to give it a try.

"Jesus, John, when does this get easier? Every muscle in my body hurts." I had just finished a tough workout about three weeks into the program.

"It never does," he laughed. "When it gets easier you aren't working hard enough."

Words of encouragement they weren't. John had a bar bell set in the basement and Dad had built him a long, padded bench to sit or lie on when doing some of the lifts. He took the time to show me what to do and how to do it so that I wouldn't hurt myself. I took over from Dad as John's spotter when he wanted to do some heavy lifting.

John showed me the diet that the coach had given him and that Mom had agreed to follow. It didn't look too bad, so I went and saw Mom.

"Hey, Mom. You know that special diet that John is having? Can you put me on that too? That way, you'd be doing it for two instead of just one."

She looked at me curiously.

"Why do you want to do that?"

"I'm going to try out for the football team next fall and I want to build up my strength so I've got a chance to make it. John's helping me with the weights and he says the diet is working pretty good too."

She looked at me like I was from Mars before, "Okay. I guess it won't hurt. Less work for me," she said. I never did figure out how that would be so.

When I tried out for the team in my last year, I weighed one-eighty and I was in pretty good shape. I still wasn't the biggest kid for my age, but I figured I at least had a shot. I learned in a hurry that there was more to playing football than being big enough. The wind sprints convinced me of that.

I really only had one thing going for me. I could catch the ball. I could catch high, hard ones, low shoe-top ones, over the shoulder, jump balls, the whole enchilada. I wasn't terribly fast, I was a lousy blocker, and couldn't tackle to save my life, but I could catch the ball. That was apparently enough for the coach. I made the team.

It took me three games to show the coach that he had made a good choice. Roger "the Dodger" Somerville, our quarterback, destined for a football scholarship I was sure, noticed I wasn't dropping anything even remotely within reach. In fact, a one-handed stab on a fourth-and-eight desperation pass brought me instant fame and accolades from both the coach and Roger, not to mention several cheerleaders.

So, like my brother before me, I was now a key member of the first squad, and I was loving it. I was getting a lot of attention from girls who would otherwise not have even noticed me, much less stopped to talk to me. I got my picture in the local paper a couple of times, along with Roger and a couple of other team members. It was all new to me, and for the first time in my life, I was a "somebody." Naturally, I let it go straight to my head.

High school seniors who star on the football field don't just get noticed by the students, they get noticed by the teachers, too. If you want to terrorize a high school athlete, just tell him that if his grades don't improve he won't be playing football any more. It was a cold feeling when I looked at my mid-semester math scores and saw I was in imminent danger of dropping off the squad.

I was desperate and I needed someone to help me. It was a long-shot, but I decided to ask the smartest girl in my math class for help. I knew where to find her. She'd be alone in the cafeteria, just like she always was at lunch hour.

I would seek help from Doryanna Paulson.

"Uhhm, Dory, uhhm ... can I talk to you for a moment?" I asked as I approached her table with my tray in hand.

She looked up at me in surprise, her forehead a series of wrinkled lines.

"I guess. What about?"

I put my tray down and sat across from her.

"Uhhm ... I was wondering ... uhhm ... if I could ask you to help me?"

"Help you what?"

"I need some help in math. I'm having trouble keeping up."

"Keeping up in what?"

She wasn't cutting me any slack.

"Statistics and Probability. I just don't get it."

"Oh ... so why are you asking me?"

"You're the smartest person in class. You're always the top of the list. I was figuring ... I mean ... hoping ... I could ask you for some help. A tutor, like."

"What's in it for me?" she asked without hesitation.

"I don't know. I haven't got much money. I'm like saving for a computer right now."

"I'll think about it," she said, turning away from me.

"Look, maybe this isn't a good idea," I said, somewhat defeated. I didn't really want to go looking for someone else, but she wasn't giving me any signals that she might be interested.

Dory, as we all called her, was a really smart girl. She was not ugly, but she was a bit overweight, I guess you'd say. Not really fat or anything, but she was never going to be a cheerleader. On top of that, she wore fashions by Salvation Army that kind of hid her body from view. To tell the truth, you couldn't really tell what her whole body was like because of those clothes she wore. But when I looked at her face, she seemed kind of pretty.

She was about five-foot-six and had curly brown hair cut short. Brown eyes too. Nice, but not really special. Pretty good teeth I figured. Nice little nose, and clear skin with only some freckles, the lucky girl. Yeah, sort of pretty if that was the right word.

"Look, Stevie, if this is some kind of prank, don't waste your time. I'm not falling for it."

"It's not a prank. I'm serious. If I don't get my math marks up I'll get kicked off the football team."

"Oh, and then you wouldn't have so many dates with those cheerleaders, eh?"

"I'll trade the cheerleaders for a passing math mark," I said.

"Will you? Tell you what, Stevie. I'll help you, but you have to take me on a proper date once a month until we're done. Deal?"

I thought about it. She wouldn't be my first choice for a date but I really didn't want to fail math for all the usual reasons, not the least of which is the shit I'd get from my mother.

"Okay, Dory, I agree. One date per month until I get through the course."

She stuck out her hand and we shook. Her grip was surprisingly firm.

"When can we start?" I asked.

She shrugged. "We'll meet in the study hall at four o'clock. Bring your books and I'll see just how much trouble you're in. Okay?"

"Yeah," I sighed in relief, "I'll be there. Thanks, Dory. Thanks a lot."

Dory had a different way of looking at things compared to my teachers. She looked for what she called "the formula" to a lot of things. When it came to Statistics and Probabilities, she said the main thing was not to think logically. It would screw me up. It already had, it turns out. She said the way to deal with it is counterintuitive.

"What the hell is 'counterintuitive?'" I asked.

"That means it doesn't seem to make sense, but it works. Kind of like multiplying fractions," she said. "When you multiply things, you expect them to get bigger. With fractions, they get smaller. See what I mean?"

I did. She was right. An hour later, I was beginning to understand where she was coming from and her method of explaining it was a whole bunch better than our math teacher's.

"So where do you want to go on our date," I asked Dory a week later.

"You mean you want to go already?" She seemed surprised.

"Sure. Don't tell old lady Withers, but you're a hell of lot better teacher than she'll ever be," I said with a grin.

"Thanks, Stevie," she said, looking a little surprised. "I know you don't have a lot of money, so I'd be happy to go Dutch."

"Naw ... not going to happen. No date of mine has to pay," I said, hoping I could afford what she wanted to do.

"Uhhm, I know of a play being put on by an amateur playhouse at the Rec Center. They're pretty good. I've been to a couple of them. Why don't we go there? Maybe we can get a pizza afterwards."

"Okay. Let's do that. Uhhm ... the play isn't Shakespeare or anything like that is it?"

"No," she laughed. "It's a regular type play. The title is The Mouse Trap. It's a pretty famous mystery by Agatha Christie."

"Oh, okay then. Let's do that. Where do I get the tickets?"

"You don't need to. My mom's friend sells them. I'll get them for you. It starts at eight o'clock."

"Good. I'll pick you up at your place at seven thirty? Oh ... what should I wear?"

"You don't have to dress up fancy. Like a school dance would be good."

"Okay, then. Sounds like fun. Thanks, Dory."

"Thank you, Stevie. See you Saturday."

I'd gotten over grinding my teeth when she called me "Stevie." At first, I thought she might be teasing or taunting me. I wasn't fond of the name and I might have said something to her about it, but I didn't want to jeopardize my tutoring so I let it go. To tell the truth, I didn't mind it so much after a while.

When I picked up Dory on Saturday night, I got a surprise. She looked pretty good. She was wearing a skirt and blouse (not a shirt, my mom told me) and some nice shoes. She looked really good. She was a little bigger around than average, but she had big boobs and a nice ass and that counted for a lot with me. Mainly, she had a pretty face and a nice smile. I didn't mind dating Dory at all.

"Geez, you look nice, Dory," I said when she came to the door.

"Thanks, Stevie. I'll just get my coat and we can go. I've got the tickets."

"Oh, yeah, I should pay you for them."

"No problem. I got them for free. You can buy the pizza afterwards," she smiled.

"Deal!" I said. This was going to be an inexpensive date after all.

The play was great. The sheet they gave us at the door told us about how famous the play was and how long it had been running continuously in London, England. I really liked it and Dory did too. By the intermission, we were holding hands and I was thinking to myself that she was much better looking than I realized and I wasn't embarrassed to be seen with her.

I took her home just before eleven o'clock and walked her up to the front door. She turned to me and pulled me in for a kiss. It was really just a quick peck on the lips, but that was a first for me. Talk about a rookie at dating ... I was a real greenhorn.

"Thanks, Stevie, that was fun," she smiled after kissing me.

"Wanna go out next week?" I asked without thinking.

"You want to have another date? It was only supposed to be once a month."

"Oh ... well ... yeah, I guess that was the deal. Well, if you don't want to..."

"No ... I mean ... do you want to go on another date with me?"

"Yeah, I do."

That got me another kiss, this one a little longer and closer. I could feel her breasts pushing into my chest and my cock began to react immediately.

"Okay," she said with a big smile. "We can have lunch on Monday and talk about what we can do."

"Yeah. Let's do that. I really liked being with you tonight, Dory."

I could see a sparkle in her eyes that I hadn't noticed before. I'm not sure what caused it, but it made her look ... special. So what if she wasn't a cheerleader. She was nice and she was ... built! I wondered to myself how long before I could get my hands on her tits.

Dory's help got me more than a passing grade in math. I got a 'B' at Christmas and I was proud of it. My mother said I should be shooting for an 'A' instead of being satisfied with 'B.' Thanks, Mom.

Dory and I went to the movies and had a good time, but I was too scared to put my hands on her where I wanted to for fear of her slugging me one. She just didn't seem like the kind of girl that would go for that kind of thing.

With football over with and nothing to interfere, I started to get more interested in dating. To tell the truth, a couple of nice looking girls let me know that they were available. When the Valentine's Day dance came along, I invited Sonya Turnbull and she accepted. Sonya was a really good looking girl, with dark hair and one of those year-around tans. She was tall, maybe five-nine, and had a decent body. Nothing spectacular, but nice. I was really glad I asked her.

We went to the dance and had a good time. I saw Dory there and she saw me but she didn't look too happy. Oh well, it's not like we were going steady or anything. Sonya was the kind of girl you had to be real careful with. Her old man was a big wheel in town. He was an architect and he was on the town council. So, I was on my best behaviour until I went to take her home.

"Where are you going?" Sonya asked me when we pulled out of the school parking lot.

"It's nearly eleven o'clock and I figured you had to be home by then."

"No way. We've got lots of time yet. Why don't we go up to Panorama Ridge and look at the lights?" she said, shifting over towards me.

I was driving my mother's Olds and it had a bench seat, so that worked for me. Turns out, Sonya was a bit of a wild one and wasn't averse to getting very friendly in the front seat, and even friendlier in the back seat. I got an education in anatomy that night. She had her tits out before I even had the engine turned off. I spent some serious time examining them with my fingers and mouth.

In the meantime, she's got my cock out and is giving me a hand-job that had me ready to shoot in no time at all.

"Careful, Sonya, I'm not going to last very long," I warned.

Didn't seem to matter to her since she had a hankie in her hand and was ready for my explosion.

"There, now that that's out of the way, you owe me. I want some too," she said as she slipped her panties off.

Holy shit, I'd never gone this far with a girl ... ever! What do I do?

"Jeez, Sonya, I don't want to hurt you. Show me how you like it done."

"You've never done this before, have you." That wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact.

"Not really."

"Give me your hand. I'll show you what I want and how I want it."

She did too, and I guess I did okay because she made a lot of noise like she was getting off.

"You've got a lot to learn, Steve," she said as she pulled her panties up.

"You interested in showing me?" I asked, hoping she'd say yes.

"I'll think about it. There's a couple of guys who know exactly what I like, so you've got competition. You carry a condom, don't you?"

A condom? "Uhhm ... no. Never needed one."

"You might, some day. You should always have one handy. All your team mates do."

"Oh, yeah, well, I guess I better get one then," I said, suddenly realizing what she was telling me.

I dropped Sonya off at her house well after midnight and she didn't seem the slightest bit worried about the time. I wondered about the condom thing. Did that mean she was screwing the guys on the football team? Jesus, talk about a greenhorn. I was so far behind that I didn't know how to catch up. Just the same, for a first date, I got a lot farther than I had with any other girl. A whole hell of a lot farther.

Dory was pissed at me. I had a pretty good idea why. We had been going out and I hadn't been dating any other girls and she hadn't been dating any other guys. We might not have been going steady, but we were kind of acting like it. So when I turned up at the Valentine's Day Dance with Sonya, she was not happy.

"I saw you with that slut, Sonya, on Saturday night," she laid into me as she sat down across from me at lunch. She wasn't exactly whispering either. "Did you get lucky?"

"No. Hey, Dory, it was just date. Nothing special," I tried, hoping to cool her down.

"Date my ass. She's screwed half the guys in the school. What was she looking for ... fresh meat?"

"Jeez, Dory, keep it down will you."

"Listen, Stevie. I know we aren't going steady, but I thought maybe we had something going. Am I wrong?"

"No ... no ... we do have something, Dory. I just ... I don't know ... wanted to try someone different. I don't have a lot of experience with girls."

"Well, she's the one for experience, as long as you don't catch something from her."

"What do you mean?"

"For Pete's sake, Stevie, are you that dense," she said in hoarse whisper. "She's screwed so many guys so many times you don't know where her pussy has been. You didn't do yourself any favours with the nice girls dating Sonya. They will probably steer clear of you."

I looked at her and began to see I might have screwed up.

"Does that go for you too?" I asked.

"I don't know. What did you do with her?"

"Nothing ... really," I mumbled.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means we didn't have sex," I said emphatically and probably a bit too loudly.

She sat back and looked at me for a few moments.

"I'll think about it," she said at last.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Heterosexual / Swinging / First / Slow /