Daisy and Me
Copyright© 2025 by TheDarkKnight
Chapter 1: The picnic
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1: The picnic - Growing up in a small town in southeastern Georgia in the 1960’s wasn’t quite as idyllic as Mayberry, but my time there was made a lot better by having Daisy Taylor in my life. She was a pugnacious, kind of bratty tomboy who became my first love. Together, we explored the blooming sexuality of our teen years.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Teenagers Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Anal Sex First Masturbation Oral Sex Petting
I was sitting by myself in the shade of a big oak tree next to the churchyard. There was plenty of activity around me; kids playing, women talking aqnd preparing the picnic meal, men talking baseball and fishing, neither one of which I cared about. I was only there for two reasons: one, the large quantity of simple but delicious Southern food being assembled by the ladies of the church, and two, I was looking forward to hanging out with my girl Daisy.
Let me tell you about Daisy. She was quite a tomboy. She wore her blond hair almost boyishly short, and liked to play whatever sport was in season. Most of the time we just treated her like one of the guys, mainly because she was faster than most of us, and could throw a football with a tight spiral, so she usually was a quarterback in our sandlot football games. We played two-hand touch, which meant that a player was “tackled” when a defender touched them below the waist with two hands. A bad idea when a girl is involved, but this was Daisy, and she was okay with it, at least until the day Mikey Davis was doing more than just touch Daisy. The first time, she just warned him, then when he did it again a few minutes later, she turned and gave him a perfectly placed kick to the balls. He was still walking funny the next day. Everybody got the message-even though she was just a little over five feet tall, you don’t mess with Daisy.
We had known each other our whole lives, but it was only in the last year or so, as puberty kicked in, that we had become more than just friends. We had shared our first kiss the day after her fourteenth birthday. We had been playing catch in her front yard, when suddenly she stopped, looked at me, and said, “Come with me.” One thing I should tell you about our relationship. I was, in today’s terms, pussy-whipped. If Daisy said jump, I just asked how high, so there was no question; I followed her. She led me behind her house to a spot where nobody could see us. It was where we had gone a few days earlier when we tried smoking the cigarettes she had stolen from her mom’s purse.
She stopped so abruptly that I almost ran into her, then she spun around, and before I knew what was going on, her lips landed on my mouth. It was a first for both of us, and it wasn’t very good, just two people pressing their closed lips together. I don’t think I even had time to close my eyes, which made it extra awkward. But Daisy was persistent, and we quickly made a second attempt. This time, I was ready, eyes closed, lips parted, and we didn’t bump noses. Still, there was none of the fireworks-going-off, tickle-in-my-loins feeling I had always thought our first kiss would cause. Kissing any other girl might have just been a matter of curiosity, but with Daisy, it was different. She wasn’t just another girl. She was my girl, and this was a special moment, fireworks or not.
We were at that awkward stage for adolescents, too young for kids’ stuff, but not quite old enough to ‘go all the way’, as the adults called it. After that first kiss, over the next few days we progressed quickly. After school one day we were in my bedroom, pretending to do homework, when she let me feel her boobs, outside of her clothes, of course. At the same time, she rubbed my dick while it was safely stored behind my pants and underwear. It wasn’t much, but Daisy did manage to bring me to a messy orgasm that way. Fortunately, that occurred in my bedroom, so I was able to change into clean pants before anyone could see my embarrassment.
I was still waiting under the tree when Daisy and her parents finally arrived. Even before they got out of the car, I could hear Daisy and her mom arguing, a common occurrence.They must have been going at it even before they left home, based on the expression on both their faces when they got out of the car.
Mr. Taylor was very proud of that car, a two-tone ‘58 Ford Fairlane. Even though it was four years old, it was still one of the coolest cars in our small town. I had helped Mr. Taylor and Daisy wash and clean it several times. The last time, while Daisy and I were both in the back seat, cleaning the inside of the back window, we bumped against each other. We started playful shoving, until somehow I ended up on top of her. She smiled at me and said, “Better get off me. I don’t think my dad would be too happy about seeing us like this.”
She was right, my overactive teenage imagination was already picturing us like this a couple years later, parked at the end of Palmer Drive, a well-known makeout spot.From the way she was grinning up at me, I think Daisy was thinking about it too.
I stayed where I was, not wanting to get caught in the middle of one of their mother-daughter arguments. I had learned that lesson the hard way once, when they had both told me to mind my own business. Mr. Taylor got out of the car, nodded at me and muttered what I think was “women” as he wandered off to find his fishing buddies. A few minutes later, Daisy came stomping over towards me. I could tell she was still mad, so I tried to be careful. “Nice dress,” I told her. She was wearing one I hadn’t seen before, a white summery frock that was short enough to display her knobby knees and a little bit of her girlishly thin thighs. It looked like a good thing to wear to a church picnic on a hot day. But that’s not how Daisy saw it.
“Nice dress?” she scowled, “You’re an idiot, J.C.” Yeah, that’s me, James Collins, but everyone other than my teachers and my parents calls me J.C. And yes, I’ve heard all the Jesus jokes.
She stepped around me and started walking away from the church. “You coming?” she said. Being a well-trained idiot, I knew that wasn’t really a question, so I got up and scrambled after her. Since my first attempt at greeting her feel better had failed so badly, I kept my mouth shut and walked along beside her. When she was ready to let me know why she was upset, she would let me know.
We crossed the church parking lot, then went down Meadow Street to the bridge over Jackson Creek. Jackson divided our town in half, and not in a wrong-side-of-the-tracks way. Summerville didn’t have enough rich people for there to be a good side. Sometimes in the Spring, the creek flooded enough to be called a proper river, but most of the time it was just a meandering, slow-flowing stream, a good place to hang out on a hot day.
This particular Spring had been one of the wet ones. The flooding had been bad enough that the trail running alongside the creek had eroded in a couple of places. The city, or the county, I don’t know whose job it really was, hadn’t gotten around to fixing it. All they had done was block the trail with some of that yellow do-not-cross tape and a couple of sawhorses. That didn’t deter us. When we got to the beginning of the trail, Daisy brushed around the barricades and headed determinedly down the path. Nothing unusual about that, even after the flooding, we spent a lot of time alongside the creek.
I followed Daisy as she worked her way around the biggest eroded section. By now, I was sure I knew where she was going - our special place. After we passed the second dangerous part of the path, Daisy turned and trudged through some brush onto a hidden, rarely used trail that ended in a small picnic area. In the middle of the overgrown clearing was a wooden picnic table that didn’t look very secure. Next to it, there was a rusted-out grill that looked like it would collapse if someone sneezed on it. Because this oasis had apparently been forgotten by most of the other people in town, it was our favorite place to go when we had something serious to talk about. Talking usually meant Daisy would talk and I would listen. This seemed like it was going to be one of those days.
Daisy, still scowling, sat down on the edge of the table, a dangerous undertaking as I could hear some of the rotting wood creaking, but that’s how she was. “J.C.,” she said, “you’re a normal guy, right?”
“I like to think so, Daisy.”
“Okay then, I need to ask you something serious. Do you know why I’m so pissed today? It’s because my mother insisted that I wear this stupid dress because it’s a church event. What I really want to do is play in the volleyball game and tug-of-war after lunch. Then Mom told me I couldn’t even do that, because my dress —the one she was making me wear —might fly up and let boys see my underwear. And god knows, boys might just lose their minds if they see a girl’s panties, according to my mother.”
Then, while I was just standing there, trying to figure out what Daisy wanted from me, she started to pull her dress up, all the way to the top of her legs. To make sure that I got the point, she spread her legs, giving me a clear view of her pink undies and parts of her body that I had formerly only dreamed about.
“So J.C.,” she said, “you can see my panties, right?”
“Sure can, Daisy.”