Chapter 8

I think I gave a sigh of relief when school started, and my days were no longer interrupted by girls who wanted to get naked with me. Plus the weather got cool, and with the wind that's constant in Oklahoma, it felt even cooler. Everybody started wearing clothing that covered them up, including Emma and Ashley.

I had about a month of relief until they showed up one night asking if they could do homework at my house, because there were too many distractions at their own homes.

What they actually meant was that they wanted someplace to get their homework done where they could control the distractions. That means me.

Emma got finished one night and, with a completely straight face, asked if she could practice kissing again. I honestly think that the reason I agreed was because, considering all the sexual situations I'd been involved in with these two, it hadn't led to going to bed with anyone. And that gave me a false sense of security.

So I ended up on the couch again with Emma, kissing her every way I could think of. And when she whispered she was going to practice something else, and her hand fumbled with my belt and zipper, it was obvious she needed some practice, so I let her do that while I kissed her some more. Which is how I ended up with her hand gripping my hard, hot boner while my hand ended up rubbing her breasts outside her clothing.

She raised her shirt to reveal bare breasts, and went on kissing me.

"My turn," said Ashley, interrupting us.

"Go away," mumbled Emma.

"My turn!" insisted Ashley.

Ashley wanted to grip my prick too. But She didn't want my hand under her shirt. Rather, perhaps because her hand was in my pants, she wanted my hand in her pants too.

Which is how a new tradition was born.

From that night on, whenever one showed up to do homework at my house ... the other did not.

They didn't come every night. Rather, I had a girl in my house a couple of times a week, who dutifully did her homework before seeking an orgasm in my arms.

To be fair, they never failed to get me off too.

By October, the water was plenty hot, and the frog still had no idea he was being cooked.

New Year's Eve was my eventual undoing. I hadn't planned on doing anything in particular that night, but the two musketeers invited themselves to the party I hadn't realized I was going to give. They had both been dating pretty regularly by then, and apparently their parents thought that was going well. They arranged to have the night free by the time honored ruse of each telling her parents that she was spending the night with the other. That was true, except that they spent it together at my house.

They didn't tell me that, of course. What they told me was that they had included me on their list of places to go during the evening, and they wanted to include me in their celebration. Both were eighteen now, which meant they could legally buy 3. 2 percent beer, and they'd brought some of that with them.

I'm not much of a beer person. I'm more of a whisky kind of guy, so while we watched the festivities on TV and they sipped beer, I had some Jack Daniels, with a splash of Coke. And then some Rebel Yell sour mash, which is pretty good sipping whiskey at room temperature. And then I moved on to scotch, first straight and then with a little Drambuie and a couple of ice cubes in it. This was facilitated by the girls, who snuggled next to me on the couch in front of the flat screen and asked questions about what things tasted like.

Naturally, they wanted to taste things.

And yes, we all got a little tipsy.

It wasn't unusual for me to get the blow by blow, no pun intended, of some of those dates, as they were "reenacted" with me in the privacy of my den. During a commercial break, with the TV muted, Ashley decided to reenact her last date, which was with a football player who apparently pushed the envelope. Which, when it comes to Ashley, means he got rough with her. She pulled me on top of her on one end of the couch and spread her legs, pulling me into the classic man on top position. She spread her legs and wrapped them around me. Mind you, we were fully clothed, so the non-inebriated cells in my brain didn't think there was any danger.

"He got me like this, in the back seat," she said, thrusting her loins up against mine. "And he was dry fucking me."

She started pulling at my hips, until I began rubbing my cock against her crotch. I wasn't hard ... yet ... but I could still feel her jeans as my cock slid past them.

"And he had my blouse open. Wait a minute," she said, pushing at me until I did a pushup. Her hands flicked to her shirt and undid buttons. Suddenly her bare breasts were on display. She pulled me down again and got me rubbing. "Just like this," she panted.

"What did you do?" asked Emma, breathlessly. I felt her hand on my ass, helping me rub against Ashley.

"At first it felt pretty good," said Ashley. "Kind of like it does right now. I actually like it when Bob does it."

She thrust her pussy against my rubbing bulge and her hands pulled and pushed at my hips.

"I actually think I might be able to cum this way," she panted.

By then I was hard, and the bottom of my cock was firmly massaging the cloth that covered her pussy.

"So what did you do?" asked Emily, reminding her friend to continue the story.

"I told him I wanted him to suck my tits," breathed Ashley.

Her hands left my hips and came to my head, where they exerted downward pressure. My brain had heard her say "suck my tits" and that's what I ended up doing. I had never done this with either Emma or Ashley, so the newness of it penetrated my brain.

And my libido.

Pretty soon she was writhing under me, and I heard her say something like, "He's really good at this, Em!"

And when Ashley finally pushed me away ... there was Emma ... topless ... wanting to see what my mouth felt like on her nipples, so she could compare that to "the others." And I should have known that "the others" she was referring to were Caitlin and Ashley, but what I thought of then, were the boys she had dated, and the wolf in me came out, wanting to scare all the other wolves away.

Cutting to the chase, about an hour later we were all naked and I was eating pussy instead of sipping scotch. Had I spent enough time doing that, I might have sobered up enough to realize that, while I was licking up Emma's delicious passion juice, someone was unrolling a condom on my penis. In my defense, they had both been taking turns sucking me, and the delicate installation of a condom on a stiff penis might be construed as the very light touch of a pair of lips.

And then Emma wanted her nipples sucked again, and when I went to rub her pussy with my dick again, this time a hand appeared to guide my penis ... which is where their carefully thought out plan went awry.

This is because, you see, I had planned on rubbing my cock against her pussy. That's what had happened once before. In fact, I had done that to both of them, being careful not to do anything more. So when I approached her with my hips, I did so with some force. And when Ashley plugged the condom-sheathed tip of my prick between Emma's pretty pussy lips, the force applied was much more than either they or I would have used had I known what I was about to do.

Her groan of pain caught my attention about the same time as my prick communicated to my brain that something unbelievably tight was now clamped around it. I did a pushup, but only with my upper torso. My hips weren't included. I think that's because another part of my brain was encouraging me to keep going. Anyway, when I did the pushup, my hips actually sagged, which only seated me more firmly in her pulsing clasp.

"Oh shit," she groaned.

"What?" was my limited response.

I started to withdraw as my brain finally reacted, but Ashley's hands on my butt pushed, keeping me embedded.

"Don't take it out of her," she panted. "It's only her second one, but she'll get used to it."

"What?" I muttered again.

"Move around!" ordered Ashley.

"Oh," I said. In my slightly fogged brain, the decision to follow instructions was easier than to actually think about things. So I moved around. Instinct made me do it the same way I had with Caitlin, meaning my hips went in little circles.

"Oh shit!" gasped Emma.

But her hips thrust up at me.

I can assert that, over the years, I was pretty good about walking the high road, when it came to young women. I'm not including fantasizing about girls I had seen in the past. Every man does that, including men of the cloth. We're all human, after all. But I hadn't indulged in those fantasies. Of course, truth be told, one of the primary reasons I hadn't gone after the young and the beautiful, was because sometimes women can be a pain in the ass, and beautiful women excel at that. With young women, the problem is more that they have no idea what they want out of life, which translates to not knowing what they want from a man. And while they think about what they want ... it changes.

But there was also a moral component to my assiduous avoidance of sticking my dick in women under the age of, say, roughly twenty.

Until Caitlin, of course.

Call her the chink in my armor, or the hole in the dam or whatever metaphor you want to choose, but Caitlin had unlocked a bit of knowledge in my mind that altered my perception of things on a number of levels. And that bit of knowledge is that young girls, before the world (and men in particular) causes them to become jaded, enjoy sex on a fundamental, almost instinctive level. Of course that is contingent on choosing to enter into sexual union with a man. And liking him, I suppose. It's less complicated for men. A man will fuck just about anybody, including another man if he's in prison.

And that's where civilized society comes into the equation. Cultural rules are there to mitigate chaotic, unregulated sexual behavior. And you can't blame it on the Puritans, because it's that way in the vast majority of cultures the Puritans had nothing to do with.

Unless you count all those missionaries, who so ardently spread across the globe to enforce civilization on the unwashed. Which included the demand that the only acceptable way of procreating was in the missionary position. That's a bit ironic. Unless you suppose that the missionaries demonstrated.

But I digress. My point was supposed to be that I had resisted the musketeers, more on moral grounds than anything else. And while many may just call it an excuse, I firmly believe the only reason things ended up the way they did was because Caitlin put a chink in my armor.

And then the other two, on New Year's Eve, got me entirely out of my armor.

I will claim to my dying day that they tricked me, but that's really kind of silly, because the fact is that Emma was completely normal when it came to enjoying having sex with a guy she really liked.

Actually, she sort of went batshit.

And, actually, it was a good thing Ashley was there with both hands planted firmly on my butt cheeks, because when Emma went batshit, it took our combined weights to keep me where Emma now fervently wanted me.

To be honest, I suspect that a lot of that early intensity was because she'd been scared she wasn't going to like it, and when that fear was crushed almost instantly, the joy that generated was like the spark that tips a demonstration into a riot. I think she went from fear and anxiety straight into dopamine overload.

And so you understand why I'm nattering on about all this, it's because most men don't actually remember what a girl is like at the point where she not only understands the joy of sex, but is addicted to it as well. For most men, their early sexual experiences are with girls who are scared, and who do feel guilty. Those experiences are often hurried and uncomfortable, and there is an attempt to return to normalcy as quickly as possible once the deed is done. And by the time most men meet the woman they decide to stay with (and vice versa), the jading influence of the world has already begun its cancerous work to crush her girlish spirit.

Most men don't really know what it's like to make love with a girl who is totally uninhibited about it, and eager to wring as much joy from the experience as possible.

And that's what Emma was suddenly doing, that night. She was trying to wring as much joy from our semi unexpected union as possible.

She had an orgasm about the time my brain caught up with what was actually going on. I don't think I ever sobered up that fast before. But sober up I did, as she went batshit under me. Sweet, shy, quiet little Emma sounded like she was being murdered, except it was obvious to all of us that she approved of her demise.

And that's when the armor fell off of me, or the dam broke or whatever metaphor you were using happened, and I gave in to my urge to just fuck the brains out of little Emma Wilkinson.

It's hard to describe this, but there is apparently some kind of difference between being madly in love with a woman while you engage in coitus, and just doing it with someone you really like a lot. By that, I mean I always had trouble keeping myself from exploding in Caitlin. Maybe the urge to mate with her drove me to broadcast my seed, with her.

But with Emma it was different. Maybe it was because I had on that condom, which muted the feel a bit. I could still feel her heat through the latex, but she was "too smooth". Plus, when I'm wearing a condom, my foreskin doesn't move backwards and forwards over the glans of my penis, which robs me of significant stimulation. Then again, maybe it was just because it was so much fun watching her that I didn't want it to end.

It was a little hard to tell the difference between her exuberance and an actual orgasm. She turned into a foul mouthed little thing when she got my dick in her. But somewhere around her third orgasm or so, she groaned, "I am going to be in so much trouble with Kat!"

"Why?" I panted. By then Caitlin's permission for me to "play" with her friends was firmly uppermost in my mind.

"Because I think I love you," she wailed.

"My turn then," came a hot voice in my ear.

That was the first time I realized that Ashley had been riding me like a tube behind a ski boat, laying out on my back, rubbing her pussy on my butt, the entire time Emma had been making all those noises.

"Oh, shit that was intense," panted Emma, who was kneeling on the bed beside us as I hovered over Ashley and she directed my sheath-covered penis toward her sexual opening.

"Ohhhh yeahhhh," groaned Ashley as I slid into her in one relatively slow thrust. Remembering her hands on my ass, I gave her a few rotations, staying deep inside her.

"I don't know about him," she gasped, "but I know I love doing this."