Chapter 6

She put her heels back on to go up the walk to her front door. The shawl was firmly wrapped around her, covering her front. It was cold and she tried to hurry. The heels clacked loudly on the cement.

I went with her, of course. I wasn’t about to miss the chance of another kiss before the coach turned back into a pumpkin, and Cinderella turned back into my best pal, who might only want to climb trees together again. I actually thought about taking one of her shoes with me when I went home. That’s how bad I had it.

I probably could have gotten a shoe too, because she took them off once she was on the porch. I expected her to turn and give me that kiss, but she fumbled in her clutch and pulled out her key first. When she got the door open, she didn’t turn to give me a kiss, but just went inside. I stood on the porch, feeling sorry for myself.

“Get in here!” she hissed from the dark.

I got. I felt better. Maybe I might get more than one kiss, out of the cold.

But she didn’t kiss me then either. Instead, she told me to take my shoes off. Then she took my hand and tiptoed, pulling me, until I realized we were going to her room.

Maybe I am, in fact, a pervert. All I could think about as we negotiated the hallway, going past her parents’ room, and then the bathroom, was that soon I’d be in the room where her bed was. Not that I’d never been in there before. I’d been in there hundreds of times. I’d been on that bed hundreds of times.

But not since I found out she lay out on it, naked, with her hand busy between spread legs, thinking about me jacking off ... probably while I was jacking off.

And, of course, by the time we got there, my boner was back. I was glad she left the light off, and couldn’t see my problem. And I knew her room well enough that I could negotiate in the soft glow of the light from the street lamp in the alley behind their house.

Again, a book was created, with page after page of images, only a few of which I can describe. I wasn’t ready to be an author. Or co-author, as it were. But things happened, whether I was ready for them or not.

It started when she whispered, “We have to be quiet,” which seemed obvious to me. While we’d been in her bedroom countless times before, and her parents hadn’t paid any attention to it, I somehow knew that things had changed. I suddenly remembered her father asking me what I expected to get away with. I felt a bit of hysteria threaten to make sounds come from my mouth and clamped down on that.

Then, with no fanfare, and no warning of any kind, Valerie simply shrugged those straps off her shoulders again, and then pushed her dress downwards, leaving it in a dark puddle on the floor. The question as to panties was answered. They were white, but that was all I could tell, before they, too, were pushed down and kicked off of one foot.

She stood, gloriously naked in front of me, clothed only in shadows.

She didn’t say anything.

I couldn’t say anything.

Finally, she stepped silently towards me, coming up to me and pushing at the shoulders of my suit jacket.

“I want to be your valentine,” she whispered.

She pushed the coat off my arms, and it thumped softly to the floor. My shirt followed. It was like she’d practiced. Her motions were fluid and efficient. There was a little bit of fumbling when it came to my belt and zipper, but then my pants were falling.

She knelt. I felt fingers at the waistband of my jockey shorts. My erection angled downwards as she pulled, and it got caught up in the cloth. I felt a warm hand reach in and, almost gently, assist my penis in escaping, only to be abandoned as her hands went back to removing the only garment I had on other than socks.

The reality of what was happening ... the enormity of it ... finally dispelled my paralysis.

“What are we doing?” I whispered.

She stood back up, grasping my penis along the way. Her hand felt both strange and elating.

“Being valentines,” she said, reaching up with her lips to kiss me.

“We can’t do this,” I rasped.

“We’re not going to do everything,” she said, her voice smooth and reassuring. “We have to save that for later. But we can be together, like I’ve wished we could be together for a long time.”

“Together?” I panted.

“Just touching ... kissing.”

I was sold. If we weren’t doing everything, then the pressure was off. To be honest, I wasn’t so worried about the morality of what was going on. Granted, her parents (and mine) would be furious if we were discovered like this, but my real concern was that the only thing I knew how to do was kiss. And I did not want to make a fool of myself trying to do things I wasn’t prepared to do.

But touching and kissing? I could do that.

She chose to do this touching and kissing on her bed, which only made my dick stiffer.

Then we made out some more. Only it was much better than it had been in the back of the Impala.

It helped that she never let go of my penis. She didn’t jack on it so much as she just played with it. Occasionally her fingers would explore my balls, which were full and tight. I knew the skin there would feel thick and pebbly, and that the hairs sprouting from that skin would be relatively stiff. When my ball sack softens up and hangs, everything seems to soften.

My hands found her breasts, of course. That was probably the first thing I did once we were on the bed. She didn’t object. We made out like that for what could have been an hour, before I got the urge to kiss her elsewhere than on her lips. I’d found one nipple with my fingertips, and played with it until it stood firm and turgid off her breast flesh. Her breasts were both firm and soft at the same time, and that nipple under my fingers demanded to be kissed. I kissed down over her cheek and jaw, into the hollow of her neck, as she arched, giving me room and murmuring in a way that told me she liked what I was doing.

Without warning her, I moved my lips to that nipple and kissed it. Where it came from, I don’t know, but I had the urge to suck, like a baby, and I did that then. She groaned, and her hands came to the back of my head, pulling me against her. She let me move to the other nipple, and I marveled at the texture. How could something so firm and delicious in my mouth, be associated with something so warm and soft against my nose and cheek?

One of her hands left my head and fumbled for my right hand. She dragged it downwards, across her abdomen. My heart thudded as I realized I was being encouraged to do something else I’d only dreamed of. I felt a mixture of apprehension, which was immediately replaced by amazement, because the hair I expected my fingers to find wasn’t there. Instead, I found smooth, slippery ... wet skin!

I could see her face, and most of one breast. I would love to have seen the bald skin my fingers had discovered. But that part of her was in the shadows, and I didn’t want to stop what I was doing.

I felt like a blind man, who understood the Braille of the body. I could distinctly feel the lips there that I’d seen countless pictures of before. But they felt completely different than I expected. They were soft and pliable, rubbery. They were fun to massage!

Her hips arched, and I remembered other things I’d seen in pictures. Hesitantly, my middle finger split those lips and I dragged it upwards, searching for a bump.

I found it.

I diddled it.

Her other hand left my head and slapped hard over her mouth as her whole body arched. I felt frantic activity above my head, and abandoned the nipple I’d been sucking on, lifting my head to see that she had grabbed a pillow and pressed it over her face. She was groaning out loud. The hand on the pillow flailed, found my head and pushed my face back down, her meaning obvious.

I sucked again, and kept diddling. That hand appeared, fumbling for mine, on top of mine, and somehow she pushed in a way that made my middle finger slide downwards.

And then inwards.

Into wet heat like a furnace.

She groaned.

I had thought I knew nothing other than kissing. But I was finding out differently now. It turned out that all that online porn had taught me a thing or two after all. I at least knew the theory of what she wanted. All I had to do was get good at it quickly.

That was interesting on a number of levels. First, as I inserted my finger deeper into her, her pelvic thrusts became stronger, and I had to use the heel of my hand to push downwards, just to keep from being dislodged. I didn’t know it then, but that crushed that little bump, and when, just for exploratory purposes, I curved my finger, feeling around a new environment for the first time, I massaged something else too.