Chapter 7

From that night on, we had a new routine. No occasion to take a bath together again presented itself for a while - I don’t think either of us would have risked doing that with our parents home. By some miracle they had never interfered with our sleeping in the same bed, but I didn’t think they would look with equanimity on our bathing together! I had returned to my habit of masturbating in the bath every night. However, Lily now - whether she’d bathed or not; she didn’t always - now simply got into the bed naked every night. (I recognized the few nights every month that she still wore panties for what they were and silently congratulated myself on my sagacity.) I hadn’t taken that step of sleeping nude. I had an irrational fear that Mom or even Dad would come into our room at some point and react with horror. I wasn’t even sure they realized we were still skipping the pajamas at night, even though the weather was cool. After all, we always put them on (or, on school days, just got dressed) before leaving our room. Lily didn’t seem to mind that I didn’t follow her example. She would lie with her back facing me, and I would fondle her breasts avidly while she squeezed her thighs rhythmically. Once she came - I had of course recognized that was what was happening, that this somehow was her analog of what I did in the bath - she would turn around and we’d go to sleep the usual way, in each other’s arms.

Having satisfied myself in the bath, I was never tempted to try to bring myself to orgasm with her, although I was of course very aroused while this was going on. I think I just wanted to maintain the self-delusion that there was some innocence to all this. Yes, I was massaging her breasts, but was that really different from massaging her back? Yes, she was having orgasms, but she did that to herself, just as I did. She just happened to do it while we were touching. But one night, she forced my hand - literally. As always, I had my hands on her breasts, but she suddenly reached up, took my right, and pulled it down to her vulva. I was, despite myself, shocked. I’d never once tried to touch her there, though I loved sneaking peeks at the soft, sparse hair, so similar to mine, before she got into bed every evening. It didn’t feel like I was expecting it to. It looked soft, pillowy, comfortable when I saw it, but now it was wet - drenched, really. I had no idea that girls got wet when they were excited (that wasn’t covered in Judy Blume) and I momentarily wondered if something was wrong.

However, I had more to worry about. What was I supposed to do here? Just leave my hand there? It was an awkward position. I couldn’t really explore her with my fingers from behind like this. Too, I suddenly really, really wanted to see her. I whispered: “Lil, turn around.” She did. I indicated that she should lay back, and surveyed her naked body in the moonlight. “Robbie,” she said in a low voice. “Touch me.” Her voice sounded almost urgent, and I complied. I put my hand back on her vulva and began to explore. She gasped as my finger slid between her labia. I found her clitoris by complete accident but, following the cues in her breath, began to stroke it lightly. I was acutely aware of the scent of her wetness; it was intoxicating. I watched her squirm in uncontrolled pleasure as I picked up the pace a little. Shortly - it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes - she groaned, so loudly I was afraid our parents would hear, squeezed her thighs together, jerked her knees up, and almost seemed to arch her back. I watched her orgasm with an indescribably proprietary feeling. I had done this for her. I’d made her come, with my own hand. I had created this intense pleasure. “Robbie,” she whispered. “That felt so good.” I didn’t answer, but kissed her on the forehead, then gathered her up in my arms so that we could sleep.

Once again, our routine changed abruptly. Now, not every night but most, she would get into the bed and immediately lie on her back, legs slightly apart, the sheet down by her legs, and I would masturbate her to orgasm, starting by touching her almost imperceptibly, but increasing the pressure and speed as she got wet and her breathing began to change. Initially I missed starting by fondling her breasts from behind, though of course I could still touch them with my left hand. We usually started without even turning out the light, and it was lovely to be able to look at her breasts, her nipples, and the red flush that slowly covered her chest as I stimulated her. But one night, I found something better. I was drinking in the sight of the tiny swellings on her chest rising and falling faster and faster as she built towards a climax. They were irresistible - I yielded to a sudden impulse to bend over and kiss them. Lily let out a small moan as I did so.

Emboldened, I took her right one fully into my mouth and teased the stiff nipple with my tongue, while I continued to masturbate her with my fingers. This was a wonderful discovery. Lily squirmed about wildly, gasping and stifling moans. She took my head in my hands and held it tightly to her chest, leaving me no doubt that she wished me to continue this way. I breathed deeply, her scent flooding my nostrils - on her small torso, her breasts were, after all, not so far from the center of her delight. I could taste the saltiness of her sweat. In my excitement, I rubbed her wildly, faster and harder than I had dared to before. Soon, she couldn’t control her moans anymore. I prayed that Mom and Dad were fast asleep or at least couldn’t hear down the hallway and through two closed doors. When she came, I almost had to physically hold her down to prevent her from lurching off the bed, she was convulsing so violently. After it was all over, she lay there, spent. She said only one word: Robbie! I knew what she meant.