Chapter 11: Mindy's Story

I was 14 the first time I let a boy go all the way with me. It was Eddie Vance who did the dirty deed. Bless his little hard-on. God, we were so innocent.

Like any schoolgirl these days, I already knew the gory details of sex in theory at least. Health education and scuttlebutt had seen to that. I even knew about blowjobs and getting licked, sort of, although we girls all agreed that it was maximally yukky.

I'd discovered my love bump more than a year before, thanks to some hints from friends. Actually, I'd discovered it on my own while taking a bath, but my original reaction was alarm - I thought something was wrong. Once I realized it was natural for that part of me to get all tingly, I would play with it at night, usually by pressing a pillow between my legs and rubbing up against it.

When Eddie and I first started hanging around together, I never thought it would go so far. I was still determined to hang onto my cherry for the forseeable future. My daydream was to save it for my senior prom. I thought that would make a good graduation present for me, a marking of the transition from schoolgirl to adult. I saw no reason to be in any big hurry.

But Eddie was real cute and, as our relationship developed, my attitude gradually changed. At first, I wouldn't let him touch me. Well, I mean I wouldn't let him put his hands on me. There was plenty of indirect touching, of course.

My tits pressed against him every time we hugged and kissed. I was pretty shy about it, at first. When my titties had begun to sprout almost two years before, I was very self- conscious about them. Even when I hugged my Dad, I would bend at the waist and lean forward in an awkward effort to keep from touching him with my chest. And I avoided wearing anything tight or revealing.

But, as time passed, I grew used to having tits. There was no use trying to hide them after the first year or so, because they grew to a size that made them obvious under even loose tops. While less than humongous, they certainly jutted out from my chest far enough to make the boys take notice. I could see their eyes -- almost feel their eyes -- as they ran them over my body. When they talked to me, their eyes would keep drifting down to look at my boobies. And points south.

After a while, I got more used to it, though, and grew proud of my figure, especially my tits. I started wearing tighter tops -- sweaters, halters, tubetops. I bought my first bikini just after I turned 14 and spent hours in my room looking at myself in the mirror.

So when Eddie and I started kissing and fooling around, I was a little hesitant at first but soon grew accustomed to pressing my chest against him. In fact, I quickly got to like it. And so did he.

The first time he touched one of my tits with his hand was at the movies, of course. Practically every boy, I think, must try the same move. He had put his arm across the back of my seat and, as the movie progressed, he moved it down around my shoulders. After a while, he slid his arm around my neck and his hand down (oh so casually) just next to my breast. I could feel the warmth of it, almost touching. I half-expected a spark of electricity to jump between them, from finger to nipple.

Then (oh so casually), Eddie turned to kiss me, pulling me toward him with his arm, which just happened to make his hand brush the outside of my tit. As quickly as I felt the pressure it was gone, and there was nothing to object to, really. But as he continued to squeeze me to him, his hand drifted back and pressed more firmly at the side of my tit, and this time it stayed there until I shrugged away. I broke away from Eddie's kiss, reached across my chest, took his hand, and placed it firmly on my shoulder.

"Sorry," he said.

Eddie hugged me to him again, keeping his hand on my shoulder, and resumed kissing me. But it was like he couldn't get the feel of that brief touch out of his mind. Several more times during the movie, he managed to brush his hand against the side of my titty. Most times it was so brief that I would have felt silly making a point of it. But a couple of times I had to grab his hand and put it elsewhere. Each time, I slapped it down onto my shoulder with a little more emphasis.

I knew he was getting the point, but I wasn't sure how much I really wanted him to. Well, I was pretty sure I didn't wanting him fondling me in the theater where somebody might see. But, secretly, those brief touches of his hand were probably as exciting to me as they were to Eddie. Each one sent a jolt of electricity through me like nothing I had ever felt before.

After several more dates, I suspect both of us were spending more time thinking about his hand touching my tit than on anything going on around us. I know I was. It was like a game. I kept moving his hand away each time he found some way to make contact. Depending on where we were, I would emphatically move his hand away or let it linger just a little longer. When we had found some corner to snuggle in, I might let Eddie stroke along the side or under my breast before I shrugged away with a "No..." that both of us knew was half-hearted. The truth is that I was beginning to want him to touch me but still thought I shouldn't let him.

Then, one day at his house after school, I let him get away with it.

We were down in the basement rec room at his house, making out. His mom was upstairs in the kitchen making dinner; we were "watching TV." In fact, we were on the sofa, kissing and hugging. Eddie was French-kissing me, running his tongue into my mouth, and I was not just letting him, I was opening wide and licking him back.

Then he ran his lips down my neck and nibbled at the base of it. He'd done that before, and I really liked it. At the same time, Eddie moved his hand up along my ribs and pushed it under my arm and around my back. He wound up with his biceps pressing against my breast. I started to shrug away and then I thought "Oh what the hell..." and let it stay there.

After a while, Eddie slid his arm back out little by little until his hand was on my side just under my armpit. Then, he shifted his body and his hand, as if by accident, came to rest tentatively against the side of my tit.

I know he expected me to pull away -- he was just getting a quick feel. Instead, I took a deep breath, making my chest swell, and turned my body slightly. My titty pressed into his palm.

Poor Eddie. I don't think he knew what to do. Here he'd been trying all this time to get a good feel, and now that he had it, he was stunned into immobility. He just sort of froze there, cupping my titty. He even forgot to keep kissing me.

So I kissed him, and pretty soon we were back to deep kisses and passionate sighs - everything as before except that his hand was kneading my titty like there was no tomorrow. He was really clumsy about it, but I didn't know any better and it seemed like heaven to me.

We didn't get much farther than that. Before long, his mom called down the stairway to say it was almost dinner time, which was my cue to head home. Eddie walked me to my house, only a few blocks away, and neither of us brought up the subject. I know I was too embarrassed and I'm sure Eddie was, too.

But, as they say, once you've crossed the line, there's no way to go back and not cross it. From then on, it was implicit in our snuggle sessions that Eddie would be allowed to fondle my front. And, after that, it was just a matter of time.

One thing led to another. I insisted that he keep his hands above my waist, but I let him slip his hand inside my blouse or under my sweater and play with my titties through my bra. Most of the time we were in his family rec room, so I felt pretty safe. Then, one day when his mom left to run an errand, I let him unhook my bra and put his hot little hand on bare flesh. Once that threshold was crossed, it was easy to cross it again and again.

Truth is, I loved the feel of his hands on me. I swore I was going to put a stop to it, but only when we weren't together. Whenever there was a real opportunity to snuggle, I was only a little less eager than Eddie. Maybe it was because it was forbidden, maybe it was just raging hormones, but the touch of Eddie's lips was enough to overturn any reservations I might have, and the touch of his hand was so thrilling that I got wobbly just thinking about it.

I was able to keep his hand away from my pussy as long as Eddie's feeble attempts began with putting it on my leg. That was easy because it wasn't thrilling enough to break down my resistance. But our sessions gradually changed from sitting upright to stretching out on the sofa, and Eddie's leg somehow always managed to work its way between mine - casually at first and then higher and higher until it came so close to my crotch that I had to squeeze my legs together to stop him. Until finally I didn't stop him, letting him move it up until the top of his thigh was rubbing right up against my pussy. It wasn't long before I was rubbing back.

Well, at that point it didn't make much sense for very long to try to make Eddie keep his hands above my waist. I remember the first time he actually touched me there. He was sneaky. He made the usual grab at my leg and, when I made my usual grab for his wrist, he quickly slid his hand right up my leg to my pussy, dragged his finger across my crotch, and had his hand back on my waist before I could stop him.

Oh, I smacked his hand good for that little trick, and cussed him, too. It was several angry minutes and many repeated apologies before I calmed down enough to let him put his arms around me again. But the whole time I was chewing on him, another part of my mind was going "Wow!" and my nubile young teenie-bopper body was going "More! More!" Because that brief, sliding touch of his fingers was more exciting than all the boob- grabbing sessions that had gone before.

It became a game, after that. Eddie was always finding a new way to fake me out - feinting with his hand and then going for the gold. I might block him a time or two, but sooner or later he'd always manage to touch me right there. I kept playing the game long after I was secretly rooting for him to succeed.

Finally, I gave up pretending. Eddie was darting his hand around without much success one afternoon. I caught him by the wrist and then, instead of hanging on to it or slapping it down somewhere, I just held him for a moment until he looked at me and then guided his hand right to my mound. I rocked it up and down a couple of times to show him what I wanted, bumped my pussy up against his fingers, then pulled his face to mine and kissed him. He got the idea.

Well, that held us for a couple of weeks, I guess, but before long Eddie wanted to get his hand inside my pants, and another lengthy contest of wills began. As always, I won all the battles except the last one.

It was one of those rare occasions when I was actually wearing a dress instead of my usual jeans or shorts. We were at my house that time, so maybe I felt more confident on my own territory. Anyway, Mom was gone somewhere and Willy was upstairs. Eddie was content for a while to touch me outside my dress, but I wouldn't let him open the front because Willy might come down suddenly. I let him fondle my titties and then my pussy. We stretched out on our sofa, hugging and kissing, and Eddie's leg worked up between mine, hiking my dress up high in the process. Then he reached down, like he always did, and suddenly I realized that his fingers were under my dress and touching my panties.

And I just gave up. What the hell. I liked it. That thin layer of cotton was still technically outside my clothes but it felt a lot better than it ever had before. I just lay there, limp on the outside but quivering and straining on the inside. I wanted to shout "Go ahead, touch it!" But all I did was whimper.

Eddie must have read my mind. He petted my pussy through my panties long enough to be sure I wasn't going to stop him and long enough to detect the heat and dampness there. Then, tentatively, he slipped a finger just under the elastic of the leg hole. When I didn't protest, he pushed it farther inside.

If I close my eyes, I can still remember the feel of it. Eddie wormed his finger around and pushed across the sparse hair. The tip of his finger found my pussy lips and slid back and forth across them. Then it burrowed between them, tweaked my clit - entirely by accident, I'm sure - and slid down to the entrance to my hole. Ooo-wee! A moment like that comes only a few times in a person's life.

Eddie pushed his finger back and forth in my slot a few times, got it centered on the entrance, and pressed inside. I'm sure I gasped with surprise and pleasure. Sometime around there, everything changed for me. I couldn't have put it in words then, but the approximate content was "Why the fuck have I been trying NOT to do this?"

Up until then, see, I'd been basically a good girl. Oh, sure, I was playing around a little, but within pretty clear boundaries. But I think at that moment I decided that all adults were either liars or fools - or both - and that not only was sex not BAD, but it was by far the best thing to come into my young life since I discovered sugar.

Adults, I suspected, weren't trying to keep me away from sex to protect me but to keep it to themselves. It was another in a long list of pleasures they had tried to deny me, and it was by far the best of all. In that electric moment, when Eddie's finger slipped inside the lips of my pussy, I changed from model child to rebel. From now on, I would decide for myself.