Chapter 4

I didn't plan it, but Cindy graduated into upper division classes that night. After her third finger-induced orgasm that night, she rested long enough to explain that ever since she'd started masturbating (which happened one night after she sat on my lap when she was twelve or thirteen) she had experienced what she believed were orgasms. On the night of her first date, she found out they were only the precursors to orgasms. If you've ever masturbated, you know about that point just before an orgasm, where you're right on the edge of the cliff. If you keep rubbing, then you get the orgasm. If you stop, then you get something that is akin to an orgasm (at least if you're a man) that involves the pain of an orgasm, but not the fulfillment. I don't know if I've described that well or not, but suffice it to say it's almost an orgasm, but not quite.

So that night we both learned that she'd never had a real live orgasm before. All those little shudders she'd given off, while I was sucking on her nipples, had induced me to stop sucking her nipples, because I thought she was finished.

So imagine a kid who was raised eating shoe leather, and gets her first taste of (insert your favorite kind here) pie.

This, we discussed after her third orgasm, with the pillow again covering her agonized groans of ecstasy. Of course, by then I was also diddling her clit, but that's not important.

What's important is that her hand strayed to my groin and felt my arousal.

"It's hard," she whispered.

"Yes."

"It seems like it's always hard."

"That's your fault."

"Guys get hard for any woman," she scoffed.

I sighed. "Sweetheart, I know tons of women I'm not interested in having sex with. If any of them came to me and asked me to fool around with them, just for fun, I would politely decline. Mr. John Thomas doesn't stand to attention for just any old female."

"Mr. John Thomas? I thought we were talking about you." She did look confused.

"It's just a name for my ... um ... manhood."

She laughed. "You call him Mr. John Thomas?"

"It's a traditional name," I said, with as much dignity as I could muster.

"Well, I think I want to meet Mr. John Thomas," she said.

I admit I was a little fired up by now, so I didn't resist. I just skinned out of my shorts and let her see it.

Gone was her little game of just touching it with part of her hand. Mr. John Thomas became her instant new, best friend as she gripped him lovingly and stroked him like a massage therapist in training.

"Where did you learn to do that?" I panted.

"Do what?" she asked, dreamily.

"Move your hand up and down like that," I said.

"Suzie MacDonald has a porno she stole from her cousin's house," she explained.

She stroked slowly some more.

"I've seen it on the tape," she said, sounding a little in awe, "but I don't believe this would actually fit."

I started to say "Oh, it will fit. Trust me!" but then realized that might not be the best avenue to proceed down.

"When you're thirty, something like that will fit," I said.

She giggled, and looked at me, still gripping my cock.

"I'm gonna do it long before I'm thirty," she said, suddenly all woman.

"Then you'll do it with something that looks a lot like that one," I said.

"Hmmmm," was her only response. "So when will you spurt?"

"That's a complicated question," I said. "The reason I was able to help you have those last orgasms is because I have experience at ... well ... making that happen. But it's a little different with a guy. He has to be touched just right, at just the right speed. It's a lot of work, even for the guy himself. And each guy is different."

"Well how am I supposed to learn it then?" She sounded upset.

"The good news is that, with boys your age, they can get off a lot easier. But believe it or not, more than half of an orgasm is all in your brain. If you're not having a good time with someone, it's pretty hard to have an orgasm."

"Why would you even be out with someone if you didn't think you'd have a good time?"

"What I actually meant is that you need to like the person, and want to have that kind of good time, for it to work. And with boys, it's pretty much a given that they'll like you, and want to have that kind of good time. The more they want it, the quicker you'll be able to give it to them."

"So you don't want it so much?"

"I didn't say that at all," I said. "Let's work on your technique."

"And how do we do that?" she asked.

"The best way is for you to let go of me, and for me to demonstrate technique on you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay. What do I do?"

"First, you get naked."

There was a pause. Then her voice whispered "Naked?"

"Buck naked," I said.

"But then we'd be naked together," she said.

"I know. How does that make you feel?"

"Scared. Excited. It makes me feel all buzzy here." She pointed at her abdomen.

"That's your uterus, telling you it wants to breed."

"What?" She sounded dazed.

"That's your body, getting excited about having sex."

"But we're not going to have sex," she said.

"Your body doesn't know that." I smiled.

We had already broken through what I'll call "the pelvic barrier." But she'd been in the heat of the moment then. Now I went about things more clinically.

Once she was naked, I had her lie down beside me. She was nervous, but I went into lecture mode, having her look at my face while I used the Braille method.

"This whole region is what is called your loins," I said, spreading my fingers wide and pressing my entire palm down over her mons. Basically, my hand and fingers were lying on her skin, but not touching anything particularly erogenous. "Now, we're naked, and I'm a guy. When I'm touching you like this, does it feel particularly sexy?"

"No," she said.

"What about this?" I asked, and let my fingertips drift across her mound, playing with her pubic hair. She jerked.

"Yes!" Her voice was tight.

"That is technique," I said.

I leaned over and pressed my closed lips to her nipple.I brushed them across it, but that was all.

"That is touching," I said.

I opened my mouth and lovingly sucked the nipple until it was stiff and turgid.

"And that is technique."

"I get it," she said, flushed, and breathing deeply.

"Now, when you masturbate a boy, your grip can be either touching, or technique. Try it on me, and I'll tell you which it is you're doing."

She sat up and gripped my cock. Within five minutes, through what reminded me of the game when you call out "Colder!" or "Warmer!" as someone gets close to something, she had discovered what "technique" meant when it came to gripping a stiff penis with just the right strength. Another five minutes taught her what was too fast, too slow and just right.

At least for me.

But, alas, it had been a bit too clinical for me. I knew she could stroke until she wore me out and I wouldn't cum. I was quite sure if she sucked the tip, I'd go quickly, but I wasn't going to ask her to do that. I'd pushed the envelope pretty far already.

So I explained that I needed some mental stimulation, and asked her to let me show her what that meant. I told her to lie down, and draw her knees up, spreading her thighs apart.

"I feel so nasty," she moaned, as she spread herself for my perusal.

"You're beautiful," I said. I got to my knees and fisted my cock.

"What I'm thinking about right now, is that like this, you look like you're offering yourself to me ... offering your pussy to me." I started stroking, and she gasped.

"I know you're not, but listen to my fantasy, because it's my fantasy that's going to make me spurt. It's the fantasy that's going to supply the mental part I need."

"Okay," she said. She was breathing even harder, now, and her eyes glittered. Her hands came to hold her knees apart.

"Your pussy is right there ... right in front of me. All I'd have to do is drop down to my hands and knees, and my cock would be right there, ready to slide into your belly. You'd be hot, and tight. You'd moan and groan. And my naked prick would be inside you ... no condom ... inside you bare ... with my sperm wanting to rush out and make a baby in you.