Chapter 9

There are a lot of things boys don't know about girls. Some of that is by design. We want to be 'mysterious'. It helps keep boys interested. They talk about us, sometimes in exasperation, but they pay attention. No girl likes being ignored or taken for granted.

Some of the things boys don't know about girls is because we don't know them ourselves. Or if we do, we can't explain. Take physical sensation. Sure, I know what it feels like to have a cock slide into me, or have my nips sucked, or have a boy go down on me (or me going down on a boy). Can I explain them? Not really because boys don't have the context. They haven't grown up as a girl with a girl's body and hormones. Okay, going down on a boy is explainable, sort of, to a gay boy, but that's about it.

Boys do ask questions, though. I've gotten questions about what it's like to wear a skirt or dress. The trouble is, if you know, you don't have to ask. Years later I met a guy who wore a kilt (and no, I'm not saying what's worn under a kilt; nothing was worn, it was as good as new). A kilt is a skirt, but of heavier material, at least for the guy, and they have a sporran to keep things down. A girl can get turned on, and you won't know it. A boy gets a hard on, a girl gets wet and certain parts of her relax and open up, but you can't see it.

I sort of knew this, as much as any girl, but I didn't really "know" it from physical observation. That changed when Liz and I were 12 or 13. Looking at her is like looking in a mirror, but nothing is reversed. We masturbated with the other watching closely. We had what we'd read online and in Health Class. So one afternoon, when we knew we were going to be alone, we did it.

Barbie has just a crease down there, just where a young girl expects one. It isn't the full-fledged female genitalia, but enough to satisfy the young girl's curiosity (and we are curios). She looks just like Barbie down there (she knows that as she gets older she'll get boobs), and that helps assure the young girl that she's "normal".

Now we all know there's a lot more going on down there than a simple slit or crease. That was all that was visible, though, when Liz lay out on her bed with her legs open. As she touched herself (and by that age we knew where to touch), her lips sort of parted. There still isn't much to see, and you hesitate to pry the lips apart. That's just not done. But it sort of got pinker, if that's a word. The book said there was "increased blood flow" to that part of her. I didn't really see that much as her fingers continued to work on her, but it was fascinating to watch her face, and listen to her, as she got to her peak.

I had to return the favor, and then, curiosity satisfied, we got dressed and went off to do other things.

I mention this because Larry didn't ask. Of course part of it was that he attended the parties, and so he knew about all sorts of things from personal experience. Guys of his age, 16, aren't supposed to know about a lot of the things he'd learned at the parties, but then guys of his age aren't supposed to have sex with two or three older and married women in one evening.

We'd had a fun time at the dance, and did nothing that any other couple didn't do. We took our time saying good-bye. He was a good kisser—I already knew this—but our kisses were confined to our lips, the ones on our faces. He did slide a hand across my front, a boy coping a feel. However in his case I didn't pull his hand away, but moved it dorectly onto my breast. I felt my nip growing hard, but that would have to wait until Saturday night.

He kissed far more than my lips on Saturday. We did a 69, and I swallowed his come, but only after rolling it around my mouth a bit, getting used to the taste.

After he'd rested for a bit he and Liz got it on, and I watched, and I mean I watched. I was all over them, getting between their legs to watch his cock sliding in and out of her (I couldn't help it, I licked his balls), and everything else I could think to look.He brought my sister off, and then he contributed to her wetness.

We talked later on, and he revealed that we both made love identically. We both thought this was funny. Despite being idents, we really were two separate people, and we tried (not very hard) to keep some individuality. But to be told this... !

Now because we weren't exclusive, we promised to get together at the end of the evening. I spent some quality time with a couple—she had me squat over her face when we were done so her husband's come could drip into her mouth—and really appreciated how much attention he paid to my boobs. She did, too, and I returned the favor, but that's another story. I'm not a lesbian, but a woman treats another girl's boobs with far more sensitivity and passion than a guy. And did I mention how soft they are?

Larry and I hooked up, mostly to sort of rest and watch. We also talked, mostly those things we didn't dare say anywhere else. He'd come at least three times, maybe four. I really didn't count the number of times I'd popped, only the people I'd come with. I'd discovered that I was multi-orgasmic (most women are and don't realize it), so counting was impossible.

His cock was red and wet, and looked more than a little deflated. I could see a few traces of white on his glans, sort of a reminder of what he'd been doing. I know he checked me out, and probably saw the come leaking from my pussy, a reminder that I'd had a good time.

"I had fun last night," he said. Our shoulders were touching, and I don't know about him, but that was a warm spot for me.

"I'd like to see you, too."

We stopped to watch Liz. There were several teenage guys in the group, and now that we were there they could attend regularly. She'd singled out one of them, they'd talked, and now they were screwing. And from the way her eyes were lit up, she was having a really good time. She'd gotten worked up enough from the other guys she'd had that he didn't have to take her far before she climaxed.

He wasn't there, yet, so he kept pumping away. Liz gasped a little "Oh God! Don't stop!" and began moving again.