Archive-name: First/mycue.txt
Archive-author:
Archive-title: My Cue
It was mid-June and just after our last final exam. We
finally finished our third year of high school. At sixteen,
with summer simmering, and the adolescent hormones doing their
thing, it was clearly fated.
We both went to the same parochial school. Unlike most
modern schools, ours separated the boys and girls into different
classes with only a very few exceptions. Other than the times
they passed our classroom on their way to gym, or when we could
hang out the windows to talk (or just watch as they walked by),
or the rare co-ed class, we almost never saw the girls. But we
knew every one of them by name, and they us.
I was a quiet kind of guy -- good in school, getting the A's
with little attention or effort -- and as horny as any average
teenager. I'd go from crush to crush, rarely having the nerve to
follow through. I was still inexperienced with dating and naive
when it came to girls. I didn't drive -- too young. Only thing
in my favor was that I played drums in a band. And we played
pretty steadily. Though I wasn't very outgoing, the band and my
grades gave me the image of a smart, talented, and maybe a little
wild, kid.
That year had the girls in mini-skirts (sigh - remember
mini-skirts?). Since our school was pretty strict, we also had a
dress code. Skirts below the knee. No sleeveless shirts. No
jeans. No T-shirts for the guys. Ask any red-blooded kid what
they do when school pushes too far. "Easy," they'll answer
with a smirk, "Rules are made to be tested, stretched and
broken."
She sat in my math class. Tall, about five nine. Blond,
with long straight hair. Athletic and captain of the girl's
junior varsity b-ball team. Now some say that she was no beauty,
what with her braces, the fading scar from a long-ago fish-hook
on her left cheek, and the flatter-than-flat chest, but to me --
well to me, she was better than Christie Brinkley, Cheryl Tiegs,
Cybil Shepherd, and Raquel Welch all rolled into one.
The day of the final she walked into class wearing a skirt
that was no longer than Hulk Hogan's WWF championship belt (so
much for the dress code!). It ended about a foot above her knee
and hugged her taut, endless thighs. Her white knee socks looked
like they were painted on her calf. Her blouse was white and you
could make out the faint outline of her bra underneath if you
tried. Her hair fell loose around her neck and shoulders.
The windows were open and the warm spring breezes blew the
smell of the shore in. The pounding of the pile drivers putting
the foundation of the new boardwalk building hammered in the
distance. She took the desk in front of me to my left, just in my
line of view to Mr. B., our pudgy, balding Trig teacher. Every
time I looked up, there she was. That skirt, short as it was
standing up, was even shorter when she sat down. It would ride
up, at times showing the edge of her panties on her firm bottom.
She'd pull at it, give it a tug, but a minute later, it was
hiking up again.
I rooted for the skirt and definitely had trouble
concentrating on the exam that day.
When the exam let out, I slowly walked over to the bike rack
at the far end of the lot. As I ambled along I heard someone
calling my name. I turned and, sure enough, it was her. As she
caught up to me she said: "My Mom can't pick me up today so I'm
walking home. Can I walk with you?" I was glad for the company
and said so. We picked up my bike and started the mile walk to
her house.
We talked and joked, generally having a good time. She put
me at ease, and I must have done the same to her. When we came
to her house, she invited me in for a cool drink. Her house
smelled very different than mine, sort of sweet and a little
musty. The living room drapes were drawn and the house was cool
and dark.
"Where's your Mom?", I asked, noting how quiet the house
was.
"Still at work," she replied. "She has a late meeting.
Won't be home 'til dinner time." Her Mom worked at a local bank.
We talked for a while in the kitchen and she offered to show
me the house. The living room was furnished with deeply padded
furniture - a long couch, a wing chair, and a library reaching
from floor to ceiling in a small alcove off the main room. The
long drapes and deep pile carpet made the room feel hushed, like
a library. Her bedrooms was upstairs. It was bright and cheery.
She put on a stack of records and we went to explore the rest of
the house. The music echoed through the stairway as we walked
down, first to the main floor, then to the basement.
The basement was a real surprise. Smack in the middle was
the biggest, most beautiful pool table I'd ever seen, along with
all the paraphernalia. It looked longer than a cadillac and
heavier than a tank. It was carved ornately. The felt was
perfect. It was gorgeous.
"Do you play?" she asked.
"Not much. With a table like this, you must be good."
"I'm OK," she replied. "Want to play?"
We played a few games. We kept getting in each other's way
as we set up our shots. It didn't take long 'til the touch
barriers broke down and we were tickling and teasing each other.
She beat me every game, but we had such a good time, it didn't
matter.
Later we went upstairs to the living room and looked
through the books in the library. We found an interesting one
and stretched out on the lush deep pile of the carpet. We
snuggled close as we turned the pages, giving each other nudges
and tickles, playing games with our stockinged feet (our shoes
kicked off long before).
As we closed the book, I turned to her and she to me. I
leaned close to her, smelling her unique scent, feeling her hair
with my face and touched my lips to hers. She met my kiss
willingly, slid the book away and stretched out close to me. We
intertwined our fingers and wove our legs together, my upper leg
between hers, her upper leg over me. We pressed together and she
felt my hardness against her.
We were shaking from the excitement. We ran our hands over
each other, exploring all the curves and niches of our shoulders,
backs, bellies, and arms. I felt her bottom and traced out the
curve of her panties. Our lips and noses explored each other's
ears, hair, and neck.
My fingertips traced swirls on her back. Tenderly they
wandered over the roundness of her full hips, along the hot
softness of her thighs, under her skirt, back up to her hip, and
around to her bottom. I pressed our bodies together tightly,
finding her ready mouth with long deep kisses.
She nuzzled my ear, darting her tender moist tongue in and
out, in and out. The shivers ran up and down my spine. With a
giggle, she took my earlobe in her teeth, alternately nibbling
and sucking.
I brought my hand down her soft belly, towards her
moistness, still outside her white brushed-cotton panties. She
parted her thighs slightly, directing my hand to its goal. I
felt her excitement in the warm wetness. I traced the crease
where her thigh met her mound, the seams of her panties guiding
me, and she began to move with my touches.
Her hand moved to the bulge of hardness gathered in my
pants. Down the zipper flap, between my thighs, and back up
again her fingers pressed over and over. I felt the intense heat
growing.
I began to undo her shirt, when she stopped me. "Wait," she
said. I'll be right back," and she gently undid our tangle and
bounded up the steps.
In a moment she was back with a thick down quilt and a
pillow.
"Come with me," she said lovingly. She took my hand and led
me towards the basement. We walked down with our arms around
each other's waists, stopping every few steps for a hug, a kiss,
or an intimate touch.
She laid the blanket and pillow on the pool table. I turned
her to face me and with her rear against the edge of the pool
table, we pressed together, our arms eager with anticipation.
We pressed our groins into each other and moved in slow
circles, reawakening upstair's passion. She buried her face
where my shoulder and neck meet, darting her tongue, kissing
every exposed inch, working her way around my collarbone to the
other shoulder. I gently pulled her blouse from her skirt and
reached under it, feeling her peach-soft belly skin. I began
massaging her tight belly, working around her sides to her back.
I felt her bra catch and traced along the straps to the sides,
and then to the cup. Her ever-so-small breasts were springy
under the lacy cups. As I placed my palms over them I felt her
nipples pressing through.
She unbuttoned my shirt, slowly, one button at a time,
finally pulling it from my pants. "Nice chest", she said
quietly, giggling as she kissed my navel.
I stood her up and with a caress, unbuttoned her blouse.
Her strong shoulders glowed with the excitement. Her belly was
firm, with the broadness of her hips enticing me, disappearing
into her skirt. Her bra hugged her tightly, her pert raisins
straining to escape. I drew her close to my bare, hairless,
chest and felt the lace against me. Her ears were hot next to my
neck, our chests rising and falling in unison.
As we held each other, I unhooked her bra. We separated for
the barest moment as she removed it, and there was nothing
between us. For a moment I held her close, savoring the
sensation, then I bent to her right breast taking her nipple
between my lips. I touched the tip with the tip of my tongue,
just barely touching it, and then not. I ran my tongue side to
side, and I could feel her shake with the motion. She held me
even more tightly, pressing my face into her. I sucked her erect
nipple into my mouth and with a sweet rhythm, gently pulled on
her breast.
Her hands reached to my zipper, feeling my turgid penis
behind it. By now, my hardness was full, straining, aching. She
opened my belt, pulled on the zipper and my erect penis shot out.
She encircled it with her long, slender fingers, her other hand
working into my pants and between my legs. A growl escaped from
deep in my throat with the anticipation. She loosened her hand,
and then she tightened it. Slowly she moved it up and down my
shaft, her other hand taking one testicle and then the other.
She massaged the soft flesh under my ball-sack.
"Oh, so close," I muttered. "Stop, or you'll have quite a
mess on your hands," I warned as a drop of clear honey worked
it's way from the tip of my engorged glans. Gently she released
me, taking the honey with her. She touched her finger to her
outstretched tongue.
"Oh, I'll get you for beating me at pool," said I as I
turned her around and reached for her skirt zipper. It slid open
smoothly and she let it drop around her ankles and stepped out of
it.
I stepped out of my pants, my penis restrained against the
elastic of my underwear. I sloughed off my shirt and pitched it
over the score-marker wire.
As we rejoined, of one mind we reached for each other's
underwear. As I lowered her white brushed cotton panties to
below her knees I caressed her hips and her thigh crease with the
backs of my fingers. She kissed me lightly as she worked mine
down my legs. We kicked them off under the table.
Our stockinged feet were all that kept us from the cold tile
of that basement floor. The room was slightly chilled and as we
came together, skin touching skin in all the right places, we
felt each other's warmth. I wondered if my shivers were due to
the temperature or the situation.
She spread her thighs slightly and I put my rod where my
fantasies had longed it to be. She had just a tuft of fine blond
hair. It was flower soft as I rubbed against it when she helped
position me in her crease. Still standing, I felt her lovely
juices lubricate my way. I pressed forward and felt the tip of
my love muscle touch her rear's cheeks. She closed her thighs on
me and I worked my pelvic bone against her mons. Her juices
covered me, my shaft against her hooded clitoris, and I pressed
in and out with her around me. At first we moved together. As
our tension built, she began to move in jerks, spasms, with my
sometimes measured, sometimes sudden thrusts. Still not inside
her, our pleasure was indescribable.
I had to stop. I was so aroused, I was ready to come. I
claimed my tool back, buried my longing mouth against her
beckoning lips, and put my finger on the button. While our
tongues darted and played, she tried to concentrate on my tense
back while I did my best to distract her.
I was succeeding. I gathered juice on my fingertips and
lightly worked the folds back from her love bud. I touched it
gently and circled it, teasing it, sensing her reactions to my
ministrations. Her breathing quickened. I matched her rhythm
with my own. Suddenly I thrust two fingers deep inside her. She
let out a gasp and took a deep breath. I worked the back of her
clit, the soft spongy ball in the top ridge of her love canal
with a deep tapping beat. Her breathing grew shallower and
became a panting. Her nails dug into my back and shoulders.
I slowed my rhythm and she moaned. Her heart beat strongly
against my chest. I withdrew my fingers and quickly drove them
back into her. Oh, another gasp. Slowly I withdrew them,
tracing them up her slit to her belly and then up to my waiting
tongue.
Her taste was as honey to a starving man, almost more than
one could bear. To this day her scent remains with me - forever
the memory of sex.
( more to come... )
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