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Date: Tue, 15 Dec 1998 09:58:26 +0000
From: Scot Thompson <needit83@hotmail.com>
Subject: First Time With Man [Teen TV fiction]
Here's a short story about a young "girl" who meets a
college boy under unusual circumstances. Comments to
needit83@hotmail.com.
Scot Thompson
TV/TS Admirer
Dallas
"I'm Sharon."
That's what I told him, as he stood there leaning
through the partially opened door of my bedroom at my
parents' house. I was 15, it was 2 a.m., and he was
"Chris," a dark-haired college boy that had no idea
what he had gotten himself into.
"Sorry, for disturbing you," he said, looking truly
startled for moment. He took a second to look me up and
down and let his eyes linger on what he thought were
the mounds of my soft young breasts beneath my sheer
white silk blouse. "I thought there was a bathroom down
this hall somewhere. That's what your sister said,
anyway. Janet is your sister, right?"
Yes, my sister. The college whore. The girl who
brought her friends home to college for parties
whenever my parents left town. This time, they were in
Europe for two weeks and she was supposed to be taking
care of me -- "babysitting" -- while they were gone. Of
course, I was never invited to her parties. She was
afraid of what I might see, I guess. Or do.
"Yes, that's right," I said. "I'm her little
sister who's never invited to her parties because she's
too young."
"That's a shame," he said. "You look old enough to
me."
He looked me deep in the eyes as he said the words.
Men. They think they're so clever. Oh, what could he
mean by that, I'm supposed to wonder.
"So it's a bathroom you need? Come in. You can use
mine. It's right back here, off my bedroom, actually."
I opened the door slowly but let it swing wide, so
that he could get a good look as I led him to the
bathroom door. In the mirror on the far wall, I watch
as he dropped his gaze to my ass, which, that night, I
had covered in a short black skirt, with white hose
that led to a pair of black high-heeled pumps below,
and a white garter belt and panties above. At 5' 5" and
only 115 pounds, my small frame was all that I needed
to hold his complete attention.
"You sure look dressed for a party," he said.
"Well, you never know who you're going to meet. A
handsome college man, like yourself, for example," I
said with a smile. Men love it when you smile at them.
It helps them imagine that they're fascinating and
funny. And they love it when you say they're handsome,
because deep down they all believe it.
Of course, this guy actually was. Six feet. Maybe 185
pounds. Muscular and dark, and long and lean, like a
swimmer or a volleyball player.
I stood at the entrance to my master bath, leaning
on the door frame just a little so that I would seem
even smaller, holding my head much lower than his.
Utterly demure.
"There you go," I gesture. "I guess you can handle
it from here."
I made sure I leaned close to him as he passed, so
that he would experience the perfumed scent of my body
and shoulder length blond hair. ("You look like a woman
with hair like that," my mother always complained. Oh,
really?)
While he did his business, I closed the door of my
bedroom and checked my look in the full-length mirror
on the back of the door. My makeup was perfect. I was
getting better every time. And the breasts -- silicone-
gel forms that I had ordered from a catalog, were
virtually real. Then I lay down on my bed facing away
from the bathroom door, and pretended to be reading a
copy of "Seventeen" magazine. I crossed my legs and
raised my ass just a little so it would be the first
thing he would see when he came out of the bathroom.
The bathroom door opened. In the mirror, I watched
as he stopped dead in his tracks and his eyes again
went to my ass. There was a long pause.
"What are you reading?" he finally asked.
"An article about `What Men Really Want.' They're
so mysterious to me." I rolled over on one elbow,
pulling up a knee. He could see the tops of my hose
and, perhaps, just a glimpse of white silk laced
panties, I imagined. "What do men really want, Chris?"
The look on his face told me this was going to be
easy. Maybe too easy.
He walked over and sat on the bed, just a foot
away. Too close for a college boy to get to a high
school girl who just wants some friendly advice.
"They want a girl that's beautiful and smart," he
said. "A girl who's funny and cute. A girl who knows
what she wants and doesn't want to play games."
I rolled over onto my back, closer to him
"Gee," I said. "That sounds just like me. So, do
you want me, Chris?"
"Sharon, I ..." He glanced quickly at the door.
"It's locked," I told him. "And I'm horny."
His lips were on mind before I finished speaking.
What do I remember of my first kiss? The smell of
alcohol. The firm smooth texture of his lips. The musty
taste of his long thick tongue. I was melting. The room
was beginning to float away. My cock was beginning to
swell. I realized that this was supposed to be my game
and I was losing control.
I pushed him away.
"Wait, wait" I said, and I stood up quickly. Chris
moved to the edge of the bed.
"What's wrong?" he said.
I turned out the light. "Nothing, now. But we have
to go slow. I'm a virgin, you know. So I have to be in
control. OK?"
"Sure, whatever you want" he said, almost begging,
in the dark.
"Take off your clothes," I commanded.
How much convincing do you think he needed? In a
second, he was nude and stretched out on my bed. I
climbed onto the bed, straddled his waste and lowered
my lips to his. "I want to do things, Chris. Can I do
things with you?"
"Oh, yes."
"Can I do things to you?" I whispered.
He moaned as a ran my long nails across his chest
and down his stomach. The sharp edges skipped like a
car on road bumps across his hard ads, and tangled and
teased in the "treasure trail" of fine hair on his
belly. I stuck my tongue deeply in his mouth and let my
sweet-smelling hair hang in his face. When he rose his
arms and began to slide his hands up my sides to my
breasts, I stopped him. "No, Chris. Let me be in
control."
"Yes ..."
Too easy, I thought. To easy to get a college boy
to strip naked on my bed. Too easy to have him in utter
rapture with the touch of my hands and the smell of my
hair. To easy to have him erect and rigid and all mine
in the privacy of my own bedroom.
His cock was thicker and much longer than mine. A
man's piece of meat, not like the boyish thing that
still hung between my legs. When I touched his member,
he called out my name like in a prayer to a god. Or
goddess.
I wrapped my hands around it and lowered myself to
taste it. Another first, I thought, as I touched it
with my tongue and tasted the stream of salty pre-cum
oozing from the slit. It was too much. I thought my own
cock would burst. I had to back away or he would feel
my boy-sized clit growing in my panties.
"Get on the edge of the bed and lie back," I told
him. Like a good boy, he did. On my knees and on the
floor before him, I began to worship his love hammer in
earnest. I licked his shaft. I licked his balls. I put
them in my mouth and gently sucked, then ran my bare
teeth lightly across the sack.
"Oh, Sharon ..."
"Do you want it in my mouth, Chris?"
"Yes, please ..."
The head quickly popped through my tight wet lips.
It's in, I thought, now what. He placed his hands on my
head and gently urged me lower. I indulged him, till
his cock was all the way to my entrance of my throat.
Here goes, I thought, all those months of practice on
bananas and cucumbers, and lately a rubbed dildo, would
finally pay off.
I let him push his cock all the way in, all
the way down my slick pulsing throat. He was in
ecstasy. He was in some other world. He certainly
didn't notice when I reached down to release my own
tool from the straining silk. His orgasm came suddenly.
The cum filled my mouth and shot down my throat in a
warm, thick explosion. I swallowed and sucked and
swallowed until I thought his balls would collapse.
My orgasm was also intense. I blew my load into the
pile of his clothes on the floor, mostly on the back of
his faded blue jeans and black t-shirt. Whoops, I
thought.
"Was that all right, my love?" I asked.
He could only moan a reply.
"I need to fix myself," I said, and I disappeared
into the bathroom.
I reapplied my makeup and lipstick, straightened
my clothes (and repositioned my breasts), then waited
for a few minutes. I let him get dressed. Let him think
up a story, an excuse why he must leave immediately �
the story that all guys tell.And when I returned, he did not let me
down.
"That was incredible," he said, standing to kiss
me.
"I know," I said.
"But I've got to get back to the party, I have to
give some people a ride home. They're waiting for me."
"Sure," I said. "Just do me a favor. Never tell my
sister about this or she won't even let me be in the
house when she has her parties."
He promised, as solemnly as man can promise when
his balls are empty and he wants to leave.
"Maybe I'll see you again," he said.
I watch as the cum-stained ass of his jeans
followed him down the hall. Wonder how he'll explain
that, I thought.
That was my first encounter, the first of many
actually -- and not my last encounter with Chris, who
never did mention a word to my sister; thus, he never
learned that she didn't have a sister named Sharon, but
a small, thin effiminate brother who like to dress as a
girl.
At the next party, there was a knock at the door.
"Looking for the bathroom again, Chris?" I asked.
That night, he fucked me in the ass.
But that, dear reader, is another story.