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/con/ ~ I love the confessions here. I have one. The whole...
No. 169451 Quote report
169451

File 40317_131372083574197_1676068_n.jpg


I love the confessions here. I have one. The whole situation ended a couple months ago, and I only now feel like I’ve processed enough to write about it. by the way, the picture is real.

I work from home. I’ve been doing it a long time. So I know the comings and goings of my neighborhood. I know that at 1pm every day, the neighbor behind me goes out on the back porch and plays her guitar. I know the guy across the street grows pot. I know a lot about what goes on.

I have a neighbor, Carol. She’s great. She has yard sales most weekends when it doesn’t rain. She’s an older, single woman, with a great-niece. Her name is Tori.

Tori started coming around the neighborhood about 3 years ago. Her parents both work. She goes to school nearby and she started showing up at Carol’s for the afternoons. She’d been around for a couple of weeks before I really noticed her, but when I did, I couldn’t stop noticing her. She’s tallish, about 5’8” or so. Long tan legs, long tan torso, long neck, brown hair, great eyes. And she’s got that slightly underdeveloped, but strong and athletic type of body that screams “I play soccer and I like it”. It also screams “Look at me!”

I spend a lot of time on the phone for my job, and I often go for walks when I have a call. Its more interesting than sitting at my desk staring at my computer—except when there’s a good confession to read. It was on one of my walks that I first noticed Tori. I was about a half mile from home, cruising along at a good pace. Coming toward me was this beautiful, long and lean and tan, adolescent girl. I figured her for about 14 or 15. She was walking a massive collie. I knew the dog. It was Carol’s dog. Like any man, I pulled the stop and wait trick. I stopped suddenly, looked very surprised as though one of the people on the other end of the phone had just said something terrible, and looked like I was listening hard. I let her walk past me and get about 20 feet away, before I rounded, headed back the way I’d come, walking about 20 feet behind her the half mile home. I watched her the whole way.

She was amazing.

I started noticing that she was coming around the neighborhood a lot. I chatted with Carol nonchalantly about things, mentioned working parents, etc., and she mentioned her great niece. So, I used this in to learn about her. Indeed a soccer player, and track. 15 years old. Tori.

I’m a photography enthusiast. I have some good gear. Including a nice 200mm lens that I started using when Tori would sit out on Carol’s grass and do homework, or play with the dog. Late spring and early summer were fantastic. I’d shoot long photos of Tori out there in beautiful light, small, tight outfits, sweating. Oh my god. The sweating. She’d lay out there in a bikini sometimes, tanning with oil on her back, her top untied to get rid of lines. I’d amassed a pretty large photo collection that I would look at during my meetings. During work I would just scroll through the photos looking at her. Then, around 2:45pm, I’d make my way to the front window and watch her walk up. My favorite part of the day.

It was a few months before I ever spoke to her. I just sort of silently pined for her. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of her when I jacked off. My wife said that when we were having sex, I sometimes seemed distant. I was. In my mind, I was with Tori. I was exploring her with my fingers, tracing the contours of her hips, ribs, the underside of her breasts. In my mind, I was probing her with my fingers, watching her face as she gasped with pleasure. I imagined and planned and hoped—I hoped that one day there would be a way.

The first time I spoke to her was a Saturday afternoon. Carol had asked if I would come over on the weekend and help cut some trees. No problem. About midday, Tori showed up and Carol introduced us. I was sweaty and smelly and sunburned. I’d wished our first meeting would be under cleaner circumstances. But oh well.

We worked the afternoon. I would cut with the chainsaw or a handsaw, and she would clear the branches that fell. We made a pretty good team. I was actually glad we were working because otherwise I would just stare. As it was, whenever she would grab up a bunch of branches and carry them away, I’d turn and watch her go.

She wore a baggyish t-shirt, tight jeans, and tennis shoes. The jeans were old and faded, but she looked comfortable in them. She looked great. They were rolled up at the cuff and her calves looked so strong and tan. Her ass was a thing of beauty. Hips narrow, but still womanly, and hair pulled up in a hot, sweaty mess.

We made jokes, she brought me water, we talked about how funny Carol is, and how she’s just a little batshit-crazy.

At the end of the day, as the late shadows started getting longer and the sun started changing to that yellow that makes everyone look good, we called it quits. Carol, Tori and I sat in chairs on the deck drinking cokes. Tori went in to change. When she came out, she wore very short whit shorts, and a belly shirt. It was loose. It draped off one shoulder, down over her smallish breasts, and ended somewhere between there and her belly button, set out and away from her body as her breasts pushed it away. Her standing there with the sun behind her showed me everything I have ever wanted. Her delicate, not yet completed, curves, a small black bra, the upturned little breasts. I must have looked like an idiot. I’m certain my mouth hung wide open. I couldn’t breathe.

I’d never really looked at anyone that young before, and haven’t since. She was everything. The beginning. The end. The middle. I went home, showered, and made love to my wife in the dark that night.

This was the beginning.


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Middle of summer, 2010. Tori came to stay with her aunt while her parents went on a cruise. She was around all the time. As ever, I would watch her from my window, sitting out front, working around the yard, reading, tanning, etc. She was always out there. I’d see her around the neighborhood walking the dog. We’d say hi as we passed each other, make jokes, innocent stuff that you wouldn’t think twice about. When I’d be driving past and she would see me, she’d make some gesture or be a little silly. Once, she did a sort of karate kick, high, while she was wearing a skirt. I saw the white panties. When her leg came down, the back of her skirt was flipped up and she got all embarrassed, flattening it back down, blushing, laughing. I laughed with her and teased her, told her it was too late. I told her I’d seen enough…

Summer at your aunt’s house can be boring. Away from your friends, you don’t have much to do. You start making friends in the area and spending time doing whatever they do. Saturdays, I would work on my motorcycle, do yardwork, work on my truck, whatever. Often, Tori would come across the street and hang around, doing not very much. Just hanging around. Talking. Listening to music. Sometimes she would help. We would flirt a kind of innocent flirting—she had no idea how totally beautiful she was. She just had someone closer to her age in the area, who listened to similar music, liked soccer. What a completely wonderful thing to have someone so totally unaware of her effect on men be so open, so close, with one who knows completely the effect she’s having. It was sweet, amazing, torture.

One Saturday afternoon, I was under my car, getting ready to change the oil. I lay under there, feet sticking out in the sun, talking to myself, when I hear her say, “Having fun? What’re you doing?”

“Changing the oil.”

“Oh cool. Is that hard?”

“Not really. You should learn how so when you’re driving, you don’t have to overpay a guy to do it for you.”

“Okay! Show me.”

I agreed. She was standing toward the front of the car, near my feet. I could see her knees, calves, and feet. I could see the lower edge of a skirt. I started to wriggle out from under the car and as I came out, I was looking up at her. Her skirt showed her white panties, the faint, crinkly hint of pubic hair. My breath caught. I couldn’t stand up. I had to bend my knees to hide my excitement. I told her she might want to go home and put on some jeans so she didn’t ruin her knees or clothes. She assured me she was just fine. Okay. My heart pounded.

I told her to climb on down, and I’d show her around the engine. What they do when they change oil. I grabbed a towel from the garage for her to lay on and I crawled under the car. She crawled in with me.

We lay under there in the cool shade, me pointing out the oil pan, the filter, the plug, explaining how it all works together, and what we were going to do. It’s a Toyota, so it’s pretty narrow and we were very close together. I could smell her. Our hips were touching, our arms touched as we pointed at things, our faces so close when we turned to talk. I could smell her breath.

I Told her to wait a moment while I got the plug wrench. When I crawled out and stood up, I looked down at her. She had her knees up and feet flat on the ground. Knees slightly apart. Her skirt was basically up around her waist, her panties on full display. The downy pillow of pubic hair more obvious now that the sun was causing shadows. As happens when you’re wiggling around under a car, her underwear were giving her a wedgie. I said, “Hey! Nice wedgie!” “Oh my gosh!” She reached her hands down, slid her thumbs under the edges, and unjammed the panties.

I caught a flash of young, sweet, beautiful, pink.

I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t get back under there with her. I couldn’t be trusted. I felt like I would lose control of myself and take her in my driveway. I couldn’t do it. I wanted her too badly. I needed her. I needed to touch her, bite her. I needed to split her wide open, to bury myself inside her over and over and over.

Cooler heads prevailed. I handed down the wrench and told her to open the oil pan. A little coaching and she had it. I watched her panties all the time. The squirming against the torqued down bolt. The sudden recoil when the bolt fell out and she got oil on her arm and screamed a little. The growing cameltoe. The sweat starting to bead on her thighs as her skin started to give in to the sun’s relentless onslaught. Her legs spreading, straightening, bending, over and over. The wedgie getting deeper.

When it was all done, and she came out, she had soot on her face from the underside of the car, and oil on her forearm. I walked her around and into the garage to get cleaned up. We stood there laughing about being filthy. I called her a dirty girl. She flashed me these eyes that told me that maybe she wasn’t quite as naïve as I thought. She chased me around the garage with her oily forearm, threatening to show me what dirty was. It had gone from innocent flirting into something altogether different.

I brought her to the work bench and got a rag down. I keep them up on a high shelf that I can reach but is too high to be much good for anything else. I turned to her and held her chin while I wiped away the grime. There was a silence. It was that silence that happens when two people aren’t sure what the protocol is. Aren’t sure whats happening. They know something is going on, but the right path isn’t clear. I was 24 years old. She was 15. The right path was for her to get the fuck out. But other things felt like the right path too. Competing impulses and urges. Vertigo.

She turned, nudged me back, and tried to reach for another rag to clean her arm. Her back to me, her ass against me. I turned quickly and said I’d be back with some hand cleaner to break down the drying oil.

When I got back I saw her standing on top of my workbench with her head up in the ceiling. There’s an opening to a crawl space there, and she was looking around it, pointing a flashlight around. She asked me what was in all the boxes up there. Other boxes mostly, and crap.

I stood below her, gazing up her long tan legs, and into the abyss. I was so near it. But so far. For a moment, horrible things flashed through my mind. Briefly considered forcing myself on her. I shook it off. She deserved better than that. I wanted to see pleasure on her face. I wanted her to want me—not fear me. I wanted her love. I wanted her whole self.

She started to climb down the step stool she’d used to climb up. I was right under her. She faced me, I faced her, and she started down. At the second from the top step, her panties were inches from my face. She said, “Help me down.” I did. I reached up my hands. I decided then that I would dare to touch her skin with my hands. I reached them up, on the inside of her skirt. I held her hips. Her skin was warm and damp with sweat. Smooth like only young skin is. It was so intimate and private. I didn’t dare breathe. I didn’t want to wake from the dream. She stepped down one, and two steps. I slid my hands upward to “help her”, by bracing her rib cage. As my hands slid up, the skirt flipped up too, exposing her hips, her ass, her front to me. I could smell her. I inhaled deeply. I looked her in the eyes, my own saying “is this okay?”. She looked back into mine. She wasn’t breathing either. My hands slid up to hold her rib cage, my thumbs right at the edge of her breasts, just where the underwire stops.

When she reached the bottom step, we were face to face, our bodies just touching. In silence.

The more logical side of my brain took over in that instant. I handed her the soap and she cleaned up and left. No more words were said for a week.


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After that day, I knew in my heart of hearts that there would be something for us together. I didn’t know what, or how, or why she’d been sent into my life, but I knew we’d be together. Even now, just thinking of that day takes my breath away. It makes my hands tremble and shake with anticipation, even though I know it’s all over and done with.

For a week, whenever she’d see me from across the street, she would look away. I’d tried to shout a friendly hello once, and got no response. I was pretty sure it was over. I’d made her uncomfortable, and she had responded in kind, by deciding I was a creeper. In hindsight, I guess I sort of was, but I still wanted her. I still watched her from my window. In my mind, I still claimed her as mine. It was the following Saturday before she even acknowledged me at all.

My wife went out of town, a two-hour drive down to her parents’ house to visit some relative who was in town from Arizona or some place. I’d spent Friday evening with friends, a movie and a bar. The plan for Saturday was to wake up earlyish and cut down a tree in my backyard, then cut it up into logs small enough to stick in the fireplace once they’d dried. A Saturday well spent, in my opinion.

I didn’t start early. Not at all. I started a full 4 hours later than planned, due to being out late. It was already hot, but I had committed to my wife that I’d get this tree done, so I started in on it about 11am. The sun was already beating down angrily on me. Sunscreen. I needed sunscreen or I’d come over all Scottish and look like a wilted raspberry. Can’t have that. I brought some out, rubbed it all over my arms and neck and face. Then got to work.

About 30 minutes into it, after I’d gone up and tied a guide rope so the tree would fall away from anything, I was getting ready to cut. Chainsaw lubed, guide rope tight, everything ready to go…I’m standing there looking, reviewing, and planning, and I hear Tori behind me. She asks if I need any help.

She startled me and I jumped around like an idiot. I was mixed and conflicted with simultaneous feelings of surprise, general startled fright, joy and gladness, excitement, and I was freaking out just a little. She laughed and laughed at my jumping around—so I played it up. I loved to hear her laugh. Of course I’d like help. Told her I loved it when she helped. I told her she always helps a lot more than she realizes. She was happy about this and asked for gloves.

When I returned from the garage carrying gloves made for smaller hands, I saw she’d removed her baggy sweatshirt, and she wore a light, almost white, tank top. Tight against her lithe frame, strong athlete’s shoulders and arms shining in the hot sun. And yellow shorts. Not quite booty shorts, but short, denim, yellow. Cut about an inch below the crotch. They weren’t low-rise shorts, but even so, her tank top was short enough that her flat, firm, tanned stomach was on full display. I blushed, became distracted, and muttered something about her looking great today, and tossed the gloves to her.

I explained the plan. How she would use the guide rope, pulling, while I chainsawed. That the tree would fall this way while she went that way. That we would cut off the branches before cutting the trunk into pieces. And that once everything was cut up, we would stack the wood up in the corner of the yard to dry. She made a remark about how she liked that I explained things and didn’t treat her like a kid, that it made her feel really smart. I ventured out on the proverbial limb and told her that not only was she smart, but she was drop-dead beautiful too—I told her she was the total-package. She smiled huge, eyes wide and happy, hands behind her back, and bounced a little on the balls of her feet. Thanked me.

We worked. The plan went off without a hitch. The tree with this way, she went that way, everyone safe and out of danger. We did make a good team. The fun rapport we had when working on Carol’s yard was there, plus a little more. The flirting was more obvious. If any of the neighbors were listening over the fence, they’d know what was going on, but wouldn’t see either of us. We would be safe. She teased me about my “stylish” beige work pants and boots, and my very old, baggy shirt. I teased her about being a girl, having girly muscles, be-careful-or-you-might-smudge-your-makeup stuff.

With the tree felled, I went inside and got big cups of ice water. The temp was in the 90’s outside, and when I handed Tori her cup, the first thing she did was tilt her head back, and pour some over her forehead. It ran quickly over her face, down her long neck, to her collarbones, funneled down and inward, and ran eagerly between her young, supremely fine breasts.

I think the cold was unexpected. Now she was jumping around like an idiot, howling with laughter at the ice-cold water. Goosebumps everywhere. Her nipples were shooting out under her top like marbles. I laughed at her and told her about the goosebumps. This is when things changed for us.

She walked to the window and examined herself, rubbing down the goosebumps and she noticed she was getting sunburnt. I didn’t notice any of that in that moment. I only noticed the tightness of her shorts. Her sweating had made them stick to her, in places I shouldn’t have been looking. They went up her butt, they made a very obvious and pronounced cameltoe—the two sides puffy from the heat. Her legs shiny with sweat. I went into a kind of daze staring at her.

Sunscreen. She was asking for my sunscreen. I snapped out of it, grabbed it from the ground, and tossed it to her.

There was nowhere to set her drink or the sunscreen tube down in the yard except on the length of the felled tree, so she hopped over to it. The cup and the sunscreen tube balanced precariously on an empty section of trunk that stood a little over three feet high because of the branches against the ground. She did her arms, bent over facing away from me and did her legs. Long and slow. She glanced back at me a few times while she did it. When she noticed me staring, slackjawed, she slowed further, smiled, and looked me in the eyes while she did it. She knew exactly what she was doing. Behind her, the bottom edge of her white panties peeked out under her shorts, her toe was pronounced and obvious. Finishing her legs, she stood up, and pulled up her tank top, exposing her athlete’s torso and tucked the shirt up underneath and rubbed the sunscreen slowly over it. Looking at me in the eyes. I didn’t move. I was stuck there, rooted to the ground. Incapable of anything. Frozen with awe and wonder, filled with uncertainty about what I should be doing. Dizzy. When she asked me to do her back, I came around and agreed, probably without saying anything, but instead grunting something unintelligible.

She pulled her shirt back down and then grabbed the sides, and lifted the back only, up and around her shoulders—modesty of course dictated that she kept her breasts covered, but she wanted the sunscreen on her whole back so she wouldn’t end up with burn lines where the tank straps moved around. I squirted too much into my hand. I applied it, and kept applying it. There was too much! I had to keep rubbing her bare, lean, skin, tan and strong under my fingers. I went up and down her back. I went to the sides, reached slightly around, but not all the way, I went up, my fingers ran smoothly to the start of the curve of her breast. I ran them back down, to where her shorts terminated on her waist. I said, “Down her too?” We had been silent while I touched her. There was no more laughing. In a throaty, scared and uncertain voice, she responded, “yes please. I don’t want to burn.”

“You’ll need to unbutton them a little so I can get under the edge.”


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She turned around and looked up at me. Her hands moved slowly to the buttons at the front of her shorts. She undid one button, then two. She left two buttons still done. She wiggled her narrow hips and pulled the shorts down a tiny bit, exposing the top band of her white cotton panties. She turned her back to me once more, slowly, looking back at me over her shoulder. She leaned forward, placing her palms on the horizontal tree trunk, and pushed her hips and ass back toward me. Until it touched me. She was pressed, hands on the tree, ass back into my crotch, looking back at me. A wisp of hair had fallen out of her pony tail and lay lazily on her neck. I reached forward slowly and brushed it out of the way. Her arms and back gave in to goosebumps again and she shuddered, wriggling against me. My dick was hard, pressing forward and upward, tight in my pants. This 15 year old goddess in an athlete’s body. I held her shoulders, I massaged them lightly, I pulled myself forward toward her pressing harder against her, I ran my hands down, to her hips, to the edge of her panties. There was no pretense anymore. The sunscreen was long gone. Long dried. The tips of my fingers ran under the edge of her panties, my thumbs pressing into the strong muscles of her glutes. I found the bones of her hips and held her there. She still stared back at me. My left hand crept forward and around. “Can’t forget the front,” I breathed.

“No. can’t forget the front.”

I held her there moment longer. Still pressed against her back side. Still motionless. My fingers still under the edge of her panties. Another two inches forward and I would reach her pubic hair. I knew it. I didn’t know if she knew it. She played a dangerous game now.

My left hand still firmly planted, holding her hip, I reached my right hand up, dragging my fingers along the elongated muscles of her back, up to her shoulder. I pulled her upright, back still to me, still pressed firmly against me.

I wrapped my sweaty arm around her shoulders, from the right, gripping her left shoulder, holding her to me. My left hand moved against her young body. My fingers slid across her belly, just under her panties. Not low enough to touch pubic hair, but low enough, quite low enough, to show her I wanted her there in my backyard. Up, and down her front, her naval, her side, to the bottom of her breasts, under her shirt. I explored her body with my hands. Her breath came in shallow, ragged bursts. Mine didn’t come at all.


She broke the stillness by reaching forward for her water cup. She took a slow, considered drink of it and tried to put it back. When she did, it fell. It fell over the other side. Between the tree and the fence. She stepped forward, out of my embrace and tried to reach over the tree trunk to get it, but it had fallen too far. She leaned over, the trunk pressed into her stomach, her toes coming off the ground. I said, “I’ll steady you.” And put my hands on her hips. Her ass, up in the air, the sweaty, sticky denim shorts pressing and pulling, showing me her swollen pussy lips against the fabric.

“See if you can reach it from underneath.” She strained.

I did. I dropped to my knees and reached under the tree, into its leaves, and got the cup.

As I backed out and tried to stand, I grabbed the back of her thighs to help me get up. This put me face to face with Tori’s hot, sweaty, puffy, 15 year old crotch. She was still leaned too far over the tree and needed my help to get up. She didn’t get it.

I held her thighs, and I leaned closer. I smelled her. Her scent was musty and hot. Sweet perfume and sweat. I blew gently on the sweat. Goosebumps raised again, she wriggled again. The seam of her shorts pushing further between her lips. I held her there, with my face between her legs, my nose mere centimeters from her asshole, and I turned my face to the skin of her upper thigh and I kissed her.

Gently at first. Then hungrily. Kissing the inside of her upper thigh, biting.

“this is hurting my stomach.” She said from the other side of the tree. I barely heard her, but I complied. I stood. I helped her down. But she didn’t go anywhere. She stayed right there, bent forward. So I knelt again, and resumed my exploration.

My hands moved up and down her strong smooth thighs. My lips traveled, occasionally stopping to kiss, but mostly just sliding gently on her tan skin. Ankle, knee, thigh. I asked quietly if she would like to turn around and lean back on the tree. She did. From my knees, I looked up as she looked down. She clearly didn’t know what to exactly, so I led.

I slid my hands upward. I found the bottom of her shorts. My fingers under her shorts, outside on her hips. Upward, fingers under the hem of her panties. We continued our locked stare into each other’s eyes. I moved slow, giving plenty of time and attention to every touch and movement. Also giving her time to stop me. With my fingers under her shorts, under the sides of her panties, I spread my hands. My fingers went around the back of her narrow hips to the skin of her butt, and my thumbs went forward, to the edges of the cushion of soft, young, 15 year old pubic hair.


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This story is fantastic, erotic, spellbinding and beautifully written. More, please, more... And soon!


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My god more please MORE


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There's so much more to this. I just can't deal with it until monday.


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We stayed that way for long moments. On my knees before the object of my worship. Her eyes looking down into mine, her lips slightly parted, breathing shallow and slowly…My thumbs teasing the edges of the forbidden city. I did not dive right into it all. I was afraid to scare her or force her. There were no words to say. Only the silence of unspoken volumes. Very slowly, without moving my hands, I kissed her thigh. I came up and lightly kissed her belly. We never broke eye contact.
Somewhere in the distance, someone was mowing a lawn. There was a plane going overhead somewhere. A few birds somewhere else. A car engine. Then a VERY sudden slap on the fence, a huge loud rustle! We both freaked out completely. I stood, FAST. She turned away from the sound, FAST and buttoned her shorts. I looked around, desperately hoping we hadn’t been caught by a nosy neighbor, by Carol coming to find Tori. A cat. A fucking cat.

I pointed and laughed at the cat sitting on the corner of the fence, in the shade of the neighbor’s tree, settling in for a long afternoon of napping. Tori laughed too. She was so nervous. Her hands shook and eyes darted this way and that, worried. She took my hand and said we should probably go inside. Agreed.

We walked up the deck, to the back door. I opened it for her and let her pass first.

My fences are high enough that anyone on the ground can’t see over. But on my deck, I can look over into my neighbor’s yard, and into the window of his second bedroom. He can see me also, but only when I’m on the deck. As I looked left to verify that nobody was watching me walk this 15 year old, half naked girl into my house, I glanced into 67-year-old Frank’s window. He had the same idea I did. He was sitting, naked in his chair, looking at naked young ladies on his computer screen. I started laughing pretty hard as I closed the back door.

Tori: “What’s so funny?”
Me: “Oh, Frank’s over there looking at porn and masturbating.”
Tori: “Gross!”
Me: “What’s gross? Masturbating or FRANK masturbating?”
Tori: “I dunno, Both! Looking at porn!”
Me: “Why is looking at porn gross?
Tori: “Because some older guy is looking at some girl and wants to have sex with her and she has no idea!”

I didn’t argue the point that the girls in the pictures no exactly what they’re doing. I just thought for a second and eventually said, “Come with me.”

I led her to the front of the house, to the window where I would stand and watch her. I pulled the cord and opened the blinds.

Instantly she knew I’d been watching her. She turned to me and asked, “Wait. You watch me?” “Yes. And I masturbate sometimes.” As her face turned to one of confusion and uncertainty, I added, “Tell me why masturbating is gross?”

“Well, it just is…I mean…its like….you have to….because….its just gross okay!”

I asked, “So, you’ve never masturbated?”

An uncertain, “No.”

I moved sideways and stood behind her. My right hand on the skin of her right hip, just above her shorts, but lower than her shirt. And I leaned in to her with my head over her left shoulder, so I could whisper to her. With my lips turned into the heat of her long, slender neck, and my nose gently touching into the fine hairs behind her ear, I asked very slowly and softly, “You mean to tell me, you’ve never run the tips of your finger up your arm? Maybe across your collarbone? Maybe up the side of your neck? Back down? Traced the muscles of your shoulder? Maybe slid a finger under the strap of your bra?”

As the words left my mouth, I mimicked them. I traced my forefinger up her arm, from her hand to her shoulder. Slowly across her collarbone. Up the side of her neck and around her ear. Down her jaw to her chin. Down her throat. Back across her collarbone to her shoulder and finally the fine strap of her bra. I slid the tip of my finger under it, and moved up, and down. From shoulder to the cup. I did not go past the cup.

“Have you ever done that?” I breathed into her ear.

“No.” Voice shaky and quiet.

“Have you ever pulled the strap of your bra off your shoulder and imagined a boy you like kissing it? Kissing your neck? Lightly and slowly? Giving you goosebumps over your whole body? Holding you tightly as he did it?

Again, I mimicked my own words, as though following a script. With the finger under the strap, I popped it off her shoulder. I leaned forward and gently planted kisses there. On the back of her shoulder. Sliding my lips inward toward her neck, up. She gasped aloud as I touched with my tongue and then when I blew on it, her body washed with goosebumps. Completely covered. I pulled her tight to me. She didn’t fight me. On the contrary, she leaned back into me.

“No, I never have,” she sort of croaked.


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“That’s too bad. Because what usually comes next is great. Maybe you’ve tried it? “

“What is it?”

I mimicked as I narrated into her ear, “Well, sometimes…you run your fingers under the edge of your top. From the outside to the middle. Sometimes you trace the top curve of your breast, down to the middle. Sometimes, you squeeze it gently. Sometimes you squeeze it a little harder.”

Her knees nearly buckled when I squeezed her small, young, very firm breast. She leaned harder into me and I held her harder against me. My chest on her back, her lower back pressed into my stomach, and my exploding excitement pressed into the valley between her cheeks. I held her still a moment.

“No.” Almost inaudible. “Never.”

“How about running your hand down your side. Tracing your ribs? Sliding your hand under your shirt.”

I allowed my right hand to let go her hip and reach up under the back of her shirt and undo her bra quickly and then replaced it, and pulled her back into me.

“Or slid your hand up and touched your breast? Maybe you were a little scared when you did it? Hmm? Maybe you touched your nipple. Maybe it was hard and sensitive.” Her nipple obeyed me. “Maybe you outlined it with your finger. Maybe you pinched it a little. “ She gasped aloud and the goosebumps came back. I kissed into her neck again, this time very firmly and hungrily.

“Never.”

“Maybe while you imagined your lover holding you and touching your breasts, you imagined turning your face to him so he could kiss your lips. “ She did. She didn’t really know how, that was certain. Her eyes remained open looking straight into mine as first she let me kiss first one lip, then the other. I used my mouth to part hers and I began to lick and probe. She breathed through her mouth into mine as I explored. When I broke the kiss, she said gently, “Never.”

“Never? You never slid your hand down, and imagined your lover unbuttoning your shorts? One button, then two? Three? Four? You haven’t thought about your lover running his nails from your belly button, slowly down to your panties? Maybe sliding a finger or two under the seam? Where it’s private and sensitive and the skin is so soft? Where only your lover gets to touch you? You haven’t pushed your middle finger down into your thin hair? Haven’t parted your legs a little?” She obeyed and then moments of stillness passed. “Not even between your li..”

As soon as I touched her clit, she buckled. She bent forward with her body fighting her, not understanding the sensation. She put her hands on the window sill to steady herself. Her knees were shaking. Her elbows were shaking. Her breathing was ragged and unsteady. I held her hips there against me. She looked back at me with panic in her eyes, a kind of disoriented bewilderment.

“Have you ever done that?”

A submissive, “No, I haven’t.”

“Then you probably haven’t rubbed the opening of your vagina before.” She buckled again. “And you haven’t slid your middle finger into yourself.” Her breath caught, throaty and loud.

She was warm and tight. I pulled her back upright and against me. Her bra strap hanging off, one breast exposed by an uplifted shirt. A grown man holding her to him, whispering sex into her ear, occasionally quieting to bite her neck. A strong adult arm wrapped around her, down into her white cotton, adolescent panties, the tip of a thick finger in her pussy, not deep, and the length of the finger running up her clit, rubbing up and down, and very shallow in and out in her opening. I could feel her hymen there. I didn’t want to break it. Not yet anyway—no pain this time. I wanted to let her enjoy her first orgasm for what it was. The total body experience, brought to fruit by someone else, not forced by an evening alone in bed, but by a man who wanted her completely and totally, who wanted to know everything there was to know about her, both physically and spiritually. She her head and began kissing my mouth, hungrily, tonguing, biting

As her orgasm finally came, she tightened around my finger. High pitched sounds from her throat, hard and fast breathing, up on her toes, muscles in her legs and arms tensed, her mouth opened and stayed open, voicing into my mouth as I kissed her and rubbed her.

It subsided slowly, with spasms and shakes.

“No. I have definitely never done that.”


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Oh thanks for this, me and the girls check this page when ever we can, this has to be the sexiest confession story I have read ever. just know that you also made me read it three times and each time was better than the first :)
She is pretty too the girl in your pictures, I share mine too as thanks


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My finger slid out from her, and my grip on her waist loosened as she came down from her first mountaintop experience. She was laughing, mouth wide open, from her throat, muttering things like “oh my god” and “wow” and “holy shit” and so on. She tried to turn around, but her legs refused to obey her. The jelly knees, shaking and twitching and unsteady. Skin sensitive everywhere. Everything she tried to say came out as gibberish. It was so beautiful.

It put me in mind of my own first orgasm. I had no idea what had just happened. I remember staring at my mom’s Victoria’s Secret magazine and rubbing myself until my whole body felt like fire. I smiled to myself, I looked into her eyes and helped turn her around, and held her steady by the waist. I leaned in and kissed her on the mouth. “Do you need to sit down? “ She nodded. One hand on her waist and the other leading her by the hand, I walked her to the couch. I walked into the kitchen and brought her a glass of water. She pounded the water, half choking at the end with breaths still coming short. Still smiling wide with her mouth open. Eventually, she asked, “What the hell did you just do to me?!”

I wanted her to respond in kind. I wanted her to start in on me, but I could see I would have to wait. Torture. Fucking torture. I was laughing with her though. This was awesome for her. She’d just had her first orgasm. I’d given her that gift. My own gift could wait. How noble of me.

“You’ve really never had an orgasm?”

“I guess not! My friend Julia said she had one and she tried to describe it, but it wasn’t like that. She just said you felt good all over. But that was WAY better!”

“Still think masturbating’s gross?”

“HELL NO! THAT’S FUCKING AWESOME!”

“The real thing is much better. Has a boy ever touched you? ”

“Once. Sort of. This guy from school. He was really rough though. He just wanted to squeeze my boobs. It didn’t feel nice.”

“But it was nice when I did it? “ I moved my hand to her leg and scooted in close to her on the couch. So we both lie back, slouched, with our legs touching. I traced little circles above her knee. Her shorts were still unbuttoned. My mind raced still.

“Yeah. Really nice.” She was quieter now.

“Did you touch him, too? “

“Well, sort of. Like, Julia, she told me about giving her boyfriend a blowjob and if I like someone I should do it too. So I was gonna. We were at the parking lot by the movies, by his car. We were kind of kissing. He didn’t use his tongue like you did. It was like really like pokey—not soft. Like he was just sticking it in and out in my mouth. And his breath was kinda bad. And like I said he was just like squeezing my boobs over my hoodie. “

I started to hate the kid.

“So, you said you ‘were’ gonna give him a blowjob. What happened?”

“He put my hand on the front of his pants where his dick is and kind of made me rub it up and down for a minute. And then told me to unzip his pants. I thought that was like how it went, ya know? Like he would tell me what to do and I’d do it. “

“You never have to do anything you don’t want to, Tori. Especially if a guy is telling you to do something sexual. You’re the woman, so you’re in control of everything. “ She smiled when I called her a woman.

“What do you mean?”

“All guys want to have sex with all women. That’s the way it is. You’re the woman,” she smiled again, “so you control it. You have what we want. If you say no, that means no. And if you say yes, then there you go…”

“Even with you?” She asked.

“Yes. Especially with me. What we just did is illegal. You’re 15. I could go to jail for that.”

“Oh you shouldn’t go to jail. That felt so good.”

“I agree, but that’s the law. And probably Carol would kill me. And your parents would kill me. And my wife would kill me. So don’t say anything to anyone, okay? Please?” She nodded and voiced agreement. “So what happened after you unzipped his pants?”

“Well he sort of stood up real fast and like grunted when I was pulling his zipper down. And then when I reached into his boxers it was all slimy. I got grossed out. I didn’t want his slimy dick in my mouth.”

Oh fuck. The little asshole. I thought I’d kill him. Fucker jizzed in his drawers and turned this divine young thing against cum. Shithead.

I laughed at him aloud. She asked, “What? What’s so funny?”

“The kid didn’t know what he was doing. He got so excited about you touching him that he came too early and grossed you out. That dipshit. “ She laughed with me.

It reminded me of my own first blowjob. Heather was her name. I was 14 or 15 and she was a year older than me. We were at a pool and she’d followed me into the changing room. She told me not to cum in her mouth. But as soon as she put her warm mouth on me, I pulled her head back off and shot cum in her hair. She was pissed.” I told Tori about it, and that time and practice is all it takes. It gets a lot better as the guy gets older and has more experience.

“So cumming is like an orgasm…like mine…right? “

“Yeah, pretty much the same except the guy makes a mess. Didn’t you have Sex Ed at school?”

“Yeah but you don’t really pay attention. “

She stood up quickly and walked toward the kitchen, “You got any snacks? I’m starving!”


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>>169461 - Charmaine - you have probably seen me post here over the last few months; I've certainly seen your posts. I just want to say that I really hope the photo you posted of yourself is actually you because the image I see if of a very beautiful woman indeed...


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>>169463 - Rancidpants: This story just gets better and better - many thanks! :)


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I’d eaten a pretty big breakfast and didn’t need snacks. Her young and strong metabolism probably ran circles around mine though, so I showed her the cupboard where we keep snacks. She chose cheeze-its. I pulled down a bowl, and I poured some in.

There was conversation about how cheeze-its are so great…nothing memorable. The whole time I just stood there, still with a hard-on, my mind racing, trying to figure out how to steer the conversation back to sex and sex related topics. I still needed her. I needed release or I’d have the worst case of blue balls on record. This was made so much worse by the fact that her bra was still unclasped in the back, still hanging off her shoulder, and her little yellow denim shorts were still unbuttoned…her panties just hanging right out there. This little girl had no idea the state I was in and unless she figured it out, I’d go crazy.

Very abruptly, I steered the conversation back where it had been, and where I needed it to be. “So, what was this guy’s name? The one you didn’t give a blowjob to?”

“Oh!” She looked and sounded surprised that I was still thinking about it. She stuck more crackers in her mouth, and said, “Mason. He’s just a guy at school. “

I said, “You know, that slimy stuff really isn’t gross. Well, maybe it is when you stick your hand into a guy’s pants and it’s already slimy, but when things are right and you make it happen yourself, it’s really pretty great. Girls do it too, a little. I bet if you touched your hoohoo right now, or looked at your panties, they’d be all wet. “ She laughed when I called it her hoohoo.

She didn’t even question me. She didn’t even bat an eye. Her hand went straight down into her shorts. She touched herself and brought it up. Still wet. Very wet actually. She raised it to her nose and sniffed it. She recoiled a little at the smell. It can be unexpected. When I stepped to her and took her hand and raised it to my lips, she looked at me like I was crazy. I smiled broadly, “And it’s delicious.” I slipped two of her fingers into my mouth.

Truth be told, it tasted like cheeze-its. She’d just had her hand in the bowl, then she’d touched her pussy. Either way though, I made a very satisfied, “mmmm.” She looked at me, astonished for a second, unbelieving what I was doing. I asked, “Wanna try?” And with her mouth hanging wide open, she nodded silently.

I reached my own hand down to her panties, I traced another line up to her navel, and back down again, down, below into her warm, wet, adolescent darkness.

Again, as before, as soon as I touched her clit, she buckled. This time a little more violently than before, but she steadied herself against the counter. She was much more sensitive now, and her lips were puffier. Her eyes stayed closed as I rubbed the area around her pussy lips—first one side, then the other, pressing the meaty sides, then slowly, in between. I ran my finger up the length, and withdrew it. I brought it to her lips. I ran my wet finger along her lower lip and her tongue came out slowly, her eyes opened as she closed her lips and sucked her femininity off my finger.

This time it was my knees that started to buckle. This was the most incredible thing I’d ever seen—fingers covered in adolescent, virgin pussy juice, being sucked clean by the same adolescent virgin, with her eyes staring straight back into mine.

Slowly, I removed my fingers form her mouth. “Good, huh?” Her mouth slack, she nodded again. I whispered, “I love it. “ and began to kneel again right there in my kitchen.

As I knelt, I planted kisses against her, first the firm breastplate, then the upper curves of her breasts, my hands roaming slowly, then her stomach. I lifted the hem of her tank top and explored her ribs and belly with my lips. Slowly downward, to the edge of her exposed panties. My fingers found their way under the top seam again, on both hips. I dragged my fingers along the sides, pulling slightly down, but not tugging her panties off.

My right hand found her knee, slid up her long, muscled thigh, to her hip, under her shorts again. I turned my hand around so the palm faced out, back toward me. And slid my fingers under the seam of her panties, just in front of her hip. I slid them slowly downward toward her wispy hairs, toward the source of all life in the world. Right then, this was life. This was everything. I kissed her left thigh, high up, right where her shorts terminated. I continued to stare up into her young face. My Aphrodite. My Venus.

“Can I touch you again?” Breathless, mouth agape, looking down into my eyes, she nodded again.

My fingers slid down, pulling the seam of her panties away from her, my knuckles running along the most private places and finally settling partly on her hole, and partly on her clit. Her breathing came faster, her eyes shut, her brow furrowed, her lips pulled back some, bearing her teeth, and her head tilted down. She was on fire.

“Can I take your shorts off? “ Her eyes opened, and she looked uncertain. “Remember Tori, you’re in charge. I won’t do anything you say I can’t. “ She looked into my pleading eyes, and nodded ascent.

I pulled her shorts from the top. They came easily down her long legs, and I guided one of her feet out of them. I leaned back slightly on my knees to take in all of her beauty. Her flat, firm tummy, her narrow but feminine hips, her white cotton panties covering her prominent mound, and her lips, wet and swollen against the fabric as it stuck to her first orgasm and as her body anticipated another. I moved closer in toward her, placing more of my body between her legs, she parted them. My fingers found her panties again and this time my kisses did not end at her shorts. They moved upward, inward, into the sensitive skin just outside her panties. I pulled them aside a little, slowly making the journey into her most private places.

I asked, eyes pleading again, “I’d really like to taste you. Could I? Would that be okay? “ She nodded ascent again. I followed up, “I’ll need you to take your panties off. “ She did.

Again I leaned back and took in the majesty. Her panties slid down her thighs, past her knees, and over her calves. She stepped out of them and parted her legs where they were. Her hands instinctively covered her pubic hair. I took her hands in mine and parted them. Like moses crossing the red sea, the promised land lie on the other side. Her thin and sparse pubic hair was more than I could bear. Just a bit there, only going up a little ways, light in color despite her having brown hair.

I’d never seen anything like it in all my life. My wife, though fit and active and well groomed, had a massive amount of pubic hair. The girls I’d been with late in high school and in college had damned bird’s nests down there. But this was something else. This was astonishing. I felt if I tried, I could count them. Thirty hairs? Maybe 50? And not long, not thick. Just thin, somewhere between blonde and red.

I leaned in, I browsed the top of her pubic hair with my lips and with my fingers. I moved them easily across her, through the hair to her outer lips. I stopped there and ran my tongue along the top of her crease, and down, to her small, young, very swollen, very sensitive, beautiful clit.


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yes, its me in the picture and thanks for liking it. Wish I was a bit more girl figure i think I have a boy body all straight, not like the girls here hehe


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>>169469 - Charmaine, understand one thing - not all men like huge boobs and hour-glass figures on a woman. I for one love and prefer petite, slim women with small boobs. Please don't think you are somehow less appealing than a more voluptuous woman! And please consider posting some more photos of yourself; you are beautiful :)


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>>169469 - Charmaine: please tell us you are OK after that dreadful Typhoon Haiyan in the Philippines.


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thanks yes ok, but much damage to our house and most of the city is without power, and water, it will be probably 3 months before CebuElectric will restore it they say. I go to an Internet Cafe with a generator to charge my CP and write this message, and so it might be some time between posts now, Unfortunately most my extended family lost their homes, its pretty bad here. Thanks for remembering me would not have expected it,


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>>169482 - Charmaine, thank you for replying. Really pleased to know you are alive but so sorry to read of the damage to your property and that of your relatives. The news in the UK has shown the utter devastation you are all facing, it looks truly horrendous.

I really cannot think of anything else to say to you; what do you say to someone in your position? There are no words that can 'help' other than to say that I and I'm sure other regulars to this board will be thinking of you. I hope there is a speedy recovery of your infrastructure and communities. Stay strong and take care Charmaine.

Kindest Regards, Duncs, from the UK.


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Awesome story excellently written! More please!


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I feel like I actually need to pause here and give a little context to the situation. Otherwise, this story is just going to turn into one about an adult preying on some minor for tawdry, filthy, illegalities. But the thing is, while the sex was illegal, and maybe morally reprehensible, there was so much more to the relationship than that.

As I said, when I met Tori, she was 15. She’s now 19, in college, still beautiful, and I love her. I lusted after her that first few months, but I grew to love her deeply—in a way I never loved my wife. We’re divorced now, largely because of my relationship with Tori. Although, my wife, or, ex-wife, never knew it was Tori. She just knew there was another woman. You see, over time, I began spending less and less time at home, I kissed her less and less, we slept together less and less, and eventually, I began to hate having her around.

I never mistreated my ex-wife, I never yelled or hit her. I just didn’t want her there. I wanted Tori. Initially, when my wife and I married, it was a shotgun wedding. She’d gotten pregnant, and we did the honorable thing. We married, and then she miscarried. Sometimes that creates a kind of deep, smoldering bitterness in a marriage—not always, but sometimes. In ours, it did. But we gave it a shot. We were married, we tried. We did the things married couples do. But we never really had that deep mutual admiration, the selfless sacrificing nature that you really need to make a marriage work. So in the end, we divorced. It was about 2 and a half years into my relationship with Tori that it happened. By then, Tori was getting ready to graduate high school, trying to figure out college plans, and we were deeply in love. To some degree, I think we still are.

After high school, she attended the local junior college. She spent a semester and a half there, and has now moved on to a university a few hours away. God…this sounds so cliché. She took a partial scholarship for soccer that she couldn’t pass up. I totally understand and don’t blame her in any way. She started my life and she’s starting her life now. I saw her a few weekends ago at a local restaurant. She was with friends. Some of them knew me, as we’d begun going out in public together after she turned 18. We spent time then with her friends. We spent some time with mine as well, but my friends didn’t approve of me dating someone so young (they had no idea how young we’d started, or else I would have been lynched). When I saw her, there was a young man as well. Maybe 20 or so. For a moment I was jealous, like, raging-with-the-fury-of-the-gods-jealous. But as I came out of the bathroom, Tori and I bumped into each other. I asked how everything was, she told me about this guy. How he was a joke. How she’d dated him twice, and then called it quits but by then, he had made friends with her friends and just wouldn’t stop hanging around. She said that I’d set an impossibly high bar for any man she would ever date.

I had treated her very well. I was not only her first sexual partner, but I was also the first man who ever gave everything to her. I never postured or jockeyed for her favor. Right from the get-go, I was honest with her. Turns out this is a very attractive quality. I told her about my childhood, about growing up without a dad, about working hard for the ones you love, about going after what you want and what you love, and always protecting the things you cherish. I had no idea I’d done all that until the day we decided to call it quits.

We didn’t break up because of incompatibility. We weren’t embroiled in a war of attrition. We weren’t having these epic skirmishes that never went anywhere. In fact, after my wife left, she’d begun staying over for days at a time. My home was her home. She helped me to pick out furniture, beddings, and various things to help repopulate my home when my wife left with half the stuff. Even now, looking over at the kitchen table, I still see the seat nearest the wall as “Tori’s seat.” When we did split up, it was because she wanted to pass on the scholarship to stay here with me. To just get a job and make a life with me. I told her I knew what it was to make a decision very early on that is very tough to take back—married at 21, after all. I told her that I knew what it was to live every day wanting to take that decision back, to hate yourself for it, to have missed out on learning new things with friends…bouncing checks, crashing a car and dealing with the insurance company…all those things that uniquely teach us to navigate within the world around us. I told her I wanted her to take the scholarship. Go to college. Go play soccer. Go make mistakes. Go learn what she wanted. And then, in a few years, if she still wants me, I will be here. I’m not going anywhere.

I haven’t had a sexual partner since she left. I don’t really find myself attracted to other women. I find myself comparing them to Tori. I look at a woman’s neck, and I see the way Tori’s hair would naturally pull itself back behind her perfect ear. I look at a knee or ankle, and I see the fine, strong bones in Tori’s legs. I see lips, and I close my eyes thinking of kissing Tori’s full, young mouth, tasting her tongue with mine, kissing her forehead and holding her when she cried, wiping her tears away when her grandmother passed away. I think about making love with fire and passion when we were almost caught together. I still have some of her clothes here and I sometimes open the drawer just to smell them.


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I mentioned that I didn’t want this to be some tawdry sex story, but the first time was so important, so good, that I can’t help but write about it.

So there I was, with my face buried in this nearly bald, young vagina, tonguing Tori’s clit very gently, up and down, down into her slit, back up, flicking her clit left and right, up and down. I bit down very gently and tongued it a little faster. Her breaths came faster, her hands went to the edge of the counter at her sides, steadying herself. Looking up as I worshiped, I loved when her face started to contort as if in pain, her upper lip peeled back and bared her teeth. She climaxed there on my tongue. The aftershocks shook her over and over. Her wetness dripped onto her thighs and covered my face.


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Her eyes opened slowly this time as I stood and came face to face with her. I took her lovely, smooth cheeks in my hand, and I kissed her greedily, starving, and I pressed myself into her. We stood that way pressed against the counter, kissing, my touching her, and her hands by her sides for minutes. Slowly, and very unsure, her hands made their way to my stomach, and down to my pants. She rubbed the front of my pants, feeling my excitement, squeezing every now and again, shy and uncertain. I thought I’d die.

“Maybe, do you want to try me? “

“I think I so. I’m not sure.”

“If you’re not sure, that’s okay. I mean, I’d love it, but if you aren’t ready, that’s alright.”

“No, I do. “ She started to kneel down. I caught her by the arm and told her, “It might be better if we go to the living room because the carpet won’t hurt your knees. “

We did. I led her by the hand out of the kitchen and back to the living room. I looked into her eyes and said, “It’s best if I sit on the chair,” She nodded and walked to it, looking sort of blank. I worried I was taking her too fast, too soon. So, I looked back into her eyes, I held her close to me, I kissed her and asked if she was still okay. She nodded. I asked if she would feel better if she had her panties back on. “I think so.” She walked the 15 feet back to the kitchen. Her bare ass cheeks wiggling and bouncing as they moved away from me. I noticed for the first time, a birthmark on the outside of her left cheek, near her hip. Oh my gosh.

She bent down and picked up her panties from the cold tile floor. For a brief moment, I got a tiny flash of her young, pink lips from behind. My breath caught, I got dizzy. I sat down on the chair. Tori walked back to me, dark tank top, white cotton panties, smiling, nervous, looking at me with both questions and determination. Sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

She knelt before me, slid forward between my legs, and started running her hand over the front of my pants, over the bulge of my penis, and stared at it. She never looked up. She just stared at my crotch as she reached for my belt. Slowly, she pulled my belt loose. She started to undo the top button of my pants. I reached down and held her hand, and I spoke slowly, “Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to.”

“Yeah I really do!” Here eyebrows raised high, she looked so excited.

She unbuttoned my fly, five buttons. My junk stood straight and stiff in my briefs. Straight up and down. The sides of my jeans pushed outward. Tori’s nimble hands mimicked my own from a few minutes prior. She pulled the jeans down to my ankles, she angled my knees out, and ran her fingers gently up the insides of my legs. She kissed my own thighs, crinkled her nose when my leg hairs tickled it. This was gorgeous. Young, inexperienced, beautiful Tori, with her hands and eyes exploring her first man. Up my thighs, to my underwear. Like me, she snaked her fingers under the seam, ran them back and forth, up and down. When the tips of her shaking fingers touched the shaft of my penis, I moaned loudly. I reached down and touched her arms. I ran my own hands up into her hair. She played over my underwear, running her fingernails up the length, to the head, to the top seam of my underwear. Her fingers wrapped under the seam and lifted and pulled them up and over the tip. I nearly came right then. I closed my eyes and forced myself to relax.

As she got her first glimpse full view of a penis, she made the most adorable face. It was somewhere between surprise, curiosity, awe, and a tiny bit of boy-that-thing-looks-weird. She touched my balls. The sack softs and loose from the heat. “It’s all sweaty!” she exclaimed. “It’s hot out. Plus it gets hotter when I’m excited. “ She ran the tips of her fingers through my hair, “It’s so hairy too!” I just nodded.

She spent a long time just examining it all. The balls, one lower than the other. The shaft, why it was sort of two colors—darker at the bottom than the top—the faint remainder of a scar from circumcision, the head, my pee hole. At every point, she ran her fingers over the spot in question. I was barely able to contain my excitement. I loved this. This 15 year old beauty learning about cock from me. But at her own pace. I was even a little proud of my own self-control—although, in hindsight, self-control would have been to not do this at all. I just watched her face the entire time. I watched her dark brown eyes as they moved up and down, around, focusing, leaning down occasionally to look closer.

Eventually, my penis got the idea that nothing was happening. My balls started to retreat, my dick started to deflate a little. She noticed and asked, “What’s happening?”

I patiently, gently, explained that even though my mind knew what was happening, my penis had the idea that it didn’t need to be excited anymore and was packing up and going home. At this she pouted. So cute. “Okay. How do I give a blowjob?”

Game time! I said, first, “Don’t call it a blowjob. It makes it cheap and dirty. Second, pretty much you can do whatever you want, using your mouth and tongue. “ She bent down and kissed the soft flesh, on the shaft. “Touch it gently, run your fingers over it. And you don’t just kiss it. You lick a little, and you suck on it, kind of in and out. “ She did as asked.

Her fingers went up the length, and I immediately came to attention. She licked up the shaft and said it was salty. Sweat, I told her. She licked up to the tip. “Now slide it into your mouth. Yes. Just like that. Run your tongue around on the tip in there. Yes. “ Oh my god. She had one hand on my balls, one hand on the shaft, and the tip in her mouth. Her chocolate eyes didn’t look up, they looked down at what she was doing. Suddenly she looked up and started speaking—with the tip of my dick still partly in her mouth, “when your sperm comes out, is it supposed to go in my mouth?” I was silent for a spell, “That’s up to you. You might not want to do that your first time.” “Okay, good,” she responded and then, “because I want to watch it come out.” And went back to work.

Holy shit.

She was no expert. She lacked in motion, technique, everything. She barely did anything. But after only a few short moments, I pulled her head back and told her I was going to cum. I put my own hand on hers, and slowly started her stroking me. Maybe ten seconds passed, and I came. Some shot straight up in the air, but most simply erupted outward, down, over her fine hand and down onto my hair and my balls.

The sudden explosion up into the air caught Tori by surprise. She gave a kind of sharp yelp, and started laughing when it all happened. I sometimes long for the wonder of being so young again. When all was done she brought her knuckles to her mouth and tasted it. She screwed up her face at the strange flavor.

In the minutes that followed there was a lot of laughing, giggling, she wiggled her ass at me a few times, she washed her hands, ate some more snacks. After not too long, I decided I needed to wash the cum out of my pubes before I put my underwear back on. I told her I was going to hose off in the shower and then I’d make us something to eat. I invited her to join me and she looked at me with one eyebrow raised, “maybe.”

She didn’t. When I got out of the shower, she was gone. I could see out the front window that she was back at her aunt’s house, doing something in the garage with Carol. But I did find a note on the counter, written in young, bubbly, hopeful letters, “My aunt was calling my name. I’ll come find you tomorrow. –T”

I laid down, not believing what had just happened, and slept for about 14 hours.


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Sunday I went to breakfast with a friend. I wanted so badly to tell him about Tori. I wanted to tell him how beautiful she was, how we’d passed the previous afternoon. How she’d never had an orgasm and how I’d been able to give her that gift. How I was so looking forward to going home and waiting for Tori to come over and continue learning each other’s bodies, learning what she likes, what will give her the most pleasure. I wanted to tell him about her hair and her ears, and her thin pubic hair, her birthmark, how she tasted, and the face she made when she’d tasted sperm for the first time. But I couldn’t. Torture. Absolute and total torture.

When I got home, I made sure to make my bed, in case our activities brought us there. I vacuumed the living room, did the dishes, showered and shaved again, combed my hair…I was like a teenager again – all full of angst and excitement.

Eventually, as my impatience grew, I made my way to the front window to look out on her. She was there, laying in Carol’s front yard, tanning in the noonday sun. Her legs were spread toward me. One hand lazily draped down over the side of the chair, idly fiddling the grass. The other hand running her fingers up over her neck, collar, shoulder; she was mimicking my own movements from the day before. I got excited, rubbed my pants for a moment, but decided not to masturbate. I just pulled up a chair and watched her doing it for a long time. It was beautiful.

Eventually she got up, folded her chair and moved it into the garage. She went inside. She didn’t come out. Saddened and deflated, I picked up a book, lay on the couch, and read until I fell asleep. I dreamt about her. Long, detailed dreams about sex, about making a life together. In my dreams, we were happy. I still dream about her; even more now that she’s gone. I dream now about her as an adult, raising kids with me and being old together. I want her back so badly. Sometimes I think I never should have told her to take the scholarship.

I woke with her kissing me on the cheeks and around my ear. At first I thought I was still dreaming. A beautiful dream, for sure, but not real. So, in my dream, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her down to me, laying on my chest, held tight, kissing her. The dream took its natural course, with our hands finding each other, running up and down each other’s bodies. To her breasts, to my crotch, to her ass and squeezing hard, up and around the back of her head, pressing our mouths together with hunger.

Slowly I woke and realized my dreams were real. Here, this treasure lay on me, looking into my sleepy eyes, smiling.

Heaven.

I made us some lunch, I don’t remember what it was, only that we barely ate any of it. We talked about everything. Her school, my work, her friends, my hobbies, soccer, track, everything. Eventually the conversation came around to our activities the day before. She just couldn’t believe that orgasms were so good. The conversation turned to masturbation. “Still think masturbation is gross?”

“No, but I have to tell you something,” she said sheepishly, “I tried to do it last night but I think I did it wrong. I started bleeding. I got really worried because it’s not time for my period. ”

I asked her to explain.

“Well, I was doing it, and like it felt good but it wasn’t like when you did it yesterday. It was like I was scratching an itch that wouldn’t go away. Like, I liked it but I didn’t have an orgasm so I thought maybe I was doing it wrong and so I tried to do it harder and I think I popped my cherry. It hurt kinda bad for a minute and then I saw blood so I stopped. It was a little bit sore this morning. “

Wow. Okay. So, she tried to beat off, got enthusiastic, and popped her cherry. Well. Okay. What do I even say to that? Only, “Wow. Okay. Well, um, how does it feel now?”

“I’m not sure. Like, I think pretty good. But I don’t know. “

“I see. Well, because I was gonna say if it still hurt, I’d be happy to kiss it better for you. “ Not a very slick line, but what the hell. When you’re with a girl, sometimes you say stupid things.

She smiled REALLY big and without a second of hesitation exclaimed, “Oh GOD, YES!” She launched herself across the table.


>>

Keep up the good work - this story is enthralling! :)


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There, on the chair in the kitchen, she straddled my lap. She was wearing a short skirt, and another tank top. Her white, b-cup bra straps showed over her shoulders. There on my lap, she kissed me mercilessly, holding my face in her hands. My own hands travelled up her legs, pushing her skirt up around her waist, up her sides, to her breasts, around, unclasping her bra, lifting her shirt. She ground her crotch against mine, her young pussy pressed against my own stiffness. When I pulled her top up over her head and tossed it aside, I got my first look at her perfect, firm, young breasts. One was smaller than the other, and I kissed that one first. She moaned and squealed with delight as I held them, kissing, touching, pinching, and eventually taking her left nipple into my mouth and sucking on it. She ground and ground and ground against me until, like the day before, she put herself into a bucking orgasm. This beautiful young thing straddling me, shirt off, skirt around her waist, panties in full view was breathless and speechless.

I picked her up, with her legs still wrapped around me, clutching tight to my waist. I started kissing her again as I carried her back, down the hall to my bedroom. She dropped her sandals off as we went.

We got to the bed, and I leaned forward, putting her on her back on top of the soft down comforter. She held my head as I slid down, kissing trails of warm, wet kisses down to her skirt. I unbuttoned it and slid it neatly off her long, toned legs. Same with her panties. I slid them under her butt, and lifted them up her thighs to her raised and spread knees. She lifted her feet into the air and allowed me to pull them up and all the way off, over her bare feet.

Any time there’s a naked woman on your bed, you should always take a second to stand back and look. It’s a beautiful thing. The vulnerability and trust that she is giving you is immense—exposing herself completely to you and effectively saying, “take me. I give myself to you.”

Well, a naked 15-year old is different. The underdeveloped breasts, the almost nonexistent pubic hair, the hips that have begun to spread but haven’t made it all the way out yet, the skin that’s still tight and muscles that are still strong…With her knees up and legs spread, revealing an unspoiled and unused young vagina…It’s an intoxicating sight. I can’t describe it. The way she only half-knows how beautiful she is, only half-knows the power she has, and only half-knows what she’s in for is amazing.

As I stared, Tori looked back sheepishly and asked what I was doing. I told her that I’d never seen anything so beautiful and I never wanted to forget it. She smiled shyly.

I knelt at the edge of the bed and began kissing her feet. Up to her knees, passed her warm crotch, up her belly, to her chest, her neck, her mouth. Kissing her mouth, my hands found her warm, tight pussy. My middle finger slid in easily. Indeed, she had broken her cherry. I was saddened by this, but no matter. I would still be her first. I would still be able to give her the gift of sex for the first time. When my finger slid in, her breath caught and she gasped aloud. My ring finger started moving along the edge of her opening as well, becoming slick and wet and warm. I pulled out my middle finger and paired the two up and slid them in together. She gasped louder, panted louder, stopped kissing me and closed her eyes, focusing on her own pleasure. In and out gently, just exploring her insides with my fingers. I worried I would hurt her, so I did not move fast. After some time, she asked, “Can you lick it again?”

I obeyed. I slid easily to the floor and removed my fingers. She gave a whimper when I pulled them out. I kissed her clit, licked up and down the sides of her labia, and slid my tongue in and out. I slid my thumb into her pussy as I licked her clit, and she orgasmed again, tightening around my thumb, bucking against my face. She giggled and her legs and hands shook as I slid up next to her on the bed, kissing her face, offering her her own sweet juices. She kissed me back exhausted. We lay there, me dressed, her nude, for a minute or two before she sat up and started moving to the end of the bed. I asked where she was going, and she said it was my turn.

I stopped her there. I did not want a blowjob. I did not want a hand job. I wanted to be inside this girl. I wanted her tight walls to swallow me up and nurse me to my own sticky end. No, no blowjob. Lets just lay here and rest. We slid up the bed, to the pillows. They didn’t match. I’d taken my wife’s pillow and put it in the other room. I was afraid she would smell “the other woman” on her pillowcase. I stood and removed my pants and shirt. I stood there in my nicest calvin klein trunks and slid in, under the covers with her. She moved onto her side, I slid in behind her with our bodies touching, my arms wrapped around her and her own intertwining with them, with our feet tangled beneath the covers. My dick was stiff beneath my trunks, pressed up below her ass, hard into her warm, dark crack. She looked back at me, smiled lazily, said, “I liked that”, then kissed me and closed her eyes.


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We fell asleep there in the bed. Our bodies warm, pressed into each other, legs intertwined, feet touching. My arms were wrapped around her, holding her to me. I held her tight, like I never wanted to let her go. It seemed the most natural thing in the world. Only it wasn’t. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t safe. Tori was 15 and she wasn’t my wife. My wife would be home in 6 hours and we couldn’t stay like this.

I woke an hour later with Tori running her finger up and down my arm. I stirred a little, and she wiggled back into me. It woke my lizard brain just enough to realize I was pressed into her warm body, and it awakened my desire. I started running my own fingers over her arms and back. Up her neck, into her hair, massaging her scalp, planting small, dry kisses on her upper back and neck.

Slowly, my hands found their way under the covers to her flat, firm, bare stomach. Up and down her muscled body, gently touching the underside of her small, uneven breasts, to her nipples, to the upper swell where they start to curve into her collarbones, her throat, and eventually her chin. I nudged her chin back toward me, and she turned her head back and kissed me deeply. She looked into my eyes and said nothing. I said nothing. We gazed for a long time while my hands continued to move over her. Down her sides, to her hip. I held her hip bones firmly and began to move my pelvis behind her, pressing the stiffness of my dick, still bound by my underwear, into her back side.

She reciprocated. She started moving her body upwards a little, and pressing back into me. She took my hand from her hip and slid it down to her warm, beautiful young pussy. I did not finger her. I did not touch her clit. I kept my fingers well away, lifting her knee up, running up and down her inner thigh eventually to the heat between her legs. Still I didn’t touch it. I pressed hard into the flesh beside her lips, I pressed with my palm, downward on her pelvic bone just where her hair started. I used my fingers to touch both sides at ones and pull them outward, spreading her young hole open. Every move and every touch generated groans and whimpers in her throat, whimpers that never made it out her mouth as her lips were still locked with mine.

I broke our kiss and asked, near silently, “Can I take my underwear off? “ She nodded and I said, breathless and pleading, “You know if I take them off, we’re going to have sex. “ She nodded again. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?” She closed her eyes, smiled slowly, and nodded.

I leaned over her, opened the nightstand drawer and removed a condom. Quickly but smoothly, I reached under the covers and removed my underwear, tore open the condom, and put it on.

My penis freed and protected, I turned back into her and pressed myself firmly in under her. I reached around and pressed it up to her, moving back and forth, rubbing her slit with its shaft. Back and forth, our hips moving, she moaned and smiled and her jaw went slack and left her mouth wide open. I reached up and pulled her hand down to replace mine, holding my penis against her as we moved. I covered her hand with mine and pressed her hand as it pressed my penis, and slowly, the head entered her.

She gasped with pain and pleasure and confusion. I didn’t press further yet. She needed to get used to what was happening. Her nipples stuck out like rockets, her body was covered with goosebumps, her teeth were bared with pain, and her breath was ragged. I knew she’d broken her cherry already, but nothing this size had ever been inside her and her body didn’t know what to do.

I slid my hand up and turned her head to me again and kissed her mouth. She stared back at me, and I asked if she was okay. She bit her lip and gave an uncertain nod. I moved my hips a little and the head popped out. She gave a sharp gasp and reached down quickly and replaced the head at her entrance. I pressed in and felt the tip go in. This time I didn’t stop there, I moved slowly, just a little. She was smiling now, still looking back into my eyes, smiling big but still a little uncertain. I moved my hand back down and touched her hand, moved it around me to the back of my hip. Put my hand back on her young, nearly hairless pussy, held the underside of my penis and started moving in and out. Slowly.

As I moved in, she got the idea. She figured it all out, what she was supposed to do. Her own lizard brain understanding for the first time how mating works. She held my hip hard and started to pull it tight against her, urging me to go a little deeper. In and out, and in and out, slowly. Huge smile on her face, total amazement and concentration on mine.

I had to concentrate. This had to be good for her. A girl’s first time should be pleasant, slow, gentle, and kind. She should have her orgasm first. No young punk from her school could give that to her, but I could.

As we moved like that, in and out slowly, agonizingly, I put the fingers of my hand on either side of her clit and held it tight, pressing and squeezing and rubbing up and down. Her orgasm built slowly, but ascended into glorious proportions. Her hips started to move back and forward on their own, building speed, building in intensity as I her young clit got rubbed and her holy of holies was filled with its first hard cock.

This time her orgasm was silent. It built with panting and groaning but when it came, her mouth opened wide and she went silent, neither breathing nor making any sound. It was the most beautiful silence I’d ever heard and I immediately built into my own orgasm. We came together. And as we did, I pressed far into her, as far as I could go. Not balls-deep—that came later as she got older—but as deep as her body would allow me. In one second she went from tense and overwhelmed to slack, relaxed and weak—panting, laughing, trying to catch her breath. As did I.

When it came time, I said, “are you ready for me to pull out?” Her response cemented a long and wonderful relationship. She just pouted a little and said, “Noooo, not really!”


>>

Thanks for the update, Hehe. do you know how hard it is to read your story at an internet cafe and be good?
really am enjoying this one thanks again.
Btw, does anyone know why someone delete the pic I posted? Oh well just wondered


>>

After I removed the condom and flushed it, we lay a while, covered up, talking, laughing, just being together. She expressed more than a few times that she couldn’t believe what sex was like. One of her friends had “gone all the way” with a boy from school and said it was pretty dumb. But Tori didn’t think so. I felt like a king.

Around 5pm, I got a text message from my wife saying she was on her way home—she’d be home in an hour. Tori didn’t want to leave, and honestly I didn’t want her to go. But, this is the way it had to be. We kissed and touched, and flirted heavily as she left. She grabbed my crotch, said she’d see me later. Damn.

The week passed so slowly. SO slowly. I watched Tori out the window again. I went for walks hoping to run into her. I never did. Then, on the following Saturday, our paths crossed again during one of my walks. About 4 blocks from my house. She had the dog with her. She wasn’t walking when I found her. She was sitting with the dog in the shade of a tree. She had been waiting for me—she knew I walked this way. She smiled big, “I’ve been waiting for you! Follow me!” She wore short jean shorts and a loose, blousy top.

Not wanting to get in trouble or look like a pervert to the neighborhood, I followed at a respectful 30-40 feet, and we ended up at an empty house she’d found. The owners had apparently moved out. There was a For Sale sign out front. She walked around the side, through the tall weeds, into the backyard. I looked around nervously. I could hear water running somewhere—down the street. Someone was washing a car. I stood there, really uncertain for a while, until I saw her inside the front window of the house. She stood back from it, in the darkened shade of the living room, watching me, beckoning me with her hands. She threw them up and out at her sides, in a “what are you waiting for” gesture. I threw back a “what do you want me to do?!?!” gesture. She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “Okay, well…suit yourself.”

And then she did it. She started pulling up her shirt, right there in the window of this empty house. She pulled it up, and off. She looked down at her young breasts, and wiped a little something off her tight tan skin. Then she started unbuttoning her shorts, and wiggled them down her legs. No panties. Naked as the day she was born, she stood in the window, swaying her young, narrow hips, moving her hands up and down her body in an unpracticed, naïve kind of way. This was all the encouragement I needed. I hopped to and walked around the back of the house.

I found the dog tied up back there in the shade. He barely paid me any mind as I walked past him, unbuttoning my pants, untying my shoes, pulling off my shirt as I went. I found her in the master bedroom, lying with her legs spread and knees up, masturbating on the floor with her clothes rolled up like a pillow under her head. The entire closet door was a mirror. She lay there looking left into the mirror, watching herself beat off.

All my clothes came off instantly and I knelt on the floor and dove into her. I lapped like a thirsty dog at her wetness. She was amazing. Insatiable. She beat off while I ate her out. After a short time, she moved out from under and laid me on my back, turned around and backed up to me. We sixty-nined a while. Her warm mouth taking in more of me than she had the week before. It was amazing. Her hand held my balls, stroking through the hair, her mouth up and down my length, my own mouth devouring her young, pink, perfect lips, two fingers buried inside her.

I came up for air and asked where she’d learned this. She said she’d used Google to find sex and blowjob videos because she wanted to get good at it. Oh shit.

She came up off of me and reached into her purse. She had brought condoms with her. “Where did you get those?” I asked her with a raised eyebrow? “I went to the school nurse,” She responded as if that were normal, she showed me how to put it on you. “ And then she did. She tore open the packet, turned it over, and rolled it down me. Then she laid on her back next to me. I rolled over her, and entered her with frenzy. Again, in, out, in, out, One hand on the floor to hold myself up, and one on her breasts, up and down her beautiful sides, her hips. Kissing, panting, small squeaks coming from her beautiful mouth, her crooked teeth bared a little.

I leaned upward, pushed her knees up, and slid mine under them. Her butt was raised up off the ground, and her legs pinned wide open. She kept grinding against me, her hands against my stomach. My own hand found her clit and rubbed it as we rocked. She started to orgasm, a long slow build, wild smiles, laughs, and I grabbed her up by the waist, and drew her up to me so as I knelt on the floor, she sat on the tops of my legs, my length buried deep into her; my arms wrapped around her, one on her upper back and one digging into the flesh of her butt. She came on me and kept writhing up and down and then slowed. I laid her back down and moved forward on top of her, and asked her to reach down and touch my balls. She did and instantly I exploded. She laughed and giggled and squeezed my balls as I came.

We lay there on the floor afterwards on our sides, looking at ourselves in the mirror. We talked about how we could make this work, how we needed to keep it a secret. She talked about the stupid little boys at school and how she’d told her friends that she had finally “done it” with a boy who lied near her aunt and how awesome it was.

We’d been in there about 45 minutes when we suddenly heard a car in the driveway. Voices. Talking about the size of the front yard. We flipped our shit. People were there to look at the house! We pulled on our pants and shirts over our naked selves as we blasted out the back door, and around the side, ducking under the windows. She’d grabbed the dog’s leash and he was eager to get going—pulling her along. We got away without getting caught but as we rounded the next corner together she said, “Did you get the condom?”

Awesome. Those people were looking at the house and were about to find a used condom on the floor of the master bedroom.


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Sorry I haven’t followed up on this. Thanksgiving was a whirlwind for me.

I saw Tori again over the Thanksgiving weekend. I am starting to think I’ll never be able to quit her. Wednesday night, the evening before Thanksgiving, I was home preparing my offerings for the following day. I was planning to head to my mother’s house across town where a lot of family was gathering. I was pretty excited—hadn’t seen some of them in quite some time. It’s always fun. I was in the kitchen preparing pie crusts and watching TV when, beyond the TV, through the window, I saw a car pull up in front of Carol’s. Tori got out. Standing there in the chilly air, sun shining down on her, stretching after her car ride, she was beautiful. It took my breath away. I thought I’d gotten past the butterfly-stomach excitement, and I thought I’d gotten past her. Apparently not. Maybe that’s why I’ve been writing this. Maybe I’m trying to relive it so I won’t have to let it go.

Through the window I watched her put on a coat, turn and face my house, and look straight through the window at me. A big smile and a small wave of her hand. Oh my god.

Like a young fool, I replayed the second day we were together. As soon as she turned her back to me and went into Carol’s, I ran around the house like a crazy person, cleaning up, brushing teeth, changing into better clothes than the sweats I was cooking in--All the time hoping beyond hope that she would come to me.

But she never came. I went to bed that night depressed, morose, feeling sorry for myself. Wishing I could just hear her voice. That’s one of my favorite things about her—her voice. Its feminine, without being high and squeaky. There’s a hopeful quality to it that gives me life, fills me with the same hope for the future. A little bit of a deep husky touch rounds it off. When we would lie in bed together, talking for those many hours, I would often close my eyes and just listen to her. It never mattered what she was talking about; it just sounded so beautiful, so soothing.

The following day, Thanksgiving, I headed out to spend the day with family. We had fun. Sort of a standard turkey-day—football, food, games, all that. I thought about Tori a lot. I hoped she’d come back to me after school was done and that one day I’d be able to take her home. She’d get along great with my family.

Sometime around 9pm I headed home. I was showered and ready for bed by 10. As I prepared a cup of tea, the doorbell rang. Opening it, my jaw dropped. It was her. She’d come back to me. There was a moment where I didn’t know what to do. I just stared at her and said nothing. It wasn’t a dramatic pause or anything like that…I just stood there like an idiot not saying anything.

After a few seconds she started laughing and just walked in. She hung her purse, took off her shoes, and grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured herself tea. Clumsily, we started to talk. About college, thanksgiving feasts, the Green Bay game earlier in the day.

Eventually, I worked up the nerve to talk about us. “You know, yesterday when you went over to Carol’s, I kind of hoped you’d stop here. “

“I know,” she replied, “I really wanted to, but there just wasn’t time. I had to go to a family birthday right after I left. I’ve really missed you and want to talk with you about something.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Here’s the thing. I know you told me to go and live and enjoy my life and meet people, but I think its bullshit. I miss you. I look around me at the guys my friends hook up with and they’re all so stupid. They sit around playing games all day or smoking weed or getting drunk all the time and I think I don’t need any of that shit. I don’t want to enjoy them. I just want to do college and get it done. Then I want to be somewhere with you.”

I felt drunk. I had to sit down. Sometimes I think it might be unhealthy how much I love this girl. “Wow. Um. Okay. How do you see it working? You’re just gone for months at a time and then you come back for the occasional booty call and then split again?”

She looked offended, “No no. Not like that. There’s two things. First, you work from home. You can come out and stay a while. We have separate rooms in the dorm, so you can just stay with me when you visit. And Next semester, I’ve signed up for online courses, so I can be here all spring with you,” The looked down at the floor, “Can I stay here with you?”

“Jesus, Tori, are you kidding? Of course you can! I want you with me for the rest of my life!” I’d never told her that before. I’d told her I loved her, and I’d told her why and all that before. But I’d never said this aloud. “Shit Tori, I want to marry you and have a family.”

She looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah absolutely. I got it all wrong before. When I married Lisa we didn’t love each other. But you and I, girl I’ve loved you ever since the first time we were together. The past few months have been killing me! Have you ever just wanted something so bad, and you knew it was your own fault you couldn’t have it? That’s exactly how it’s been!”

“I love you too, you know. I’ve hated being away from you, too.”

I took her face in my hands and we just held our cheeks next to each other, intimate and warm. Eventually starting to kiss, touch, and slowly making our way into the bedroom. We made love slowly and carefully. For the first time, we did it without protection. She liked that. I liked that. There’s a kind of commitment in it. She stayed the night, and Friday night, and Saturday, and Sunday night. We made love over and over, she went with me and picked out a XMAS tree, helped me decorate it. We shopped for gifts for other people, but ended up making love in the handicap stall in the Macy’s bathroom.

Now, Monday morning, as I write this, she’s here next to me, encouraging me and helping me to tell the story right. I showed her what I’d shared already and she warned me not to use too many identifying details so I don’t get in trouble for the earlier stuff. She’s even reminding me of other parts of our story that she wants me to share. She loves the idea that we can tell someone, anyone, our story without being judged or crucified as disgusting.

I think I’m going to let her tell part of the story next time. I want to hear things from her perspective.


>>

Are you going to continue this confession?? Please?
and Gf 1 and Gf 2, yes we seem to have been deleted, that was rude I think.. wish there was a way we could chat
Anyway.. enjoying this story so please consider continueing.


>>

>>169545
>>169544

For the life of me, I honesty can't see why your thread was deleted. Perhaps a mod might care to explain?

BTW, how's it going Charmaine? Is your area back to normal now or is there still a lot of rebuilding work to do?


>>

good to hear from you .. well I am doing fine, we have the basic services back, water, sewer, internet and electric and the roads are clear, but as for rebuilding its going very slow our crooked politicians just make off with the funds, its annoying.. but I guess we are used to it. So hardly anything is repaired. Nice to hear from you. and Gf 1 and 2 I think about you all and hope you are doing well


>>

Wow, Charmaine! This is incredible! Just this whole story is unbelievable.. I'll admit, I was a little creeped out st first, but then I read about your and her emotions! And think this is a tragic and beautiful love story :) I feel in love with your and Tori's relationship <3 I am a little curious if your age when she was 15? Not to judge, but just to please my curiogland. xD




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