Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
To be honest, I was quite the explorative child, with a strong sense of interpretation and honesty of circumstances and intent. I never had the infamous “talk” with my parents; the culture and practice of sex was quite apparent and relevant to me. I remember once that my mother had attempted to convince my father that we should stop watching R rated movies at the young age my siblings and I were at. By the time she had voiced her opinion, I was 12 or 13 years old and had been watching R Rated movies for a good 4 years and frankly, as my father put it, we would only be punished for something that is quite commonplace now by having the R rated movies removed from us.
During my growing pains (which seemed to be ironically true at least in the groin region), I had located a slim, green edged tome called “A Happier Sex Life”, written by two sex-ologists (were there really such academic titles and where do I place my mark to embark on THAT journey?) who had relevant and exciting new sexual practices from the Far East, … As far as 1972 was concerned. Again intrigued but not nearly as explosively awkward as my mother’s toy chest discovery, I had successfully acquired said paperback and read it with the zealotic drive of a Holy Man uncovering lost scriptures of his dogmatic faith. Many nights I hid under the covers and read page after page, absorbing the tactical and effective positions and techniques that were pressed within.
I had at one point, been concerned that my strong sexual nature and interest was uncommon and I had written off my strong urges and drive as part and parcel with the slow but certain progress of adolescence that I was undergoing. Oh, how the surprise leapt upon with me certain cunning wit; I had been in an adventurous mood and caved into the dark urges of joyful interest of personal gain and went a-splunkering into the depths of my parents room, hoping to find a nifty tape-recording or possible money, who knows. What I discovered instead was a tool case from a reputable tool company underneath my mother’s side of the bed. Intrigued, because I couldn’t imagine my mother, even in her most creative preemptive fashion, would have a prepared tool box under her bed so she could, what, spontaneously change out a wall outlet switch at 2 am?
After a quick instinctual reflexive visual search of any feasible witnesses, seen or unseen, I turned back and deftly popped the case latches and swung open the hinged doors. I was greeted not by a glorious cache of philferable goods but instead a myriad of sexual personal devices, clearly complied not by a casual lonely spirit but an arsenal utilized by a fiendish maverick hell bent on grinding out a damn good itch when the need arises. Textured, ribbed, veined, bendy, beaded, tonged and flared latex and polymer rods and apparatuses in various shades of ruby red to lilly white rested with signs of vigorous use. Beneath the top tray of the phallic kingdom was neatly organized sets of batteries and gels and lotions, as well as an nearly exhausted tube of lubrication jelly and its successor tube rolling beside it, almost anthromorphically eager to expel it’s contents for the righteous cause.
Needless to say, I was frozen in transitional shock – clearly I was the product of at least an expressed but respectable sex manic if not the product of 2 such creatures, which would explicitly explain my almost consuming sex drive. Certainly, I had ventured out socially and spoken with my confidantes about emerging hormonal pounding needs and though unanimously my friends had agreed and commiserated about the lack of outlets to plug (pun intended), they were not under the crashing waves of confusing and relentless cravings I was observing. Sure, they wanted to intimately explore at least half the female graduating glass at High School and spill the difference on the rest but I was certain that they didn’t desire 95% of the graduating class, regardless of gender or personal values, and then present themselves into the Facility Breakroom to be consumed by a ravenous crowd like day old bagels.
By the way, just for those who are curious, nothing against the Literotica style in particular, my First Time isn’t with a family member, just so you are aware.
Despite my mediocre efforts and pathetic attempts at romance, I remained a virgin well past my own Graduation day (silly Greecian-esk fantasies of being hedonistically hoisted by several roaming bands of nubile teenagers in some dark and secluded locale somewhere in the depths of the High school were dashed with hard and fast reality) and was unleashed upon the world at large.
Although it was never really the cold and harsh world that I had always envisioned (and longed for), it still was a bitch finding new people and ultimately, a woman to hopefully help me with the reoccurring swelling issue of my manhood. Of course, as well as bring someone to their fullest full body thrash would be more than lovely as well.
I had haunted the telltale Coffee poker oyna House in downtown Lincoln for sometime, attempting to ease social malaise with repetitive appearances and learning how to start conversations with complete strangers. I met several, several people and spent copious amounts of time investing myself socially while cutting my personality teeth on being a public creature. I would spend several nights being practically omnipresent as “the guy with the car” who was willing to transport people to parties if I was allowed to crash the gathering.
Eventually my streamside pan panning panned out (a Satyr you say? ?) and I meet a lovely college student we shall fittingly call “Lucy.” She carried with her a certain amount of familiarity that perplexed me but I was able to exploit as a legitimate excuse for using the hackneyed opener, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” She laughed softly with a smirk as I light her cigarette as we started a late evening. Mind you, the following conversation stated below is paraphrased from a well-loved and worn memory…
“Yeah cutie, you do – we crossed paths a few times at the drama competition scenes last year in High school”, she waved her hand in gesticulation and took a sip of her soda, “You’re from Waverly right?”
I almost had to kick myself back into gear, I was trapped somewhere between stage fright and total admiration of the beauty before me. Lucy had the color scheme of a chocolate truffle that you just wanted to lick slowly to get at her cream filling. Soft curled dark chocolate hair piled tastefully on top of her head, gentle and warm brown eyes gazed out from a delicate almond shaped face with mocha skin that begged to be contoured with a wandering tongue. Her clothing style spoke eloquently of a being content in a Bohemian Flapper girl visage not tainted with a twisted and bloated ego. She had very presentable curves, displayed with great and winding seams but nothing that would dilute her into being categorized as a common floozy (yeah floozies!). Her crossed leg jingled in a slow, idiosynical toggle, dancing bells in an anklet around her ankle.
Snapping to, I muttered a rough attempt at being suave but came out more as a mumble that it was my Alder mater and I didn’t terribly miss it, short of the drama events, naturally. She laughed gently again and we stayed till close talking and after a brief hugged farewell, we went our separate ways, me drifting off to my car to hide my overwhelming glee at meeting a beautiful woman, apparently for the 2nd or 3rd time, and I was able to get her home number and I gave her my pager (remember those days? How did we function back then?) with a promise to meet up again.
Over the course of several Coffee House interludes, I had a pretty good grip on my behavior around this amorous goddess and had a delightful feeling that the interest might be mutual. I received a solid resounding confirmation when she had arrived at the Coffee House looking for me during a particularly ugly rain storm and though she had be attempting to wean off an even uglier cold, she was still persistent about seeing me. I remember wandering around a supermarket with her, arm in arm, looking for cough syrup when she nuzzled into my space and I was hooked. Though I had plans with another interesting chic from Missouri; whom which I was still hashing out my value to her, I quickly shifted gears and buried those plans, despite the clearly upset Missourian on the other side of the pay phone. Something came up and it was a tug of war between my heart and my head (the one you are thinking of, not the one I’m thinking with). Lost serious brownie points with the Missourian but according to some street static, I had no case anyhow.
Anyway, this is about my first time, not about failed half attempts of having a first time. Stick with me folks, I’m just warming up the bed first then we’ll get to the main act. Ah the taste of Lucy, how her tongue would travel against mine, her hands pulling around my backside, grabbing a good handful of ass as she would press her own nubile body against my rapidly hardening one.
Lucy and I had quickly became an item once we had discussed our situation over impromptu dinner a chain pizza joint in the Old Market side of town. We had many extended passionate goodbyes pressed against our respective motor vehicles and soon our physical attraction was reaching a boiling point where even semi-secluded pockets of space were not private enough. She, like myself, was still living with our parents, her excuse of cheap college clearly bid out my pathetic excuse that I was still searching for a roommate but she didn’t hold it against me, she had better things to hold against me. To complicate matters, both our families lived out of the Lincoln area, mine being closest, we decided to start our evenings early and head out of town after meeting up after our daily occupations.
I remember the night she had concluded and extracted from me that I was still a virgin. canlı poker oyna We had found ourselves out at my parents’ house in Eagle, down in the pit of despair I claimed as my bedroom. During my final days of imprisonment at High School, I was permitted to move into the basement, especially after I had received my car and my parents relented to the reality that I was going to be fairly absent with my newfound freedom. Having access to the basement backdoor was an intelligent idea since my late night entry wouldn’t disturb my slumbering parents and meant that sneaking my girlfriend into the house; who was complaining?
We had wandering in from parking the car and we both had a light mist on our bodies from the sprinkling of rain outside. This particular evening, Lucy was wearing a soft sundress with spaghetti straps and the light rain was already causing me to misinterpret door frames and collide erection first into them. Lucy giggled and helped to correct me, noting that she would like to help me deal with my “imbalance”.
She headed into the “bedroom area of my domicile as I locked up the backdoor – don’t want any pesky drunken wandering imbeciles traipsing in. I had entered the room and almost metaphorically tripped over my own swollen member, which despite good nature of my hung-ness, isn’t a walking hazard (thank god and goddess).
Lucy had utilized the time which took me to wedge the oversized slab door into place and throw the heavy bolt into place and trudge my way through the pack-rat maze my mother had made of the basement to flick off the overhead light and light the 3 wick candle on my coffee table AND start the Mazzy Star CD I had left in the player; not to mention recline herself on my sofa in a come-hither look.
The shadows danced across her beautiful facial features, currently looking quite impish in her intent. She had painted her fingernails a bright crimson and her lipstick was a fitting match. I moseyed over to the soft, as her curled fingers drew me closer, my desire pounding hard in my ears.
I had knelt down beside her, bent down and lightly brushed my lips against her, my right hand caressing her face with the palm side. I had no sooner reached her chin line with my right hand when she deftly bodily rolled me over onto my side on the sofa (it was an oversized sleeper sofa) and made short work of my delicate approach and corrected me with an approved accelerated option. Her mouth was hard against mine, as was her body, grinding against every inch of, clearly impatient of waiting and needing this moment NOW.
Giving into my own hungry and need, I let out a manly sigh (it is possible, when you are that horny) and pressed back. My mouth slipped from hers abruptly and latched itself with care but clear intentions onto her neck, biting down on the nerve-clustered muscle strands there. I pressed my counterpart to against her part, feeling the wave meet the valley with glorious anticipation of flooding her valley soon. My hands spidered around her sides, roaming flat and hard, kneading the muscles around her lumbar section and her between her shoulder blades. She responded with a gasp and a velvety moan as her own body reflexively arched against mine, causing my nether-head to pulse with delight.
My left hand made a triumphant turn to her front side, to gently shift her head aside as I made sure that her neck was equally tingling with a second bite on her left side. She let out another gasp that almost slipped out as a squeak, my right sliding down and gliding the backside of my hand over her right breast in a slow, wall painting like fashion – feeling the nipple tighten and raise beneath my effort.
Certainly not allowing to be outdone and proving the sexual predator in this farce, she shifted her hips and moved my hands aside to even the score with a few bites of her own. I foundered a bit, victim of the ecstasy between us, my eyes fluttering in my head has her tongue slid around inside the prize her teeth had found. Her left hand had a solo but prosperous venture to my crotch and tightly gripped my penis and gave it a good sliding tug, pausing to roll over the head and then return-stroking.
At this point my hands were useless appendages, trying desperately to be functional but only slightly spasmed as my virgin body was being scrupulously ravaged by this fair succubus. I brought them down to her bottom, running them over the lovely round curve of her sweet ass, feeling the fabric of the panties beneath the pleaded dress. Following suit, she swiftly switched sides of my neck as my body twitched a bit more, buckling under the fresh stimuli, fingers on my left hand daringly tracing the outline of her knickers, feeling lace under polyester.
Given enough blood back to my navigating head, I swift a bit and make motions to remove my t-shirt from my body, which was greeted with anxious assistance. My t-shirt was flung carelessly away, as Lucy ran her nails over my chest, and discovering an odd fact internet casino – my nipples are quite sensitive. A sudden shutter and sigh, as well as my hips bucking hard against hers confirmed this fact, my hands holding her bottom down as I press, garnishing me a arousing sigh from Lucy herself.
The impish smile formed around her lips as she took to flicking and rolling my nipples while pressing me back with another hard deep kiss. At this juncture, I felt it was appropriate to risk it all by drawing my hands up the skirt portion of her dress and feeling her back with my hands. Oh good heavens, her skin was SO decadently smooth; she must had some Native American blood in her – if you have never touched someone with native American linage in their blood, get out there and solve that – it’s absolutely addictive.
Sharp sparks of lust sputtered around my torso from the fine-tuning of my nipples, right before the signal almost when to noise, she withdrew her mouth from mine and centered it over a solitary nipple – poor nipple, never saw it coming. She softly nibbled on it; her tongue swung a sweet tango around the areola just before the tip would be ran over with the nip of her tongue. Sweet mambo-jama, all this intense petting is causing my good intentions and civilized controlled well-structured sexual plans to liquefy and pour right off the drawing board in the planning room of mind. Where did it talk about this in the book of a Happier sex life? How do I restrain myself?
While my logical side was doing it’s best to maintain control and still keep the mood going, my hands were already preparing the next attack strategy – they had smoothly reached the bra line and were tracing the lines to wait for a clear signal to pursue. If I was to back off (it is amazing how worked up a woman can make a man or be worked up herself and when you reach a border line, how quickly their morals snap into place and you are left smoldering in the wind.) Lucy made no indication, if not an encouragement as she shifted nipples and against I was welcomed with more strong signals. Before I thought twice and worked it out once, my fingers must have delved into their primitive embedded nature because I had the 3 bra hooks popped with one touch.
Most immediately there was a cold shower snap as Lucy stopped and blinked her eyes. Without moving from her crotched position on top of me, she reached back and felt the bra strap and my heart (and other places) sunk thinking that I my vain attempt at suaveness had sundered any possibility of finally, “making it with a chic”. After a brief physical examination with her finger tips, she seemed quite satisfied about the situation, if not encouragingly impressed as her hands came back from their fact finding mission.
“Wow – this bra must like you – you had that clasp setup popped with such ease, I thought you broke it…” She squinted at me with slight suspicion, “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
I sheepishly attempted to innocently backpedal, which is hard when your subject is inches from your face and has their primary sexual organ resting against yours at a rest, as if to say, “Don’t screw this up or you won’t be screwing me”… “No… No, I … I haven’t… I wouldn’t be so jumpy I don’t think – not that you aren’t completely blowing my mind away lady, because you are and it’s so intense”
My answer and the truth behind it must have rung clear because she arched up into a sitting position and smirked at me as she reached back and pulled off her bra and dress completely. A sigh was heard and in my own shock I realized that the sigh came from me, as I took in the elegant features of Lucy mostly naked. Pert and round breasts of course, were the first to be noticed, the nipples, a slight dusty rose variant, stood erect and at hardened attention, the slow groove of her stomach driving down behind alluring black panties with pink lacing around the edging.
“Looking for these handsome?” She slyly inquired with a tilted head and endearing smirk.
My hands popped up but rested on her still slightly clothed hips and I mumbled, “More like reaching for then looking for but yes…”. Her laugh came out with a slight evil tinge to it, as she bent down and placed a breast on either side of my face, letting their silky texture to caress against me.
I leaned out and kissed between her breasts, my hands sliding up her torso and around the swelling of her breasts. She teased a bit, pulling back to kiss me, allowing her nipples to drag against my chest.
With a yearning hunger I shot my hands up and out, drawing my fingers across the silky surface of her breasts and rolled my palms back to run my fingertips over her nipples. Oh, the seductive shutter she shook down herself with a pleased chuckle rumbling in her throat. With another driven sigh from me, I lost my composure again and planted a nipple into my mouth and flicked my tongue over the sensitive surface of the nipple and doing some suckling of my own. Her shoulder snapped back a bit but in the recoil pushed the breast forward a fraction of an inch in appreciation. Her hips started grinding back to life against mine, casting foreshadows of enticements yet to come.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32