The Tomboy Blues
Christy was my next door neighbor, and that was both good and bad. I watched her grow up, and she was a delightful girl, though until she was fourteen you could hardly tell she was a girl at all. She was the quintessential tomboy. She was an only child of parents killed in a car crash, when she was about six or seven, and it was then she'd come to live with Alice, next door. Alice was her grandmother and she tried hard to take care of Christy, but was alone in the world herself. As a result, Christy gravitated toward boy things because that's where the power and acceptance was. She could hit a baseball as far or farther than the boys. She could run like the wind and climb the toughest tree. She was always scraped up, usually covered with dirt, and just a delightful child.
My own parents had died too, also in a car crash, and I'd inherited the house when I was in college. After school I was able to start a home based business, so I moved back into my folk's house. That's why I got to watch Christy grow up. That was the good part.
But she eventually grew up and changed from a tomboy to a woman. That was the bad part.
Christy loved to come over to my house when her friends were busy. After all, I had tools. And I had a garage full of ... well ... stuff. My Dad had been a packrat, and there were all kinds of things in the garage (and attic and basement) that I had no idea what were for. Christy would come over and ask permission to go on a treasure hunt, and I usually let her. It got to the point where she rarely knocked any more. She just barged in like she lived there.
Which was how I got embarrassed. Well, maybe she was the embarrassed one. I don't know. She was about twelve when it happened. I had met a woman, and one thing had led to another. She had come over during her lunch break and we were hotly engaged in a middle-of-the-day fuck when Christy wandered into the house. Janet, the woman I had met, wasn't on any birth control, so she asked me not to come inside her. She had a thing about being squirted with sperm and loved to rub it all over her body. Anyway, I was feeling the tingling in my balls that said it was time to pull out when Christy walked down the hall. My bedroom door was open. When you live alone, all your doors are open all the time.
Anyway, I think she got a good look at the last couple of times I boned Janet and I know she was standing there when I pulled my immensely satisfied prick out of her pussy and began squirting cum all over her stomach and tits. Janet was yelling and had one hand on her clit while the other hand was spreading my spunk all over her. I heard a gasp and turned to see poor Christy staring at us like we were little green people from Mars. She turned and ran.
I didn't see her for a week or two after that. Small wonder. Then I needed my Skil saw back - she had borrowed it - and I went over and knocked. When she came to the door, she couldn't look at me and was blushing and everything. She was stammering about how sorry she was and I stopped her.
"Look, Christy," I said. "It was no big deal, OK? I'm not mad. Janet didn't see you, so no harm done, OK?"
The funny thing was what SHE said then. "Her name was Janet?"
Anyway, I didn't think anything about it then, and things eventually got back to normal between Christy and me.
Of course, being a guy, I noticed as Christy reached the various milestones of feminine maturity. I noticed when she started wearing bras. I also noticed when she started leaving them off. She had a special hiding place for them. I was upstairs in my computer room one day and saw movement in her back yard. She had come out of the house and was stretching and pulling at her shirt. She looked back at the house and then went to the garden shed in their back yard. She pulled her arms inside her shirt, did that magic thing girls can do to undo a bra, and pulled it out from under her shirt. She put her arms back out the arm holes, wadded up the bra and stuffed it in a can in the shed. Then she ran off to play, or do whatever teenage girls do when they've just ditched their bra. I saw her on another day retrieving the undergarment and putting it back on before she went in the house. It was obvious that Grandma was making her wear them and she hated them.
But that's what made me notice her growing little nipples. Whenever she came over to my house her teenaged breasts were always bare under her shirts. I knew this at first because of the garden shed. But then I noticed her nipples sticking out, and after that I had a hard time ignoring them.
Another thing was that, about the time she hit 14, she quit wearing belts. Before that she always had on this unique belt. She had made it at some camp or another, and had tooled it herself. It was her pride and joy. She always wore it, whether it was on her cutoffs, or regular jeans or whatever. She had to hitch up her pants a lot because they kept trying to slide off her slim hips. Then one day she was digging through some boxes in the garage and I noticed she wasn't wearing the belt. It was so odd I even mentioned it.
"Christy, what happened to your belt?"
She stopped digging, stood up and turned just her upper body around. Her pony tail swung wildly through the air. "I don't need it anymore," she said simply, and went back to digging. I looked closer and realized she was right. Her hips had swelled and she had an hour glass figure! Now she could fasten the waist and it wouldn't slide over those hips.
So, by the time she was a junior in high school, Christy was quite a woman. She still competed with boys though, and dressed like one too. She had a favorite shirt. It was actually one of my favorites too, because it had all these holes in it. She had worn it for years and had snagged it on fences, torn it on tree limbs and just flat worn holes in it. It was an extremely sexy shirt, though she didn't seem to realize that. I loved it because it was too small and showed lots of skin. Her grandmother had finally given up trying to make her wear a bra when she was sixteen, and now she never wore them. So, Christy in her favorite shirt was welcome at my house any time, whether there was a Janet there or not.
Usually there wasn't. Most of those women were only interested in my big house and how much money I was making.
Anyway, it was summer when I made the 3 terrible mistakes.
I was puttering around, trying to make some flowers grow when I noticed that there was more paint on the ground around my feet than there was on the sides of the house. It had all flaked off over the years and I had never thought to do anything about it.
Naturally I thought of Christy. She did all the man things around my house, or at least anything that involved tools. I went over and knocked.
She came to the door in a white T shirt with bright blue gym shorts on. The shirt was tucked into the shorts and her hair was, as usual, pulled back in a long pony tail.
"Hey Mark! What's up?" she said brightly.
I didn't say anything, because at that very moment I realized just how much growing up Christy had done. I could see her dark areolas through the shirt, because the sun was shining right on her chest. And they were mounted on a pair of breasts that were a baby's dream. Usually she wore button down shirts that had been her grandfather's years ago, and they were always loose and usually checkered - that kind of thing. It occurred to me the only other thing that clung to her was her favorite shirt, and I hadn't seen her in that for probably a year.
"Mark? Earth to Mark!" she said, giggling.
I came back to earth and looked up. She was staring right at me, a smile on her face. It would have been obvious to a blind man what I had been looking at.
"Oh!" I squeaked. I was starting to blush. "I was ... uh ... thinking about something."
She giggled again. I blundered on. "No! I mean ... um ... I was thinking about nothing."
With a completely straight face she looked down and addressed her glorious breasts: "Well, boys, I hate to say it, but he says you're nothing."
Now I was truly flustered. "No! That's not right! I mean they're not nothing ..." I stopped to think about what I had just said. There was no way on earth I was going to come out of this with any dignity. "I need my house painted!" I growled, and turned around and left.
She was kind. She gave me half an hour to regain my composure. And she changed shirts. When she came over she had on an old plaid shirt with the arms cut off. It was nice and baggy. The only problem was that the arm holes were for a man, and her slim arms didn't come close to filling up all that empty space. That left a lot of room for dirty old men to peek through, trying to see her braless breasts.
I tried to control myself.
We talked about painting the house. She said she'd do it, but I'd have to help, because otherwise it would take too long. When I mentioned how much I was willing to pay her, her jaw dropped.
"Mark ... I can't believe it. That's a lot of money."
I remarked that I'd have to pay somebody, and I'd rather it be her than some stranger.
She was effusive. "Mark! That'll pay for a year of college! Oh! I get to go to college!"
She started jumping up and down. That didn't help my composure, because her braless breasts, though they were quite firm, still bounced a little. Then she hugged me and those twin beauties pressed into my chest.
Not even Janet had ever affected me like this. Instant hardon. Thank goodness I was wearing jeans.
She said she wanted to get started right away and that she was going to go get her painting clothes on. She stood back and looked at me. "You'll want to change into something you don't care about," she said. "You can't paint without getting it on you, so whatever you wear is going to be the color of your house."
I mentioned that I didn't even have the paint yet. She looked crestfallen and then brightened. "I'm, going to have to do some scraping and prep on some parts of the house, so while I'm doing that, you go get the paint.
That worked for me, and by the time I got back it looked like there was no paint on the house at all anymore. She was on a ladder, scraping around an upstairs window. I stood there, looking up, and realized I was looking at Christy's pussy.
She was wearing a different pair of gym shorts. These were too big for her, like she had gotten them for a gift and couldn't return them or something. They gaped around her legs a good four inches. And they were white, which meant they didn't cause shadows. She was blond in all the right places and wasn't wearing any panties. She also had on her favorite shirt. My favorite shirt.
Bam! Instant hardon.
She looked down. "Just in time. I only have this window to do and we can start painting. Go change. Remember, you'll get paint on you. It can't be helped." I leaned forward so she couldn't see the evidence of my dirty old man-ness and hobbled into the house. I was going to have to beat off before I could go back outside. Wow! I hadn't had to do that for a while.
I went to my closet and found I didn't have any clothes for painting. I mean I never did anything like that, you know? So I picked a T shirt and some gym shorts I didn't use for their intended purpose anymore (who wants to work out anyway?) and stripped down. As my eight incher popped out (I know, I know. Let a guy dream a little, OK?) I thought about Christy. I started stroking and smiled as I thought about what I'd seen. It didn't take long before I was ready to blow. I realized I didn't have anything to catch it in, and looked at the bed I'd left unmade that morning.
It was time to change the sheets anyway.
So I turned toward it and seconds later I was shooting streams of cum three feet onto the bed. Wow. She was good for a fantasy.
I wiped it off, wadded up the sheets and threw them in the laundry basket, got dressed and headed out to be a painter.
It wasn't until I rounded the house and looked back up at Christy that I realized the "last window" she was doing was the window to my room.
She was still scraping, but she looked a little stiff. And if she'd seen me she would have gotten down, right? I figured everything was OK. "OK, I'm back. What do I do?"
She looked down and said "Well, first we stir the paint and then you can start high and I'll start low and we'll meet in the middle." So she got down and did all these things with the paint. She had made buckets for us to pour a little paint into, so we didn't have to hold a whole gallon while we worked. She showed me how to use a brush and all that and then she sent me up the ladder.
Four hours later we had about a quarter of the house done. It didn't look all that bad. I looked at my watch. "It's about supper time Christy. Why don't we take a break? You're grandmother probably has dinner ready."
She kept painting. "Nope. She's gone for the weekend. Went to visit my Great Aunt Sophie up in Buffalo." She stood up and stretched her back by bending backward.
Boy howdy, I loved that old shirt of hers.
"Let's finish this section and knock off for the day," she said.
I had to move the ladder, but I'd only have three or four feet to cover, so I'd only have to move it once. I'd just filled my pail, but I could always pour the unused part back into the can. I climbed up and put the pail on a wire hook Christy had fashioned to hang on the side of the ladder so I didn't have to hold the can all the time.
Only I missed the hook.
I realized it about the same time as I let go and lurched to catch the handle. Instead I hit the rim of the pail with my fingers. I watched in horror as the pail gracefully turned on its side and a half gallon of white paint spilled out and became airborne.
Christy was right under me. She heard me yell and looked up, naturally. She had a split second to see it coming, which is the only reason the pail didn't hit her square in the face and bounced off her shoulder instead.
But every drop of that half gallon of paint splattered all over her. Face, hair, chest, the front of her shorts and legs, even her shoes.
She squawked just like a pelican I heard when I was visiting a friend in Santa Barbara and began using her fingers to pry the paint out of her closed eyes. I hurried down the ladder, but what could I do?
"Christy?" I said.
She started laughing! "It's OK, Mark, it's latex. It won't burn. But I need to get it off of me before it soaks in. It's water based and should all wash out, but we need to hurry." She had me lead her to her house, at which time we found the door locked. She hadn't brought the key with her. That was fine, she said, because she knew three or four ways to get into the house, but not covered in paint.
That's how she ended up in my shower.
I led her back to my house and up the stairs into my bathroom. I had an oversized shower, so she just got in dressed and turned the water on. She did her face first, so she could see again and then started stripping off her clothing. I was standing there with the door open, staring at her.
"Here," she said, yelling over the sound of the water. "Take these and get them in the washer right away. That's my favorite shirt and I don't want it ruined."
It didn't seem to occur to her that she was stripping naked in front of a man. Well, not at first. At one point she had given me all her clothing. I had it in this sodden mass, dripping inside the shower and was still standing, staring at her unclothed beauty.
She turned and saw me.
One hand went to her breasts and the other to cover her golden pussy hair.
"Mark!" she yelled. I started and my head jerked up. "Hurry and get those in the washer!" she yelled again. I left, leaving a trail of milky water all the way to the utility room.
Now I was a mess. The floor was a mess. Christy probably hated me. My whole life was a mess. I pulled off my own wet clothes and threw them in the washer with hers.
"Mark?!" I heard her yell. "Maaaarrrrrrrk!?" I padded back upstairs and stopped at the open bathroom door.
"Yeah?!" I yelled.
"I need help!" she yelled back.
"What's wrong?!" I yelled.
"It's so thick in my hair, and I can't see it. I need someone to help me wash my hair so it doesn't stay around the roots!" she yelled.
I was standing in the doorway, dripping, naked. Great. "Give me a minute!" I yelled and started to turn around and go find something for both of us to wear.
She opened the door to the shower and leaned out "Mark I need your help now or it's going to be too ..." She petered out, no pun intended, as she saw me standing there naked, covered in diluted white paint. I must have looked like a ghost.
She laughed! "Come help me," she finally said.
"I need to get something on!" I yelled back. "And something for you."
"She was still looking at me. "No time. This stuff comes out, but only if you get right on it. Bring a comb. Besides, all you'll be looking at is my head, right?"
Yeah, right. What the hell. I went.
She was right. It was matted deep in her hair and it was a bitch to get out completely. You had to scrub and comb and scrub some more and comb some more. It took half an hour to get her clean to the scalp.
And for that entire half hour I was hard as iron.
There wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. It stuck out and banged into her legs, and her hips, and her buttocks. Once I was standing right in front of her and she was bending over slightly, so I could see her scalp. She had to be looking right at my boner, not two feet away. It took every fiber of self control I had not to rape her right then and there. I even managed not to rub up against her. I was so proud of myself.
I'd have made it out of there a complete gentleman, except that when I pronounced she was done she reached her arms around me, molded the front of her body up against mine and kissed me on the lips. I went into hyper-sensation. Her breasts were pressing up against my chest. Her pussy was pressing up against my dick. Her lips were soft and warm and loose. I went weak from the stimulation.
Well everywhere except for one place.
Finally she backed her lips off with this half lidded expression on her face.
"Wow," she said. "Even better than I hoped." Then her eyes cleared and she pushed me away. "Thanks for doing my hair. I'd have never gotten it all out by myself. We'd better go find something to put on."
With that she opened the door, grasped me firmly by my rock hard cock and led me out like I was on a leash.
I know she led me down the hall and into my bedroom, because that's where I came back to earth. She could just as easily have led me out into the street. All I was thinking about was the taste of her kiss, the warmth of her lips, and the feel of her body up against mine. And, oh yes, the feel of her hand on my prick.
She must have picked up some towels on the way too, because one was slung over my shoulder. I was standing in my bedroom dripping. I started to dry myself off and heard noises in the closet.
Christy yelled "By the way, Mark, the cost of painting your house just went up."
Oh shit. Here it came. Blackmail. She could press charges for indecent acts with a minor, attempted rape, pain and suffering. She could take me for all I had.
She came out of the closet wearing my old number 7 football jersey. It came down to the bottom of her hips. She had my number 01 jersey in her hand and a pair of sweats I didn't even think I still owned. She could find the damndest things in my house.
"Oh?" I said lamely.
She threw the clothes in my face. "Yeah. I just thought of something I need and I can't buy it."
I was still standing there, mostly dry by now, kind of dabbing at things that allowed me to cover my boner with the towel. She came over and started helping me put the jersey on.
"Hey," I growled. "I'm a big boy." I started getting dressed.
I'd swear I heard her say under her breath "Yes, you certainly are."
But by then she was headed for the door. "I'm going to see if I can find us something to eat."
Shit, she was taking over already, treating the house as if she already owned it.
When I got to the kitchen she was banging pots and pans around, but didn't seem to be accomplishing much. She had a can of ravioli out, but couldn't find a can opener. I was walking on thin ice here. What did teenagers like? Pizza! They all liked pizza.
"How 'bout I just call for a pizza and have them deliver it?" I said hopefully.
She spun around smiling. "That would be great! I love pizza." Then she frowned. "I should be able to cook. But I can't. I don't know anything about being a girl."
I was already on the phone telling them to bring me two or three pizzas. I didn't care what kind. No, I didn't care what kind of crust either. I was trying to listen to her and talk to some idiot pizza person at the same time.
Christy came over and took the phone away from me. "One large meat lovers, thick crust. One large supreme, thin crust. Throw some bread sticks in too. Yeah." She gave the address. How the hell did she know MY address?
She hung up the phone. It was quiet. She looked at me and said "Sit down Mark, we need to talk."
OK. I took a deep breath. Here it came.
I looked at her beautiful face. Wait a minute. When did she get that beautiful face? Those elfin eyes - they were green - that little pug nose. When did this tomboy next door turn into a real woman? I knew about the tits and hips, but this was different. This was a woman looking at me. Come to think of it, it had been a woman kissing me in the shower too. That's why it got to me so much. Those lovely green eyes were filling up with tears. Oh shit, maybe I did scare her.
"I'm sorry," I blurted out.
Her head jerked back. "Huh?" she said.
"I'm sorry. I hope I didn't hurt you. I know I shouldn't have done that, but..."
"Gee, Mark, lighten up. It was just some paint," she said, her eyes wide.
Now it was my turn. "Huh?" I said.
"You didn't hurt me. It was just some paint. We got it all off. It's no big deal, OK Mark? Please, I need to talk to you about something important."
She thought I was talking about spilling paint on her. But how could that be? That was just a silly accident. That wasn't the major thing that had happened in the last hour.
I decided to keep my mouth shut and just listen for a while. "OK, shoot. You have the floor."
"Good." She sat there. For some reason she was looking at her feet. "OK. Here goes," she said firmly. She raised her head, looked at me and then back at her feet. "I'm ... stupid," she said. She looked back up and her eyes were wet again. "About girl stuff." She paused. "And I want you to teach me about ... how to ... how to be a girl," she finished.
Grreeeaaaat. She wants to know about girl stuff. Yeah, that's right up my alley. I forgot my vow to keep my mouth shut.
"You're a girl. It comes naturally to girls. You already know everything you need to know. You were born with it. Along with your different parts. You know ..."
She looked up at me in disgust. "I know about the girl parts," she said as if talking to a moron. Actually, she WAS talking to a moron at the moment, because when she said "girl parts" she flipped the hem of the jersey up, baring her blond pussy, promptly lowering my IQ by 50 points as I salivated over my glimpse of Nirvana. "I don't know what to DO with them. That's the problem. And you have to help me Mark. You have to. That's what I meant when I said the cost of painting went up. You have to teach me what to do with my girl parts. Boys are starting to ask me out and I don't want to go because I don't know how to be a girl." She had large clear tears welling out of her eyes now and rolling down those perfect cheeks.
Of course you know what guys do when large crocodile tears start rolling down girl's cheeks.
"OK, OK," I said. "I'll help you". Without, of course, giving any thought to what that actually meant.
But I was soon to find out.
"Oh thank you, thank you," she said as she jumped up, all perky again. Those boobs of hers jumped too, under my jersey. She came over to where I was sitting, straddled my lap, plopped down and kissed me. It was a shorter kiss this time. More like what a daughter shouldn't give her daddy, because there's more in there than just "I love you daddy". But it wasn't a brain melter like the one in the shower.
Of course, knowing that her naked pussy was separated from my boner by one layer of cloth didn't help my IQ go back up either. Oddly, a thin thread of sanity wafted up from somewhere prompting me to ask "OK, now what exactly did you have in mind?"
She frowned again. "I don't know exactly. That's part of the problem. I mean I know some stuff, of course. Like that time I saw you and Janet. I know that's what fucking is like, though I didn't really get to see very much of what was actually going on. And I saw your ... thing ... shoot stuff out on her, and again today, and so I know..."
"Again today?" I interrupted her.
"Yeah, while you were changing into painting clothes. I was at the window, you know?"
Oh shit. She did see me beating off.
"Anyway, I know that's how to make a boy's penis shoot stuff, by rubbing on it like you did. In theory, I mean, but I've never done it, and maybe it's not as easy as it looks. Heck, the only time I even ever touched one was when you were getting the paint out of my hair. Well, after that, anyway. So can you teach me that?"
She wanted me to teach her how to jack off a boy.
All men have two heads. We have our big head, and our little head. They both have brains in them, commensurate with their size. My little brain caused me to speak up.
"Yes! Yes I can teach you that Christy," I said firmly.
She immediately got up off my lap. "Oh goody, can we start right now?"
Who was I to disappoint a young girl? I led her back up to my bedroom and lay back on the sheet-less bed. Her casual attitude about showing her body and touching mine suggested that I had been way too conservative in thinking about how she might react to things.
So I threw caution to the winds and just jerked my sweats down to my knees.
She stood there, eyes wide as my boner bobbed and waved.
"Doesn't that hurt?" she said.
"No, not unless it stays hard a long, long time. Then it gets a little uncomfortable. But if we do what you want to learn to do, it will feel very, very good. Now, come on over here. You should probably get down on your knees." She did and tentatively reached for my pole. "OK, now, grasp it about half way down." She did. "See that skin up at the end? That's called a foreskin. Now slide your hand down, but don't let go of the skin." She did and my glans was unsheathed.
"Wow," she breathed. "That looks completely different than when it's covered up."
"Yes," I said. "Not all men have a foreskin. Sometimes it gets cut off at birth."
Her hand squeezed hard as she said "Ow! That has to hurt."
I came back. "Well, when you're a baby you don't remember it. OK, now if a man has a foreskin, then having that going back and forth over the head will stimulate him enough to make him ejaculate. Really all you are doing is moving the loose skin back and forth along his shaft. If he doesn't have a foreskin, then you'll need some lubrication or something because then your whole hand has to slide along the skin and over the head. It's sort of like your hand is a puss..." Shit. I'd almost said pussy.
"Pussy?" she said.
So much for modesty. "Yeah," I said. "Like a pussy. Speaking of which, do you ever rub your pussy Christy?"
She shook her head. "That time I saw you with Janet? I went home and my pussy itched then, and I was rubbing it cause that made if feel better, and my grandma caught me. She whipped me good and said that if I ever did that again it would make me go blind. It doesn't itch too much though. Watching you jerking on your ... your penis ... that made it itch, and it itched again in the shower when I kissed you."
"Oh," I said. "Well, your grandma meant well, but what she said isn't the truth. It doesn't make you go blind, and it's one of the things I'll have to teach you. That is your main girly part, after all."
"OK," she said. It was obvious that whatever I said was the truth as far as she was concerned. She leaned closer to my cock while she jacked it, pursed her pretty pink lips, and started blowing on it, like it was hot food and she was trying to cool it off enough to put it in her mouth. I found that thought extremely interesting.
"I heard the girls in the locker room talking about blowing a guy's cock. Am I doing it right?"
I didn't laugh. I stopped her. She looked up at me questioningly. "Christy, honey, I need to show you one of the things that your girly parts are good for. You need to understand this part before we go on. You know what an orgasm is?"
"Yeah, we talked about it in sex ed. The guy puts his penis in the girl's vagina," - she looked at my dick again, and shook her head - "which has to be a crock, because there's no way in the world that that thing would fit inside my vagina. It's way too big. Anyway, when he does that they have orgasms and sperm shoots out into the woman. That's what you did today, right? You had an orgasm?"
"Yes. But that doesn't really explain it. Here's what I want to do. I want to give you an orgasm. Then you'll understand exactly what it's like for a girl, and that will give you some idea of what the man is feeling. OK?"
"Sure," she said. "What do I do?"
"You trust me. What I'm going to do will seem very strange to you, but trust me, OK?"
"Sure Mark," she said. I got up, sat her on the bed with her ass on the edge and lay her back. I got between her legs. I told her to lift her butt and she did, and that let me slide the jersey up to her stomach. There, in all its glory, was her pretty teenage pussy, all pink and soft under its crown of blond hairs. I took her legs and hung them over my shoulders.
"All I want you to do is lay back and feel this," I said. "I'm going to lick your pussy."
"You're going to what? she said, lifting her head.
"I'm going to go down on you. I'm going to give you a blow job. I'm going to help you have an orgasm. Now just lay there and feel," I said.
And then I feasted on that pussy. I started by sliding my hands all over her thighs and abdomen. Most men ignore the millions of nerve endings in a woman's abdomen because men don't have them. Right over the ovaries and along the track where the fallopian tubes run there are zillions of nerves that are really handy at getting a woman in the mood. I pushed every button on her skin I could find except her nipples. I was saving them for later. While I did that I licked and kissed the inside of her thighs, moving closer and closer to her pussy lips. In no time her hips were moving around on the bed.
"Mmm Mark, that feels ... nice. Mmmmm. Hey! My pussy's starting to itch."
Her hand came down toward her vulva and I slapped it away.
"Just feel," I growled. Then I moved my tongue up between her pussy lips, which were darkening and had swelled.
She jerked when my tongue slipped into the beginnings of her hole. I widened it and licked all the way up, flattening both lips and dragging the flat of the tongue across the hood sheathing her clit. "Ohhhhhh," she said. I backed up and looked. Yup, her clit was beginning to peek out. I went back to the lips. I licked the left, then the right, then stuck my tongue as far into her as I could. When I couldn't stand it any longer I took the tip of my tongue and started going in circles around her clit. I started raking the tip over the clit itself and her hips came up off the bed. "Ohhhhowwww," she yipped. "Oh Mark ... oh oh don't stop, please keep doing that. Ohhhh ..." She finally had to take a breath and while she did I sucked her clit into my mouth and nibbled on it.
Christy had her very first orgasm. It turned out she was a gusher. I'd heard of them, but never actually seen one. Her juices actually squirted out of her pussy like semen would from a man. There was a thin stream of a milky white substance that hit me on the chin. Then clear fluid began seeping out. I dove back in and lapped it up, sucking on the lips, her clit, anything, shaking my head back and forth, letting my lips and even my nose slosh around between her legs. She was moaning and groaning and yelling and even laughing. Finally I felt her hands on my head and she was yelling "Stop, stop, Mark ... I can't take it anymore." I backed up and her legs fell off my shoulders limply.
Right then the doorbell rang. The pizza was here.
I grabbed a towel, wiped my face, pulled up my sweats and went to the door. It was a girl! She looked at me and her eyes got wide. I was patting my butt, trying to find my wallet. Finally I realized what I was doing. "Just a sec. I'll get my wallet." I turned and bounded up the stairs.
Christy was still lying on the bed, legs spread, chest heaving as she recovered. One hand was lying with two fingers across her clit. Those two fingers were very slowly rubbing her clit. I grabbed my billfold and headed back downstairs. On the way I saw myself in the mirror. Hair going every which way, area below my nose still wet with Christy's spend. Shit eating grin on my face. I pulled out two twenties, gave them to the girl, took the boxes and slammed the door in her face. I was on my way to the kitchen when I realized that besides what I had just seen in the mirror, the pizza girl had an unobstructed view, as I patted my ass, of the eight inch tent in the front of my sweats that my still hard dick was making. I threw the pizzas on the table and dashed back upstairs.
"Pizza's here," I announced, trying to breathe normally, like what I had just done was no big deal.
Christy raised her head and looked at me. "Can we do that again? Please?"
I smiled. "Yes. We'll do it again. But not now. There are lots of other ways to make that feeling happen. You'll want to learn all of them I imagine."
Her head dropped back down on the bed. "Ohhhhhhh yessssss," she said. "I want to learn them all."
I lay down on the bed beside her, on my side, so I could look at her. I gave her a little more time to recover.
"So that's what a blow job is," I said. "For a girl. When a girl does that to a guy it's slightly different."
She rolled her head to look at me. "You mean the girl puts his penis in her mouth? Right?"
"Right," I said.
She looked thoughtful. "So what happens when the stuff shoots out?" she asked.
"Well, you can catch it in something - a towel or whatever - or some women like to drink it - swallow it - and some women even like to let it go all over the place, making a big mess."
"And it makes the guy feel like I just did?" she said.
"I want to make you feel that way," she said.
I pulled down my sweats again and lay back on the bed.
Christy was a fast learner. She crawled over and held my dick, which was now wet with precum. She dipped her finger in that and stuck it to her tongue.
"Mmm ... salty a little bit. Doesn't really taste like much of anything," she said.
I was in teaching mode. "I'm told that a man's diet determines to some degree what his semen tastes like. I don't know about that, but women have told me I taste different than other men they've known."
Instead of talking, Christy dipped her head and swooped down on my cock. She seemed to know instinctively not to use her teeth too much. She used her tongue to play with the foreskin, sliding her tongue along the glans and almost under the skin. Then she jacked the skin off the glans and sucked that part like she was trying to drink soda through a straw. She was a natural.
I'm here to tell you. Most men have to be jacked off during a blow job. It is rare indeed for a woman to be able to bring a man off with only her mouth. Christy was one of those women. She used her lips, cheeks, teeth and suction to work my cock like it was some kind of musical instrument. Quite soon I felt the sweet release I had been aching for for what seemed like hours.
"Christy," I said, panting. "I'm about to shoot, baby. Any second now."
Now she used her hand. She skinned the glans clear, locked her lips around the sensitive area just under the glans, stuck her tongue in the hole that was about to spew and jacked on my cock like she had seen me do.
I pumped what seemed like a pint into her mouth and she happily sucked and slurped it all down.
Now it was my turn to lie there, gasping for air, limp. She rose up on her haunches and looked at me as she licked her lips.
"Not bad. Not bad at all. I'm gonna go get some pizza." And she was off like a deer, bouncing off the bed and leaping across the room.
Once again I ended up in the kitchen with Christy. She was bubbly now, euphoric after having had and given her first orgasm. She ate pizza with relish, talking about anything and everything. She sat on a chair, legs carelessly open just enough that I could see her treasure. I had left my sweats in the bedroom and now was dressed as she was, only in a jersey. She glanced in my lap and stopped eating.
"Mark!! What happened?!" she was peering at my relaxed and happy penis. "It got all ... little! I didn't break it did I?" she anxiously looked up at my face.
I thought she was kidding. But she seemed serious. "No, sweetie. This is how it looks most of the time. Did you think it was hard all the time?"
"Well, yeah, I guess. I've only seen yours, and every time I saw it, it was hard."
"Oh, yeah," I actually blushed a little. "The first time Janet made it hard. Every other time you saw it, you made it hard."
She looked interested. "How exactly did I do that?"
How to explain to this delightfully innocent girl that a dirty old man had been sneaking peeks through holes in her shirt for years. "Well, if a man sees a woman he likes, or who he thinks is beautiful, especially if he can see the private parts of her, her girlie parts" - she smiled - "then he gets hard because he wants to have intercourse with her. That's how men are made."
She thought about that. "You think I'm beautiful?"
"Oh yeah!" I said. "I've thought you were beautiful for several years now. You've made me ... hard ... before today. Several times."
"And that's because you want to ... to have intercourse with me?"
"Yes. I have to admit I have thought of having intercourse with you."
She shook her head. "But it would never work. I mean, when you're hard, you're way too big to fit inside me. I put a finger in there one time and it was tight even for my finger. You'd never fit. I have a hard time getting a tampon in me sometimes."
Hmmmm she used tampons. That meant no cherry.
"Well, sweetie, I know it looks that way, but I guarantee you that, when the time comes, and you want to take a penis inside you, it will fit, no matter how big or small it is. Mine is probably pretty much a normal size. Maybe just a little bit longer than some, but not bigger around."
"But it hurts, right?" She had closed her legs and was rubbing them together slightly.
"It depends. If your hymen was intact, then tearing it would hurt a little. Since you use tampons, you won't have that problem. But, if the man pushes his penis in you too fast, it can hurt. If there isn't enough lubrication, it can hurt. You just have to pick the right guy when the time comes. You need a guy who loves you and will be careful and do what you need done. Then it will only hurt a little bit, and then usually only the first time you do it. After that it shouldn't hurt at all unless he goes too fast."
"So you don't want to be the one who does it with me the first time?" she said.
"No, sweetie, I didn't mean that. I'd love to be your first, but it has to be someone you love and want. It's a very personal thing. Besides, I don't have anything here to protect you ... from pregnancy."
"Oh!" she said. "Pregnancy," she murmured under her breath. Her legs were rubbing faster now. "Mark?"
"My pussy is getting all itchy again."
We went back upstairs. I grabbed some sheets and we made the bed. I told her to take her jersey off and she did so without a thought. She was gorgeous. Her breasts were the upturned kind, with perky pink nipples that stuck out even when they weren't erect. Each was probably two handfuls. Her flat stomach accentuated those hips that kept her pants up now. By the time I got undressed my cock was at full mast again.
"Oh look!" she said with glee. "You want to ... fuck me ... again!"
Too true. But instead I told her I was going to give her another orgasm. We got into bed and I held her against me. I concentrated on kissing.
After four or five kisses that sucked the life out of me she leaned back.
"That's why I kissed you in the shower today. I had never kissed anyone except my grandma. I see the other girls kissing their boyfriends and I wondered what the big deal was. All it took was that one kiss in the shower and I understood. And now, I've had an orgasm and I understand that too. You really can't explain it in words. I really like the kissing. It makes my pussy itch a lot."
Then she went back to kissing me. I rolled her onto her back and started sliding my hands all over her body. This time I played with her breasts. At first I just slid my whole hand across her nipples and then down to her abs, where all those nerves are. Then I strummed her nipples with all four fingers and slid one finger into her vulva. I was kissing her all the time. Finally I squeezed and pinched her nipples, tugging them this way and that, stretching them out, pulling them away from her body and letting then snap back. She was writhing now and all I had to do was slide my middle finger deep into her pussy and pull upward, mashing her clit and she went off like a firecracker.
She shuddered and groaned and then made yipping sounds as the orgasm washed over her like an ocean wave. Her knees flexed and then her legs shot out straight. With my finger buried in her I wagged my hand sideways to extend her pleasure. It took maybe 20 seconds before her hand went and grabbed my wrist, stopping my motion.
She lay there gasping. "Oh ... Oh that ... feels ... so ... good ... but stop ... or I'll just ... die." She gasped again as I slowly pulled my finger out of her. Her juices had glued it in place and I could feel the seal breaking. Then we rolled together. I pulled the top sheet over us and we drifted off to sleep.
I woke up. There was a warm naked body up against mine. Christy. Oh yeah. I was so happy it wasn't a dream after all. I had a full Monty boner and it had insinuated its way between Christy's legs and was nuzzling her pussy. That part of her was even hotter. I couldn't resist the temptation to push. There was just enough pressure on the skin to slick the foreskin back and forth over the glans. That felt so good I just lay there, dry fucking her thighs and pussy lips for a while. I was going to have to jack off or I'd never get back to sleep.
"Mark?" she whispered.
"Mmmm yeah, baby?" I whispered back.
"Are you fucking me?"
"No sweetie. It's just touching your opening. It's not inside you."
"Mark?" she said again.
"My pussy itches again. And what you're doing feels really nice. Could you maybe put it in me just a little? Not all the way, but just a little?"
"I'd love to do that baby, but like I said, I don't have any protection." The thought of going in her 'just a little' was entirely pleasurable, except that I knew 'just a little' usually ends up being more than that.
"What about if you weren't inside me when you squirted - like you did with Janet? Wouldn't that make it OK?"
Man! She had all the answers. The temptation was great. I should not do this. Withdrawal is a crappy form of birth control. But her pussy would be sweet, and it would get my rocks off.
Up to this point I had just been stupid. And male.
But now I made my first big mistake.
"OK. But just a little, and then when I tell you it's time, then I pull out. You can drink it then if you want to."
"Goody!" she whispered.
Then I made my second big mistake.
"OK, you get on top of me. That way you can put as much in as feels OK, and you can jump off when it's time and go down on me."
Which is how I ended up underneath 110 pounds of horny virgin with a hard cock that said virgin was about to use to deflower herself with. She situated herself and reached between us. She grabbed my dick and started rubbing it around her honey pot. She learned instantly that it could be used to massage her clit, and did that for a while, mewling softly about how wonderful it felt. Then she pointed it up into her pussy and began applying pressure to get some of it in her.
It was a tough go. She was very tight. She hunched and thrust and the head slid out every side of her pussy mouth. "Relax" I told her. "If you're muscles are tensed up, they make it hard to open you up. Relax your inner muscles." I reached up and captured her head in my hands. I kissed her and tried to make it the most tender and sexual kiss I could. I licked her lips and showered them with little kisses. Suddenly the head popped through her pussy sphincter and she gasped.
"Ooooooooo," she moaned. "That feels huge". She wasn't moving any more.
So I said "Does it feel bad? Does it hurt?"
She responded "No ... it just feels ... strange. I'm really stretched, but it doesn't hurt. It feels like there isn't enough in me, though. Like I should push to get more in."
I knew what that was. It was the same thing that was telling me to push more in. "Sweetie, that's instinct. Your pussy knows what it was made for and it wants to do that. But you can control that if you want to. Like I said, just go as far as you want to."
"OK, she said. "But my pussy still itches, so I'm going to put just a little more in. I like it when you kiss me."
Very direct, my girl. So I kissed her some more.
That's when I made my third big mistake.
I decided to give her a little assistance by playing with her nipples. I started rolling them between my thumb and fingers, not pinching, just playing with them. She moaned into my mouth and started moving her hips. She wasn't exactly pushing down on my cock, but she wasn't pulling off either. It occurred to me I had never had my mouth on her breasts. I broke the kiss and pushed her up enough that I could get to them. I captured her right nipple in my mouth and I sucked.
Christy squealed and lunged. I felt my cock sliding into hot butter and I felt her heat all over my cock. ALL over my cock. She had impaled herself completely. She made the most amazing and erotic noises I ever heard. They were sort of like "OOOwahhh...EEEWWWWW...MAAAAAAAA...UNGGGGGGGGG." And all the time she was wiggling wildly on my cock.
If she would have just leaned forward she could have pulled the invading monster out. But for some reason she went sideways, then back, then partway up, then back down.
The thing I compare it with is when you take a bite of something too hot, and you can't spit it out, you move it all around in your mouth, really fast, so it won't touch any one part of your mouth long enough to burn it. You know what I mean?
Well, she was doing that kind of thing with my cock. Except, of course, her pussy couldn't get away from my cock. I put my hands up under her armpits and started to pull her off of it and she let out a wail that would have waked the dead.
So I thought she was in so much pain that she didn't want me to move and I let go. Wham she slammed right back down on it, driving it up into her belly deep. Then that wiggling. Then I figured it out. My cock was clear up into her cervix and by wiggling the way she was she was making my cock head massage those inner lips, with their zillions of sexual nerves. Then I could feel how the tip of my cock was slipping up into that mouth, peeking into her womb, while my foreskin bunched outside, sealing around her cervix.
Remember when I told her that just the foreskin gliding across the glans could result in an orgasm? Well put that penis inside a virgin whose cervix is doing the same thing and you have a recipe for orgasm. I felt the tingle in my balls that heralded just such an event. And of course, right then, Christy started to tumble into her first orgasm while stuffed with a hard male penis. "Oh Mark, oh Mark, oh Mark, oh Mark," she chanted.
I said "Christy, honey, it's time to get off, baby."
She said "Ohhhh Mark, AHHHHHHHHHHH Mark! oh shit, Mark!"
I said "Now, Christy, now baby, you have to get off nowwww!"
She said "Noooooooo," and ground her pussy down on me even more.
Three bad things I did. And they led to this.
My one-eyed-dragon was peeking into her treasure cavern when it breathed fire. My prick did the triple "B". It Bulged, Belched and Backfired, sending long sticky ribbons of my cum not just into her pussy, but into her womb itself. Not just long sticky ribbons of my cum, but buttery bolts of sperm were injected into her like it was a medical procedure. And the foreskin bunched nicely around the lips, sealing them so none of those wriggly little sperm could get out.
Egg? Meet Sperm. Hope you two live happily ever after.
Well, that's what I was thinking, not that that helped. If anything, the thought that I might be knocking up this beautiful woman made my balls work that much harder to provide another ounce or two of seed to fertilize her with.
And through it all she was yipping and yelling and her own juices were squirting out around my cock, soaking everything. At one point she grunted "Hot, hot, hot, I can feel it hot, wet, wet, ohhhhhhh."
And then she just stopped, frozen.
And, very, very slowly, she bent her arms until she was lying on top of me, her face in my neck, gasping for air. I had filled her belly with my spend, and it had weighed her down until she couldn't move.
She licked her lips and whispered in my ear "My pussy doesn't itch any more, Mark."
"I'm happy for you, baby," I whispered back.
"I've loved you for years, Mark."
"I think I loved you too and just didn't realize it," I said truthfully.
She snuggled down, squeezing her pussy muscles around my still embedded cock.
We fell back asleep that way.
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