My First Valentine

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Chapter Six

She put her heels back on to go up the walk to her front door. The shawl was firmly wrapped around her, covering her front. It was cold and she tried to hurry. The heels clacked loudly on the cement.

I went with her, of course. I wasn't about to miss the chance of another kiss before the coach turned back into a pumpkin, and Cinderella turned back into my best pal, who might only want to climb trees together again. I actually thought about taking one of her shoes with me when I went home. That's how bad I had it.

I probably could have gotten a shoe too, because she took them off once she was on the porch. I expected her to turn and give me that kiss, but she fumbled in her clutch and pulled out her key first. When she got the door open, she didn't turn to give me a kiss, but just went inside. I stood on the porch, feeling sorry for myself.

"Get in here!" she hissed from the dark.

I got. I felt better. Maybe I might get more than one kiss, out of the cold.

But she didn't kiss me then either. Instead, she told me to take my shoes off. Then she took my hand and tiptoed, pulling me, until I realized we were going to her room.

Maybe I am, in fact, a pervert. All I could think about as we negotiated the hallway, going past her parents' room, and then the bathroom, was that soon I'd be in the room where her bed was. Not that I'd never been in there before. I'd been in there hundreds of times. I'd been on that bed hundreds of times.

But not since I found out she lay out on it, naked, with her hand busy between spread legs, thinking about me jacking off ... probably while I was jacking off.

And, of course, by the time we got there, my boner was back. I was glad she left the light off, and couldn't see my problem. And I knew her room well enough that I could negotiate in the soft glow of the light from the street lamp in the alley behind their house.

Again, a book was created, with page after page of images, only a few of which I can describe. I wasn't ready to be an author. Or co-author, as it were. But things happened, whether I was ready for them or not.

It started when she whispered, "We have to be quiet," which seemed obvious to me. While we'd been in her bedroom countless times before, and her parents hadn't paid any attention to it, I somehow knew that things had changed. I suddenly remembered her father asking me what I expected to get away with. I felt a bit of hysteria threaten to make sounds come from my mouth and clamped down on that.

Then, with no fanfare, and no warning of any kind, Valerie simply shrugged those straps off her shoulders again, and then pushed her dress downwards, leaving it in a dark puddle on the floor. The question as to panties was answered. They were white, but that was all I could tell, before they, too, were pushed down and kicked off of one foot.

She stood, gloriously naked in front of me, clothed only in shadows.

She didn't say anything.

I couldn't say anything.

Finally, she stepped silently towards me, coming up to me and pushing at the shoulders of my suit jacket.

"I want to be your valentine," she whispered.

She pushed the coat off my arms, and it thumped softly to the floor. My shirt followed. It was like she'd practiced. Her motions were fluid and efficient. There was a little bit of fumbling when it came to my belt and zipper, but then my pants were falling.

She knelt. I felt fingers at the waistband of my jockey shorts. My erection angled downwards as she pulled, and it got caught up in the cloth. I felt a warm hand reach in and, almost gently, assist my penis in escaping, only to be abandoned as her hands went back to removing the only garment I had on other than socks.

The reality of what was happening ... the enormity of it ... finally dispelled my paralysis.

"What are we doing?" I whispered.

She stood back up, grasping my penis along the way. Her hand felt both strange and elating.

"Being valentines," she said, reaching up with her lips to kiss me.

"We can't do this," I rasped.

"We're not going to do everything," she said, her voice smooth and reassuring. "We have to save that for later. But we can be together, like I've wished we could be together for a long time."

"Together?" I panted.

"Just touching ... kissing."

I was sold. If we weren't doing everything, then the pressure was off. To be honest, I wasn't so worried about the morality of what was going on. Granted, her parents (and mine) would be furious if we were discovered like this, but my real concern was that the only thing I knew how to do was kiss. And I did not want to make a fool of myself trying to do things I wasn't prepared to do.

But touching and kissing? I could do that.

She chose to do this touching and kissing on her bed, which only made my dick stiffer.

Then we made out some more. Only it was much better than it had been in the back of the Impala.

It helped that she never let go of my penis. She didn't jack on it so much as she just played with it. Occasionally her fingers would explore my balls, which were full and tight. I knew the skin there would feel thick and pebbly, and that the hairs sprouting from that skin would be relatively stiff. When my ball sack softens up and hangs, everything seems to soften.

My hands found her breasts, of course. That was probably the first thing I did once we were on the bed. She didn't object. We made out like that for what could have been an hour, before I got the urge to kiss her elsewhere than on her lips. I'd found one nipple with my fingertips, and played with it until it stood firm and turgid off her breast flesh. Her breasts were both firm and soft at the same time, and that nipple under my fingers demanded to be kissed. I kissed down over her cheek and jaw, into the hollow of her neck, as she arched, giving me room and murmuring in a way that told me she liked what I was doing.

Without warning her, I moved my lips to that nipple and kissed it. Where it came from, I don't know, but I had the urge to suck, like a baby, and I did that then. She groaned, and her hands came to the back of my head, pulling me against her. She let me move to the other nipple, and I marveled at the texture. How could something so firm and delicious in my mouth, be associated with something so warm and soft against my nose and cheek?

One of her hands left my head and fumbled for my right hand. She dragged it downwards, across her abdomen. My heart thudded as I realized I was being encouraged to do something else I'd only dreamed of. I felt a mixture of apprehension, which was immediately replaced by amazement, because the hair I expected my fingers to find wasn't there. Instead, I found smooth, slippery ... wet skin!

I could see her face, and most of one breast. I would love to have seen the bald skin my fingers had discovered. But that part of her was in the shadows, and I didn't want to stop what I was doing.

I felt like a blind man, who understood the Braille of the body. I could distinctly feel the lips there that I'd seen countless pictures of before. But they felt completely different than I expected. They were soft and pliable, rubbery. They were fun to massage!

Her hips arched, and I remembered other things I'd seen in pictures. Hesitantly, my middle finger split those lips and I dragged it upwards, searching for a bump.

I found it.

I diddled it.

Her other hand left my head and slapped hard over her mouth as her whole body arched. I felt frantic activity above my head, and abandoned the nipple I'd been sucking on, lifting my head to see that she had grabbed a pillow and pressed it over her face. She was groaning out loud. The hand on the pillow flailed, found my head and pushed my face back down, her meaning obvious.

I sucked again, and kept diddling. That hand appeared, fumbling for mine, on top of mine, and somehow she pushed in a way that made my middle finger slide downwards.

And then inwards.

Into wet heat like a furnace.

She groaned.

I had thought I knew nothing other than kissing. But I was finding out differently now. It turned out that all that online porn had taught me a thing or two after all. I at least knew the theory of what she wanted. All I had to do was get good at it quickly.

That was interesting on a number of levels. First, as I inserted my finger deeper into her, her pelvic thrusts became stronger, and I had to use the heel of my hand to push downwards, just to keep from being dislodged. I didn't know it then, but that crushed that little bump, and when, just for exploratory purposes, I curved my finger, feeling around a new environment for the first time, I massaged something else too.

The reaction was astonishing. Her hand flashed back to the pillow and slapped down on it hard. Her hips bucked up off the bed and her whole body went rigid. The noise from under the pillow was worrying, both because it was loud, and because it sounded like she was in pain. But strangest of all was that, suddenly, that hot, wet place clamped down on my finger so hard that I had to straighten it. Tentatively, I gave it a tug. I could tell it would be possible to pull it out, but the resistance was amazing. Then it let up, and clamped down again. Her hips came down and bounced off the bed, going back up, at which point the whole squeeze and release thing happened again. Only this time, with her hips still up in the air, her insides fluttered! That's the only word I can think of to describe it. Things loosened and tightened, like they had before, except it was rapid fire.

Finally, her hips fell back to the bed, and her whole body relaxed. The hand that had been on her pillow flopped down beside her, leaving the pillow in place, but not pressed tightly against her face any more. Then it came back up, briefly, to drag the pillow away. She was panting like she'd run a mile.

Her insides finally released my finger and I started to pull it out. She hissed, and her hand came to slam down on top of mine. I thought I'd hurt her somehow, and froze.

"I'm sensitive," she whispered, still panting. Her hand assisted me in very slowly removing my finger. As soon as it was out, she exploded, rolling to land half on top of me, her panting lips searching for mine.

"I love you," she whispered, as she kissed me.

I'd have told her I loved her too, but my lips were too busy.

She eventually caught her breath, and reached for my cock again.

"Can I do something for you?" she asked, softly.

"I don't know," I said.

"Can I try?"

"Please do," I said, almost formally, as that string in my balls twanged again.

She did try. I'll give her that. And it felt good. But a penis requires very detailed attention, which involves shifting techniques, and she (thankfully!) had no way of knowing that. I could have tried to teach her what was necessary, but it was too much fun to just let her play, instead of disrupting things with a tutorial.

"Isn't it supposed to spurt?" she asked, at one point.

"It's complicated," I said.

"Aren't I doing it right?"

"You're doing fine," I said. "Maybe at some future date we can discuss the technicalities of how that all works with me."

"Okay, but what about now?"

"I'm actually about as happy as I've ever been in my whole life," I said. I meant it, too.

"Don't you want to finish it off?"

"It would feel weird to do that in front of you," I said.

"That's silly, after what just happened."

"I know, but it's how I feel."

"Okay. How about making out a little more?"

"I'd love that," I said.

So we did. We started off on our sides, just kissing but not pressed up against each other. That gave us room for our hands to roam, which they did with glee. She stroked me some more, but not with any great energy. And we kissed.

These kisses weren't so filled with passion as the ones that came before. They were more exploratory and intentional. I know that sounds stupid, but that's what it felt like. We tried different kinds of kisses, like on the corner of the mouth, or on the eyes. I tried nibbling one of her ear lobes. She really loved it when I nuzzled the hollow of her neck.

And we talked a little bit, in almost silent whispers, about the night, the change in our relationship, and the wonder of it all.

"Remember when we were dancing and I pushed up against your stiffy?" she asked.

"Stiffy?" I grinned.

"Whatever. Do you remember it or not?"

I nodded.

"Were you shocked?"

I nodded again.

"That felt so wicked. I loved it. Am I a slut?"

"No way you're a slut. Don't ever say that word again," I said, almost too loudly.

"Can I feel that again?"

"You want to dance now?" I smiled.

"No."

She pulled, and I realized she was pulling me on top of her.

Now you have to understand that there are things young people don't understand ... haven't been taught ... and that included us. I thought, for example, that if you were going to have sexual intercourse, that involved very deliberate, specific actions. Intentional actions. It never occurred to me to think about the fact that an erection points upwards naturally, and how that might match the orientation of a woman's vagina. It never occurred to us that instinct and Nature might conspire to help two animals mate, who had never done so before and didn't even intend to do so now. So when I started helping Valerie feel what she wanted to feel by rubbing up and down on top of her, I thought all that was going to happen was that my … stiffy … would rub against her pussy lips, and maybe that bump. Or at least my balls would fall deep enough between her thighs to rub what she wanted rubbed.

So it was a complete surprise to us both when, on about my sixth or seventh thrust, my rigid penis slid smoothly and effortlessly into that hot furnace my finger had already explored.

It was a lusty thrust, and it caused that first penetration to put me balls deep inside my valentine. I felt the base of my penis thud against where that bump was.

She gasped.

I gasped.

More instinct flooded my body, which caused me to keep pushing, because my penis was having a great time, surrounded by that pulsing, velvety, rippling muscle.

She groaned, but it wasn't a groan of pain. Thankfully, she was still ultra-lubricated, or it could have been a tragic end to a wonderful night.

Instinct wasn't restricted only to the male of the species. It kicked in on her part too. Both her hands slapped loudly and painfully down on my ass cheeks. Long, lacquered, glue-on nails dug into my tender flesh so hard that I felt one pop off. I imagined it flying to land on the floor.

And then there was this uncoordinated, almost spastic kind of writhing that went on, where I tried to hump (instinct) and she tried to hump back (also instinct) and my over loaded system determined that a safety valve needed to blow.

As it turned out, the valve that blew couldn't be classified as "safe". But it blew like a volcano, allowing a stream of warm, soothing semen through my penis, which released it happily into her soft, clasping vagina.

Turned out Mr. Mulgren knew what he was talking about.

The aftermath could still have been tragic. Valerie could have been devastated by the risk of pregnancy. She certainly hadn't planned or intended for actual intercourse to happen. Nor had I, but there was no way in the world I could be sorry it had. I didn't want to get her pregnant, but I was still happy we had made love.

And, as it turned out, so was she. It had been on the agenda, in her mind. Just not until after our senior prom.

That's how far ahead Valerie thought about things.

So did her parents. And mine, as it turned out. They'd all been convinced for years that we'd be high school sweethearts.

True, it didn't happen until our senior year, and I'm pretty sure it didn't happen the way they thought it would. Then again, her dad did ask me if I was going to put a move on her or not.

But what they didn't know about us wouldn't hurt them. And Valerie was one who believed in adapting.

Plus, there are ways to be able to make love, without making a baby. Even if you engage in that activity as often as you possibly can. We worked hard to get better at it, so it wasn't as spastic and was a lot more intentional.

Of course nothing short of abstinence is fool proof. And that's the one form of birth control we did not use.

So ... what happened after that?

Well, this is a story about Valentine's Day, and not the years that followed.

I will tell you that I have only had one valentine in my life. One real valentine, anyway. We went to college together, where I eventually asked her to marry me. We did not elope, and she did not throttle her mother. We both finished college.

Now there are three little future valentines running around the house. I feel like the King of the castle and my queen is still beautiful.

Is it any wonder that Valentine's Day is my favorite holiday?

The End

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