Fooling Around 101 - Version Bravo

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Chapter Four

I didn't plan it, but Cindy graduated into upper division classes that night. After her third finger-induced orgasm that night, she rested long enough to explain that ever since she'd started masturbating (which happened one night after she sat on my lap when she was twelve or thirteen) she had experienced what she believed were orgasms. On the night of her first date, she found out they were only the precursors to orgasms. If you've ever masturbated, you know about that point just before an orgasm, where you're right on the edge of the cliff. If you keep rubbing, then you get the orgasm. If you stop, then you get something that is akin to an orgasm (at least if you're a man) that involves the pain of an orgasm, but not the fulfillment. I don't know if I've described that well or not, but suffice it to say it's almost an orgasm, but not quite.

So that night we both learned that she'd never had a real live orgasm before. All those little shudders she'd given off, while I was sucking on her nipples, had induced me to stop sucking her nipples, because I thought she was finished.

So imagine a kid who was raised eating shoe leather, and gets her first taste of (insert your favorite kind here) pie.

This, we discussed after her third orgasm, with the pillow again covering her agonized groans of ecstasy. Of course, by then I was also diddling her clit, but that's not important.

What's important is that her hand strayed to my groin and felt my arousal.

"It's hard," she whispered.

"Yes."

"It seems like it's always hard."

"That's your fault."

"Guys get hard for any woman," she scoffed.

I sighed. "Sweetheart, I know tons of women I'm not interested in having sex with. If any of them came to me and asked me to fool around with them, just for fun, I would politely decline. Mr. John Thomas doesn't stand to attention for just any old female."

"Mr. John Thomas? I thought we were talking about you." She did look confused.

"It's just a name for my ... um ... manhood."

She laughed. "You call him Mr. John Thomas?"

"It's a traditional name," I said, with as much dignity as I could muster.

"Well, I think I want to meet Mr. John Thomas," she said.

I admit I was a little fired up by now, so I didn't resist. I just skinned out of my shorts and let her see it.

Gone was her little game of just touching it with part of her hand. Mr. John Thomas became her instant new, best friend as she gripped him lovingly and stroked him like a massage therapist in training.

"Where did you learn to do that?" I panted.

"Do what?" she asked, dreamily.

"Move your hand up and down like that," I said.

"Suzie MacDonald has a porno she stole from her cousin's house," she explained.

She stroked slowly some more.

"I've seen it on the tape," she said, sounding a little in awe, "but I don't believe this would actually fit."

I started to say "Oh, it will fit. Trust me!" but then realized that might not be the best avenue to proceed down.

"When you're thirty, something like that will fit," I said.

She giggled, and looked at me, still gripping my cock.

"I'm gonna do it long before I'm thirty," she said, suddenly all woman.

"Then you'll do it with something that looks a lot like that one," I said.

"Hmmmm," was her only response. "So when will you spurt?"

"That's a complicated question," I said. "The reason I was able to help you have those last orgasms is because I have experience at ... well ... making that happen. But it's a little different with a guy. He has to be touched just right, at just the right speed. It's a lot of work, even for the guy himself. And each guy is different."

"Well how am I supposed to learn it then?" She sounded upset.

"The good news is that, with boys your age, they can get off a lot easier. But believe it or not, more than half of an orgasm is all in your brain. If you're not having a good time with someone, it's pretty hard to have an orgasm."

"Why would you even be out with someone if you didn't think you'd have a good time?"

"What I actually meant is that you need to like the person, and want to have that kind of good time, for it to work. And with boys, it's pretty much a given that they'll like you, and want to have that kind of good time. The more they want it, the quicker you'll be able to give it to them."

"So you don't want it so much?"

"I didn't say that at all," I said. "Let's work on your technique."

"And how do we do that?" she asked.

"The best way is for you to let go of me, and for me to demonstrate technique on you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay. What do I do?"

"First, you get naked."

There was a pause. Then her voice whispered "Naked?"

"Buck naked," I said.

"But then we'd be naked together," she said.

"I know. How does that make you feel?"

"Scared. Excited. It makes me feel all buzzy here." She pointed at her abdomen.

"That's your uterus, telling you it wants to breed."

"What?" She sounded dazed.

"That's your body, getting excited about having sex."

"But we're not going to have sex," she said.

"Your body doesn't know that." I smiled.

We had already broken through what I'll call "the pelvic barrier." But she'd been in the heat of the moment then. Now I went about things more clinically.

Once she was naked, I had her lie down beside me. She was nervous, but I went into lecture mode, having her look at my face while I used the Braille method.

"This whole region is what is called your loins," I said, spreading my fingers wide and pressing my entire palm down over her mons. Basically, my hand and fingers were lying on her skin, but not touching anything particularly erogenous. "Now, we're naked, and I'm a guy. When I'm touching you like this, does it feel particularly sexy?"

"No," she said.

"What about this?" I asked, and let my fingertips drift across her mound, playing with her pubic hair. She jerked.

"Yes!" Her voice was tight.

"That is technique," I said.

I leaned over and pressed my closed lips to her nipple.I brushed them across it, but that was all.

"That is touching," I said.

I opened my mouth and lovingly sucked the nipple until it was stiff and turgid.

"And that is technique."

"I get it," she said, flushed, and breathing deeply.

"Now, when you masturbate a boy, your grip can be either touching, or technique. Try it on me, and I'll tell you which it is you're doing."

She sat up and gripped my cock. Within five minutes, through what reminded me of the game when you call out "Colder!" or "Warmer!" as someone gets close to something, she had discovered what "technique" meant when it came to gripping a stiff penis with just the right strength. Another five minutes taught her what was too fast, too slow and just right.

At least for me.

But, alas, it had been a bit too clinical for me. I knew she could stroke until she wore me out and I wouldn't cum. I was quite sure if she sucked the tip, I'd go quickly, but I wasn't going to ask her to do that. I'd pushed the envelope pretty far already.

So I explained that I needed some mental stimulation, and asked her to let me show her what that meant. I told her to lie down, and draw her knees up, spreading her thighs apart.

"I feel so nasty," she moaned, as she spread herself for my perusal.

"You're beautiful," I said. I got to my knees and fisted my cock.

"What I'm thinking about right now, is that like this, you look like you're offering yourself to me ... offering your pussy to me." I started stroking, and she gasped.

"I know you're not, but listen to my fantasy, because it's my fantasy that's going to make me spurt. It's the fantasy that's going to supply the mental part I need."

"Okay," she said. She was breathing even harder, now, and her eyes glittered. Her hands came to hold her knees apart.

"Your pussy is right there ... right in front of me. All I'd have to do is drop down to my hands and knees, and my cock would be right there, ready to slide into your belly. You'd be hot, and tight. You'd moan and groan. And my naked prick would be inside you ... no condom ... inside you bare ... with my sperm wanting to rush out and make a baby in you.

"Ooooo Uncle Bob," she moaned, her face flaming red. "That's so nasty!"

"And you'd resist me at first," I said, picking up on the fact that this fantasy made her uncomfortable, though not enough to make me stop. "But after I got it in you and fucked you with it for a while, you'd change your mind, and wrap your arms and legs around me ... and tell me not to stop."

I had sped up. Her eyes were wild now, her mouth open, a look of almost panic on her face. She was shaking her head, and her voice broke out.

"No! You can't! You can't put it in meeeee."

And that was all it took, and I felt the sap rising. I should have leaned back, or aimed it somewhere off to one side, but I just couldn't. She looked so fine, lying there spread open, and my fantasy was so hot, that I just aimed it toward her belly and painted her pubic hair with four stripes of white cum. She gasped and honked, almost like a goose, and I about lost it, but I didn't want to laugh at her. It was all I could do to keep from touching her with the tip of my penis. Those pussy lips were fat and swollen, almost greasy looking, and I wanted to rub the tip of my leaking prick between them.

But I didn't. I finally sank back down on my haunches, panting for breath.

"That's the kind of thing men are thinking about, when they want to fool around," I sighed.

She had her head up, with the strangest look on her face as she surveyed the fact that my semen was on her body. Her breath rushed out with a whoosh, and I realized she'd been holding it. Now we were both gasping for air.

"At least men like me," I said. "Hang tight and I'll go get something to clean you up with."

It had been an insane thing to do ... on many levels. First, she probably wasn't ready for something that intense. And to do it right there in her living room, where anybody in the family could have seen it ...

She was still lying there, gripping behind her knees when I got back with a washcloth. Her head was back down, and her breathing had slowed, but was nowhere near normal.

"I'm going to clean you up," I said softly, afraid that if I just touched her she might yelp.

Her head bobbed quickly, and I got the impression she was somehow paralyzed, until such time as my nasty uncle-sperm was cleaned off her body.

"You okay?" I asked.

Again, the head nod.

"It's all right to be a little freaked out," I said. "I kind of lost it a little bit. I'm sorry."

I sopped up the sperm on her pubes. It looked like more than it really was, and I was finished quickly.

"There. All clean again," I said, trying to make my voice light.

One hand left her knee and that leg dropped like it was made of lead. The hand ventured to explore, and found nothing objectionable. The other leg dropped then, and she lay as if she'd been shot, limp and helpless.

"You want to sit up?" I asked.

"Did you mean all that ... those things you said?" Her voice was very young in that moment.

"That's another complicated question," I admitted. "It's a fantasy, and I know that, which means you're perfectly safe. I would never hurt you or force you. You know that."

She nodded, and then reached for me to pull her up. When she sat up, she pulled her legs in and sat Indian style.

"But what about other men?" she asked.

"I can't speak for them, and you must always be very careful, if you decide to become intimate with a man. Some men can't control their urges."

"That's scary!" She shuddered.

"Don't be scared," I said. "Just be careful. Just be aware that it can get very intense, very quickly."

"No shit!" she sighed. "That was intense."

She leaned forward and looked into my lap.

"Oh my gosh! You broke it!" she gasped.

I looked down to see Mr. John Thomas, back to his normal, flaccid three or so inches.

"He's fine," I said. "Next time you tease me, he'll be ready to do the same thing all over again."

"Wow," she said softly. "It's just so ... I don't know. I can't even describe it."

"That's why your mother wanted you to experience these things in a controlled environment," I said.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome. I'm sorry if I scared you."

"Not scared. Not exactly," she said. "I haven't thought of a word for it yet. Not scared, though. I'll never be scared of you. I'm glad it happened."

"Good," I said.

"I think I'm going to go to bed now," she said.

"Okay."

She stopped while crawling past me and kissed me on the lips. It was a new kind of kiss, a more mature kiss.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," I said.

To give you some idea of how odd this situation was, the next day she was fine, as if nothing had happened. And nothing new happened for three more months. I'll explain that more in a bit.

She went on her dates ... lots of them, in fact. She was very popular. She went out for basketball and got on the team, though she sat on the bench a lot. But still, she was a "jock" and she was popular. I found this out from her brothers, who were a good source of gossip about things at school. But they didn't know anything about her dates, or what happened on them.

I remember one night Dennis and I had been assigned to go get ice cream, and as we were driving to the store I asked him if he was worried about how guys were treating her on her dates.

"Not really," he said. He didn't seem to feel like any explanation was required.

"Why not?" I asked, unhappy with that answer.

"She doesn't seem to have any problems with the guys she goes out with."

"Problems," I said. I stopped there. When you do that, people almost always feel the need to explain. Dennis was no different.

"Well, for one thing, they know if they cross a line, we'll break their legs." He looked proud of his latent ability to employ violence effectively. "But mostly, she just won't go out with any guys who lie or have loose lips."

"Lie, or have loose lips," I repeated.

"You know, like when a guy says he got farther than he really did with a girl, trying to impress people? She won't put up with that."

"And loose lips is telling the truth," I said.

"Right. Nobody wants to hear what she does when she makes out ... you know?"

Little did he know that a lot of people would love to know what Cindy did during the make out phase of dates. A profit-based website could probably be created if there were video and/or sound of a teenage girl's make out sessions. But I didn't tell him that.

"Of course," I said. "Do you think she makes out at all?"

He looked at me. Never assume that kids are stupid.

"Jealous, Uncle Bob?"

"Me? Of course not. Curious is the word."

"Dirty old man, Uncle Bob?" He grinned.

"Worried old man," I countered.

"Well don't. I used to worry, but I think she's a smart girl. She's a tease. She even teases you. I've seen her do it. But I don't get any vibes from any of the guys that she's doing anything stupid."

"Good," I said. "I'm glad."

An interesting thing happened three or four days later. Cindy asked me to help her look for something in the basement, in some boxes that were stored down there. When we got there, she pushed me up against the wall and pressed her body against mine.

"I hear you've been asking questions about what I do on dates," she said.

I'm not generally a liar, and especially not to Cindy. "Yeah ... so?"

"Denny thought it was funny that you were worried about me. Are you worried about me, Uncle Bob?"

I let my hands slide up her side to her breasts. I squeezed them.

"I worry any time I think of some pimply faced boy doing this."

She giggled, and arched her back, giving me more room to molest her breasts, if anything.

"You're jealous! That makes me horny."

It did, too. She kissed me, and I could feel it in that kiss. But we didn't have time to do anything about it then.

Much to the distress of Mr. John Thomas.

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