Fooling Around 101 - Version Bravo

by Lubrican

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

Chapter Five

I said that nothing new happened over the next three months. What that means is that there was no escalation of our activities. She did not pull back from me or anything, but she was busy at school, and I had some projects that needed extra time to get done, so I spent a little less time at their house. I knew things were okay between us, because she still gave me long, passionate kisses in the hallway, or if we were in some part of the house alone.

So I was pretty sure that, if getting my semen on her had freaked her out, she'd gotten over it. That was confirmed the next time we got some extended time alone. Basically, she had me masturbate her to several orgasms (we made out for half an hour and I supplied her usual nipple foreplay) and then she wanted to try getting me off again. She was better this time, and had obviously grasped the concept of the fantasy, because she teased me.

"So you want to put this big, nasty thing in me? You want to have sex with me? You're so nasty. And you'd put it in me bare. You'd make it squirt inside me, wouldn't you! You'd actually put your sperms in me!"

She got me close enough that I didn't want to stop to 'arrange' things, so I just gripped her hand in mine and got to the point where it started spewing. She giggled maniacally and kept on pumping, making spunk fly in all directions, chanting "I did it! I did it! I did it!"

But we only went deeply into things about once a month. It wasn't nearly as easy to get time alone as one might think. On one pretty important night, she had come over to my house "to do her homework" because "her brothers were making too much noise and she couldn't concentrate."

That was the third time we played our little game, and her vocal delivery of lines designed to get me to spurt, was much more polished. Also, she had developed some masturbatory muscle memory, and didn't have to spend as much attention on her hand. That let her brush her lips against mine, talking into my mouth. We were lying side by side, that time, and she brought me all the way with no help whatsoever.

She was elated. The only problem was that she had been so busy kissing me, that she didn't pay any attention to where, on her body, she was aiming my penis. As a result, those pouting pussy lips got drenched. She also demanded that I clean her up, each time, and had a little spiel she went through while I did that, telling me how naughty I had been, and how sweet and innocent she was, until I spunked all over her. And this time, as she lay there, waiting for me to clean her up, telling me how terrible I was to threaten her virginity, she wasn't prepared for the washcloth to touch her sexual opening. It had always wiped across some other part of her body before this.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, as I carefully peeled her pussy lips apart, only to see that the semen had acted like glue, and had seeped past those gates.

"Be still," I said, trying to figure out how to clean her out without shoving it even deeper. "You got it in the wrong place."

"Is it in me?" she gasped, jerking so that my fingers slipped.

"It wasn't!" I snapped. "Until you moved after I told you not to!"

She went very still. "Is it in me now ... Uncle Bob?" she whispered.

"Don't panic," I said. "I have a plan."

I put my hand on her stomach as I said that, because I was pretty sure she was going to do something stupid, like move around, which would only suck that semen deeper into her sexual opening. I was right. I had to hiss at her to get her to stop.

"I wasn't going to do this to you," I said. "What I mean by that is that you have no business doing what I'm going to do on any date. Not until you're a whole lot older."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, her voice full of angst.

"I'm going to get that semen out of you," I said.

"How?" she whined.

"Like this," I said.

I wiped the washcloth through her furrow, and then leaned down and sucked her sweet little pussy for all I was worth. I was trying to get every drop of moisture from her pussy into my mouth, swallowing and sucking like an industrial grade vacuum cleaner. I didn't know if it would work, but it was the best I could do, under the circumstances.

I was so intent on that, that I sort of blocked out the sounds she was making, or the fact that her fingers gripped my hair hard enough to rip some of it out. When she bucked so hard that I lost my lip lock on her pussy, that's when I figured out she was having a heck of a good time.

At that point, I had either gotten all my semen out of her ... or it was impossible to do so ... so I concentrated on technique for a while, until she finally pushed me away, moaning "Stop! I can't breathe!"

I stayed where I was. She tasted really good. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath, and she lay, limp and satisfied.

"I never thought anybody would ever do that to me," she sighed.

"Wrong," I said. I licked her split one last time. She jerked, but then relaxed as I did a pushup and she could see I was stopping.

"That was amazing," I said.

"That is also dangerous," I said. "I don't recommend letting boys do that."

"You don't recommend letting boys do anything." She smiled tiredly.

"They can kiss you, and buy you pretty things," I said.

She laughed.

"But if you let them do that, there is a point in time where you are so distracted that they can move up and put something besides their tongue in you, while you're not paying attention."

"I believe that," she said, no trace of humor on her face or in her voice.

"Good," I said. "I hadn't planned on doing that to you, but under the circumstances ..."

"I can't believe there has been semen inside me." Her voice had a dreamy quality to it. "Uncle Bob's semen."

"Let's not do that again," I said.

"I can't believe you put your mouth on me!" she moaned. "Ewwwww. And with your stuff down there too! Ewwwww!"

"Don't be silly. You taste delicious. I don't know what I taste like, because there was a lot more of you than there was of me. I'd be happy to eat your pretty pussy every day of the week."

"Really?" That dreamy tone was back in her voice.

"Except, of course, that's way out of line."

"Of course," she said. She reached between her legs with a finger. "It doesn't feel any different."

"It's not," I said.

"It sure felt different while you were doing it."

"I'm sure it did. A woman's mouth feels completely different on Mr. John Thomas than her hand does."

There was a long silence.

"Are you asking me to give you a blow job?" Her voice was low, and guarded. At least in my imagination, it was.

"Of course not. You need to save something to learn how to do when you're older. Don't jump ahead of your educational comfort zone, girl. You have all the time in the world to perfect sex. All you need to know now is how to kiss and fool around a little bit. A little bit!"

"Okay," she said. Her fingertip moved in a circle around her clit. "I agree. After tonight, you won't get your semen in me, or put your mouth on me any more."

I fell for it like a third grader. "Right."

She reached for me and pushed me down between her legs.

"I'm really happy tonight isn't over yet," she said.

There was a subtle change to our normal relationship after that. I think she knew that we had taken things to a point where anything further was going to be really important, as opposed to fooling around. She understood that fooling around was one thing, but that beyond that, it could complicate her life significantly.

And I think she took that philosophy with her on her dates. She never wanted for a date. In the past, she had actually turned down dates so she could spend time with me, "practicing," as she put it. But as she finished her junior year, that changed, and she spend less and less time with me, and more and more time with boys her age.

That was appropriate, of course. I had already been incredibly lucky, having access to young pussy, to put it crudely. Most guys don't get that lucky. And even though I wasn't fucking that young pussy, that didn't matter. If anything, I was glad about that. As best I could tell, she had actually learned a lot, without it messing up her mind. And that was important to me, because I loved her.

This is not to say things cooled off between us, though. She had one well-defined habit. Whenever Cindy and I were alone, even if it was only for twenty seconds, she kissed me. And they were the good kisses, not the uncle kind. Each time she did this, she whispered "Thanks" when it was over, and grinned and went on about her business.

Once I smacked her on the ass after she did that. It was a nice, full contact, perfect slap, that had to sting, because I didn't hold much back. I don't even know why I did it, other than the fact that she had a bubble butt that packed a pair of jeans in a way that made me want to howl at the moon. Maybe I thought it was a reminder that I was the Alpha male or something. That kind of thing is built into males. She stopped, as if she had been flash frozen, with her back to me. I expected her to complain, or maybe even be outraged. I was sure if she dropped her pants, my handprint would be on her ass cheek.

But the look she gave me when she turned around was one that suggested hungry lioness, and I was the rabbit. Or ibis, or whatever lionesses eat. She clearly wasn't unhappy about it. I was reminded of Jeanette, a woman I went out with for a while, who liked to be spanked as a prelude to what she called making up. If I got her butt nice and pink and mottled, she was so wet we needed a towel. When I spanked Jeanette, she wanted it bareback. And the look on Cindy's face was that look.

So I resolved never to do that again. After all, that wasn't part of Fooling Around 101. That was part of an upper division class.

I honestly think things would have stayed that way, with Cindy learning something with me, and then exploring it further on her dates. When the summer got there, she spent the whole day with her friends, or some boy, usually both at the same time. Kids these days date in herd.

Normally there is safety in the herd. And I think adults look at those groups of kids and think "They're in a big group. Good. No privacy to get in trouble. Good."

But think about it. When you were growing up, adults went to great lengths to assure that you had no private time with a member of the opposite sex. Right?

But you engineered it anyway.

And now that kids present the illusion that they're always in a group, I think their parents are less vigilant. I know the teen pregnancy rate hasn't dropped much in the last four or five decades. It's gone up, if anything.

But, as I was saying, I think things would have perked along like that until she went off to college, except for the accident.

It happened while Jill and the boys were at Southwestern, getting them enrolled for the fall semester. On the way back, Dennis was driving, and some asshole who was texting while driving, drifted into them in their blind spot, and sent them into the ditch. The car rolled four or five times.

Mark was in the back seat, and was not strapped in. His body became the projectile that broke his mother's arm, but she became the airbag that saved his life. Jill also broke a lower leg, but it was clean and didn’t punch through the skin. Dennis got some broken ribs from the driver airbag and his own seat belt. The car was totaled, but they were basically okay.

I found out about this by virtue of a worried girl, who showed up at my house in a panic. It seems that after everybody got processed through the emergency room, Jill was sedated, and Mark was actually released, but stayed anyway, glued to a chair in Dennis' room. He didn't have any way to get anywhere anyway. Nobody thought to call home until they were overdue by five or six hours. Then, when Mark finally thought of it, Cindy was at my house, crying because she couldn't find her family. I was thinking about who to call myself, when my own phone rang and Mark gave me the update, saying his sister wasn’t answering at home.

They let Dennis go two days later, after they were sure he didn't have a concussion. He was taped up, but he had a 24 hour nurse in his twin brother. Cindy and I picked them up and took them home. They wanted to keep Jill for another week.

The boys were wigged out. Kids think they're bullet proof, and something like this can hit them pretty hard, when they are faced with their mortality. So Cindy and I took care of finding out where the car was, and dealing with the insurance company and all that. I think it distracted her.

And she decided to stay at my house until such time as her mother was released.

Not only that, she wanted to sleep in my bed. She said she needed somebody to hold her.

The first couple of nights after the accident, when she stayed with me, all we did was hold each other and sleep. I think there was a subtle, but fundamental alteration in our relationship, during that time. There was no fooling around, even though we both went to bed naked. That activity had always been based on a light, almost playful mood, and neither of us felt playful until we were sure the others were going to be all right.

That change in our relationship, however, was momentous, because we grew closer together in ways that I don't think either of us was aware of, right away.

Then the boys went home. Cindy told them that my house was closer to the hospital, and that's why she was still going to stay with me. But that night, after the boys were home, when we got into bed, and she snuggled into my arms, her first kiss was an attention getter. She wasn't frantic, or scared, or horny. She wasn't playing, or relieved or trying to deal with stress. Or maybe she was all those things, and more. All I know is that, for the first time, what we were doing was important ... instead of just fooling around.

It is said that mortal danger sometimes ignites emotions in us that might otherwise never have come to the surface. What they are referring to is documented cases in which men and women, most of whom were not previously lovers, or even close acquaintances, and who were in situations in which it was likely they might die, engaged in sexual intercourse. It seems ludicrous for a soldier and a nurse to have sex while they're pinned down in a mortar attack, or for two people trapped in a collapsed building, to suddenly tear at their clothes and rut.

It is anything but ludicrous, though. Mortality demands that there be new life, and new life is created in sexual congress. The species must go on. This is precisely why women in countries where famine is common, bear three times as many children as the land will support. And that biological imperative dismisses rational thought completely. Those women know most of their babies will die. If they have enough, though, maybe some will live. The soldier and nurse are fully aware they will probably die. They don't intend to get married. They are not choosing each other as the best possible mate. Rather, they seek what small solace they may find as they stare Death in the face. And making love in that situation is a little like flipping Death the bird.

It doesn't make a lot of sense ... but it sure makes you feel a hell of a lot better.

It is possible that her glimpse of mortality, on the part of her brothers and mother, may have triggered that drive in Cindy. I don't know. And near death situations can affect people ... meaning myself ... in ways that we don't understand at the time.

All I know is that, somehow, while we were seeking solace in each other's embrace, I ended up inside her.

It wasn't planned. Neither of us reached for my penis and positioned it. I wasn't on top of her, exactly. It was more like I was leaning on her. She might have been humping me, which was normal for her. I don't know. All I know is that, suddenly, my prick sank into a furnace and she gave a sigh that was so full of pleasure that my balls almost burst right then and there.

"Ohhhhhh, Uncle Bob," she groaned into my lips.

Her kiss became more urgent, and her hands went behind my head and pulled. She did not, in any way, shape or form, try to get me out of her. I felt her inner muscles tense, and then release, and she groaned as I instinctively rolled further onto her and thrust, going deeper.

And then I was in the saddle, and her legs were spread. Her hands were still behind my head, but her hips lurched upwards as I finally sank fully into her sex. She chewed my lower lip, while I pulled back, in preparation for sliding into her again. Her hands came to my shoulders and pushed hard enough to get my face away from hers.

"Don't you dare stop!" she panted.

I slid back in and mashed her clit with my pubic bone.

"Ohhhh fuck," she whispered, her eyes open wide. "I didn't know it would be like this."

"We're not supposed to be doing this," I panted.

"Don't you dare stop!" she gasped, and her legs wrapped around my butt.

I didn't. I tried to make it last. A lot of things went through my mind in those first few minutes of our joining. First, I thought about getting her off, and then stopping. Then I thought about getting her off and pulling out when it was my turn, so I could shoot on her stomach, or something like that. As she writhed against me, however, it got harder and harder to think at all, because it was quite plain she was having a wonderful time.

Her orgasms, with me in her, were different, of course. When I got her off with my fingers or mouth, she was loud and thrashed and beat the mattress with her hands. Her head rolled back and forth and she flopped like she was having a seizure. But when she had an orgasm with me in her, it seemed like all that energy went to her vaginal and pelvic muscles. She froze, and then mewled pathetically, whining and cursing softly as her internal muscles spasmed and went nuts. It was an amazing thing to witness, and a mind-blowing thing to be involved in.

Then, quite suddenly, while I should have been making a decision about what to do, I thrust one last time, and what felt like my entire insides flowed through my penis and into her no longer virgin sheath. I didn't even feel bad. It was something I just had to do.

Maybe it was that drive to beat death. I don't know. I knew I should have pulled out, but I just couldn't.

As I said, that drive leaves no room for rational thought.

What was odd about the whole situation was that, as we caught our breath, neither of us said anything at all. I don't believe it was one of those situations where neither person knew what to say, or was tongue-tied. I don't remember feeling that way.

I rolled us sideways, still in her, and we fumbled for pillows to try to support us in this position. I could feel myself slipping out of her. There was nothing I could do about that. Being pressed close enough to stay in her would have required effort, and we were both very relaxed.

And, without a word as to what had just passed, we fell asleep in each other's arms.

If you think back to the time(s) when you first had sex with someone, and stayed the night, you may remember how awkward it can be when you wake up the next morning. There is the usual morning breath. There is the fact that her pussy was a mess, if you didn't use a condom, or the fact that you have a messy condom on your cock (or lying in bed with you somewhere) if you did. There is this new thing has happened, and about which neither of you knows quite what to say. There can be an elephant in the room, as they say.

All those things were there when we woke up, but it wasn't awkward at all. Her comment "Sex makes a mess!" was followed by her simply going to the bathroom to clean up and brush her teeth. Meanwhile, I got up and stripped the bed, using the sheets to wipe myself down a bit. After dumping them in the hamper, I went into the bathroom and used my own toothbrush. Cindy was in the shower, humming. She didn't sound unhappy in any way.

"Is there room in there for me?" I called out, tentatively.

"Ohhhh yeah," she said.

I went in. We washed each other. We kissed. She said, "Thank you. I'll never forget last night." I said, "Neither will I, trust me." And then we got out, dried off, got dressed, and she cooked bacon and eggs while I got some coffee brewed.

We ate in a companionable silence. Finally she sat back.

"A girl could get addicted to that."

I knew she wasn't talking about the breakfast.

"Hence, my plan not to take things that far."

"I'm really glad you're a terrible planner."

"I didn't plan that."

"I know. That's what I mean."

"So," I said. "What do we do now?"

She looked right at me. "Well, I move back home, for one thing."

"I see," I said.

"I doubt that seriously," she said.

"Explain it to me, then," I said.

"If I stay here, we're going to do that all the time. And I know we can't do that. So I need to move back home, where you will not be there to tempt me twenty-four hours a day." She smiled.

"I agree," I said. I admit it was difficult to say it.

"I love you, Uncle Bob," she said. "But my mother would kill me if I had your baby, and I need to go to college and there are just all sorts of reasons I should stay out of bed with you. And I already know I'm not going to be able to stay out of bed with you completely, so the goal now is to manage this addiction so that it doesn't do bad things in our lives."

"That's a very adult way to look at things," I said.

"Thank you," she said, sounding quite mature.

Do not ask me how it happened, but about fifteen minutes after we arrived at all those mature, sensible, adult decisions, she was naked again, and under me as I powered into her, trying to get as deep into her as I possibly could.

So much for deciding to do the sensible thing.

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