Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 I slept fitfully that night, waking frequently, dreaming about being with
Monica and anxious about what might happen if I was found molesting a 12
year old girl.

   I hate that word - molesting.  I suspect that half the time the molester
and the molestee are interchangeable, that is, who is molesting whom?  I
had a niece, 14, come on to me at a family gathering when I was 18.  First,
I didn't feel anything special happened to me when I turned 18.  Second,
Ginger, my niece, knew exactly what she was doing when she touched me
"inappropriately."

   I didn't think it inappropriate, of course.  She did it discreetly but
there were too many people around, too many chances to get caught and too
many ways word could get back to my family if she bragged to her friends.
There was also something missing.  Ginger was too aggressive and I missed
the feeling of being with someone fresh -- a little naive -- and feeling
the rush of exploring new things, new feelings, new sensations.  I felt
like I was going to be a new notch on Ginger's bedpost.  At 14, no less!  I
think she was fucking anything in pants.  Monica was something else, indeed
-- shy and untouched as far as I could tell.

   I got up early, since I wasn't really getting any rest anyway.  The day
broke fair and sunny, at least in mid-Wilshire.  The TV news called for
sunny at the beaches, too.  I got out a swim suit my mother had made me to
wear at the pool back home when I was in high school, a pair of slim boxers
she had designed at my request as a substitute for the baggy boxers then in
vogue.  They fit snugly, with square-cut legs and a flat front.  I
preferred them to the Speedo style as well -- not so much emphasis on "the
package." Besides, my package tended to shrivel up and stick straight out
in cold water.  The tight slim boxer design kept it in place better. 
Besides, I looked really good in it.

   It was Wednesday, the only day I was going to have off until the
following Tuesday, almost a week away.  I had to see if I could find Monica
again.  Getting my other swim suit back was almost an afterthought.  I
wanted to see her again, talk to her, maybe touch her, press my body
against hers, hold her hand, kiss her...

   But what if she didn't come to the beach today?  My stomach churned at
the thought.  I would be reduced to going online to find stories about
college guys doing it with Jr H.S.  girls to read while I jerked off into
paper towels.  Damn!  I wanted to do that right now but I didn't.  For the
moment I was enjoying that squirmy feeling in my balls, the half-erection
and the endorfin high that contemplation of sex brings me.  But, wait, I
thought.  There's no guarantee that I'll ever see her again, even less
chance that I'll see her naked again and, whoa, only the slimmest chance
that we'll touch or kiss or bring our bodies together in sexual embrace. 
So, assuming I do see her again, how do I increase the odds that the rest
will happen?

   Be the kind, protective sort who leads her gently into the world of
romantic pleasures; someone she can trust and relax with.  Be the wise
sage, the keeper of all she wants to know.  Woo her with your heart, not
your pecker.  Your pecker will enjoy the rewards of a slow and soft
conquest soon enough.  Well, maybe not too slow.  I wanted her like I
haven't wanted anything in years.  But this beautiful girl was only 12.  I
couldn't approach her in the same way I did the 18 year-old college girls I
knew, girls with varying degrees of experience, some more, some less but
experience nonetheless.

   I drove to Santa Monica -- strange, the name Monica in Santa Monica --
about 9:00.  I was reading with the sun at my back by 9:30.  The day was,
indeed, clear and sunny and warm.  No Monica, however.  About 10:00 I
looked up and saw her and one of her friends -- one of the petite blondes
-- putting their towels down in the same spot they had been the day before.
I'm sure she had seen me.  Not many people were using backrests and mine
has bright stripes that can be seen for a hundred yards.  But she never
turned her head in my direction.

   She had a pair of oversized shorts and a big blouse with a floral print,
both of which she soon shucked off to reveal a white bikini.  She didn't
have quite enough tan to be wearing white yet but the suit itself was
spectacular.  Rather, the suit made her figure look spectacular.  Tiny
white triangles enclosed those luscious titties I had seen yesterday and a
third triangle barely covered her little pussy.  Her folks have seen this
suit I wondered?  I forced myself to continue reading but my cock was
already responding to her curves.

   I read sporadically, trying to hide my frequent glances in the direction
where Monica sat with her friend.  She got to her feet after a few minutes
and I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she approached.  I
pretended to be engrossed in my book but, frankly, I don't think I had
actually read a single word.

   "Excuse me."

   I looked up and she was standing there beside me.  "Oh, hi there." She
held out a white plastic grocery bag that said "Ralph's" in large red
script letters.

   "I wanted to bring these back to you."

   I took the bag containing my swim suit from yesterday.  "Thanks.  I
thought you might keep them as a souvenir."

   She laughed.  "No.  I'd be in big trouble if my mom found them in my
room."

   "I guess you would.  So...  you won your dare, eh?"

   "Yeah."

   There was a long pause.  She neither left nor asked to stay, just stood
above me, looking at me.  "Ummm," she said, finally, "I'm sorry about
yesterday."

   "Why would you be sorry?"

   "'cause I shouldna done that."

   "Done what?"

   "Go in there while you were...umm...while you didn't have any clothes
on."

   "Don't worry about it.  I thought it was kinda fun."

   "You did?"

   "Yeah.  I don't mind having a pretty girl see me naked.  Besides, if you
hadn't come in there, I would never have seen you, well, ALMOST naked."

   She blushed bright crimson.  "Yeah.  I was really scared," she said,
looking down at the sand and twisting herself like an embarassed 4-year-old
might.

   "Why scared?"

   "'Cause I don't go around getting naked in front of guys, 'specially
guys I don't know."

   "Well, I thought you were were beautiful.  I mean I still do, even with
your clothes on."

   She was still standing, looking down at me or, when I said something
embarassing, looking off in the distance over her shoulder.

   "Why don't you sit for a minute?" She said, "Ummmm..." and looked over
at where her friend was sitting quietly watching us.  "Ok." Apparently, she
had some prearranged signal with her friend.

   I stood and spread my towel for her next to my backrest.  She sat
crosslegged facing me, modestly keeping her hands down in front of her
crotch and hiding it from my prying eyes.  "You have a beautiful figure," I
told her.

   She blushed.  "Thank you.  So do you." She blushed a deeper shade.

   "Thank you.  That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me today."

   "What have people said to you today?"

   "Nothing.  You're the only person I've talked to."

   She laughed.  "You're silly," she said through her smile.  She looked
down at the sand for a few seconds while the conversation paused.  "Could I
ask you something?" she asked, finally.

   "Sure."

   "You said I had nice boobs."

   "Yes, I did."

   "And you really think so?  They're so small."

   "Yes they are.  But they have a nice shape."

   "But people say guys like big ones."

   "What people?"

   "All my friends."

   "Anybody over 15?"

   "No.  I don't talk about stuff like that with older...  umm...  I mean
just my friends."

   I couldn't help but look at her sitting there, leaning a bit forward,
her legs crossed with her feet tucked under the opposite knees, the tops of
her breasts puffed upward and inward slightly by the tightness of her
bikini top.  I felt the familiar throbbing begin between my legs with the
accompanying tightening of my balls.  It was a good, satisfying feeling
that occured at the first hint of sexual possibilities.

   "Besides," she continued, "nobody ever told me that before."

   "That your breasts are nice?"

   "No, that I'm pretty."

   "I can't believe that.  Your Dad must tell you that all the time."

   "That doesn't count.  He's my dad and dads are supposed to say that."

   "You mean no boy has ever told oyu how pretty you are?"

   "No.  I mean, yes.  Never."

   "That's amazing."

   "Not really.  My parents won't let me date so none of the boys pay any
attention to me.  They know I can't go out and ...  ummm ...  you know --
do stuff."

   "Not even after school?"

   "No.  I have to be home right after school."

   "But what about now?  You come here with your friends."

   "Yeah.  I can go out with my girlfriends but I can't come here alone."

   "I see.  Bummer."

   "Yeah.  So that's why I don't know much about ...  umm ...  stuff."

   "That's a shame.  Well, you're not going to learn about stuff from the
boys you know.  If those idiots don't think you're pretty, then there's
nothing good you can learn from them.

   "Yeah."

   "Didn't you have a health class that covered things like sex?"

   "Yeah.  We had a class in 6th grade but it was really lame."

   "How do you mean,'lame'?"

   "Our teacher talked about not getting disease or getting pregnant and
stuff.  But she never talked about...ummm...you know, doing it."

   "And you've never had a date?"

   "No."

   "How about things like birthday parties?"

   "Yeah.  I've been to parties."

   "Anything happen there?"

   "Well, at Joanna's party last year -- she's my friend from school -- a
guy grabbed my boob."

   "Just grabbed it?"

   "Yeah.  We didn't kiss or anything.  We were just sitting on the sofa
and some of the others were making out and he just reached out and grabbed
it."

   "What did you do?"

   "Ha, ha," she laughed.  I slugged him."

   "I don't blame you.  Do you and your girlfriends talk about sex and
stuff?"

   "Yeah.  Some of their mothers told them more than my mom did but nobody
knows very much.  All we've seen is these really dumb drawings of a man and
a woman -- no real pictures.  So, when I saw your ...umm..  your dick
yesterday, that's the first one I ever saw."

   Another pause while she thought -- or decided.  "After I saw you
yesterday I thought maybe we could go on a kind of pretend date or
something sometime and we could maybe ...  umm ...  do some stuff." Her
voice was thin and strained as she spoke.  She was nervous and rigid as she
sat there trying to be oh so cool and casual.  She was scared stiff and
pretty much just blurted it out, as she had rehearsed it, but faster.

   "What kind of stuff?"

   "You know, stuff.  Kissing and like that."

   "And touching?"

   "Yeah.  All the stuff I should know about."

   My dreams were being answered.  "So, how would we do that if you can't
go out with guys?"

   "Like today.  I can come here with my friend.  That's Carla," she said,
pointing to the little blonde sitting not far away.  I waved; Carla smiled
and waved back.  "I told her what I was going to do," she continued.  "We
can come here and then I can leave with you -- if you want."

   Did I want???  Holy shit!  This little beauty was handing herself to me
on a silver platter!

   "I would like that very much," I said quietly.  "I would kiss you now if
there weren't so many people watching."

   "Really?"

   "Really."

   "Do you know how to french-kiss?"

   "Of course."

   "Would you teach me?"

   "Not right here."

   She looked around with a worried look, then her face brightened.  She
looked down at the sand, grabbed a handful and let it slowly trickle out
into a tiny pile in a futile attempt at coyness.  "We could go back to the
changing room."

   "Yes, we could but there are more people here today than yesterday so
the risk of someone coming in is greater.  I think it's not a good idea."
She frowned.  "But we could go to my place," I continued.

   "Where do you live?"

   "On Olympic Blvd in Koreatown."

   "I don't know where that is.  Could you bring me back after?"

   "Yeah.  But I cold also drop you off near your house."

   "No.  I gotta come back with Carly."

   "Where do you live?"

   "Westwood."

   "Ok, then we can meet Carly somewhere near there and you two can go home
together like you've been at the beach all day."

   "Ok.  I'll go tell her."

   Monica jumped to her feet as if she was spring-loaded, spraying sand
everywhere -- in my hair, my eyes and all over the stuff on my towel.  I
watched her slim butt and long legs as she ran over to where Carly sat
waiting.  Her pony tail swished back and forth and her arms flayed outward
from the elbows, not like an athlete but like a girl who has never been
taught how to run.  She dropped to a sitting position as she reached her
own towel, immediately talking and gesturing excitedly with her friend.

   Soon, she jumped up again and ran back to me, carrying her stuff in a
large raffia bag.  I watched as she approached, the bag flying at the end
of one arm, her beach towel flying from the other.  Her breasts were
bouncing in her bikini and her pony tail swished back and forth as her long
legs made long strides in the sand.  To me, she was as sexy as anything I'd
ever seen.  "She is running to me," went through my mind and I felt that
familar tingle again.

   She dropped to her knees in the sand.  "Ok, let's go."

   We gathered everything and walked through the sand to my car.  "So,
what's the deal?"

   "I'm supposed to meet Carly at MacDonald's in Westwood at 4:00.  Is that
ok?"

   "Sure."

   "Should we stop for lunch?"

   "I brought a sandwich in my bag."

   "Ok.  I'll make one for myself when we get to my place."

   "Super."

   I asked about her friends and family, her school, her favorite subjects,
her hobbies, everything I could think of to make conversation as we drove.
She sat still and rigid in the seat, hands folded in her lap, eyes straight
ahead.  She was quite willing to talk -- to answer questions, that is --
but she was nervous and afraid to ask anything or start a new
conversational thread.  Wait.  She did ask me where I went to college. 
When I told her she said, "Ok," and dropped the subject.  This was one
scared puppy!

   Her nervousness increased when I parked the car and we walked to my
apartment.  All conversation stopped and she walked almost furtively, as if
someone she knew would see her.  Fortunately, I had straightened up that
morning on the off chance, the remote chance, that I might be bringing this
girl home today.  Monica stepped cautiously through the door and stopped
two steps inside, cluthing her bag and towel to her chest.

   "Home sweet home, for me," I said with a sweeping gesture.

   "It's nice," she said.

   "It's cheap, but it's clean and quiet."

   "Ok."

   "Let's have lunch," I said.  The apartment had a chrome breakfast table
and chairs.  I motioned her toward it.  "I'll make myself a sandwich to eat
with you.  Would you like a soda?"

   "Yes," she said as she moved towards the table.  She sat and watched me
put together a cheese sandwich.  "You put a lot of mayonnaise on that
bread."

   "I like mayonnaise.  The cheese is just so I don't feel guilty about
eating just bread and mayonnaise.  Well, actually, it does add something."
She laughed and relaxed a little.  Mayonnaise is one of my pleasures," I
said.  "What is your favorite food?"

   "Ice cream."

   "Any particular flavor?"

   "Strawberry -- with more strawberries on top."

   "You really must like strawberries," I said.

   "I do." She laughed again.

   She loosened up as we ate our sandwiches and talked, more and more
relieved, I think, that I wasn't going to jump her bones.  I finally
steered the conversation to boys and girls and dating.

   "My parents said I can't go on a date until I'm 14," she said.  "I'll be
in high school then.  Most of the girls I know already go out with boys.  I
feel like a freak."

   "You're a long way from being a freak," I told her.  "So, where do your
friends go -- on a date."

   "To the movies, mostly.  Sometimes, in summer, they'll go by themselves
to the beach."

   "And what do they do when they're together?"

   She laughed, more relaxed now.  "They make out."

   "Do your friends tell you about their make-out dates?"

   "Sometimes."

   "What do they say they do?"

   "Kissing, mostly."

   "What do you mean, 'mostly'?"

   "I mean they kiss and stuff."

   "And the 'stuff' is...?"

   "It's kinda hard to talk about."

   "Didn't you say you wanted to learn about kissing 'and stuff'?"

   "Yeah, I guess."

   "So, what is 'stuff'?"

   "Umm...do I hafta say it?"

   "If you want to do it, you have to say it."

   "Well, sometimes they let the boy touch their boobs."

   "Feel them up?"

   "Yeah."

   "Do they do anything else?"

   "Umm...yeah, sometimes."

   "Like what?"

   "Well, one girl told me she and her boyfriend got naked one day at her
house when her parents were gone."

   "And what did they do?"

   "She said they touched each other all over."

   "You mean between the legs?"

   "Yeah.  That's what she said."

   "And did she like it?"

   "Yeah.  She said it felt really, really good."

   "Did she let him, you know, put his 'thing' in her?"

   "No.  She said she never did it with anyone.  None of my friends have
done it."

   "So, is that something you'd like to do with a boy?"

   "I think I'd be too scared."

   "Why?"

   "'Cause I've never done anything like that."

   "So, you'd like to do it but you won't because you've never done it?"

   "Well, I'd just like to kiss and do some of that other stuff first."

   "Like touching."

   "Yeah."

   "Ok.  Sounds like you have a lot to learn."

   "Yeah."

   "Ok.  So you want to learn how to kiss first."

   "Yeah."

   "Are you ready?"

   "I think so.

   "Ok.  Let's go sit on the sofa." I took Monica by the hand and led her,
a little reluctantly, to the sofa.  I sat and pulled her down next to me.
"Are you gonna quit now?"

   "No.  I'm just a little scared, that's all."

   "Ok.  Here's the rules.  We don't do anything you don't want to do. 
I'll ask you if you want to kiss and you say, 'Yes'.  If you don't say
'Yes' we don't do it.  Ok?"

   "Ok."

   "So, do want to kiss?"

   "Yes."

   "Do you want to french-kiss?"

   "Yes."

   "Ok." I moved closer to her on the sofa.  "Let's imagine you're at the
movies with a boy -- me.  I'll do what every red-blooded american boy would
do with such a pretty date." I put my arm over the back of the sofa and on
her shoulder.  Now, an inexperienced girl will freeze up and go rigid while
she's thinking, 'Omigod.  What's he gonna do next?' Right?"

   "I guess," she said nervously as her body froze, her breathing became
shallow and labored and her eyes looked straight ahead.

   "But an experienced girl -- or a girl who really wants to avoid the
'dork' label -- will scoot closer to him, looking briefly at him and
smiling.  The idea is, there's a dance here.  The boy makes a move; not a
big move but something to let his date know he wants a little action here.
If he's a gentleman, he'll always give her an 'out.' an escape route.  If
she ignores his arm, or removes it, he knows she's not interested -- or a
loser.  On the other hand, if she acknowledges his arm with a look and a
smile, he knows he can proceed.  Got it?"

   "I think so."

   "Ok.  So now I have my arm around your shoulders.  What do you do?"

   "Well, if it's you, I smile and move closer.  If it's some geeky guy
from school, I make him put his arm back in his lap."

   "So?  Let's see it." She smiled a little embarassed smirk and scooted up
against me.  "That's it.  You got it." I paused for a few seconds.  "We
watch the movie for a while." After which I pull her still closer.  "Rest
your head on my shoulder and relax -- please!" She was getting it now.  I
felt her body slump a little as she cuddled up to me.

   "Is that so bad?" I asked.

   "No," she said quietly.

   "Are you comfortable with this?"

   "Yeah." She tilted her head a little to look up at me.

   "Hold it right there.  Don't move."

   "Ok."

   "Keep looking at me.  Now, if he wants to kiss you he has to move slowly
enough that you get the idea before he gets too close.  He doesn't want to
get brushed off and feel he's made a fool of himself.  He wants you to see
him coming." With that, I began a slow movement of my head towards her
mouth.  She stayed put, just as I told her.  A little closer and our lips
touched.  My lips touched her closed lips, her soft, warm, closed lips.  I
felt a rush.

   I kissed her ever so softly, holding my lips lightly against hers for
perhaps 10 or 15 seconds.  A nice kiss, but sterile.  I moved slowly back.
Her eyes were closed, a good sign.  "Was that your first kiss?"

   "Yes....No.  I kissed Tommy Phillips at a party in the fifth grade."

   "And whose kiss was better, his or mine."

   "Yours was 'cause he slobbered."

   "Ouch!" i said, feigning a stab to the heart.  Not much of a
recommendation for me."

   "Yours was MUCH better."

   "Thank you, my dear.  Now we need to work on improving the kiss.  The
father-daughter kiss is either on the cheek or on the lips but definitely
with the mouth closed.  But the girl-boy kiss at the movies is much more
relaxed.  Try it again but let your lips part just a little and let them
mold to mine."

   "I'll try."

   I turned a little more toward her, about halfway.  She watched me close
for the kiss, only closing her eyes as our lips touched.  She was holding
her breath.  I broke the kiss.  "Breathe through your nose."

   She let out her breath with a great 'whoosh.' "I don't know if I can."

   "Unless you have a cold, you can."

   "OK.  Let's do it again."

   Once more I moved in and made contact.  Much better.  Her lips were soft
and warm.  I felt her reach around and pull me by the shoulder closer.  I
held the kiss -- 20 seconds....30 seconds, maybe 40 seconds.  It was
wonderful.  We were holding one another, embracing, if you will, like two
experienced lovers meeting for the first time and finding new tastes,
smells and lips that were unique.

   "Wow!  she gasped as we finished our long smoldering kiss.  "That was
sooo cool!"

   "You like?"

   "Waaayyy cool.  Can we do more of that?"

   "all you want.  I really enjoyed that."

   "Me, too."

   We sat there and kissed for maybe 30 minutes.  After 10 minutes or so I
poked my tongue through my own lips and rubbed it side to side, pressing it
between her lips and rubbing the tip against her teeth.

   "What are you doing?" she asked, with the emphasis on 'doing' in a show
of concern.

   "Trying to show you french kissing."

   "Oh.  You're gonna put your tongue in my mouth?"

   "That sounds a bit clinical but, yes.  What I'm going to do is touch the
tip of your tongue with mine."

   "What do I do?"

   "You do whatever comes naturally."

   "Ok."

   We kissed again and she allowed my tongue to slip between her teeth. 
She tasted like heaven itself.  We sparred a bit, touching tip to tip, but
slowly I probed deeper and soon our tongues were wrestling mouth to mouth,
the kiss became juicier and our breathing became heavy and ragged.  When we
finally broke apart, Monica was panting and her face was red.  I was
panting as well and I had a world-record (for me) hard-on.  Geez, how I
needed some relief.

   "Wow," she said between pants.  "Whooo!  Now I know (pant) why my
friends (pant) like to kiss (pant) so much.  Can we do it again?"

   I didn't need to say it.  We turned towards each other again; our lips
met; our tongues engaged.  Instinctively, my hand went to her breast.  It
wasn't much, through two layers of clothing -- if you count her bikini as
clothing -- but it was soft and round and already I could feel her hard
nipple.

   "Wait a minute," she said, breaking our long kiss.  "You said you were
gonna ask me before you did anything."

   "Yeah, I did.  I'm sorry.  I just got carried away.  So, I'm asking:
"May I touch you there?"

   She thought for a few seconds, her eyes darting here and there around
the room, not really focusing on anything but reflecting momentary
indecision.  "Yeah.  It felt good and I was gonna ask you, anyway."

   "It'll be a lot better if we take off some of these clothes."

   "Ok," she said, removing her blouse.  She looked at me.  "Aren't you
gonna take yours off, too?"

   "Yes.  I was hoping you would ask." She giggled as I pulled my T shirt
over my head.  I stood and shucked off my pants as well.  "Let's et you out
of those ugly pants, too.  Shuch pretty legs shouldn't be covered any more
than is necessary."

   "They're skinny."

   "They're fantastic!"

   "How come you always say stuff like that?"

   "Because I appreciate fine things -- art, music, books and pretty girls.
I particularly like pretty girls with no clothes on."

   "You want me to take my clothes off -- I mean EVERYTHING??"

   "It's gonna happen sooner or later.  If it's sooner we have more time to
enjoy one another."

   "I don't know..."

   "So, tell me again.  You want to learn about kissing and touching ... 
and stuff, right?"

   "Yeah."

   "Ok.  We did the kissing part and you seemed to like it., right?"

   "So now were gonna do some touching and to do that it's best if we have
no clothes on.  We could do it with shirts and pants and God knows what
else, maybe a jacket and some boots.  But it doesn't feel like much that
way.  If we have skin touching skin, you'll find out why making out is so
popular.  Always has been.  Your mother did it when she was your age; her
mother did it and HER mother did it.  It's a big secret, though.  Every
parent wants her daughter to wait so she won't have any problems.  If a
girl's with an older guy who knows what to do, she won't have any problems
but she'll learn what the grownups love so much."

   "Bottoms, too?"

   "Yeah."

   "Are you gonna touch me there, too."

   "If it's ok.  That's the best part; the absolute best part."

   "One of my friends said she let a boy touch her there and she said it
was soooo hot.  She said her whole body felt good."

   "She was right.  And now it's your turn to find out just how hot it can
be.  I think you'll want to do it often -- as often as possible, anyway."

   "Ok." She pulled the side ties, lifted her hips enough to pull the
little triangle off and toss it on the floor.  "There.  You happy now?" Her
legs were tight together.

   I stood again and pulled my swim suit down and off.  My cock sprang to
attention.  "The idea is to make you happy."

   "Wow!  It's all hard now."

   "You have that effect on me."

   "Cool.  I never did that to anyone before."

   "You probably have but hadn't noticed."

   "That's soooo cool."

   "See what it feels like."

   She thought about it for what seemed forever before slowly reaching out
and wrapping her fingers around it.  I was still standing, she was sitting
and my cock was eye-level to her.  She was able to see it closely.  Her
fingers were cool against my overheated member as she moved her hand
slightly, feeling how the skin slipped but the rod stayed still.

   "It's soft on the outside and hard on the inside."

   "It feels nice to a guy when you move your hand like that."

   "Is that a 'hand-job'?"

   "Yeah.  That's it."

   "Cool.  What do I do now?"

   "Just what you're doing.  Make sure your thumb rubs against the
bottomside, right about here." I placed my hand over hers and guided it so
that her thumb was touching the glans.  "Lift it up and look.  There's a
little triangle there, where it meets the head.  Some people call it a
'helmet.' That little piece of skin right there is the most sensitive part
for a guy, sorta like your clit is the magic button for you." She looked up
at me and giggled but her hand never stopped.  She was concentrating on
what she was doing, checking my face and eyes from time to time to confirm
that she was doing it right.

   "So, is this fun?"

   "Yeah."

   "This is what making out is all about -- giving pleasure.  It's so much
better than when you pleasure yourself because you can lie back, relax and
enjoy what your partner is doing for you." Her hand continued it's up and
down movement as she listened.  "Notice I say 'for you,' not 'to you.'
Making out is about giving and sharing and it's important to find a man who
is trying to please you, not just himself.  In seventh grade, most boys are
just interested in their own pleasure.  They do stuff 'to' a girl, not
'with' her.

   "What's gonna happen now?"

   "Well, if you keep doing what you're doing, you're gonna make me cum and
I'll end up squirting white stuff all over you."

   Saying, "Eeeww.  I don't want that!" she dropped my dick like it was
burning her.

   "I didn't think so.  But now you know what it feels like to hold a
guy..."

   "...  and give a hand job."

   "Right."

   "Could I have the rest of my Pepsi?"

   "Sure." I walked, still naked and sporting this giant hard-on, to the
dinette and retrieved her half-empty soda.  She laughed at how my cock
bounced as I walked.

   "Sorry.  I didn't mean to laugh but it's sooo funny to see a guy walking
around with a stiffie."

   "I'm not uncomfortable having you see me and I hope you will soon be
comfortable with that beautiful body of yours."

   "Maybe."

   "That's part of growing up -- understanding your body and what makes you
feel good.

   "You said you were gonna touch my boobs."

   "Right.  I want to touch them and also kiss them.  Is that ok?  See, I'm
asking."

   "Yeah.  it's ok."

   I pulled Monica to her feet before I sat.  Putting my knees together, I
turned her around and had her straddle my legs, sitting on them facing me.
She was a little reluctant at first but soon got the idea.  I think she was
worried about having her legs open and possibly giving me a view of her
pussy.  I could, in fact, see the faint dark hairs, fine and straight,
making a delta-shaped shadow.  But all I could see of her pussy was the
edges of her outer labia, spread apart a little.  She was becoming aroused,
I knew, because her sexual odor was now reaching my nose and it was heavy,
sweet and exotic, without the astringency common to a lot of older women.
She smelled fresh and delicious.

   We were eye-to-eye, chest-to-chest.  I looked into her eyes, holding the
gaze until she finally lost the shyness and embarassed attitude and locked
her eyes on mine.  As she watched me carefully, I moved both hands to her
breasts, fingers up, palms open.  I placed the heels against her ribs,
directly under her beautiful little boobs and lifted them as I slid my
hands gently upwards.  The feel of her soft flesh against my palms made me
twitch again with anticipation.  She gasped as her nipples, now hard and
standing, felt the soft friction of my hands as I moved upwards against
them.

   "That feels nice," she said in a hoarse whisper.

   I repeated the movement three or four times, our eyes still locked on
one another.  Then I encircled each titty with the tips of my fingers and
thumbs and slowly drew them together until they met at the nipples.  I
squeezed the nipples gently.

   "Ohhhh."

   "Does that hurt?"

   "No.  It feels good.  I like when you do that."

   Then I opened my hands flat again and very lightly rubbed my open palms
in slow cirlcles against her nipples.  She closed her eyes and let her back
relax, slumping, as she enjoyed the new sensations of someone else's hands
touching her.

   I put my arms around her and leaned forward, leaning her backwards a
little until I could take one sweet titty in my mouth.  I sucked it in my
wide-open mouth and quickly flicked her nipple with my tongue.

   She gasped, "Ohhh!" I felt her hands on the back of my head, her fingers
grasping my hair.  She pulled me gently to her, adjusting the pressure my
mouth was making on her breast to suit her.  "That feels sooooo good.  Do
the other one, too."

   I switched my mouth to the other breast, getting most of it in, as I
sucked it and worked at the nipple.  "Ohmigod, ohmigod.  That's so totally
cool when you you do that." She arched her back, throwing her head back and
pushing my mouth hard ahainst her titty.  My cock was straining
uncomfortably and scrunched down under her butt..  With great effort, I
pulled away.  "Don't stop!  Don't stop!  she pleaded.

   "I gotta, sweetie." My cock is trapped down there under your butt."

   "Oh," she said simply, looking down between her legs.  She lifted up
slightly and I reached down and retrieved it letting it rest in the groove
between her pussy lips.  "All better now?"

   "Yes.  Much better," I answered.  I thrust my hips forward and back a
few times so that my hard cock slid up and down in her wet groove.

   "Oooh.  That feels nice," she cooed and she began to shift her bottom to
match my movements, amplifying the sensations.  "You really know what to
do."

   "It comes with experience, my sweet.  You do something that feels
especially good, you remember what it was and do it again the next time. 
The pleasure grows with experience."

   "Is it ever better than this?"

   "It can be, with practice."

   "I wanna practice a lot!" she gasped, never stopping her to and fro
movements.  "You're rubbing your thing against my...umm..most sensitive
part and it feel so very good.  Much better than when I do it with my
fingers."

   "Seems to me it's YOU rubbing YOUR thing against MY most sensitive
part."

   "Yeah, I guess."

   "And it feels great!"

   "Cool.  I like doing it." She was riding me like a pony now, her hands
on my hips to support herself.  I was getting close to cumming again when
she suddenly slumped and stopped her movement.  "Aaaaaahhhhhhh.  Freakin'
great!.  She ground her pussy hard against my cock and stopped.  I could
feel her sloppy cunt surrounding my cock on both sides.  I wasn't in but
she had been running her groove up and down along the underside as gobs of
her slimy juices cascaded down onto me and the sofa.

   Monica leaned forward, put her arms around my neck and kissed me
passionately; a real kiss, her version of a very hot, woman's kiss, not a
little-girl kiss.  "That was the best orgasm I ever had -- ever!  she
gushed.  I don't know which wa sbetter -- when you sucked my titties or
when I rubbed my thing against your thing.  I wanna do both of 'em every
day!"

   "We can't."

   "I know, but I wish we could."

   ** ** **

   Whew!  I'm running out of breath and I haven't come close to telling you
the whole story.  I need to rest a while before I continue.  If you've
enjoyed tis tale so far, write me and let me know.  I haven't written down
the rest yet but your encouragement will get me going sooner rather than
later.

   Read all my stories at: /files/Authors/cyberguy

   (Copy and paste this address into the address window at the top of your
browser window.)

   Needless to say, this story belongs to me.  You can share it with
friends but son't rip it off for any kind of personal gain without my
written authorization.

   -------------------------

   I write, usually about a young girl and an older man, for my own
pleasure.  My stories usually have a kernel of an actual event in them but
they are sheer fantasy.  I will sometimes see a young girl at the market or
riding a bicycle or waiting in line with friends for a movie and my body
will literally twitch with excitement.  Not just ANY girl; some girls. 
There is no way I would ever approach one of these girls but I do fix an
image in my mind of their faces, figures, clothes and body language.  I
then dream, like a perverted Walter Mitty, about what might have happened
had we actually met.

   I always enjoy comments, good or bad.  Nice things encourage me to write
more.  Critical things encourage me to write better.  Please encourage me,
one way or another, by emailing me at:

   CYBERGUY20038@YAHOO.COM Thanks.