Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 This never happened.  I wish it had, but it's all fiction.  Yulia never
existed -- at least not in my world.  So, read and enjoy but remember, it's
MY fantasy, not yours.  Please don't steal my fantasy without my permission
and,please, don't do this stuff in real life.

   Secondly, no one ever writes to tell me they liked my story.  Well,
ALMOST no one.  I get maybe one acknowledgement for every 1,000 people who
read my stories.  PLEASE write to tell me what you liked or didn't like and
help me become better at this.  Besides, I like to have my ego stroked.  A
REALLY nice letter from a really sexy girl might even get me off.  Wanna
try?

   Yulia (Mg13)

   Like most, our community offers a variety of educational services, one
of which is tutoring for kids having trouble with the english language or
with math and science.  For years now I've tutored math to kids as young as
8 and as old as 18, boys AND girls.  It is hugely satisfying work and I
look forward every week to my sessions bringing light into their lives,
life into their eyes, as they discover how math works in their daily lives.
I think I'm successful because I change '4 divided by 3' into 'avocados are
priced at $1.25 each or 4 for $3.  Which is cheaper?' They're amazed that
the answer to this question shows that, in this case, it's cheaper to buy
avocados one at a time instead of buying three.  It illustrates well how a
working knowledge of math helps everyone -- except the shopkeeper, in this
case.

   Yulia is new this year.  She's new to the USA -- here less than a year.
Her parents emigrated from Ukraine.  Yulia's english is not very good yet
but she's trying hard to learn, mostly from TV, movies and the kids at
school.  My math As a result, my tutoring sessions seem to include english
lessons as much as anything; I've set aside a section of her notebook for
new words and phrases She seems comfortable talking with me, since I don't
ridicule her when she says something strange -- usually a sentence
constructed like you would construct a sentence in russian or ukranian or
even german.  Nouns, objects and verbs get all scrambled and the kids at
school make fun of her.

   In the middle of a lesson about angles and congruence one day she
suddenly asked me, "What 'slut' means?"

   "Where did you heard that word?" I asked.  "Did someone call you a
slut?"

   "No.  They talk about another girl."

   I tried to explain as best I could but sometimes, particularly words
dealing with sex, she knows so little english that it's hard for me to get
the meaning across.  "Windfall," as in "windfall profits" was especially
difficult.  She heard that word on a TV news program and wrote it down to
ask me.  She couldn't understand why it had nothing to do with the wind or
with falling, both words she knew.  We were spending half our time together
on geometry and half on english words and concepts.

   Trying to explain 'slut' by saying it was a girl who 'slept around,' she
understood it to mean a girl who slept in different houses (or beds) every
night and it didn't make sense to her.  When I pressed her to tell me what
she knew about sex she explained that she knew nothing as her parents
avaoided even a hint of the word or the concept.  I was wondering how they
managed to have a daughter, thinking as they did.

   She wasn't stupid or even slow.  She was quite bright and picked up math
better than most kids but she was cramming ten or twenty new words a day
into her pretty head.  Pretty is a good word.  A tall, for 13, pale blonde
with long and, if I could guess, small breasts sprouting under those
sweatshirts and long unseen legs under the pants or long skirts she wore.
Her face and hands were about the only skin she ever showed.  I asked her
one time why she covered up so much, comparing her mode of dress to the
other 8th-grade girls, who preferred to show whatever they had.  She just
said her parents preferred her to dress that way -- that she should not
show her body in public.

   Yulia had worn baggy clothes all winter: sweatshirts and what looked
like army surplus fatigue pants was seemed to be a favorite outfit.  She
always looked well-scrubbed and her hair was always clean and hung below
her shoulders in soft waves or in a pony tail.  Spring had arrived but the
baggy clothes persisted.  I frequently wondered what she would look like
dressed as the other girls did now that the weather was warmer.

   Her pretty face turned heads wherever she went but she said the kids at
school called her "The Ice Queen" because she didn't act friendly toward
everyone.  She wanted to know if Ice Queen was good or bad.  I explained
that it meant someone was aloof -- then I had to explain aloof.  She
finally got the picture.  "But I'm NOT, as you say, aloof.  My english is
not good enough so I don't talk." It made sense to me.  She felt bad that
kids saw her as unfriendly.  I explained that they would know better when
her english improved.

   I also explained to her that the clothes she wore made it seem like she
didn't want anyone to know what she really looked like.  "I would like to
wear nicer clothes but my parents say it would make life more difficult for
me."

   "Why is that?"

   "They say girls should not try to attract boys too much."

   "Really?"

   "Yes.  They will not let me go to the movies or on a picnic with a boy
until I am older.  They say boys will 'take advantage' of me.  But the
other girls at school talk about going to movies and parties with boys and
they say they have fun.  Maybe I would like to have a boy take advantage of
me." I don't think she quite understood what 'taking advantage' meant.

   Yulia announced one day that she had been invited to a party and she
wanted to know what "make out" meant.  I asked her where she had heard the
term and she said she had asked the girl who invited her what kind of party
it was and whether she needed to bring a gift.  The girl laughed and said
that it was a "make-out party" and that she needed no gift.  Yulia said she
was afraid to ask the girl what "make-out" meant.

   "Oh, dear," I said to her.  "That's a party where there's lots of
kissing and stuff going on."

   "What kind of stuff?" she asked.

   "Well, it depends on the people.  Some parties will be just hugging and
kissing but, since you're 13 now, I suspect there'll be more happening."

   "What 'more'," she asked.

   "You don't know about 'more'?" I asked her, incredulous that she didn't.

   "No.  My parents are very strict.  Even kissing a boy is something I've
never done -- and something they would not approve of."

   "You've never been kissed?"

   "No.  Never.  My parents would never let me go to such a party." She
paused, "But I would really like to go." She laughed and continued, "I
don't want to be The Ice Queen forever."

   "It's going to be difficult," I said.  "Can you tell your parents that
you're spending the night with a girfriend?"

   "Oh, no.  My parents would NEVER let me do something like that."

   "Then I don't see how you're going to get to the party."

   "Yes, I know." She paused, thinking.  "Maybe YOU show me what is 'making
out'?"

   "Not likely, my dear.  I'm twice your age."

   "Yes, I know.  But what difference does that make?"

   "It would make a difference to your parents."

   "They wouldn't like it if I did stuff with ANY boy."

   "I guess you're right.  But how about you?  How would you feel about
kissig an old man like me?"

   "You're not old!  I mean, you're older than me but you're not fat and
bald like an old man."

   I couldn't believe I was already considering her proposal.  I knew that
she was young enough that I could be thrown in jail for touching her,
whether it was her idea or not.  But I got excited every time she came for
her lesson.  I would feel a quivering, a stirring in my crotch as soon as I
saw her.  My eyes saw her dressed in her baggy clothes but my mind erased
the clothes and saw her as I imagined her: tall and slim, with pale skin
lighter even than her blonde hair.  My mind saw her long legs meet in a "V"
with a small slit and perhaps a little blonde fur above it.  Narrow hips
and a tiny waist tapering upwards to square shoulders above two little
mounds with pink centers that sprouted from her chest.  Then I would get
hard.

   I would have to hold something in front of me to hide the bulge in my
pants and, as soon as I could without her seeing it, I would reach down to
rearrange myself, allowing my hard cock to rise up and lie flat against my
stomach instead of its usual position dangling between my legs.  We would
sit at my kitchen table, books spread out, her hip touching mine, her leg
against mine, and do our lesson.  It was sheer torture.

   We were sitting like that, books open in front of us but totally
ignored, as we talked about 'making out' and how she could learn about it.
"Please, Mr.  Grant.  I have no other way." She reached over and laid her
hand on mine as she pleaded, her face looking down at the table and not far
from breaking into tears.  I was lost as soon as she touched me; the warmth
of her hand on mine added to the smell of her hair and the beautiful face
beseeching me to do something I already wanted so much to do made it
impossible for me to do anything but agree.

   "I will try," I said quietly.

   "Oh, goody," she shrieked, recovering quickly from her depression.  Was
it all an act or was she as desperate as she sounded a few moments ago? 
I'm sure the neighbors heard her shriek.

   She threw her arms around me in a tight embrace and, as I looked at her,
she pressed her face against mine and kissed me full on the lips.  What
could I do?  I kissed her back.  She kissed me hard -- her lips closed
tightly and welded to mine.  It didn't last long but it was definitely more
than just a friendly kiss.  It was a determined kiss, a frantic kiss, a
passionate kiss, an industrial-strength kiss, completely amateur but also
completely genuine.  I gave her my "A" kiss back but without tongue or open
mouth.  Yulia pulled away and looked at me as if she was in shock.

   "What's the matter?" I asked.

   "Nothing.  I was just surprised.  I've never had a kiss like that
before."

   "You didn't like it?"

   "NO!  It was good."

   "Good.  Let's work on it.  Next time let your lips come apart just a
little."

   "I do whatever you say."

   "A first kiss should be soft." I felt a familiar stirring in my groin.

   "Ok."

   "But this is awkward.  Let's go sit on the sofa.  Kisses at a kitchen
table are not very romantic."

   "OK.  But that was good kiss.  I will kiss you anywhere you want."

   "Don't make any promises you won't be able to keep," I said, smiling and
leading her by the hand into the living room while walking in a sort of
crouch.  I turned to face her as we stood in front of the sofa; she was
almost at eye level.  I'm 5 feet ten inches so she must be five feet eight
or nine at 13!  I took both her hands in mine and stepped forward.  Her
eyes widened a little when she realized she was going to be kissed again.
She smiled and the frightened look softened as our lips touched but her
eyes remained open.

   I gave her the softest possible kiss.  our lips only brushed but we held
it for perhaps 30 seconds to a minute.  Suddenly she pulled back and
exhaled in a great 'whoosh.'

   "I can't hold my breath that long," she giggled, panting to catch her
breath.

   "You don't need to.  Breathe through your nose as we kiss."

   "Oh.  Ok.  Kiss me again."

   My lips met hers again, this time just a little more forcefully.  She
got the hang of the breathing thing and, when we finlly broke the kiss,
smiled broadly at her accomplishment."

   "You're a good kisser already," I told her.

   She laughed and said, "So are you.  That's the best kiss I ever had."

   "How many kisses have you had?"

   "Well, none -- until now, except for momma and papa.  But they don't
kiss me like that and NEVER on the lips." I chuckled.  She continued, "Is
that what 'making out' is?"

   "That's part of it but there's more."

   "Oh, goody.  Please show me."

   This was too good to be true but I didn't want to spook her by going too
fast.  "Making out also involves kissing and touching other parts of your
-- and my -- body."

   "Oh," she said.  He brow became wrinkled as she stopped to think about
that.  Finally, she spoke again.  "You mean ...  here?" She put her hands
on her breasts and held them there, waiting for my answer.

   "Yes, but also your hands and arms and neck and then, when you're ready
for more intense pleasure, it would involve the rest of your body."

   "What is 'intense'?"

   "Greater pleasure, more pleasure, the best pleasure.  Write that word in
your notebook and look it up tonight."

   "Oh.  You mean like sex stuff."

   "Well, sex is the ultimate but 'making out' doesn't usually go that far.
Boys and girls might touch each other through their clothes and then reach
under the clothes and then, perhaps, take their clothes off so that their
bodies can rub together and they can see and feel and touch each other.  It
can be something wonderful."

   "Oh.  I shouldn't do that.  I mean I would like to know all about it and
feel it for myself but my parents would not want me to do something like
that."

   "Nobody's parents actually want their kids to do much more than kiss but
that doesn't stop them from doing so."

   "I will have to think about it," she said, solemnly.

   "That's fine.  It's a very personal decision because it involves your
body -- I mean YOUR body -- and allowing a boy to touch you in private
places involves a lot of trust."

   "I don't understand 'trust'," she said.

   "Well, making out with a boy is something you might not want everyone to
know about and some boys will tell their friends what you allowed them to
do and it might make them think that you will allow every boy to do those
same things."

   "Oh.  That's not good."

   "No.  It's not.  So you need to move slowly and carefully to find the
boy who will give you pleasure -- and allow you to give him pleasure --
without compromising your reputation."

   "What is 'compromise'?" she asked.  I could tell that her lessons in sex
were going to include many more language lessons.  I tried to define it as
best I could but, again, asked her to look it up that evening at home.  It
was almost 6:00 and she had been here since shortly after school let out
around 3:00.  The rest of Yulia's education would have to wait.

   It was a very long week before Yulia came to again.  She said she had
looked up all the words I had given her the week before but what she really
wanted was to learn about 'making out.' She said she understood about
"trust" and "compromise" after listening to some of the girls talk about
other girls.  She said some boys who did things with some girls told their
friends, who told their friends and so on until the strories got back to
the girls, usually in very exagerated form.

   The girls concerned became very embarassed, hurt and upset and Yulia
said she understood now why her parents had told her to avoid doing
anything at all with boys.  But she said she liked kissing, even after just
the two with me, that she wanted to know more about making out -- the
kissing and the other stuff, too -- and that she had decided that she
should avoid the rumor mill among the boys and learn from me.  I would now
be her tutor in 'making out' as well as math and english, she declared as
if it was all settled.

   "Whoa, my dear.  There are other considerations.  Come sit." I led her
to the sofa and we sat side by side.

   "What ...  considration?"

   "Well, firstly, guys my age aren't supposed to do stuff like that with
girls your age."

   "I hear that but I don't know why it is."

   "There's a fear that an older, experienced guy may take advantage of a
young girl with no experience."

   "I don't know 'take advantage.' But what if the girl wants to do stuff
-- make out -- with him?"

   Oh my God.  She was opening the door.  She was handing herself to me on
a platter.  She was begging me to have her.  I was getting hard already. 
The 'brain' between my legs was about to take over and I knew I was going
to let it happen.  "You have two choices," I said.  "Learn from a boy your
age who probably doesn't have a lot of experience himself, who might be
interested only in his own pleasure and not in yours and who might -- no,
probably will -- tell his friends about his time with you...  " I paused
for it to sink in before I set the hook.  "...or...  you can learn from a
more experienced older man who can give pleasure as well as receive it." I
paused again while she thought.  Continuing, I said, "But if you decide to
learn from me, you can never tell anyone -- anyone, your friends, your
parents -- about what we do together.  It must be just between us."

   "I think I like to learn from you," she said slowly.

   "All right.  But I will go slowly, sometimes slower than you want.  You
must promise to let your body -- your feelings -- take over while you're
learning.  Making out -- and sex -- are emotional things.  You cannot
analyze or control yourself from your brain or you will lose much of the
pleasure it brings.  Can you do that?"

   "I think, yes." Then she continued, "Can we kiss again?"

   "Yes.  And you will feel my hands touching you.  You must relax and
enjoy what you feel.  Stand up."

   "Ok."

   We stood face to face in front of the sofa; she was tall for her age, as
I said.  I took her hands in mine and moved forward, locking my eyes on
hers, until our bodies met.  I could feel small breasts pressing against my
chest.  I moved my face slowly toward hers, eyes open, until our lips met
softly in a long, lingering kiss.  She started to breath heavily almost
immediately, having aready gotten the hang of breathing through her nose
while kissing.

   I let go of her hands, reached behind her and grasped her butt, pulling
her hips tightly against my own.  She made a little "Mmmfffff" sound but
held the kiss.  Slowly, her arms came around my back and she pulled me
close, pressing her breasts hard against me.  I could feel myself hardening
and I'm sure she could, too.  My cock, held fast by underwear and two
bodies pressed together, was trying to grow and straighten itself.  It had
nowhere to go.

   I pulled back, ending the long kiss.  Yulia looked down to see what had
had been poking her and saw my pants tented out as my cock worked its way
upward to stand hard and straight.  I watched her eyes as she recognized
what was happening, looking down and then up again at me several times. 
Neither of us said a word for half a minute or so.  Then I asked, "Was that
ok?"

   "That was cool," she said, looking down at my pants again.  Then she
looked up and smiled.  "Your 'thing' is moving."

   I smiled.  "Yeah."

   "Does that mean you want to have sex?"

   "It means I am aroused.  It means that it feels good to me when we kiss
and when I can feel your body against mine.  It means I want to do more --
not necessarily to have sex but to feel and give more pleasure.  And, if
you haven't already and if you are feeling pleasure, too, from our kiss and
our bodies pressing together, you will also feel some changes."

   "Yes, I do."

   "You may feel something happening down between your legs."

   "Yes."

   "Then it means you are enjoying this, too."

   "Yes."

   "Do you want to continue -- to do more things for pleasure?"

   "Yes," she said as she moved to press herself against me once more.  She
turned her face up to main and kissed me as I had kissed her earlier.  This
time I thrust my tongue out and prodded her lips, attempting to get between
her teeth and into her mouth.  "What you doing," she asked, pulling her
head back but keeping her hips solidly against mine.

   "It's called french kissing," I said.  "Open your mouth a little when I
do that."

   She rolled her eyes, thinking.  "Ok.  You're teaching me new thing,
right?"

   "Right."

   "Ok.  We kiss again." She closed her eyes this time as our lips met. 
Her mouth was open, a little more than I expected, but she allowed my
tongue to slide back and forth between her lips and then into her mouth. 
She soon learned to use her tongue to spar with mine, tasting each other.
Her breathing became heavier again and she pulled me tight as we kissed
hungrily and ratcheted up the passion.

   When we finally broke the kiss, she held her hips hard against mine but
leaned her head back and said, "Oh, wow!"

   "You liked?"

   "I liked.  Show me more things."

   I couldn't have written a better response for her.  "Let's sit," I
said."

   When we were side by side on the sofa again, I turned to her and said,
"We will begin now to touch each other.  Just do whatever you feel like
doing and I will make some suggestions." I leaned forward and started
kissing her again -- on the mouth, the eyelids, the sides of her nose, the
neck -- in every erotic place I knew.  Meanwhile, I started my hand at her
shoulder and worked it down slowly until I felt her breast.  She stiffened
momentarily at what was to her something previously out of bounds.  But she
relaxed as I squezzed it gently through her shirt and bra -- soft, not
quite a handful (probably a mouthful, I thought to myself).

   I tried unsuccessfully to find her nipple through the clothing; I wanted
to pinch it softly until it was hard but that would have to wait.  She
lifted one arm around me and turned to better face me, never resisting my
hand.  I was able to reach across to tweak her other breast but our
position was awkward, so I decided to change my approach.

   Still kissing.  I took my hand away from her breasts and moved it down
onto her thigh.  As usual, she was wearing a heavy long skirt that went
well below her knees.  I began by slowly rubbing her thigh up and down but,
with each stroke, I pulled the skirt upwards, gathering it at her waist. 
The kiss went on and on.

   It took several minutes of working her skirt upwards before I felt bare
leg.  Again, she stiffened for a moment before relaxing.  My hand was just
above her knee when I first felt skin.  I brushed my hand upwards slowly,
barely touching her leg as I worked up under the skirt.  Slowly, gently,
ever-so-lightly I let my hand slide up along her inner thigh, enjoying the
warmth and softness of her flesh there.  She was puffing through her nose
now, obviously excited but holding onto me and our kiss for dear life as my
hand drifted slowly higher and higher.  Her fingers dug into me and she
spread her legs to make room for my hand.

   I moved my hand higher and higher until, finally, I felt the edge of her
panties.  She made no move to stop me but, rather, held me even tighter.  I
moved my hand again, using the backs of my first two fingers, just the
knuckles, to rub her pussy softly through her panties -- wet cotton
panties. She was soaked and, when my knuckles rubbed against the wet slot
formed by her open lips, she actually relaxed her grip on me slightly.  The
tension, the waiting, was broken.  Her breathing leveled out and her body
relaxed as I rubbed up and down along the soft furrow.

   I couldn't feel much except wet cotton but her reaction was making my
cock throb with anticipation.  Since Yulia was not resisting in any way, I
proceeded.  I felt higher for the elastic band at the top of her panties.
She was wearing those oversized women's panties and the eleastic was up
under the waistband of her skirt.

   Yulia broke the kiss.  "What you doing?" she asked in a way that implied
no anger or fear, just wanting information.

   "I'm trying to get your panties out of the way."

   "I take them off."

   She stood quickly and reached under her long skirt and dragged her
panties down, over her ankles and off.  Then she sat back down, her
shoulder pressed against me.  I noticed that her face was flushed, her
cheeks bright pink and her bangs were moist with persperation.

   "We do more, no?"

   "If you like."

   "I like.  I like 'making out," she giggled.  "I like making out with
you. You make me feel so good."

   "That's good.  That's part of the pleasure a man can give a woman."

   "I feel like many ...  umm...what you call them -- the little animals
with big tails...?

   "Squirrels."

   "Yes, like many little squorels running around down there," she said
pointing to her crotch, "when you touch me."

   "That's part of feeling sexy."

   "I like feeling sexy."

   "Good.  So do I," I said.

   "We do more sexy stuff now?"

   "I would like to."

   "Me, too."

   I thought of just taking her into the bedroom but reconsidered.  This
sweet, naive girl has just today gone beyond kissing.  True, she shucked
her panties in an instant but getting her naked was another thing.  I had
to get her so hot and ready that she would shuck her clothes as she had her
panties.

   "Do you like kissing?"

   "Yes," she almost whispered as she pressed her face to mine.  I lifted
her skirt quickly this time.  She spread her legs just as quickly.  Again,
I started at the knee and rubbed her thigh softly, my hand advancing much
more quickly now that she knew what I was doing.  The kiss continued.

   I love the feel of a girl's skin along her upper thighs; so soft and
silky, so smooth and warm.  If I'm freshly shaven, I love to kiss and rub
my cheeks against this softness.  It helps that, by the time I get to this,
she is sufficiently aroused for the aroma of her sexual perfume to hang
heavy between her legs and fill my nostrils.  But, for the moment, I must
be the giver of pleasure, not the recipient.  Well, not quite.

   Much of my pleasure comes from feeling the pleasure my partner is
feeling and Yulia was giving strong feedback.  This was all new and
exciting for her and first-time pleasures are usually the most intense they
will ever be.  People remember their first kiss; they can't possibly
describe the second one.  They remember their first fuck but who was the
second one with?  I knew that Yulia would remember this day forever and I
wanted to make it perfect for her.  That would be my pleasure today.

   Yulia slid down and thrust her legs wide as my hand reached her wet
pussy.  Oh, how I would love to see it right now, to see her pink, to see
it glisten.  How I would love to have my mouth pressed against it as I
drank her elixir.

   I placed my fingers flat against it then curled the middle finger inward
and in between those soft, wet, puffy lips.  Yulia groaned.  I drew my hand
upwards with the finger still curled until I felt her spasm as I touched
her clit.  She slammed her legs together to hold my hand still.

   "Did I hurt you?"

   "No," was all she said, slowly relaxing the grip her legs had on my hand
and resuming the long kiss.  I just barely wiggled my finger between her
lips.  She closed her legs again but not so tightly.  I waited for her to
relax again then I started to work on her clit very slowly and gently,
making slow circles around it, pushing and prodding it.  She would snort
through her nose but never break the kiss whenever my finger would touch a
particuarly sensitive spot.

   I studied her reactions.  Her most sensitive spot was underneath her
clit when my finger pushed it upwards from below.  She also liked to have
me press it inwards and in a slow circle.

   Her arousal was building with every passing second.  She finally broke
the kiss and put her head back against the sofa, having slid her body so
far down that her butt was at the front edge.  My hand was working her
pussy more forcefully now, my middle finger making deep upward strokes
along the full length of her pussy and ending at the top with a litle tweak
of her clit.  Her mouth was open and her face flushed, her eyes open and
unfocused, her breathing shallow, ragged and fast.

   Then it happened.  She grabbed my forearm with both hands, clamped her
legs together and groaned a loud "Nnnnnggggg" as she came.  She held my
hand and arm tightly for perhaps half a minute as her body spasmed and
throbbed with her orgasm and, finally, relaxed.  Neither of us spoke as she
came down.

   She basked in her orgasmic glow for a couple of minutes, her body
relaxing slowly.  Then she turned her face to me and gave a weak, satiated
smile.  Her face was still flushed and her hair wet and matted against her
forehead.  She was beautiful!!

   "You are very good for me," she said softly.

   "Thank you."

   "I don't want to move."

   "I don't, either," I told her.  I would like to stay like this forever."

   "Me, too," she said and then paused.  "But maybe we get hungry later."

   "Possible."

   "And maybe my parents want to know where I am."

   "Likely."

   "I don't want to go.

   "I don't want you to go but you will have to soon."

   "Yes.  But maybe we can do this more before next week.  Yes?"

   "What are you thinking?"

   "Maybe I could come again tomorrow.  My parents are not home in the
afternoon and they will not know I am not home."

   "Are you sure?"

   "Yes.  I want to know all about making out and you make me feel so good
today I want you to do it again with me."

   "What time would you come here?"

   "After school.  I can be here just like today, at 3:30."

   "And what time would you have to leave?"

   "I must be home at 5:30.  I can only stay this late when they know I am
studying with you."

   "That isn't much time."

   "Yes, but I want to feel good -- like today."

   "I liked it, too."

   "You did?"

   "Yes."

   "Oh, good.  I thought you were just letting me have all the fun."

   "No, I enjoy giving pleasure.  Sometime soon I'll show you how to give
pleasure, too."

   "Cool."

   "But for now, you'd better put your panties back on and then go wash
your face."

   "Ooooh'" she said as she pulled her panties on.  They're all cold." She
washed up and headed for the door, kissing me softly as she went by. 
"Thank you, Mr.  Wells," she said.

   I watched her leave and close the door before I reached down to grab my
sore cock and balls.  "Damn," I muttered.  "A guy shouldn't have to go
through this without some relief.  I tasted my fingers and delighted in the
heavy, exotic taste of Yulia's pussy.

   I got a paper towel from the kitchen and sat down on the sofa, where
Yulia and I had been minutes before.  I proceeded to beat myself off into
the towel, cumming in about thirty seconds, I was so aroused still.  "Oh,
geez, that feels good," I thought to myself.  "Tomorrow I should have time
to get her skirt off, too, and taste that sweet pussy." Here I was, having
just shot my load and now feeling the pleasant throb of release in my groin
and I was plotting out the scenario for our next meeting, less than 24
hours away.  I hadn't felt this good in months -- not even after the best
fuck.

   I'll tell you the rest of the story soon.  But, for now, I need to just
sit here and enjoy the feeling.



   ----------------------- End of Part 1 -----------------------

   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



   Sometimes true stories are better than what you can imagine.  Several
readers have emailed me to tell me their own true stories, just like this
one.  If YOU would like me to turn your true story into a peice of erotic
fiction, let me know.  I'll write it if I think I can do it justice.

   Thanks.