Author: wolfcub
Title: Clothes
Summary: A girl describes her childhood adventures with the neighbor 
boy.
Keywords: bg 1st preg

I've never been much interested in clothes--which, I guess, is weird 
for a girl--but it's true. I can remember when I was four years old I 
rarely wore anything more than a pair of panties. My mother always 
slept in, either because she had worked late or had been out partying; 
either way, I was out the door early, running around our apartment 
complex barefoot and topless.

Most of the time, the only other kid living in the complex was a boy 
my age named Alan. From time to time, there'd be some other kids, but 
they rarely stayed more than six months, so it was mainly just me and 
Alan.

Alan shared my penchant for running around in his underwear until we 
were five, when he took to wearing gym shorts, but, like me, he rarely 
wore shoes or a shirt.

I don't remember anyone ever saying anything about me going topless 
until I turned seven, then some of the old ladies in the apartment 
complex started to harass me about it. 

"A young lady shouldn't go out in public half dressed," they'd say. 
"It isn't proper."

I didn't know what "proper" was, at the time, but what I did know was 
that I lived in Florida, and it was hot! Anyway, I couldn't see what 
the big deal was. No one ever said anything about the way Alan was 
dressed, and there really wasn't much difference between us--at least, 
not at that age. He had wavy, blond hair that came down to his 
shoulders, and I had straight, brown hair that came down to almost the 
middle of my back. Other than that, we were both scrawny, 
flat-chested, little kids.

I had never really thought of Alan as a boy (and I suppose he had 
never thought of me as a girl) until we were almost eight. I was up 
very early one Saturday morning, headed to the bathroom. I stopped 
just outside the door, surprised to see a naked man standing in front 
of the toilet, peeing.

Alan and I usually spent the whole day playing with each other 
outside, which meant that we had peed in front of each other more 
times than I can remember; however, we usually gave each other a 
little privacy, so I had never actually seen Alan's boy parts.

I was also used to my mom bringing home boyfriends, and I often met 
them when they weren't wearing anything except boxers, but, besides 
myself, my mom was the only person I had ever seen naked, up to that 
time.

The lights were off, so the naked man in my bathroom hadn't noticed 
me. I backed down the hallway to my room and quietly closed the door. 
I waited until I heard the toilet flush, another few seconds until I 
heard the door to my mom's room close, then I slipped out of the 
apartment and waited for Alan in the woods across the street from the 
apartments.

When Alan finally arrived, he was unimpressed by what I told him.

"So what? I see my dad naked all the time. He's got a big one!"

"I bet he wasn't as big as my mom's boyfriend," I told him, unable to 
believe that anything hanging between a person's legs could be bigger 
than what I had seen. Then I got curious. "You don't have anything 
like that between your legs, do you?"

"Nah, mine's tiny--but my dad says it'll get bigger, when I'm older." 
He said that last part like he was disappointed that it hadn't started 
to get bigger, yet. I was kinda surprised to hear myself ask the next 
question.

"Can I see it?"

Alan giggled. "You wanna see my wiener?"

"Yeah."

Alan shrugged, then pulled down the front of his shorts, like it was 
no big deal. What I saw was a thumb-like stub. Underneath it was a 
pouch of loose skin, and in the pouch were a pair of small, round 
eggs. It didn't look much at all like what I had seen in the bathroom 
half an hour earlier.

"Is that it?" He shrugged his shoulders, again, then pulled his shorts 
back up. "Wait!"

I knelt in front of him and pulled his shorts down to his ankles, 
eager to get a closer look at his little package. I gently cupped his 
two, tiny eggs in my fingers and bounced them a few times, testing 
their weight. Alan giggled, again.

I had heard my friend Kaitlin at school talk about how she would punch 
her brother in the nuts when he was bothering her, and I had seen boys 
at school get hit there a few times, which was why I was being so 
careful with Alan. I was glad to see him smile--and surprised to learn 
that gently handling a boy's nuts made him feel good. I wondered if 
Kaitlin tickled her brother's nuts when he was being nice to her.

Next, I took Alan's little nub between my thumb and forefinger and 
gave it a little squeeze. I was amazed by how loose the skin was--it 
seemed like there was something firm inside a silky wrapping. As I 
squeezed and tugged on it, it got harder and longer--and my eyes got 
bigger around. After less than a minute, the loose skin at the end 
began to open, and I could see something just inside: It was like a 
little turtle trying to poke its head out.

Because the skin was so loose, I tried to pull it back to see what was 
inside. Whatever it was, it was bright pink and had a tiny slit in it. 
I touched it with the index finger of my other hand. Alan gasped and 
pulled away.

I looked up to see if I had hurt him. His face was flushed, but he was 
smiling, so I pulled the skin back, again, and rubbed the tip of his 
wiener with my finger. Alan gasped and tried to pull away, again, but 
I quickly reached behind him and grabbed his naked butt so he couldn't 
get away.

With my thumb and middle finger, I pulled back his skin, and I used my 
index finger to rub his tip. His hips started jerking, and his 
breathing became a series of sharp, irregular gasps. He kept trying to 
pull away, but I had a good grip on him.

Soon, he began to whimper, and, rather than trying to pull away, he 
started to thrust his hips towards me. I wrapped my hand around his 
wiener with my thumb pressed up agains the tip. He fell forward, 
resting his hands on my shoulders, then he started making strange 
grunting noises. His thrusting became quicker, then he let out a cry 
and fell forward, on top of me. I fell backwards and found myself 
lying on my back with Alan lying on my chest, breathing heavily. I 
started laughing, and Alan laughed with me while trying to catch his 
breath.

"What was that?"

"I don't know," he said, "But it sure felt good!"

I ran my fingers through his hair as I gazed into his bright, shining 
eyes. I was enjoying the feeling of his naked chest pressed up against 
mine, so I was in no hurry for him to get up. When he had caught his 
breath, he raised himself up to his knees and said, "Your turn."

"My turn, what?"

"You gotta show me."

"Show you what?" Believe it, or not, I really didn't know what he was 
talking about.

"You gotta show me your stuff."

"Oh. But I don't have anything there."

"Come on! You gotta show me."

It was my turn to shrug my shoulders. I tugged my panties down to my 
ankles as I stood up, then I stepped out of them. Alan dropped to his 
knees and put his face right up close to my kitty. His warm breath 
tickled. He then reached up and spread my lips apart.

"Open your legs more."

"Alan!"

"Open your legs more! I let you touch me!"

I moved my feet further apart and bent my knees slightly so he could 
get a better look. He spread my lips really wide. When he touched my 
button with the tip of his finger, I jumped back.

Persistent, he crawled forward on his knees and stuck his fingers 
between my legs, again.

"Hold still!"

He started poking his finger around, and I tried not to pull away, but 
I couldn't help squirming a little. I really tensed up when he stuck 
the tip of his finger in my couchie. He looked up at me and smiled, 
then he stuck his finger in really deep.

"Hey!" I pushed on his shoulders, and he fell onto his back, laughing.

"Is that where your pee comes out?"

"No!" I pushed on his head to stop him from getting close to me, 
again, but I spread my legs apart and spread open my kitty to show him 
where my pee came out. "It comes out here."

"Then what's that hole for."

"I don't know!"

"How can you not know?"

"Well, smarty pants: What are your nuts for?"

He thought for a moment.

"Well?"

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?" I asked, with my best bratty voice.

That's when he pounced on me. We wrestled until we were laughing too 
hard to continue. He ended up on his back, and I was sitting on top of 
him. We both realized at the same time that we were still naked, and 
my kitty was pressed right up against his wiener. I jumped up and 
pulled on my panties. 

"Let's go."

Alan tugged his shorts on and followed me.

The rest of the day, we played in the woods, like we usually did. 
Neither one of us said anything about our earlier explorations; 
however, when we met the next morning, we both automatically removed 
our single item of clothing and "fooled around." This became our new 
routine: meet, fool around, then play like we always had.

After a few days, our fooling around evolved from taking turns to 
simultaneous touching. This meant that we were standing face-to-face. 
One morning, I gave Alan an impulsive kiss. It was just a peck on the 
lips, at first, but each day it kept getting longer and deeper until 
we were wrestling tongues while feeling each other up.

We had been doing this for a couple of weeks when I had a new idea. 
Alan was thrusting his stiff little wiener in my hand while rubbing my 
button with his thumb and trying to force his index finger as far up 
my couchie as he could get it.

I realized that his wiener wasn't much bigger than his finger, and I 
wondered if it would fit inside me. I let go of his wiener, grabbed 
his shoulders, and pushed him away from me.

"Lie down."

"Why?" he gasped.

"Just lie down!"

I climbed on top of him, took his wiener in my hand, and pointed it 
where his finger had been a moment ago. I was surprised how easily it 
slipped into me. I laughed when I saw Alan's eyes open really wide! 
Apparently, it felt just as good for him to be inside me as it felt to 
have him inside me.

I spread my legs wide to get him as deep inside me as I could. I got a 
funny tingle when my button pressed up against his skin, so I started 
rocking my hips to rub it against him. The wide smile on Alan's face 
told me that he liked it, too.

He started thrusting his hips up towards me, and I bent over and 
hugged his body tightly against mine. He wasn't really thrusting his 
wiener inside me because it was too short: we sort of just rubbed our 
naked bodies together with him inside me. It sure felt good!

When I got older, I read about how boys don't last very long when they 
first start having sex. I heard stories about boys only lasting a few 
strokes. I didn't know about that, then--I didn't even know that what 
we were doing was sex--but even though he was only just eight years 
old, Alan could go long enough to give me a tingly feeling before 
pushing hard into me, giving one last, long grunt, then going soft.

Even though we didn't know what we were doing, we knew we wanted to do 
it. When school started up in the fall, we had to shift our daily play 
from the morning to the afternoon. We'd both race home, trade our 
school clothes for shorts (Mom started making me wear shorts, but I 
wore them without panties--and I still went topless), then run to the 
woods. Five minutes after stepping off the bus, we were going at each 
other like wild animals.

For my ninth birthday, my mom bought me a bikini and insisted that I 
wear the top whenever I went outside to play. I resisted, but she said 
she was tired of listening to the old neighbor ladies complain about 
my "scandalous" behavior.

The bikini was one of those ones with the tiny triangles held together 
by skinny strings, so I didn't mind, too much. In fact, I started 
wearing the bottoms instead of shorts. It was even worth suffering a 
week with sunburn to learn that I was actually closer to being totally 
naked in the bikini than I had been with just shorts.

Apparently, showing off half my butt was okay as long as my nipples 
were covered because the old ladies in the apartment complex stopped 
complaining. I still don't get that, even after all these years.

Alan's parents signed him up for swimming. It meant that we couldn't 
get together as often, but they got him one of those skimpy racer 
swimsuits, and he started wearing it to play. The swimming was also 
making his muscles fill out. That's when I realized that I was in love 
with him. I told Alan; all he said was, "Gross."

All the time we were fooling around, I never thought about "doing it" 
with another boy. If Alan ever thought about doing it with another 
girl, he never said anything. In fact, as far as other girls were 
concerned, Alan was a typical boy his age: he tormented them or 
avoided them.

As we got older and grew taller, I was confused--and Alan was 
upset--that his penis (we had learned the proper terms for our parts 
from a book we snuck at the library) didn't seem to be keeping pace: 
it was still just a tiny nub that stiffened to not quite two inches. 
(We had actually measured it!)

I told him that I thought something was wrong with it, but Alan 
insisted that his father said not to worry: it would get bigger, soon 
enough--well, maybe soon enough for Alan's dad, but not soon enough 
for Alan or me.

I had seen a few more of my mother's boyfriends naked, and I was 
curious about what it felt like to have something that big inside me. 
(I was also weirded out when I finally realized that my mom was doing 
the same thing with her boyfriends that Alan and I were doing!)

One advantage to Alan being so short, though, was that he had to grind 
up against me to keep it from slipping out--and I really like that!

By fifth grade, I had developed two little bumps on my chest. They 
seemed to take forever to develop into real breasts, but Alan really 
liked them. At the same time, Alan was showing signs of growing up, 
too, but it took us a while to realize it.

I began to notice that after every time we'd have sex, some liquid 
would leak out of my vagina. There wasn't much of it--just enough to 
notice--but that had never happened, before. One day, I noticed a drop 
of the same liquid on the tip of Alan's penis. 

After some more sneaking around at the library, we figured out that 
the fluid was Alan's semen. That made Alan really happy! It also made 
me feel good that Alan was squirting his baby-making stuff inside me. 
Mom had explained to me about periods, and I hadn't started mine, yet, 
so I wasn't worried about having a baby. Actually, the thought of 
having a baby with Alan made me feel warm, inside.

The next time we had sex, I made Alan stop just before he finished so 
I could see him squirt his semen. I rubbed his penis with my hand and 
let go when the first, watery spurt came shooting out. His penis 
bounced up and down a few times, and each time it did, it squirted a 
little more. There were about five squirts--each not quite as powerful 
as he previous one.

From then on, whenever Alan squirted inside me, I remembered what I 
had seen, and that picture in my mind always gave me a really warm 
tingle all over my body. Afterwards, I'd think about having his semen 
in my body, and I enjoyed the feeling of it leaking out of me and 
running down my thighs.

After another year, Alan's testicles started to get bigger. They 
looked funny, hanging low beneath his little penis, which seemed 
determined to remain small. (At twelve, it still wasn't three inches 
long.) My bumps had gotten big enough that I started calling them 
"breasts," even though they weren't like what the older girls had. 
Alan liked them, though, and he spent a lot of time rubbing and 
kissing them.

I continued to enjoy taking his semen inside me. It had changed from 
thin and watery to thick and white, and he was making a lot more of 
it. We'd sneak off into the woods on the way to school, and I'd be 
tickled by squishy, wet panties all morning. He'd fill me again, after 
school, and I'd wear a sun dress or a skirt without panties so I could 
feel his juice running down my thighs as we played outside. Then, just 
before we went in for the night, he'd fill me a third time.

It may seem like all we did was have sex--three times a day was a lot 
when most of the kids our age hadn't even had sex, yet; however, while 
Alan was an enthusiastic lover, he never lasted more than a minute, 
once he was inside me, so we probably spent less than fifteen minutes 
a day on sex--including all the kissing. I didn't mind: his frantic 
thrusting and desperate need to come off made our couplings exciting. 
It was a few minutes of intense passion followed by hours of me 
daydreaming about having his baby growing inside me.

A few months after my thirteenth birthday, I was sporting a nice 
little bump, having never had a period. Mom wasn't even upset. I 
shouldn't have been surprised because she never did take much interest 
in me. I was thrilled, and Alan beamed with pride, when I told him. He 
turned out to be a great dad, and later, a wonderful husband.