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From: Theodore@Spoonbender.demon.co.uk (Spoonbender)
Subject: New Spoonbender Story - First (Cons, First Time)
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First   (Cons, First Time)

************************************************ (c) 1998 Spoonbender.
A short story of an adult nature.  Not to be read by minors.  If you
don't like this sort of stuff or you are underage then don't read.
Contains allusions to naughty, erotic goings on.  Can be freely
distributed as long as it is not changed, including this heading.  If
it is to be archived on a fee paying archive then please email me
first for permission.  Note that the characterisations are mine.  I do
not like people stealing them for inclusion in their own efforts.
Please email me with comments, constructive criticism, fantasies you
want put into words etc.  Don't flame me if you don't like the content
or you don't like my style.
************************************************* 

Your first time was in summer.

It was always a summer in your mind's eye wasn't it?

It was spring when it started though. Do you remember?

I do. It was important to me. It triggered my voyage into manhood and
it helped me to understand girls. At least that's what I thought at
the time. Of course the test of time proved me wrong, but it still
gave me a swagger in public.

Except when you were around.

You were too precious.

Claudia. Claudia, where are you now?

I remember you so well. You weren't the prettiest girl in school, but
then I wasn't the best looking boy either. But I felt the pull and the
pull was from you.

My heart lurched when I saw you looking at me, then your eyes darted
away and you blushed prettily.

I remember you standing there in your school uniform. Blue skirt,
white blouse, striped tie, white socks. Ah the memories. You weren't
one of the girls who rolled their skirts up after they had left home.
You couldn't if you remember, your mother was a teacher. So you were
always the modest one. Long skirt below your knee while others had
hemlines that barely covered their knickers.

Do you remember those knickers? The blue serge ones? You told me that
you had other ones underneath and that these were just for modesty.
But I found out didn't I? I'm sorry I am jumping ahead of myself here.

I can't recall who asked who out? Thinking about it, it must have been
me? Wait a minute, that rings a bell. Yes! I've got it, it was Sally
wasn't it? She always was a matchmaker wasn't she. Pneumatic Sally.
Big breasts, curvy hips, the whole works. 

The full monty.

You were much more petite as I recall. More my style, more my cup of
tea. You were brainy too, must of come from having clever parents. I
wasn't so clever. I wasn't stupid, I just didn't apply myself. You
came close to the top of the class.  Not the very top, that would have
been too pushy, but close. You always were a modest girl. Maybe shy
would have been a better description.

I was shy too. I tried hard not to show it though. I had to be one of
the lads. I didn't fit in though. I came too late to the school. You'd
all been together since you started and I had been transferred in my
final year, when my parents moved. So I was the butt of the jokes and
I spun outside the orbit of the classroom cliques. I was alone. But
you didn't mind.

Maybe you felt some pity for me. Maybe we had a mutual pity that drew
us together. The plain, rather shy girl and me the class maverick.
Whatever it was the chemistry seemed to work. We came together. We
walked hand in hand through the school playing fields. We tested our
courtship and tried to make some sense out of our frantically yo-yoing
hormones.

Me with my voice that was cracking and you with the embarrassment of
your burgeoning breasts. Puberty had burst upon us leaving us dazed
and unprepared. We suddenly noticed each other. Girls changed into
dreams. And boys....who knows, maybe you can tell me.

We held hands. 

I liked your hands. They were soft and yielding. I hurt you once, I
squeezed too hard. Tears came into your eyes. I'm sorry Claudia. I
know its too late now, but it was just a boy-not-quite-a-man thing. I
was revelling in my strength instead of drawing it in. I hadn't
learned that my strength was for your protection not to hurt you. It
was for  you, not against you.

I thought I'd lost you. But you endured. We still walked together.

Across those playing fields.

Can you remember sitting by that tree? Over on the far side of the
athletics track? The school buildings squat and grey in the distance,
the other students like ants. Not that we noticed them of course. We
only had eyes for each other.

Yours are brown. You see boys do notice these things. I know, I stared
into them often enough.

Except when we kissed. You always closed your eyes then. I didn't want
to, I wanted to see you, your face smooth in bliss. We tried French
kissing once. It was awkward and our teeth kept mashing together. We
practised though, until we got the hang of it. We became quite adept
if my memory serves me right.

Hey can you remember when I put my hand down the front of your blouse?
And you asked me in such a common-day voice what I was doing. I could
have died. What could I say? I wasn't prepared for that sort of
question. Not from a girl.

I think I mumbled something while you sat there looking quizzically at
me, as I blushed scarlet.

We must have strolled around the school grounds at least four or five
times before I had the nerve to touch one of your breasts. Through
your blouse of course. I could feel your bra, I could feel every
stitch holding it together and every seam. I held it cupped in my hand
gently like it was a captive bird. I don't think I did anything else
except hold it, except kiss you of course. Your eyes were closed and
you seemed to moan. I thought I'd hurt you and I let go.

That was the end of that lunchtime dalliance.

Another day at our tree I held you properly. An arm forcefully around
you, my hand resting lightly on your breast. You didn't push it away.
We kissed and you moaned. I went to move my hand and I found yours
over mine, holding me firmly to your young bosom. It was an electric
moment as I played gently with you, tracing the outline of your bra
with my thumb, my fingers beating a light tattoo on the soft, springy
flesh beneath. You moaned quietly and  I understood.

Thinking back I don't think you ever touched me. Not in a sexual way.
You held my body and even, in one of your bolder moments, pulled my
head towards yours as we mashed our mouths together. How did we know
what to do? Kissing is not logical, just natural.

Every break-time was a new voyage of discovery as we learned each
other, or should I say I learned you. You lay there, silently. It was
always done in silence. Isn't that odd? We didn't talk, we just kissed
and touched. And I learned.

The day I actually got my hand directly onto your breast was a
revelation. It was so soft, so warm. Pulsing lightly under my hand
with your tiny nipple poking lightly into my palm. Then it grew hard,
insistent. It was a voyage of discovery for me.

We met in town one day and walked along by the river. You were in
jeans. Not tight jeans of course. Not you. Not Claudia.

That was the day I touched you between your legs. 

There was a build up of course. We kissed and I fondled your breast as
you lay there on the riverbank. There was a radio playing somewhere.
Mungo Jerry -  'In the summertime'. I still think of you when I hear
that. I knew your breast by then. We were intimate you could say. Your
nipple rose to my touch and you had that faraway look in your eye that
I loved so much. Maybe I should have told you that I loved it. It
transformed you Claudia. You were no longer the plain Claudia. You
were a pretty girl. My girl. I bestowed that look on your face.

That day I explored. And you let me. Revelation was piled on
revelation as I mapped out your curves with my wandering hands.
Feeling the soft velvet of your body pushing against your clothes but
yielding to my hand.

The inside of your thighs were as soft as your breast, even through
the coarse denim. They parted slightly, instinctively, as my hand
delved between them. I kissed your lips and stroked, not daring to
believe my luck. You lay, hair gleaming a dark red in the sunlight.
I'd never noticed that you were red-headed before. Your eyes were
closed, your arms were at your sides. You yielded as I caressed.

Then I touched you. 

Down there I mean. I remember you shifted your position and muttered
something quietly as I sawed gently at the gusset of your Levis. I
didn't know what I was doing but I did it anyway. It seemed right
somehow.

Like trying to tease the button of your jeans open. You croaked no and
the moment was lost.

We walked along the riverbank holding hands and looking shamefaced in
our silence.

We did other stuff other than explore each other, but for the life of
me I cannot remember what. To me you were and always will be my lover.
My lover, my guide into the mysteries of sex. Other things blur into
the mists of time. Maybe they didn't happen.

You were again wearing your jeans when I found out that women could
get wet down there. It was always 'down there' wasn't it? Never your
vagina or even your cunt, just 'down there'. Each time we met I pushed
a little further and you yielded a little more. I don't recall any
pressure from me. I don't think I knew how. I didn't threaten to leave
you like some of the other boys. Or so they boasted in the locker
room. I was excluded from among them anyway so I never talked about
you like they talked about their girlfriends. I listened though in a
welter of jealousy.

My time with you was different. There was no jealousy just mutual
understanding and the longing for each others touch.  We, boys that
is, all thought that girls didn't really want to do it and that it was
only our skill (yes I know it sounds silly now - what skill eh?) that
persuaded a girl to 'drop them'. It wasn't until a lot later that I
actually saw a girl drop them. As I recall my early experiences always
involved me pulling them down, while she lay supine. Except to lift
her hips for me of course. I should have noticed that at the time,
maybe it would have given me the hint that girls really did want it
too.

When the time was ripe. When they were ready.

You were ready that day Claudia. I had my hand down your knickers and
I touched the edges of your pubic bush. It was damp under my fingers.

You were always damp for me weren't you? I didn't cotton on to the
significance at the time. I just thought that girls were just wet all
the time. Until I met one that wasn't.

You told me that you were uncomfortable that first time. I swiftly
removed my hand and we lay there unsure of what to do next. I think
you wanted me to pull down your jeans, but I was scared. This was a
big moment for me. And I blew it.

It was when you were in your school skirt that I finally touched you
there. I tried putting my hand up your skirt, but it seemed such a
long way that I became embarrassed. I really thought that you were
going to complain as I slid my hand up your thigh. While I kissed you.

In the end I slid my hand down the waistband of your skirt. It seemed
less obtrusive somehow. Maybe I thought that you wouldn't notice. Then
I touched you. My hand deep inside your knickers I touched your core.

It was soft and wet. It was marvellous. I pushed my finger inside. I
had not learned finesse, that would come later. Now I just wanted to
press against your wetness. You cried ouch and I withdrew. Another
moment, gone for ever.

Bolder and more daring we became. It was our little conspiracy, only
we knew. It was a world peopled by only the two of us as I explored
and you lay there with that look.

I got your knickers off one day. It was May the something. I can't
remember the exact date but it was a Wednesday and the venue was our
tree.

I was bolder now. Those knickers seemed to inhibit me. Now there were
no holds barred, no hills left to climb. You were offering something
precious to me. 

I made you come. I rubbed and fondled and your breath quickened. Then
your hands shot down between your legs where my fingers were busily
caressing. I thought you were going to draw them away but you pushed
me harder onto your sex as you spent yourself.

My fingers were slick with your odour as you told me that it had been
beautiful.

I marvelled. I hadn't done anything before that could possibly be
construed as beautiful.

We did it a lot after that. 

Until that day.

June. A sports day. The parents cheering and bare legs flashing in the
sun. We sneaked away. Away, away, beyond even our tree. Into the woods
that brooded in the sunlight.

We kissed, explored, fondled and you offered.

It was all done in silence.

I was as hard as a pole and you opened your eyes to peek at it. I
thought it was going to put you off. It was so ugly when compared
against your beautifully discrete organs. You lay back as I prepared.

I'll always remember you Claudia. Until my dying day. We were both 16
years of age. Legally we could do it, morally?  Maybe not. But the sap
was rising and you had offered yourself to me.

I took.

You were so tiny down there and so very wet. I thought it wouldn't go
in. You screwed up your eyes as I pushed and pushed. I thought I was
killing you and I was going to stop but you reassured me, in that
faraway voice that it was ok.  Cautioning me to be gentle.

Finally I was in, barely. I felt resistance within you and stupidly I
thought I'd plumbed your depths. Still your eyes were screwed tightly
and your hands gripped my shoulders. I reached down to kiss you and I
pushed. It was an involuntary act. Pure Instinct. Some forgotten
strand of DNA urged me to it and I, we, became adults.

I was quick. Too quick. I don't think you had time to come. I thought,
afterwards, that I had really hurt you because you were bleeding. You
had tears in your eyes and you asked me if I had enjoyed it.

It was heaven, it was bliss. It was everything, and better, than the
other boys had described. It made my heart pound and my head sing. I
think I told you that it was ok.

We didn't hold hands leaving that wood.

We seldom held hands after that. I'm not sure why, maybe it was the
scare. You weren't on the pill and I wasn't wearing anything. But it
passed. 

But you were too scared to ask your mother for her consent to go on
the pill and I didn't know where to buy rubbers. I'd tasted the
forbidden fruit and I wanted to taste more. We'd passed the boundary
point where I was content to evoke feelings in you without any
reciprocation.

The magic had gone.

We drifted a little. Then came the row. I called you a big nosed
bitch, I could talk. You cried and Sally became all motherly and
protective. I was truly an outcast now.

I left school very soon after that. I'd flunked anyway so the Army
seemed the best bet. They took me far away and I never returned.

I think about you every now and then Claudia.

Do you ever think about me?

*****************************************************************************
A bit slushy perhaps?



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