____________________________
| |
/)| KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF |(\
/ )| DIRECTORIES |( \
__( (|____________________________|) )__
((( \ \ > /_) ( \ < / / )))
(\\\ \ \_/ / \ \_/ / ///)
\ / \ /
\ _/ \_ /
/ / \ \
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Christine Anderson (M/f, ped)
by Tom (tje@mail.nls.net)
(c) 1992
***
I first met Christine Anderson, when I was twelve years old and had
moved to a new city, to which my father had been transferred. I was a
small, shy boy with very blonde hair, the face of a pretty child and
totally naive.
Christine lived across the street from my new house. I saw her watching
her younger sisters play hop scotch on the sidewalk, the cement chalked
unintelligibly with, perhaps, Masonic symbols. I stood on my side of
the street and looked at her. She seemed to be about my age, and I
thought that she was very pretty. I was too shy, however, to cross the
street and introduce myself, although she looked at me and smiled
That first day in my new home I partially explored a vast undeveloped
area that lay just north of the house. Much of it was a dump in which
piles and heaps of dry refuse extended for acres. I wondered at the
large quantity of bathroom tile. A rutted dirt track ran through this
desolation, and at one point beside it there was a copse of willow
trees, the branches of which fell to the ground. When I pushed through
the branches, I discovered a round open space with the tree trunk at the
center and the limbs around serving as walls. There were five trees,
and so five "rooms", which I immediately claimed as my hideaway. It
was so much neater than the earthen bunkers that I had built back in my
old home. The ground under each tree was very dusty; nothing grew
there. There was also no litter, so I assumed that my special place was
not frequented by others. I became ecstatic by my find, which made it
much easier to accept this new home of mine, where I had no friends.
The dust hung in the air. It clung to the narrow willow leaves. I
decided that I would soon sprinkle water all about and settle it. I
would bring a chair and a table, and a blanket to lie upon. That place,
I thought, could be the mission control of space ships which would take
off and land in the large expanse outside. I would push aside the
branches and go forth in my space suit, climbing into the rocket ships
and discover new universes. I lay upon the ground, the dust covering
me, as I dreamed most splendidly.
I felt hungry, so I got up and went home. I walked down the dirt road
for a couple of hundred yards, until I reached a side street that did
not have much traffic. Then I went down three streets of warehouses and
a foundry, until I reached a boulevard where the cars and trucks passed
by without end. I finally got across and came into an entirely new
enviroment. There were houses with manicured lawns. I knew that my
house was just three blocks away.
"Where have you been!" my mother demanded to know
"You're filthy. What have you been doing?"
I wanted to tell her about the neat place that I had found, but I knew
that she was more concerned about the dirt on my clothes.
"I'll take a shower and change my clothes," I responded. "I was out
exploring."
* * *
Late that afternoon my mother called me down from my room. I went
downstairs, and in the living room were the girl I had noticed earlier
in the day and an older woman, her mother. They had come to greet their
new neighbors, and my mother introduced me to them. I learned than that
her name was Christine, that our birthdays were only six days apart,
which meant that she was twelve years and three months old.. But she
was a girl, so she was half a year more developed than I. She was a
couple of inches taller and she had small breasts which pushed at her
blouse. My hormones had not yet begun to strike me to any appreciable
degree, but I did notice that Christine was very pretty. Her face
seemed to be a bit pale, although there was a rosiness to her cheeks and
lips. The seeming paleness was perhaps the result of a contrast with
her hair, which was lustrous, raven black, fixed that day in two braids
on either side of her head. Her eyes were bright blue, and they stared
at me boldly. She had delicate features, very symetrical, but I was
particularly struck by her bare arms, which were so shapely and soft
looking.
Christine smiled at me and we went out onto the porch with glasses of
lemonade, away from the grown ups, to talk and become better
acquainted. She was very friendly, and I felt quickly at ease with
her. She promised to show me around the neighborhood and to introduce
me to my new class mates on Monday. It was late Spring and we were both
finishing the sixth grade. I was so pleased to have a found a friend in
this new home of mine. I was tempted to tell her about the special
place that I had discovered under the willows, but I decided to keep
the secret to myself for the time being.
Over the next several days I met a lot of other kids at school, but
Christine remained my only true friend. After a couple of weeks some of
the guys taunted me about having a girlfriend. I did not mind, nor did
she. We were very comfortable with each other. After school she had to
look after her two younger sisters, ages eight and ten, and I would
usually join her, doing our homework together. Her mother worked. Her
father was dead.
We really did not spend all that much time alone together, except for a
few hours on weekends, and we did not feel any particular need for
privacy, because we were not at all intimate. We were, I suppose, just
good buddies who admired each other's prettiness, just kids for whom sex
was, not quite yet, an issue in our lives. I do acknowledge, however,
that I was fascinated by Christine's small breasts, and I wanted to
touch them, just out of curiosity.
Within a month the school year was over, and Christine's sisters were
sent off to spend the Summer at their grandparent's farm. She would stay
home and care for the house while her mother worked, about which she
didn't mind, because, she said, she liked playing with me. We then had
an enormity of time to spend together, the kind of time that seems to
last forever, when one is twelve.
One day I told her about my special place, and she informed me that she
already knew about it, that everybody knew about it. The news deflated
me. I had taken a blanket there and a small chair. I had fashioned a
table with debris which I had collected from the dump. I had scattered
water to hold down the dust.
"The high school kids go there to make out," she said matter of factly
I was crestfallen, but then I thought that perhaps I was becoming to old
to play by myself, pretending about mission control and space ships.
"Have you ever been there?" I asked.
"Nope. It's a dirty place."
I thought that I should go up there and retrieve my blanket.
"Do you want to come with me to get some stuff I left there?"
Not having anything better to do that morning, Christine said "OK".
* * *
"Watch out for that bus," I called to her, taking her hand and pulling
her across the boulevard, so crowded with traffic. We then walked past
the warehouses and the foundry, and after a short way she disengaged our
hands. We talked of nothing consequential; tv programs, movies, one of
which we had seen together, along with her two sisters. We gossiped
about kids in our sixth grade class, none of whom had done anything
particularly naughty.
Then we came to the quiet side street, beyond which lay the vast
desolation of dump, weeds and stunted trees, except for the copse of
willows, which stood out, however forlorn they appeared.
"It's ugly," Christine sniffed.
"Ya," I agreed, wanting then just to retrieve my blanket and to get away
from there.
Christine and I walked slowly up the rutted, dusty track that stretched
deeply into that terrain.
"High school kids drive their cars up this road. Up ahead there are
paths that turn off. The kids make out in the back seats."
"How do you know this?"
"My cousin told me."
I wondered what "making out" meant exactly, although I knew that it had
to do with sex.
"What do they do when they make out?"
"You, dummy. They have sex together in the back seats of their cars."
I knew that, but did she mean that they fucked in their back seats?
"Isn't that hard to do in the back seat of a car?"
Christine became annoyed at my ignorance, although I really thought that
she didn't know either how they did it in their back seats.
"I don't want to talk about sex."
"OK."
We approached the copse of willow trees, which seemed to me to have
taken on the desolation and squalor of its surroundings, no longer the
proud headquarters of a valiant young space explorer. When we came up
to the first one, we heard a sound, a human sound. We looked at each
other, unsure of what we should do. So, we did what any normal young
twelve year old would do. We approached the tree on tip toes and peered
through the branches.
Christine drew in her breath quietly at the scene we beheld. Two older
kids were lying naked on my blanket, a girl and a boy. They had their
heads between each other's legs. The boy had his face in the girl's
pubic hair and was obviously licking on her. The girl, moaning, had the
boy's cock in her mouth and was moving her head up and down on it. I
was fascinated watching that cock go in and out of the girl's mouth. I
sprouted a stiffie, the first of the day. The girl's moaning
increased. It was a brief, repeated sound, starting low in register and
then rising higher. It increased in tempo and grew louder. Christine
grabbed my hand tightly. I looked down and saw that the fingers of her
other hand was scratching at her groin. She was breathing irregularly.
I turned my attention back to the older kids having sex, when the girl
pulled her head up from the guy's cock, arched her back and cried aloud
as though she was in some horrible pain. It lasted for a few seconds.
Christine was panting, and I could feel her rubbing herself quickly as
she grasped my hand. The girl then quieted somewhat and returned her
head back to the guy's cock and sucked it into her mouth. Christine
made a noise like a small animal in pain, and the girl turned her head
and saw us. Her scream was frightening. It was so angry and loud. I
pulled on Christine and we ran down the dirt track as fast as we could.
I heard an outraged male voice shouting behind us, but I dared not turn
to look back. Then it was quiet and I turned my head, as we still ran
hand in hand. No one was behind us. So we stopped and caught our
breath.
We walked on hand in hand. I was embarrassed to have witnessed that
scene with Christine. She appeared flushed and was very quiet. She
still held my hand. The humor of it all then came to me and I giggled,
but Christine did not share my mirth. She was very solemn.
"They won't make a baby that way," I observed with a chortle.
She looked at me, annoyed.
"That was the whole purpose, stupid."
We walked back to our street, and all the way Christine held my hand. I
wondered about that.
For the next couple of days Christine was different somehow. She looked
at me more softly, and she did not call me names. She would hold my
hand and touch me, stroke me; my upper arm; my leg near my knee. Then,
when were alone in my basement, she put her palm on my cheek and kissed
my lips. As I recall, it was more a pressing of our lips together than
it was a real kiss. It was the first kiss for the two of us.
I was naive, and I had not yet masturbated for the first time. Other
kids in the neighborhood, kids I knew from school, were beginning to do
it. Jimmy Martin boasted that he did it at least once a day and
sometimes more. It seemed that kids my age and a little older were all
atwitter about the subject. I thought about doing it, because it was
supposed to be an incredible pleasure, but I was worried about what some
guys were saying about it; that it turned you crazy and made hair grow
on your palms. Jimmy Martin, though, seemed healthy enough, and there
was no hair on his palms. I finally accepted the fact that I would do
it before long. My stiffies were becoming more frequent, and, when no
one was looking, I would squeeze them
My fascination with Christine's titties increased, and I also became
very aware of the shapeliness of her limbs and the softness of her
flesh. This sexual awakening had been underway for some weeks before
the episode under the willow tree. But after having seen those older
kids having sex, my hormones really clicked in.
I wondered about the way Christine was treating me, so differently than
in the past. She touched me gently, but she would not let me touch
her. During the three months that I had known her we had gotten into
the habit of rough housing, during which I would seek every opportunity
to grab a tittie. She would always push my hand away and scowl at me,
but she was still always ready wrestle and tickle on the couch or on the
floor.
About five days after the episode at the willow tree, and the day on
which I had decided to masturbate for the first time, whatever the
risks, Christine called me out of my house. She had a serious look on
her face, when I joined her on the sidewalk. She was clad in a
sleeveless blouse and shorts, which displayed her soft limbs
magnificently. Her raven hair was pulled back into a pony tail. She
looked into my face, her eyes fixed on mine. I was worried that she was
ill, because she had been acting so strangely for the past few days.
Yet she appeared splendidly healthy.
"Let's go to my house," she said. "I want to talk with you."
She took my hand in hers and we crossed the street. We went in her
front door, and I knew that we were alone in the house. She pulled me
by the hand, up the stairs to her room.
She shood before me, very close. We were by then the same height She
had just bathed. I could smell her distinct aroma of Ivory soap and
baby shampoo.
Christine placed one hand on my shoulder and the other on my cheek. She
leaned forward and kissed me, our second kiss ever. I put my arms
around her eagerly, kissing back.
"I want to snuggle with you," she whispered into my ear.
I didn't know how to respond in words. I held her tightly. I licked
her neck and she shivered. We lay together on the bed in each other's
arms, and we lost count of how many times we kissed. I was aroused, but
I realized that something special was happening between the two of us,
and I didn't want to ruin it with horse play and tittie grabbing.
"Tommy?"
"Ya?"
" . . . . . . . you're very pretty."
"Girls are pretty. Guys are handsome."
"You're prettier than most girls, although in a boyish way."
I did not respond.
"Do you think I'm pretty?"
"Everyone knows that you're pretty, especially you."
Christine jabbed me with her elbow and we giggled. We kissed some more,
very sweetly. I knew that I loved her and that she loved me.
Her ragged breathing told me that she was as aroused as I. She clutched
at me and we kissed some more.
"You can touch me," she whispered.
My hand was unsteady as I placed it on her breast; not a grab, but a
fondling. It was small and pointy, not an entire handful. Her hard
nipple poked at my palm. Her two titties clung to her chest tightly. I
rubbed my hands over them. We kissed some more, experimenting with our
tongues. I reached under her blouse and felt the flesh of her pointy
mounds, which were braless.
"Touch my legs," she pleaded with a gasp.
I stroked her soft thighs, so slender and shapely. Christine pulled on
my hand, forcing my fingers under the hem of her shorts, to a place
which was warm, moist and mysterious.
"Rub me there."
"Not so hard."
"Right there. Yes. That's right."
Christine squirmed against my fingers as she sought out my lips and
moaned into my mouth. In a brief moment of clarity I realized that I
was engaging in sex. Then Christine began to make sounds in my ear,
not the same kind that the girl under the willow tree had made. These
were her own sounds. She spasmodically coughed out shrill gasps of air
and then wailed for a few seconds as she pushed her body against mine.
She lay in my arms, her eyes closed, her beautiful face at rest. I
licked her nearby cheek. She opened her eyes and smiled into my face
wonderfully.
"Cristy, I'm hurting," I whispered.
She understood, but she didn't know what to do. I could not tell her,
because I had never done it before. I pulled her hand to the bulge in
my shorts, needing something. As I looked into her pale face, which
smiled beautifully at me, as I grasped a handfull of her raven hair,
Christine kneaded the bulge in my shorts, gently, lovingly, doing
innocently what my body most required.
"Don't stop. Don't stop!"
I made loud sounds of my own, an uncontrolable noise, as I felt a sting
in my cock and then unbelievable ecstasy. Wetness filled my
underpants. I had grasped her too tightly in my passion, and Christine
pushed me gently away. She looked into my face with an expression of
wonder at her power.
Then we snuggled properly, our urgent passions assuaged, until the next
time.
=====================================================================
COPYRIGHT NOTICE AND UNDERAGE WARNING
All stories in this archive are the property of the author. They may
be downloaded and read by private citizens. They are not to be used
by commercial web sites. Persons using this material on commercial
sites will be vigorously pursued by the hounds from hell, or my legal
team, whichever is deemed necessary. (These stories were written for
adult entertainment and should not be accessed by children.)
=====================================================================