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Archive name: gscout.txt (mf-teens, first)
Authors name: Jenny Wanshel (chilly2@biosys.net)
Story title : Sex and the Single Girl Scout

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-= This work is copyrighted to the author © 2000. =-
Please do not remove the author information or make
any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-
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SEX AND THE SINGLE GIRL SCOUT
by Jenny Wanshel (chilly2@biosys.net)


I lost my virginity at the age of 12, as a result of 
joining the Girl Scouts. A Girl Scout, as we all knew, 
was clean in thought, word, and deed. So I completely 
lost one of my major qualifications for being a Girl 
Scout, an intact hymen, as a result of joining. I had 
about 6 hairs on my pussy and already it was 
deflowered, stretched, and soiled. I was used goods.

Our troop leader, you see, had a 14 year old son. That 
pretty much tells the whole story. He was the sort of 
loud, rough, pushy boy that looked as if he hadn't 
washed behind his ears voluntarily in his life, and was 
cute in a sort of butch, macho, t-shirted boy-with-
uncombed-hair-and-sneakers kind of way. 

And I was the only girl in our entire junior troop with 
a bra. I don't know if he had ever noticed any of the 
little pigtailed tomboys hanging around his mom's house 
before, but I was prematurely developing and had a 
braful of titty at the age of 12. It was only an A-cup 
bra, but there they were. Round, ripe and unplucked.

I have been a D-cup since college, and even in junior 
high school I was usually the girl with the biggest 
tits-I was an A-cup when the other girls were in 
training bras, and a B-cup when they got their A's.  
Boys couldn't keep their eyes off them. I was a cute 
little freckled girl with glasses and pigtails, but my 
blouse was out to there, and even grown men noticed and 
made remarks. Sometimes I had two or three boys waiting 
to walk me home after school. I enjoyed the attention, 
but I wasn't a slut.  

I did my best to hide them, but one day in the sixth 
grade one of the boys spotted the bumps in my blouse 
and announced "Hey, look-

Jennifer's growing tits!" 

I had been very careful to protect my modesty while 
changing for our twice a week gym class, but this time 
it felt like all eyes were on me in the girls' changing 
room, and I couldn't get away with going off in a 
corner and turning my back while I changed. I had to 
brave it out and take my top off with half a dozen 
girls watching. I blushed furiously as my little bitty 
titties popped out.

They asked me when it happened and if they hurt (only a 
little tenderness and soreness) and so on. It was 
agreed by one and all that I should start wearing a 
bra, immediately. When I went home I told my Mom I 
needed a bra and she said "Why?" looking puzzled and 
then "Oh!" and "Are you sure?" And then she made me 
come closer and did what I had been afraid of-she put 
her hand out and poked them. 

"Yes, you definitely need a bra" was the verdict. She 
interrupted preparations for dinner to take me shopping 
before the stores closed, and dinner was late that 
night. We came home with two white A-cup bras, the 
fitter in the department store having decided that I 
was already too big for training bra sizes. My breasts 
were the size of plums already, heading for nectarines.  

I was relieved that I hadn't wound up with an underwire 
bra, which I regarded with dread as some sort of 
medieval torture device, and slightly disappointed that 
Mom hadn't bought me a matching girdle.  With garter 
straps. I regarded a girdle as the epitome of grownup 
womanliness, for some reason.

Dinner was late that night. "Don't tell Dad" I begged, 
and Mom didn't say anything, but she had a mysterious 
little smirk over the dinner table.

"How was school today, Jen?" Dad asked.

"Jenny got an A," Mom said with a sly smile.

"Good, good. Keep up the grades."

"Oh, she'll keep them up from now on."

Mom was trying to keep a stone face but she looked like 
she could barely restrain herself from exploding in a 
fit of giggling. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, 
except I wanted to kill her first.

The next day I wore a bra to school for the first time, 
the first girl in my class to have a real one (several 
girls wore training bras they didn't need yet).

When I slouched, red-faced, through the door of my 
school I was sure all eyes would be on me and that 
everyone would notice immediately that I was a grown 
woman now. Surprisingly, I got no reaction at all. By 
the end of the day I was starting to be offended. I 
stopped slouching and was standing up straight, 
thrusting them out and wondering why I hadn't caught 
anybody's eye yet. The next day I wore a slightly 
tighter blouse.

It took the boys two days to notice that I was wearing 
a bra and start snapping my bra strap. Fortunately, I 
was as tall as most of the boys and was enough of a 
tomboy to punch the boy sitting behind me when he got 
out of line. The boys didn't get their male adolescent 
growth spurt and start looking huge to us girls until 
two years later. It wasn't like high school where guys 
a foot taller were looming over us. 

Someone passed me a note with all the nicknames, slang 
terms and euphemisms for "breasts" written on it. You 
were supposed to add one and pass it on. I was 
humiliated, and I crumpled it up and hid it in my desk 
to destroy later. "Knockers," "hooters," "jugs," 
"charlies," "watermelons," etc. I didn't know half of 
them, and there were some that I have never encountered 
again to this day. 

Three boys came up to me after school. "Can we see your 
tits?" 

"No, you may not," I replied.

"I'll let you ride on my dirt bike," one of them 
offered.

"No thank you." If he had offered me $10 I would have 
been tempted.  I needed $7.98 plus tax to buy the new 
Eagles album at the mall, and Dad wouldn't give me any 
more advances on my allowance.

That was probably the most forthright and open approach 
I ever got.

I knocked on my Girl Scout troop leader's screen door 
one day after school, wanting to get some help with my 
uniform or something, and her son answered the door. 
His name was Bret.

"My mom's not home yet. She isn't gonna be back for a 
while." He looked me up and down, mostly up. "You're 
that new one, aren't ya?  What's your name?"

"Jenny." (Thank god, he didn't know me by the nickname 
I had picked up at school. "Oh, look, here comes the 
Bosom," some wise guy boy had cracked as I was walking 
across the playground at recess, and the nickname 
stuck.)

"You can come in and wait for her if you like. Wanna 
hang out until she gets here? You could watch TV or 
somethin'."

I wasn't boy crazy, but he was a boy, after all, and I 
didn't have any experience with boys, and I had reached 
the point where I was starting to get curious about 
things in general. So even though I had better things 
to do I said "sure" and went in. I wanted to hang out 
with an older boy. A mature fellow of 14 -- practically 
a man in my eyes.

He got us a snack, Pop-Tarts and milk or something like 
that, and we went down to the basement rec room. They 
had a pool table, a TV set and a stereo, as well as a 
pile of skiing equipment that hadn't been used in years 
gathering cobwebs in a corner.

We sat down on a ratty couch and ate our snack. 

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Thirteen," I lied, since I didn't want him to think I 
was only a kid.

"Bullshit. You're twelve," he said.

I turned red. I didn't have any friends who said swear 
words like "bullshit," although I had heard them before 
on the playground.

"I am," I insisted.

"Liar. You're 12."

"How old are you?"

"Take a guess."

"Sixteen?" I knew he was 14, but for some unknown 
reason I wanted to flatter him.

"That's pretty close, yeah."

He had black, tousled hair and dark eyes and skin that 
was tanned brown from being out in the sun. He had 
muscles under his t-shirt, not big ones, just skinny 
boy muscles. He was as lean as a whip and his legs were 
encased in tight-fitting, soiled jeans.

"You look 13, though," he said. "Why do you hang out 
with those bratty little girls in the stupid Girl 
Scouts?"

"I don't know." If a girl had said the same thing I 
would have given her a spirited argument in defense of 
my friends, but I couldn't argue with an older boy.

"You're the only one in the whole troop that isn't a 
skinny ugly little geek."

I was offended. "Sara is pretty," I said. I couldn't 
really thank him for the compliment, since he had just 
insulted half the girls I knew.

"Sara? Is she that ugly little geek with the glasses 
and braces? Ugh.

She's a freak."

"She is not. Anyway, I have glasses too."

"So take em off. Do you need them to see or somethin'?"

"Not really." I took them off. 

"Now you look a lot better," he said. 

"Thank you." I hadn't ever really thought much about it 
before, but I probably was better looking to boys 
without my glasses. My Dad liked the way they looked on 
me though-he always said they made me look serious and 
studious.
"You ever have braces?"

"I did, but they came off. See?" I smiled and showed 
him my teeth.

"Mine too," he said, and he smiled at me. We had kind 
of a grinning contest then to see who could show the 
most teeth.

"Why don't you take that sweater off," he said. "It's 
warm in here."

I took my little knit sweater off. It was warm. I had 
been wearing sweaters a lot since I discovered how they 
hugged my chest and accentuated my developing figure. 
One of my male teachers seemed to notice me more when I 
wore a tight one, and he was definitely the teacher I 
most wanted to be kept after school by.

"You've got a better figure than the rest of those 
little girls," Bret said.

"Thank you." 

This had been noticed a few times before, on the 
playground, and in the girls' changing room for gym, 
and by my Mom. My Dad was still pretending not to 
notice, but I was developing. I don't know which of us 
came closer to having a heart attack when he first 
discovered one of my bras lying around the house. 

"Stand up and turn around," Bret said.

"Why?"

"Cause I said so," he grinned.

"You have to tell me why."

"It's a secret."

"I'm not going to, then."

"It's cause you got a bug on you."

"Where!?" I stood up and turned around, looking all 
over myself, but I didn't see anything.

"It was there just a second ago," he said. "Turn 
around, maybe it's on your back."

I turned around and he smacked me on the butt, hard.

"There," he said, "got it," and he started laughing.

"Oh, you liar," I said. "There wasn't any bug." And I 
grabbed him and tried to smack him on the butt, but as 
he was a lot bigger than me that didn't get very far.

He pinned my arms from behind so I couldn't whack him 
back.

"Nyah, nyah, ya can't get me," he sneered. 

I was noticing that it felt kind of nice to have his 
arms wrapped around me. I pretended to fight.

"Let me go, you big lug."

"First you have to say "uncle."

"Okay, then, uncle." Another setback for women's 
equality. 

He let me go and then smacked me lightly on the butt 
again. I sat down as quickly as I could, scrunched into 
a corner of the couch and stuck out my tongue at him.

"Baby," he sneered.

"Big bully," I taunted. 

"Want some ice cream?" he offered.

"Sure."

I loved ice cream, and he came back with two delicious 
bowls of chocolate Haagen Dazs, and a couple of Cokes.

"Thank you," I dimpled, and tucked in. In its own 
little way this was almost like a date.

"Want to watch some TV?" he asked.

"What's on?"

"Dark Shadows."

"What's that?"

"Oh man, it's so cool. It's about this vampire named 
Barnabas Collins, and all these other vampires. It's 
really boss."

He went ahead and turned it on. It was kind of cool, 
but I couldn't make heads or tails of it. There was a 
lot of creepy music and bats flitting around, and 
Barnabas had these long vampire teeth which were cool. 
And he was quite the dreamboat, for a guy who only went 
out at night and liked to bite his dates on the neck.

I was looking at Bret more than I was at the screen. 
Bret was almost oblivious to me, caught up in the show. 
I finished my ice cream and excused myself to go to the 
bathroom, during a commercial break. While I was in the 
bathroom I checked myself out in the mirror, as well as 
I could without my glasses. I wondered if I looked 
mature enough to be interesting to an older boy. 

I looked at my rump in the mirror. There was no 
squashed bug on it, just as I had figured. I wondered 
why he had smacked me on the rear.  Did I have a cute 
rear end? It was beginning to stick out a couple of 
inches, the way it hadn't ever in the past. I was 
developing down there too, and I had slim little hips 
and an ass that jutted out just a bit.

Legs? Still skinny, I'm afraid. I was starting to get 
pleasingly plump thighs but I didn't have calves yet. I 
was still a bit knobby-kneed, with Band-Aids on my 
shins instead of silk stockings.

Up on top was the most unmistakable evidence of my 
tenuous foothold on maturity-my little chest. There 
were two definite small mounds jutting up under my 
blouse. That blouse wasn't really made for a girl with 
breasts, so it was kind of tight around the armholes 
and you could see that I had a bra on, through my 
armholes, if I lifted my arms.

I had skipped right over the training bra phase and 
gone straight into an A-cup. One day I had these tender 
little buds on my chest and boom, they just blossomed 
into full grown small breasts overnight. I had "added a 
front porch," as Mother said. And I was getting a 
monthly "visitor," too. One day there was blood on my 
panties when I went to the bathroom during recess, and 
I knew. I went straight to the nurse's office and she 
fixed me up.

I was pretty much a work in progress, at that stage. 

I was starting to think about boys, too. I wanted a guy 
like Humphrey Bogart-cool and always in control. I 
loved the way he told that Martha Vickers where to get 
off in "The Big Sleep." And when he told Mary Astor he 
was sending her up the river, in "The Maltese Falcon", 
I cried. Couldn't he see that she loved him? He was my 
idea of a real man.  All of the boys I knew were just, 
well, boys.

I fixed myself up a little in the bathroom, and even 
smeared on a little red lipstick from a tube that my 
mother had discarded and which I had been carrying 
around in my little purse "in case I needed it." Well, 
I was with a boy, so I needed it. I probably looked a 
fool, although I did my best to be subtle.

And then I found a box of cotton wadding in the 
medicine chest and stuffed a couple of handfuls of it 
into each cup of my bra. I was only 12, but I knew what 
boys liked. There-now I was a B-cup.

I went in and sat back down on the couch, a little 
nearer to him than before. When the show ended, he 
turned around and started telling me about the part I 
had missed while I was in the bathroom, but his eyes 
snagged on something. My chest.

"You're bigger," he said, accusingly.

"What? What do you mean?" I said hotly, flushing.

"Your chest is bigger. Your boobs weren't that big 
before."

"Yes they were," I insisted stupidly.

"No way. You're not that big. You must of stuff your 
bra."

"I did not."

"Yah, I bet. It even looks lumpy."

I was on the verge of hysterics. Bra-stuffing is one of 
the worst offenses you can be accused of in the seventh 
grade. 

"That's me. I don't have to stuff. I have the biggest 
chest in the seventh grade." This was actually true, at 
the beginning of the school year. By the end of the 
year many other girls had blossomed.

"That's cause they don't know you STUFF!" he hooted 
derisively.

"I'm going home," I said.

"Go ahead. Crybaby. Who needs a dumb little seventh 
grade crybaby with falsies, anyway?"

"They're not falsies," I said. "Ask anyone."

"Prove it."

"How?"

"Take your blouse off and show me."

"No way."

"Yeah, right. Called your bluff, didn't I."

Hard to believe that I actually wanted this creep to 
like me. To this day, every time I see a boy like him 
in one of my classes I want to strangle the little 
wretch before he grows up.

"I'll show you my bra," I offered.
"Huh?"

"I'll take my bra off and show it to you. It's a real 
woman's bra and it fits me."

"Okay, show me then."

"I have to go in the bathroom and take it off."

"No, you have to take it off here in front of me."

"No, I won't."

"Chicken."

We went around and around on this and finally agreed 
that I could turn my back while I took it off. 

In summer camp I had learned a little trick for taking 
off your bra without removing your blouse. You have to 
have elastic straps to do this, because it entails 
somehow unhooking it in back, loosening the shoulder 
straps and easing one out through the armhole of your 
blouse until you can stretch it over your elbow. 

My blouse buttoned in front though and the hooks were 
in the back, so I had to ask Bret to help me unsnap the 
hooks in back.

He stood close behind me, breathing down the back of my 
neck, and I explained to him how to go about unhooking 
it through the thin white cloth of my blouse without 
actually taking my blouse off. It was insanely 
difficult, but eventually he figured it out, after 
yanking the sides of my bra strap so hard my breathing 
was cut off. 

Then I made him sit down again and started going 
through my contortionist routine, pushing one hand in 
through the armhole of the opposite sleeve and yanking 
the back strap and the shoulder strap out. At this 
juncture I paused, keeping my back turned to Bret, and 
reached in to pull out the cotton padding. 

All this time I had kept my little purse clutched to my 
chest, which made all of the above manipulations a lot 
more difficult. I quickly shoved the cotton into my 
purse and quietly shut it. There. The contraband bra-
stuffing was gone. I silently breathed an oath never to 
stuff again, which I've only broken a few dozen times.

I rebuttoned my top button and pulled my bra out of the 
opposite armhole. Hey presto. I reached around behind 
me, without turning around, and handed it to Bret. I 
didn't want him to see me with no bra on. Good heavens.

Silence for about a minute.

"Hey, this is pretty good. This is really yours? It's 
not your mom's?"

Of course it wasn't my mom's. It would have asphyxiated 
her.

"No, it's mine, and it fits. I need it. To hold my 
boobs up. So they don't sag."

"How do I know this really fits you? Turn around so I 
can see."

I turned around, shyly. I tucked my blouse in a little 
tighter and took a deep breath and pushed out my chest. 
I had seen the right way to do this in a girl's 
magazine-you have to clasp your hands behind your back, 
like you're shy and you don't know where to put them. 
This brings your elbows close together and pushes your 
ribcage out, so you don't look like you've got a sunken 
chest, heaven forbid.

Bret smirked at my chest. On my thin little frame my 
tits really did stand out. 

"I guess those would fit this bra," he said. "Not bad. 
You are pretty stacked for a seventh grader."

"Thank you," I said brightly. Things were looking up.

"But how do I know they're real? You could be wearing 
some kind of falsies."

"No I couldn't. Falsies don't work like that, they go 
in your bra."  (I was explaining the darkest trade 
secrets of girlhood to a boy. Shut up, Jenny.)

"Prove it. You have to open your blouse and show me."

"No way! I'm not going to show you my boobs, never."  

Actually, part of me was dying to show them to a boy 
and find out if a typical male agreed with the girls in 
the locker room that they were pretty nicely shaped, 
even if they weren't as big as the girls in Playboy 
had. But you just couldn't show them to a boy like 
that. It had to be his fault. Like if you went on a 
date and he just couldn't stop himself from ripping 
your blouse open, or something. 

"Ah, c'mon, Jenny. If you show me yours I'll show you 
mine."

"Show me your what?" I didn't have a clue. His chest?

He reached down and stroked the crotch of his jeans, 
along the zipper. 

"I'll unzip my pants and show you mine," he said.

Oh. He meant he was going to show me his wiener. I had 
had a little sex education and thought I knew what it 
was, in theory. It was a little thing like a thumb that 
hung down between the man's legs.  In medical books it 
was smooth and hairless, but some of the girls at camp 
had shown me a magazine in which there was a picture of 
a man, and his crotch was all hairy. You couldn't see 
his wiener very well. I had also bathed and changed my 
younger brother when he was a baby, but his thing was 
just a tiny little one. I didn't know what a big boy's 
would look like. And here was Bret, practically a man 
at the advanced age of 14. He probably shaved for all I 
knew.

I didn't say anything, because I was scared and 
nervous.

Bret reached down and pulled down his zipper. I could 
see his white underwear through his fly.

"I'll go first," he said. "See?"

He unbuckled his belt and opened his jeans. He was 
wearing white cotton Fruit of the Loom type underpants 
underneath. There was a little lump in them.

I didn't say anything. I was beginning to feel a little 
warm. 

"Now you have to unbutton one button," he said.

I had no intention of doing so. Without my telling it 
to do so my hand reached up of its own accord and 
unbuttoned one button. 

Bret licked his lips and smiled. 

"Not bad," he said.

Then he reached down and pulled his briefs farther 
down, until you could see his pubic hair. He really was 
hairy down there, and it was kind of gross, but I 
couldn't tear my eyes away. There was something very 
male about it. He pulled down his underpants until they 
didn't cover anything but that lump at the bottom. I 
thought it looked bigger than it had looked a minute 
ago, but maybe my eyes were deceiving me.

"Now you have to unbutton another button."

I reached up and undid another button. He could see 
down to the point between my breasts now, almost. 
Suddenly I felt a little older, like a pretty teenage 
girl instead of a kid. I brushed my hair back out of my 
eyes and looked at him.

He was smiling at me and licking his lips. He was 
confident, full of adolescent bravado and sure of 
himself. He smelled like a man. He smelled good, 
somehow. I enjoyed looking at him. And I wanted him to 
like me.

He reached down again, and flipped his briefs right 
over his meat and stripped them down onto his thighs. 
He stood up and his dick stuck out.

His dick. I remembered now that that was what older 
girls called it. Boys had dicks and that was his dick. 
It didn't look like anything I had ever seen before. It 
looked like a big hotdog, browned in the sun like the 
rest of him, sticking up proudly into the air, with 
some kind of funny shaped knob on the end. I didn't 
know the difference between circumcised and 
uncircumcised then but for the record he was 
circumcised. 

I have no idea how big it was. Five inches? Six? It 
looked big to me. I wasn't quite sure what he was 
supposed to do with it but it looked big enough for the 
job.

"And now you have to undo the rest of your buttons," he 
said.

I undid them all, one by one.

"Now take your blouse off."

I complied. I shrugged it off and let it float down to 
the floor. 

He looked at my chest. I looked down at myself and 
there they were.

My prematurely womanly breasts.

They were firm round swells, tipped with pink nipples. 
Each was about the circumference of a softball, and 
stuck out about an inch and a quarter. They were 
perfectly matched, smooth and silky. For a twelve year 
old, I was magnificent. They would have been 
magnificent even on a grown woman, if you like small 
Kate Moss sized breasts. 

I looked at his dick bobbing softly up and down.

"You can touch mine if I can touch yours," he said in 
an odd, husky voice.

I still didn't say anything. If I had it would have 
been "I don't know." 

I wanted to call my friend Sara and ask her advice.

He came closer and reached out and put his hand on my 
breast, cupping it softly.

It felt good. I hadn't known that about boys touching 
you. I had known that you weren't supposed to let them 
touch you, although god knows you would anyway, and now 
I knew why. It felt good. His hand was warm and soft 
and I felt my nipple getting hard and rising up all by 
itself to brush his palm, and that was like the first 
caveman discovering fire, for me. My nipple was hard, 
and it was incredibly sensitive and it was sticking 
into his palm like a little pencil eraser.

I had known that my nipples might harden a little 
sometimes but I hadn't known what that was all about, 
that it was for a man touching you there. It was so 
exciting I was dizzy.

"You can touch me," he said. "Here." He took my hand in 
his and pulled it to him and placed it on his hard 
penis.

I held it uncertainly, delicately, like I might break 
it. I barely touched it with my fingertips. I ran them 
up and down the length of it. It was the first erect 
penis I had ever touched. It was soft and hard at the 
same time-soft skin with a hard center. I squeezed it 
gently to test this. I wrapped my hand around it and 
yanked it a little, experimentally.

"Uh!" he grunted. "Not like that. Like this." He put 
his hand on mine, and guided me through the motions of 
jerking him a little.

"Unh! That's better." It was hard to tell from his 
grunts whether I was doing it right or wrong. 
Meanwhile, he had started caressing and squeezing my 
breasts. 

I looked at him and he looked down at me and leaned 
down and crushed his mouth on mine and kissed me. He 
opened his mouth and stuck his tongue right into mine, 
and I had never been French-kissed in my life.

After he kissed me he pulled back and we looked down at 
ourselves and there we were with his pants around his 
ankles and my blouse on the floor. And he started 
taking off the rest of his clothes, stripping 
completely naked. 

"Take your skirt off," he told me. I was excited and I 
was happy to do whatever he wanted, and I quickly 
stripped down to the buff, saving my little white 
cotton panties for the last. And no, they didn't have 
bunnies on them, although they may have had my name 
stitched into them from camp.

I was hesitating about taking my panties off, as my big 
9th grade stud stripped to his gorgeous buff in front 
of me, and when he saw I still had them on he said 
"Here, take those off too" and reached over and peeled 
them down for me. I lifted my feet one at a time so he 
could slip them off.

And there I was standing in front of a naked boy with 
my little virgin muff exposed.

I didn't have much pubic hair yet, just a little fan of 
fine curly down at the top and a few hairs sprouting 
along the sides. It was nothing like his thick black 
hairy pubic thatch.

I was embarrassed. I looked like a kid down there. 
Developmentally, my chest was about three years ahead 
of my snatch.

"Man, you look like my kid sister down there," he said, 
which raised some interesting questions that I didn't 
pursue.

"Sit down and spread your legs open."

I sat down and leaned back and spread my legs so he 
could get a good look at me. I had puffy little lips 
sticking out and a neat little pink slit of a vagina. 
My clitoris was just a little bump, almost all of it 
submerged beneath the skin. You would hardly have known 
it was there. My hole, the actual entrance to my 
vagina, was a little puckered thing that barely 
stretched wide enough to admit one of my slender 
fingers when I was curious.

I still had a nice tight hymen, stretched taut as a 
drumskin across the entrance of my vagina. I knew some 
older women regarded it as a pearl beyond price that I 
shouldn't sacrifice except in exchange for a wedding 
ring. I also knew that Bret Harper was going to break 
it in a few minutes, if I didn't stop him.

My mother had predicted once, in a nasty mood, that I 
would give my cherry to the first boy that asked. Bret 
wasn't even asking, he was helping himself.

He put his hand down on my pussy and started rubbing 
it, slowly.  It didn't occur to me to think that he 
knew what he was doing, but he did. He had apparently 
been around the block with a few older girls, before 
now, and was passing on what he had learned to eager 
little me. Who was now getting her pussy stroked by a 
boy for the first time.

For a rough boy he had a gentle touch. It felt nice 
down there.  I had only been wet down there-lubricated 
wet, I mean- once before, that I recall, as a result of 
a long bicycle ride.  The business end of that bicycle 
seat was positively soaked by the end of the ride, and 
so were my panties. No, I hadn't pissed myself, and it 
wasn't my monthlies-it was that other womanly thing. I 
had lubricated for the first time.

Bret made me lubricate for the second time. Actually, 
he didn't make me, I wanted to. I found out that a boy 
could do that for you better than a bicycle, and that 
they even wanted to do it, for some reason. 

His hand stroked at my cunt for a while and it felt 
good and I got very moist. I didn't have anything to do 
with my hands while he was rubbing me so I rubbed his 
dick. I didn't have the slightest idea what I was 
doing. I tried petting it like a little dog, and 
yanking it like the starter on a lawn mower, and 
stopped when he yelped. I decided to just stroke it 
softly like a kitten.

What he was doing to me felt better and better. I gave 
him encouragement.

"That feels really nice."

"You like that, eh?" The smug bastard had learned it 
from the slutty 16 year old girl next door. 

"Yeah, keep doing that."

I kept fondling his wiener the whole time, and then 
suddenly something hot came gushing out of the tip all 
over my hand. 

His dick had burst and the stuff inside it was spilling 
out like blood.

Oh my god. I had broken it. I stared at his penis in 
horror as it went to pieces, shrinking and deflating 
and shriveling up before my eyes, fluid gushing out 
onto my hands as I tried to hold him together.

"Oh my god, Bret! I'm so sorry. Bret!" He was moaning 
and emitting pitiful cries of anguish. I had injured 
him severely. There we were about to do it, and I had 
ruptured his penis. 

"Bret! Bret!" I was hysterical. He was emitting loud, 
horrible noises now. Terrible bellowing sounds were 
coming out of his mouth.

It took me a minute to realize that he was laughing at 
me. So hard that tears were coming to his eyes. He was 
rolling on the floor laughing so hard he couldn't 
breathe.

I was sobbing.  Tears were running down my cheeks and 
Bret was laughing at me.

"You didn't hurt me, you dumb little Girl Scout. Jeez. 
Didn't you ever see a guy come before?"

I hadn't ever seen it before, no. 

"That was my come. My jizm. You know that stuff that 
comes out when a boy and a girl have sex."

"Oh. Really? Are you okay then?" His dick didn't look 
okay. It looked like roadkill.

"Oh yeah, man, I'm fine. That felt great. You got me 
off. They should give you a merit badge for that. Yah, 
you earned your "handjob" patch."

"Oh." So that's what a handjob was. I had heard the 
word before but never knew what it meant.

"As soon as I get rested up you can earn another 
patch."

"For what?"

"You'll see."

I had an inkling I knew what patch I was about to earn. 
I had heard older Girl Scouts joking about it.

He was only 14 so it didn't take him long to recover. 

I lay on the couch naked and unsatisfied, still damp 
between my legs, and when he started feeling in the 
mood again he got up on the couch with me and started 
licking my breasts and fingering me.

I touched his penis again. It had begun to recover its 
original size and shape, and as I held it and he sucked 
on my tits ("Not so hard!" I had to tell him) it grew 
bigger in my hand. I was impressed. 

Pretty soon it was as big as it had ever been, and 
completely hard.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?"

I was and I admitted it.

"Well, okay, I'm going to show you. Spread your legs 
wider."

I did, and he put his hand right on my hole and worked 
one of his fingers into it, right up to the second 
knuckle, stretching the perforation in my hymen.

"That's your cherry, isn't it."

"I guess so." 

I put my hand down there and felt my hymen.

"It feels tough," I said doubtfully. "Do you think your 
penis is strong enough to break it?"

"Here, feel it," he said. I put my hand on his dick. It 
was as hard as a baseball bat.

"I think it's too big," I said, worriedly.

"It's not too big," he said, but it felt like it was 
getting even bigger as he spoke.

I took my hand away and he arranged me on the couch, 
with my plump thighs spread wide. He reached down onto 
the floor, into his jeans, and pulled out a condom. I 
had never seen one before and didn't know what it was. 
He opened it and rolled it down over his dick. It made 
a tight transparent sleeve. 

He pushed my legs back so that my ankles were over his 
shoulders, exposing my pussy, and then positioned his 
dick at the entrance.  For a long time afterward I 
thought this was the normal position for having sex, 
and it was the position I automatically assumed the 
next time I did it. Apparently this was the position 
the girl next door favored, and Bret had learned it 
from her.

Then he rubbed some spit on the end of his condom and 
leaned into me. With one hand he held his penis steady 
against me.  I felt the hard head of his dick pressing 
at my little hole and all of a sudden I knew what was 
to come.

"Ready?" he said, and when I nodded timidly he started 
pushing into me with a big shove.

The end of his dick nosed into the entrance of my 
vagina and got wedged. It was too tight. He kept 
pushing. It didn't hurt but it wasn't going in. 

I didn't say anything. This was it, my big moment. We 
were going to do it.
He pushed some more, didn't gain any ground, pulled out 
and rubbed more spit on his dick.

"You have to help me," he said. "I can't get it in."

"What do you want me to do?"

He didn't really know. I put my hands down there and 
tried pulling it in. This was kind of difficult, since 
there was a 140 pound boy attached to one end.

"No, let me." He tried arranging and positioning 
himself, changing the angle, and pushing hard. Very 
little progress was being made.

"Let me do it." It was my turn. I took over positioning 
him and got it at a better angle. "Now push hard."

He thrust, and I guided him, and the head went in an 
inch.

Wow! That stretchy feeling. It hurt and felt good at 
the same time.  It felt better than my finger, but it 
made my pussy hurt at the same time. 

I knew that a good Girl Scout had to be particularly 
brave when earning this particular patch. I gritted my 
teeth. 

He started going back and forth, back and forth, sawing 
that one inch into me. I had stopped lubricating but 
now I started again, and slicked up the end of his 
condom for him with my own natural secretions. It felt 
kind of sweet down there, in spite of the pain that 
accompanied it. I didn't want him to stop, but I wasn't 
going to complain when he did stop.

He slid in a little more, another half inch or an inch, 
and I thought, oh god, he is really in me now, and then 
he couldn't make any more progress against the 
resistance of my hymen. 

"I'm stuck," he said. "Your cherry won't break."

"Uh huh." All I could do was grunt. This was getting 
weird.

He pulled back all the way out of my entrance, which 
felt nice, and then plunged back in with one big rush. 
He didn't break it. 

"Damn." 

Yeah, damn, I guess. I was as tight as, um, a 12 year 
old.

He made a serious of deep, hard plunges, which only 
served to wear him out and didn't break me. 

He stopped to give his dick a rest and played with my 
boobs for a few minutes.

"You've got really nice boobs, you know. I've seen 
bigger, but these are really beautiful."

"Thank you." 

"Do you like my dick?"

"I've never even seen one before."

"It looks like it's a little bit too big for you."

"I guess." I wasn't really sure. Any dick would have 
been too big.

"I'll get it in somehow." 

He went back to trying. After screwing it in and out of 
the one-inch foothold he had for a while, to loosen it 
up, he positioned the head of his dick just in front of 
me and started pressing forward very slowly and very 
gently.

"Pull me in toward you," he said. I put my hands on his 
butt, clamped my feet around his ears, and pulled him 
in as he pressed into my hymen.  He reached under me 
with his hands, grabbed my ass and pulled me up onto 
himself. I felt my soft ass being held in a lovely 
manner by his strong hands, I felt him pulling, I felt 
my knees pressing into my tits, and his dick inside me, 
and then my hymen was stretching painfully. 

"You're doing it. Oh my god, it hurts. Keep going." I 
knew it was supposed to hurt.

He kept pushing into me, and I felt a terrible tearing 
sensation. 

I was starting to bleed down there, I knew. 

He was resting his weight on me and it was 
uncomfortable, and he realized this and pulled back a 
little and found my mouth with his and kissed me again. 
I was in the middle of being deflowered and it was only 
my second real kiss with a boy. 

It was a good kiss, and I forgot about the pain for at 
least a few seconds.

He hadn't given up a millimeter of the ground he had 
gained and he went back to the attack. He got his hands 
on my hips, and pulled me down onto him as he thrust 
forward.

There. Oh Jesus! Shit! I felt the damn thing tear 
straight through. 

It hurt like hell, like the wickedest tooth extraction 
you ever had.

"Ow!" I shrieked.

"Jeez, keep it down! Someone might hear." he whispered.

"Ow!" I whispered back. "It hurts!"

Inside me, the last barrier removed, he was plunging on 
inch after inch, deeper within. Then he had to pull 
back and resume his sawing in and out motion, and if 
that didn't hurt like the bedickens as his big hard 
dick rasped at the wounded shreds of my hymen.

"Popped your cherry," he said. Yes. I was officially a 
woman now. And a slut. 

A slut was a girl who did it, as opposed to a tramp, 
who was a girl who did it with anybody, as opposed to a 
whore, who was a girl who did it with anybody and found 
a $20 bill on the pillow afterward, which sounded like 
a better deal than the tooth fairy. 

I kept gritting my teeth and whimpering "ow, ow, ow" in 
his ear as he fucked me. He finally got it in all the 
way and I could feel him stretch the back wall of my 
cunt at the far end. It's a lot longer now, but a five 
inch dick could touch it in those days. 

He started pumping me harder and faster, really banging 
into me. 

"I'm going to come," he said. I couldn't wait for him 
to be done.  The pleasurable aspect, and there was one, 
was completely overwhelmed and swamped by the pain I 
was feeling in my vagina. 

He pounded me for about a minute more and then he kind 
of went crazy and squeezed me very tight, and I could 
actually feel his dick sort of spasming inside me. Then 
he lay still. 

He kissed me on the forehead. "I'm done. Wow, that was 
great."

"Thank you," I said. I was too young to make a speech.

He pulled out of me. I felt weird inside as I felt him 
slide out.

"I think I need to go to the bathroom," I said. I stood 
up, getting to my feet unsteadily. And a torrent of 
dark red blood came pouring down my thighs.

"Jesus!" he said. He pulled me away from the couch, not 
that it didn't already have several layers of old 
stains and cigarette burns on it, and my virgin blood 
dripped onto the tile floor. 

"Shit," he said. 

I didn't start crying. I was a woman now, and only 
little girls cried.

It was an emergency, and a good Girl Scout could handle 
emergencies.

"Get me a first aid kit," I said. "And some paper 
towels."

I wiped the blood off my legs, held a fistful of paper 
towels under me to staunch the flow and made a dash for 
the bathroom, where I sat on the toilet and let the 
blood run into it for a little while. When the bleeding 
seemed to have slowed down I smeared a big glob of 
antibacterial salve on a cotton swab and shoved it up 
inside me, to where I thought the bleeding was. Then I 
packed my pussy with cotton balls, washed myself off 
and called for Bret to bring me my clothes.

I got out about 5 minutes before Bret's mom got home. I 
went home, went to bed, and skipped dinner, telling Mom 
I was having a painful period. Mom had to explain to 
Dad that his little girl was a woman now-I was getting 
my monthlies.

I cleaned myself out and repacked it around midnight, 
with a sanitary pad in my panties. The bleeding had 
stopped, but it still hurt. When I got up the next 
morning there was blood on my panties, but not a lot.

I saved those bloodstained panties as a little trophy 
for years, until I finally felt they were ridiculous 
and threw them out.

I was the only girl I knew who had lost her virginity. 
When I went to college I found out my freshman roommate 
lost hers at the age of 11.

I didn't have sex again for a year. 


A year passed. 

I was well past my 13th birthday, and one day I noticed 
that my panties didn't fit well anymore. Too tight in 
the rear. 

I stripped down and stood in front of my new full 
length mirror to inspect the situation. There behind 
me, where I had not noticed it growing, I had a nice 
round ass. A pair of smooth pink hemispherical cheeks 
were jutting out where I used to be as flat as a boy. 
All of a sudden I had a plump, ripe womanly fanny where 
I had formerly had just a scrawny little butt. As Mom 
would say, I had added a back porch.

No wonder my panties didn't fit. I was going to have to 
go shopping and get some new ones, more generously cut. 
I wondered how I was going to explain to my mom that we 
had to go down to the lingerie section at Kaufmann's 
because all of a sudden I had developed a rear end. 
Asking for a bra had been bad enough.

I was thrilled to see that I was developing more 
curves. I wouldn't be all top and no bottom any more. I 
might even be on my way to developing an "hourglass 
figure." I posed in the mirror, sticking out my ass to 
exaggerate the curve and see how it looked. 

I wondered which boy I could attract with my sexy new 
bottom. It had been a year since I lost my cherry, and 
although I knew that if you fell off a horse you had to 
immediately get back on and ride before you lost your 
nerve, I hadn't gotten back on to ride again after Bret 
broke my cherry and I bled like a stuck pig. Something 
had torn in there, and I was afraid it would tear 
again. I had never bled so much in my life. So I 
decided to give it several months to heal up really 
well before I even tried to have sex again, assuming I 
got any offers.

I didn't have a gynecologist look at it because I 
hadn't yet reached the age where I had regular visits 
to a gynecologist, and in order to arrange it I would 
have had to explain to my mom that something had 
happened. And I didn't want anyone to know it had 
happened. I decided that if anyone ever found out I 
didn't have my hymen anymore I would just say I had 
broken it horseback riding, like Ellen did (I had even 
seen the round red stain, the size of a quarter, on 
Ellen's panties where she had bled while we were 
riding).

I put off switching to tampons because I didn't want 
Mom asking me about it. Experimentally I had discovered 
that I could get a tampon in without damaging my hymen 
even while I was still intact, but since most people 
thought you couldn't insert tampons without breaking 
it, it was just assumed that a girl didn't start using 
them until she was no longer a virgin. I remember 
watching two girls argue about this in the girls' 
bathroom once. So I used pads to avoid being 
questioned.

It was time for me to try having sex again. The fact 
that the first time had been a bit of a disaster made 
me all more the determined that I was going to try 
again, with another boy.

Since no qualified suitor had presented himself 
(obviously boys making remarks about my tits on the 
playground didn't count) I was going to have to pick a 
boy and get him to do it to me.

I figured plenty of boys would want to have sex with 
me, even if I was only 13. Especially now that I was 
developed in the rear. I had tits and ass-what more did 
boys want?

It was going to have to be a boy who had some sexual 
experience and knew what he was doing. It was also 
going to have to be someone whom I didn't go to school 
with. I didn't want to have to deal with him in the 
school cafeteria afterward, pointing me out to his 
buddies and bragging that he nailed me. So I decided 
that it was going to have to be an older boy, from high 
school.

I wanted to find a boy that none of my friends knew, 
but instead my eye settled on Becky's big brother, who 
most of my friends knew. We were having a meeting of my 
Girl Scout patrol at her house after school, and he was 
hanging around, and he struck me as good looking and 
mature. He was about 16. 

One of the other girls was giggling about him and 
asking Becky if he had a girlfriend, so we learned that 
he had broken up with his girlfriend, and that they 
used to do it on a regular basis in his bedroom when 
Becky's parents weren't home. Becky even gave a 
graphic, if giggly, rendition of the noises coming from 
his bedroom while they did it. I had to ask-did she 
sound like he was hurting her, or like she was enjoying 
it? It was explained to me that "oh! oh! oh!" meant she 
was enjoying it, silly.

Oh.

So, Dave was reasonably good-looking, and experienced, 
and available.  And it sounded as if his last 
girlfriend hadn't had any complaints about the sex. And 
there he was, hanging out in the kitchen while we were 
all talking about him (did he have any idea?) in 
Becky's bedroom upstairs.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and made a 
detour through the kitchen, where I asked Dave if I 
could have a glass of milk. He was polite enough to get 
it for me, so I sat down, hiking my skirt a bit to show 
my knees. Would he notice? When he brought me my milk I 
didn't see his eyes stray to my legs, but well, hmm, 
surely I had a stocking that needed adjusting. 

So I asked for something else from the fridge and when 
he came back I was in the act of adjusting my hose (I 
had only worn them because I knew there might be boys 
hanging around after school) with my skirt hiked way up 
and plenty of thigh showing. Then after giving him a 
few seconds to get a good eyeful I pretended to 
suddenly notice he was there, get flustered and pull my 
skirt down hastily with both hands.  He was looking at 
me and I could tell he had been checking out my legs. 

I blushed, more with guilt at how brazen I was than out 
of false modesty. 

"I had to adjust my stockings," I explained primly. My 
face was flushing so hot I knew I must be beet-red.

"Yeah, I saw," he said, eyeing me speculatively. 

Well, maybe he was on the way to being interested in 
me. You couldn't do much to show off your chest in a 
Girl Scout Cadette uniform, because of the wide sash. 
Was there any way I could show off my behind a little, 
I wondered? 

We had a nice little conversation-I asked him how his 
girlfriend was and he confirmed that they had broken 
up. And I asked if he might help me with one of my 
projects some time, because I had something that needed 
to be drilled and hammered, and he said sure. 

On the way out of the room I pretended to drop 
something-"Oops!" I said loudly, to get his attention. 
Then I bent over, from the waist rather than the knees, 
to pick it up, with my back to him, and my skirt pulled 
in tight as snug as I could get it to show off my butt. 
Then I turned around, smiled at him, and said "See ya 
later!" and returned to my patrol meeting, where they 
all thought I had been taking my time in the bathroom. 

I was going to have to figure out some way I could get 
together with Dave without his sister Becky being 
aware. Well, I could call Becky after school, and if 
Dave happened to pick up the phone...

That night I thought about Dave, and fantasized about 
what we would do and what it might feel like. I still 
had only the haziest notion of what it was supposed to 
feel like, after my one brief experience.  I wondered 
if I was really all healed up in there, and lying under 
the covers with the lights out and everyone in bed I 
put my hand in my panties and stuck an exploratory 
finger up my hole, after moistening it with spit. 

There was the spot, about an inch in, where my vaginal 
wall had torn when Bret deflowered me. The hymen itself 
hadn't bled much, but he somehow put a small tear in my 
vaginal wall a little deeper inside, while he was 
trying to force it in. 

Feeling around the sides of my vagina with my finger I 
didn't find any tender spots or scars. It was perfectly 
healed, and it felt like I could try screwing again 
without getting hurt. Even fingering myself like this 
felt good. It felt nice having my finger in there, and 
I pushed it in and out a little, experimentally, to see 
if I would lubricate. After a minute it started to 
lubricate nicely, and I was all damp and slippery on 
the inside. That felt good.

After a little bit more of this-yes, it definitely felt 
good-I left off, and went to sleep. I had never had an 
orgasm and I didn't know how to have one yet, or how to 
manipulate my clitoris, in spite of the fact that Bret 
had done a pretty good job of fingering it and getting 
me excited before he fucked me. I thought that was 
something the boy did, and it worked because he was a 
boy-rubbing you between your legs before fucking you. I 
had no idea you could rub yourself to orgasm. I didn't 
even know what an orgasm was, although I knew the word, 
and that you wouldn't know why God made you a woman 
until you had one.

For some reason fingering myself made me think more 
about having sex with Dave. I went to bed determined 
that I would do whatever I could do to get him to screw 
me. I was a little bit hazy about what that might be. I 
was going to have to call Dave's attention to the fact 
that I was a woman, and let him know somehow that I was 
willing to do it. Since he obviously liked sex and 
didn't have a girlfriend nature should take its course 
from there, no?

As I went to sleep I fantasized that a bunch of boys 
caught me alone after school and were pulling my top 
off to see my breasts, and Dave heard my shrieks and 
came and rescued me. And I couldn't quite cover my 
exposed breasts and he would see them, with my nipples 
all hard and excited, and he would be impressed 
(ignoring the fact that his ex-girlfriend Sheila was 
bigger than I was, so he probably wouldn't be), and he 
would get excited and his wiener would start getting 
big and sticking out hard in his pants, and then...

And then I would get it.

I scheduled a study date with Becky just to find out 
what times were bad for her, and then I called Dave 
when she wasn't in and made a date to meet him in their 
family's garage after school so he could help me on my 
project. I made sure I picked a time when Becky had 
band practice and their parents wouldn't be home, so I 
would have Dave all to myself. 

I wore my tightest jeans, and a shirt which was missing 
a button at a strategic point (once I removed it). The 
shirt was loose enough that if I leaned over in it 
there would be a nice big gap through which you could 
see my lovely tits (if I say so myself). I left my bra 
off.  All I had to remember was to stand on Dave's 
right, so that when he turned toward me he could see 
right down into my shirt. I wasn't as big as Sheila, 
but what I had was ripe and I was proud of it. I 
practiced exposing them, in ways that looked 
accidental, in the mirror.

Then I did my hair, put on just a smidgen of lipstick, 
and I was ready.

Dave was waiting for me at the door of his home, and 
helped me take off my jacket. I leaned over to tie one 
of my sneakers and let my shirt gape so he could look 
down into it and check out my little melon farm.  My 
future 36D's were still in the B-cup stage at that 
point. By the standards of the eighth grade they were 
considered big tits, and I was quite vain about them; 
but Dave was three years older than me and the girls he 
went to school with all had their breasts.

Mere B-cups that they were, Dave had a good glimpse of 
mine, right down to my cherry-pink nipples. I stood up 
and smiled at him and caught him looking down my shirt 
from his six-foot height with wide eyes. He looked a 
little excited.

After I stood up I thanked him, in what I hoped was a 
soft, sultry voice, for volunteering to help me with my 
project. Then I leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on 
the cheek.

His skin was warm and he smelled like a boy. A few 
years before boys had only smelled like they needed a 
bath to me, and now they still smelled the same but 
there was a strong scent of masculine sex thrown in. 
Something tingled in me when I smelled a boy up close, 
if he was the right kind of boy.

Then we went out to the garage. I had my seduction plan 
all mapped out, step by step. I was going to press in 
real close while he was sawing and drilling, looking 
over his shoulder (actually, peeking under his armpit 
was more like it, since he was much taller than me), 
and I was going to put my hand on his hip and snuggle 
against him a little. And I had my shirt all ready to 
gape open and give him another peek at my creamy 
breasts. 

But he made it all unnecessary once the door was closed 
behind us, by pushing me back against a wall and 
kissing me.

"Mmmmf!" I said. I broke free. "Dave, what are you 
doing?" 

He kissed me again, and this time I let him. I felt his 
hands unbuttoning my shirt and I tried feebly to stop 
him, but his hand got inside and and cupped my bare 
breast. He squeezed it while I tried to pull his hand 
away. I felt his other hand slide between my thighs and 
clutch the crotch of my jeans. 

"Ummf! Dave, no! Stop!" I was wriggling in his grasp, 
trying to break free. He pulled my shirt open and his 
head came down and he started sucking one of my 
breasts. In a few seconds my nipple was as hard as a 
pebble, and my whole breast felt like it was swelling.

"Dave-oooh. Oh, Dave. No, please. Oh."

His hands reached for my zipper of my jeans and started 
tugging it down. 

"Dave, no, not here. Please. Dave?"

He got my jeans open and his hand slipped in and 
touched my panties.  He was kissing me again, hard and 
deep, putting his tongue in my mouth, and I was kissing 
him back. One hand was caressing my breasts while the 
other stroked my pussy through my panties. I tried to 
pull his hand out of my jeans but he was too strong. I 
opened my legs a little wider to give him better 
access, and he slipped his hand under the elastic of my 
panties and placed it right on my cunt.

"Dave, not here. Let's go to your room, okay?"

That must have sounded like a surrender. He said "Okay" 
and we went up to his room. He closed the door, sat 
down on his bed and pulled me down on his lap. 

We kissed some more, and I let him take my shirt off. 
No fighting this time. He cupped my breasts in his 
hands and sucked the nipples, first one and then the 
other. How did he like my tits, compared with 16 year 
old Sheila's, which were twice as big? I couldn't ask.

I got up and slid my jeans down, kicking my shoes off. 
I wasn't wearing anything but my panties now. I lay 
down on the bed while he stripped to his undershorts 
and lay down next to me. He put his arms around me and 
embraced me tightly, and I hugged him back. He stroked 
my ass with his hands, which felt soft and silky and 
nice, and then he slid one hand between my legs and 
started stroking my slit through the cotton. 

It was thrilling to be lying in bed in the arms of a 
naked male. To me, Dave was practically a man. He had a 
little bit of hair on his chest, even. I snuggled in 
close to him and held him tight, feeling his strong 
masculine muscles around me. I tentatively touched his 
strong, hard buttocks with my hands, and felt his 
powerful thighs. 

I didn't have any sexual experience at all except for 
that one brief disaster with Bret. It took a couple of 
minutes for me to respond to Dave and then my pussy 
started getting warm and damp from his fingering.  I 
didn't want my panties to get soaked so I pulled them 
down, and he put his hand back on me and slid a finger 
right into my hole. I was starting to lubricate inside 
and he got it in without any trouble and began finger-
fucking me. 

I put my hand on his undershorts and traced the outline 
of his dick.

His erection was about the same size Bret's had been, 
five or six inches.  It was as hard as a rock. I 
stroked it softly and he humped it against my hand.

"You can take your shorts off," I said. He peeled them 
off and we went back to making out, and I cupped his 
dick in my hand and stroked it while he continued to 
finger-fuck me. I was getting wetter and wetter.

Dave fondled my chubby pussy, now engorged, while 
sucking on my eager breasts. I was getting more and 
more excited.

Was he going to put it in me? Was I supposed to do 
something? Did I have to tell him I was ready? I spread 
my thighs wide open and pulled him in toward me, and he 
got the idea and placed his dick between my legs. We 
stopped kissing, and he leaned over me, resting his 
weight on his hands, while I lay under him looking up. 
I was excited and scared. 

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked.

I didn't know whether to admit it or not. "Only a 
little."

"Do you want me to use a condom?"

"Yes."

He got up and got one from his dresser drawer, and slid 
it on. He got back between my legs and I spread my 
damp, trembling inner thighs as wide as I could. I 
pulled my legs back so I could rest my ankles on his 
shoulders, in the position Bret had taught me, which I 
assumed was the correct way it was done.

He pressed the tip of his dick against my hole and 
pushed. It didn't go in at first, and he adjusted the 
angle and tried again and I felt it slide in a little 
way. 

"Yes," I said. "That's it, right there. It's going in. 
I can feel it."

It felt big and warm inside me, and I could feel it 
stretching me.

"Mmmf!" I grunted inarticulately. I wasn't used to 
having anything in there and the stretching was 
painful.

He started sliding it in and out. "God, you're tight," 
he said. "You're much tighter than the other girls I've 
been with."

"I'm only 13," I said.

"What???" he said in astonishment.

"What did you think?"

"I thought you were 15, at least."

"What difference does it make?"

"You're just a kid."

I felt like crying. I hid my head in the pillow and bit 
back the tears.

He stroked me with his hands and made comforting 
noises. "Look, I didn't mean anything, okay?"

"Just screw me," I said with a quaver in my voice.

He was still inside me and he hadn't lost his erection. 
He started humping me again, a little more slowly. 
"You're so tight," he said.  "I don't know if I'm going 
to be able to hold off much longer."

I wrapped my legs around him and put my hands on his 
butt and urged him on. I was going to be so humiliated 
if he changed his mind.

He slid all the way on in, up to the hilt. He was fully 
ensconced, with his pubic bone grinding into me and 
pushing on my clit. I felt a nice little spasm in my 
vaginal opening. "Oh yes," I breathed in his ear. 

He thrust in and out of me for about a minute, and then 
with a final flurry and a hot spurt he came inside me. 
Then he lay still.

"Did you come?" I asked. 

"Yeah."

I had been a little bit excited down there but nowhere 
near anything approaching an orgasm. From the time he 
entered me the whole thing had lasted about 3 minutes, 
including the time wasted discussing my age, which 
seemed to bother him. I suppose the embarrassment he 
would feel, if his high school friends ever found out 
he was porking a 13 year old, was the real problem.

He stroked me and kissed me for a little while and then 
pulled out of me with a big wet sucking "splat!" sound 
that made me giggle.  It sounded like a whoopie 
cushion.

"How many times have you done this?" he asked.

"Only once, before this," I said hesitantly, blushing. 
"How many times have you done it?"

"Oh, I don't even know." He looked embarrassed. "Maybe 
a hundred, I guess."

Well, he was more experienced than me, at any rate, 
even if it hadn't been very good. I was impressed. 
"With Sheila?"

"Sheila and a few other girls, yeah."

I wondered if he had done any of his sister's other 
friends besides me.  His mom was active in Scouting, 
and he must have met a lot of girls through her. I 
wondered how many Girl Scouts had pulled down their 
panties and surrendered their honor on the very bed I 
was lying in.

"So, like, when you and Sheila did it, did she, like, 
have orgasms?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "She usually came. She really likes to 
fuck." He sounded nostalgic and I felt a pang of 
jealousy. Obviously big-titted, orgasmic, dumb Sheila 
Hurwitz was a better lay than an 8th grade squirt like 
me.

"Did you come?" he asked. "I don't think so," I said. I 
had no idea what an orgasm felt like so I couldn't be 
entirely sure, except one of Mom's friends told me once 
that it was the most wonderful feeling in the world and 
when it happened I would know it, without any doubt.

"Have you ever come?" 

That was a rather personal question, but I said "No" in 
a tiny voice.

"Here," he said. "Maybe I can make you come with my 
hand. Spread your legs a little." 

He placed his big warm hand on my pussy and started 
rubbing me gently. 

"Does that feel nice?" he asked.

"A little."

He tried fingering my clit but it was too sensitive, or 
else he was doing it wrong, and I made him stop. He put 
his index finger up my cunt and started finger-fucking 
me again.

"That feels good," I said. "Keep doing that."

I didn't come, though. He worked on me with his hands 
until I started feeling sore, without any result, and 
gave up. Then he mounted me and fucked me again. It 
lasted about two minutes after the first penetration.  
It felt interesting but I was getting too sore to enjoy 
it and I was glad when he came and stopped screwing me. 
He collapsed on my chest-god, he was heavy-and I made 
him get off.

"My mom's gonna be home soon," he said.

"I know."

I started putting on my clothes.

"So, you want to do this again some time?"

"Maybe."

He called me a few days later and we did it some more. 
It was pretty much the same. After those two tries I 
lost interest and started telling him I was busy when 
he called, until he got the message and stopped calling 
me.

--
Jenny Wanshel
chilly2@biosys.net

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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sun,  not thinking about adult situations.  Do
your part to make our world a little safer.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 12