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Archive name: hotrev.txt (Mf, ped, 1st)
Authors name: Anonymous Author (c) 1989
Story title : Minister and Me, The

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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2001.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
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The Minister and Me (Mf, ped, 1st)
by Anonymous Author (c) 1989
edited by Sleazy Liz 92

***

I'm not sure young girls today can afford to have early 
sexual experiences. Not with all the crazy people around. 
People don't seem to be as nice as they used to be. It 
just isn't safe anymore. 

My girls are now 11 and 14 and I sure wouldn't want them 
to go looking for anything like what I found when I was 
12. I don't see how they could do it safely. Even if they 
did have a good learning experience, it would turn all bad 
as soon as someone else found out about it. This country 
just isn't the same as it was twenty years ago! 

We now live in Florida, but I grew up in Ohio. Florida 
seems so conservative and bent on censoring everything, 
but it's not just here. Friends back in Ohio tell me it is 
even worse there. 

When I was growing up, our family was a nudist family, but 
we sure didn't call ourselves that. It was just the way we 
were.

The best we've been able to do for our girls has been to 
visit several nudist parks a few times each year since 
they were born. Those visits have helped them, I'm sure. 
But it is just not as good, nor as innocent, as when I was 
growing up. We've talked with them often about sex, mostly 
just me and the girls. I hope they haven't had any real or 
serious sexual contacts, it just isn't safe today. 

Even in a nudist park, and it's a shame, because, today, 
that might be the worst place of all -- the type of people 
who go there seem to be changing, and I've seen the way 
the men (and some women!) look at my daughters. Ten or so 
years ago, when we started visiting nudist parks and 
beaches with friends, there were many good people, 
families, but now the people aren't the same. 

Many now are downright gross and crude and I'm not just 
talking about the men. They're also paranoid and suspect 
everyone else of the worst because they think the worst 
themselves. We can't see any future in nudist parks or 
beaches (which are even worse, for sure). It would be best 
to know some other families, locally, who feel the same 
way we do, and then we might be able to find some secluded 
places to enjoy the out-of-doors like it was meant to be 
enjoyed. 

I have always loved swimming naturally! And running!

We really had it good when I was growing up. We lived on a 
farm that wasn't really a farm anymore. My Grandpa built 
the original white farmhouse long ago. My Mom and Dad had 
a more modern house built for them at the other end of 
farm, on another road. It wasn't really that far, not more 
than a mile, and the path between the two houses was well 
worn. The barn hadn't been used in years, but it was a 
great place to play on Sunday afternoons with the other 
kids.

My Grandpa and Grandma both died in the same year, when I 
was 10. There weren't any animals left in the barn except 
for the chickens and I had been Grandpa's "Number 1 
chicken helper," as he called me. On school days, I'd 
often run to their house, help him with the chickens, and 
then catch the school bus. Saturdays, I'd usually spend 
all day helping Grandpa and Grandma. She taught me how to 
bake bread and it was almost as good as hers, or so my Dad 
liked to brag. Sundays, we'd all go to church, my Grandpa 
and Dad always wanted to be the first ones there, and the 
last to leave. 

Then we'd spend the rest of the Sunday at the old house, 
and there was always a big feast in the early evening. Mom 
and I did most of the cooking. Grandma did most of the 
deciding, and Grandpa was always inviting friends and new 
people in the church to dinner. There was always plenty 
for food and plenty of people to eat it. 

Grandpa made the dining room table the year Dad was born 
and it could seat 20 people, easily. The biggest room in 
the house should be for eating Grandpa always said, and in 
their house, it was. The living room was very cozy, but 
smaller than the kitchen. 

I think that old kitchen was the second biggest room in 
the house. It was such a good kitchen, it had so much 
space and room. If friends weren't visiting at the dining 
table, they were visiting in the kitchen. I still love 
that house. But there were only two small bedrooms 
upstairs, and the bathroom, downstairs, was just big 
enough for that huge old tub. You could sit on the rim 
while washing your hands in the sink. Those are all the 
rooms there were, so maybe it wasn't such a big house 
after all. 

It was Grandpa, years ago when my Dad was a boy, who first 
put the big rocks across the creek to make a dam and the 
swimming hole. Dad started swimming nude with Grandpa and 
Grandma just after he was born, so did all his brothers 
and sisters. Can you believe that four children grew up in 
that two-bedroom house? 

Saturday afternoon was the traditional time for swimming, 
when the weather was warm enough, even though the water 
usually wasn't. 

When Dad first started going with Mom, she wouldn't hear 
of skinny-dipping, especially not with other people 
around. They'd known each other in high school and started 
going steady in tenth grade. Most every Sunday she went to 
church with my Dad's family and then stayed for dinner and 
helped Grandma. Just before they started 12th grade, she 
finally went swimming nude. First with Dad, only, and then 
with the whole family. She still loves to tell that story, 
and does as often as she can, to anyone who will sit still 
long enough. They got married right after graduation and I 
was born two years later, I'm the oldest. 

I don't know if Grandma or Grandpa were virgins when they 
got married, my Dad always says he thinks they weren't, 
and I know my parents enjoyed sex with each other long 
before they were married. Mom told me all about it and Dad 
has told me many things too. Mom and Grandma are the two 
most decent, loving women I've ever known, and Dad and 
Grandpa are the two best men on the face of the earth. The 
whole town feels that way about them. You couldn't find 
four more honest and caring people if you tried. I sure 
miss them.

After Grandpa passed away, Dad didn't know what to do with 
the old house. None of us wanted to see it sold and we 
couldn't live in it, much as we all loved it. And I didn't 
want to see the chickens go. It sat empty for the rest of 
the winter. 

In the spring, Dad rented it to our new Minister for next 
to nothing. And I knew I would not like the man. Dad 
promised I could keep the chickens, if I could take good 
care of them each day by myself, without help from him or 
the new Minister. I knew I could and promised I would.

That next Sunday, I met our new Minister for the first 
time and he was too young to be a Minister, for sure. 
Before Service, he had a special meeting for all the kids 
and he told us that we should call him "Reverend Dale" 
(his first name). Adults called him by his last name. A 
few days later, I also found out that he was going to be 
the high school football coach. 

I was nervous the first week, but each morning I'd run to 
the old house, take care of the chickens and catch the bus 
as I always had. A few times I saw Reverend Dale at the 
kitchen table and he'd wave. 

That first Saturday, I didn't go over until later in the 
morning and he was out working on his car, in shorts and 
no shirt. I can still recall how strong he looked, and how 
filthy dirty he was. But he was very pleasant and watched 
while I did what I came to do. Then we talked and he asked 
if I'd like a cold drink. Well, the lemonade he made was 
horrid and I almost couldn't drink it.

The next Saturday, I brought some lemons from home and 
offered to make him some like Grandma had taught me. He 
accepted my offer, but I couldn't find anything in the 
kitchen, anymore. The place just wasn't the same. My 
sadness must have shown because he suggested that we sit 
outside. As we talked, I told him I'd bake him some really 
good bread next Saturday, if he'd get what I needed and 
that he didn't have. 

By several Saturdays later, I was really feeling 
comfortable in that old kitchen again. He was always very 
nice, and he knew enough to stay out of my way. 

Soon, I was making his Saturday dinners for him. Mom told 
Dad it was good practice for me, and I really felt good 
and grown-up doing it. Then one Sunday, I heard him tell 
Dad how pleased and proud he was to have me as his "little 
homemaker." "Little," indeed! I was so angry, I didn't 
make his dinner the following Saturday.

But soon, it was high summer, and I'd forgotten what he'd 
called me. We were very good friends by then, and I could 
talk to him about anything. We hauled a bunch of junk out 
of the barn to burn, and we were both dusty dirty, and 
tired; so I asked him if he'd ever made use of the 
swimming hole. I hadn't even been there, myself, in almost 
a year. 

When he asked "what swimming hole?" I walked him behind 
the barn and showed him the pond. It needed work. Some 
rocks had moved and the water wasn't as deep as it used to 
be. But I ran up to the edge and jumped out of all my 
clothes as I had always done (not even thinking about 
him), and I was in the water before I noticed him still on 
shore, just looking at me. 

I called several times for him to come in, and told him 
not to be chicken of some cold water. I was getting used 
to it, but he was still just sitting there. 

So, I explained how all of us enjoyed swimming nude and 
that we had for years. But he said that he really wasn't 
part of the family and that he was sure all the church 
people would never understand if anyone found out that 
he'd gone swimming nude with me. I assured him that I'd 
seen my Dad and Grandpa naked many times and that there 
was nothing to be ashamed of. I added that I'd also seen 
any number of older and younger, male relatives, and that 
I was sure he didn't have anything that they didn't have. 

Then he laughed as I'd never heard him laugh before, and 
that was when I first realized how much I really liked 
him. 

Well, he was just like the other men, not much bigger and 
not much smaller, but he sure had some really white skin 
on his butt. And he sure had a nice looking body too. 

As we were leaving the water, he reminded me that we 
didn't have any towels. I told him that we never needed 
them, that we'd run back to the house and that the sun 
would dry us, completely, before we got there. 

He sure could run fast. He was in the house before I got 
there, sitting in the kitchen and breathing hard. So, I 
zipped into the living room to get an old blanket out of 
the chest and was halfway surprised to find they were 
still there. I ran out back and spread it on the grass. 
The sun was so warm and felt so good!

But he wouldn't join me. He said it wouldn't be right if 
someone came and caught us naked. I told him not to worry, 
that we'd be able to hear anyone coming from miles away. 
And that we always laid outside afterwards, to enjoy the 
nice warm sun. He was hesitant, but he was soon next to 
me. 

Then, I noticed that he was not circumcised. I asked him 
why he wasn't and he asked me what I thought of it. I told 
him that I liked the looks of his uncircumcised penis 
better. Just as I was about to lay on my tummy, I 
remembered his white butt. So I ran back into the house 
and went looking in one of the kitchen closets for some 
suntan lotion. 

When I got on my knees beside him, he pulled back and 
wondered what I wanted. So I told him that he had to have 
some protection and that I had just the thing. I got some 
in my hand, but he refused and said he'd do it, himself. I 
told him not to be silly and that, besides, I wanted to do 
it. 

He had big shoulders and big arms, but he sure had a small 
rear end, and as hard as two big rocks. It took me longer 
to rub it in than was needed, but I really liked touching 
him. I'd done the same thing, many times before for others 
in my family, and thought nothing of it. But now, for the 
first time, it was very different and I was feeling very 
warm and nervous -- almost giggly. 

I'd seen erections before, even my Dad's, sometimes, when 
he was laying in the sun on the blanket with Mom. I'd 
never really paid any mind, but now, Reverend Dale was 
trying to hide his from me and that just made me more 
interested. So, I asked him what an uncircumcised penis 
looked like when it was erect, and he turned beet-red. I 
told him that I didn't want to hurt him that I just wanted 
to see. I almost begged. I even promised that I wouldn't 
tell anyone that he was uncircumcised. So he finally 
turned over and I liked the way it looked -- like he was 
still wearing a hat down there! 

I didn't know why I did it at the time, but then I threw 
my arms around his neck and gave him a great big hug. He 
quickly pushed me away and told me that he liked me very 
much, that he liked being with me, but that there was a 
limit as to how we should behave. 

I asked him what limit?

He asked me why I liked to be naked and I told him that I 
just did, and that I especially liked it with him.

He asked me what I knew about sex and I told him that I 
knew all about it. 

Then, he asked me again what I knew about sex and I told 
him that sex was what people did when they loved each 
other. He left it at that and I was glad, because I really 
didn't know much more than that.

He asked me if I was going to tell anyone about our 
swimming and being naked. I asked him if he wanted me to 
keep it a secret. He told me that he did want me to keep 
it a secret and I promised that I would, just so long as 
we could go swimming again next Saturday.

We went swimming again, and I was happy to see him again, 
and it was good to rub suntan oil on him, again. He didn't 
try to hide himself from me this time, and that made me 
feel even better.

The next couple of Saturdays, I didn't bother to get 
dressed until after I'd fixed his dinner and was ready to 
go back home. Each time, he sat at the kitchen table, 
naked himself. It was now very natural for us and I 
enjoyed looking at him, especially because he was always 
erect. My Dad was often naked, but I never saw him with an 
erection while he was just sitting in a chair, and somehow 
I knew this was different. He was not the same as my Dad, 
and I didn't feel towards him like I felt about my Dad. I 
loved my Dad, and my Mom, and my brother and sister. I 
enjoyed hugging my Mom and Dad, and I enjoyed it when my 
Mom or Dad kissed me. But I wanted to hug Reverend Dale 
and I wanted to kiss him and I wanted to do that forever.

One Saturday, when I was about ready to dress and leave, I 
knew he was standing behind me. I didn't say anything. I 
didn't turn around. Then, I felt his strong hands on my 
shoulders, and it was he who turned me around. 

Just that quick, I locked my arms around him and buried my 
face just above his belly. His hands were holding my head 
tight and stroking my hair, when I felt his hard erection 
against my tummy. I couldn't help it, I started crying, 
and I didn't know why. 

He picked me up. 

I locked my arms around his neck and he kissed me deeper 
than I'd ever been kissed before and I locked my legs 
around his waist to keep from sliding further and I felt 
his whole entire body turn rock-hard and his chest was 
suddenly three times bigger and with violent shudders the 
whole room shook because, like a wild wounded bull, he 
snorted masterfully, and I felt rapid sudden warm, liquid 
spurting striking my butt-cheeks, and dripping down my 
bare back while his whole body grew softer and less tall 
and, as the room was turning slowly, I could feel him 
breath again and the loud strong steady pounding of his 
heart, sending shock-wave after shock-wave deep into my 
chest. 

In that moment I had become part of him in the most 
wonderful way.

Then, I saw the dining room pass by, then the living room, 
and then I knew that we were on the stairs and going 
upstairs. He was so strong and I felt so very safe and 
small in his arms.

The bed didn't make a sound as he laid me gently down on 
it. But I refused to let go of his neck and he didn't say 
a thing as he let me feel his body lay down beside me, all 
warm. 

He was so tender with his strong, silent fingers quietly 
moving between my thighs that couldn't open far enough 
with wanting his kneading there, where the whole world now 
existed for only me and the warm timid air from his 
delicious mouth. On the new, young, yearning feeling that 
I was experiencing in that small, narrow, wet, slit, 
knowing his lips would hasten the small waves from inside 
and that they would roll like the tide from his tongue 
licking lower and deeper. 

Thrashing for deeper breathing that comes faster with more 
loudness whose release with moaning is heard by no one and 
by all that know this rushing river as it crashes over the 
highest and most heavenly peak above the clouds in 
private. With only his mouth and only his hands lifting my 
hard behind into himself all the way until the clouds 
burst wide open and the thunder bursts out all the way 
from deep inside to rolling tide now slower with his 
gentle rocking to a music heard by only us there at the 
center of everything growing smaller and more slowly just 
past the point where everything finally rests and is at 
peace, and is, forever quiet and gone.

I was looking at the ceiling and looking through the 
ceiling, past the roof at the big, snow-soft clouds 
turning in the sky-blue everything away slowly as the roof 
closed and saw the ceiling once again because he was 
lifting his face up from between my legs as I lowered my 
knees to see the beauty of it all over him and his mouth 
that now wasn't saying anything but a smile so full of 
love, tender with the soft wetness of my release all over 
him.

And it was all so funny. 

"Look at your head, your hair is a mess..." 

"Which one are you talking about?" He smiled so sweetly. 

"Which what?"

"Never mind, it's a dumb thing to say, now." And, as he 
moved towards the top of the bed, elbow on the pillow next 
to mine, he asked me, "Do you know what that was?"

"Do I know what that was? Yes." 

"Are you afraid?" 

"No, I loved it." 

"Do you know what you loved?"

"Yes, I loved what you did to me with your mouth and 
tongue." 

"Do you know what that is called?" 

"Yes, its called making love."

"No, it's called sex. It's called cunnilingus."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I use my mouth to give you very good 
feelings there."

"Why?" 

"Because you're really not big enough for anything else, 
yet." 

"What happened to me?" 

"That, my precious Sweet One, was an orgasm." 

"You mean I didn't really break anything."

"No, I had one, too. A very good one, in the kitchen."

"Is that what's half-dry and sticky on my back and rear?"

"That's me." 

"Did you break something?"

"No, I loved it, it has been so long." 

"Then what's this stuff stuck on my rear?"

"From me, men ejaculate when they orgasm."

"Do girls?"

"No, not really, just a little, not like a male."

He lowered his head onto his pillow, and with one hand I 
pushed him easily so he rolled from his side to his back 
and me on my tummy, I put my chin on his chest, and 
listened to him try to explain everything that I didn't 
understand and still didn't, even when he was finished, 
because my fingers were playing in the thick, stuck hairs 
at the base of him, big and hard, and I asked him if I 
could hold him, and he said I could, and he was alive with 
the beating of a heart that belonged only to him, but that 
I knew with my hand and could feel in my heart pounding 
like his when I held on tighter and wouldn't let go. 

He pulled me up to lay on his chest, my legs on his legs, 
stronger and longer as my whole world went higher and 
lower with his breathing, I made myself heavy to push on 
him each time harder there where the thick length of him 
lay between his hard belly and me there where I wanted the 
pushing pressing harder with moaning coming from within me 
from nowhere and him saying "SHHHHHH," while I felt his 
powerful open hands, fingers clutching each smallness that 
were my butt-cheeks going up and down with my thrusting 
harder down helped with his pushing up to feel him better. 

I pressed with my fingers firm hold on either side of his 
hair buried deep and hanging on to keep from falling off 
and to pull myself higher because I felt his chest 
suddenly three times bigger and both bodies hard like a 
rider and a wild horse screaming down that sudden steep 
sloop of the bursting forth waterfall over the thunder and 
full-power out of his throbbing wet shootings up between 
us pressed tight and held by his arms of his raging sea. 

Like a small tiny boat that was crashed by huge breakers 
onto the shore and now slowly carried back to that vast 
smooth stillness in his open hands and the sea of his 
chest and mine now going level and softer. We were stuck 
together and made into one with his violent offering, 
thick with the same whiteness that lasts as the bond 
between our bellies now soft with release. Finally, his 
hands falling from my cheeks and my fingers releasing the 
hair around his ears, hearing me speaking, without me 
actually speaking, that I will love him forever.

"We must wash ourselves."

"Will you carry me?"

"If you promise to keep your hands to yourself and let me 
watch while I wash you."

"Okay, and I will wash you." 

Him standing up in the big bath tub and me with my legs 
inside and my cheeks on the rim, holding him, soaping him 
thick, my fingers love it, and so does he, uplifting and 
defying gravity the soap makes him smoother than slippery, 
and that feels even better when he is bigger. The grin on 
his face and his flagpole at full-stiff attention and just 
standing there defiant and loaded with soap. As he bends 
to his knees and with mine apart, he with a small towel 
warm with soft water, brushes and cleans that small 
narrow, tender, the response of his touching worship, all 
with all loving, and all remembered forever!

Forgive me for getting so flowery. Just remembering it 
brings me such warm pleasure, and my mind goes all gaga. I 
can't write about that afternoon any other way.

So, at 12, I became Reverend Dale's mistress. Neither he 
nor I could wait very long to try and see if I was "big 
enough." I was. 

My time spent with him, in that old house, was time spent 
naked and touching, and licking and probing, sucking and 
kissing, and loving. He was amazing the way he could get 
hard, time after time. And, he said I was amazing because 
I was always ready and anxious.

I grew -- 13, 14, 15, 16, 17 -- and I stayed his mistress. 
Young women at church wondered why no one was "turning his 
head." Marrying a minister was a challenge, and Reverend 
Dale seemed to make it an impossible task. I always 
sniggered when I heard them gossiping about him -- because 
I knew. It was MY body, MY mouth, MY loving that made him 
so uninterested in them.

I look back, and wonder how I ever kept it a secret from 
my family, but I did. I didn't date in high school -- I 
didn't have to, because I had him. There were questions, 
but I always said I just hadn't met anyone at school I 
really liked.

I got a full scholarship to college, and hated leaving 
him. We talked about starting a "proper courtship" during 
my breaks, and getting married when I came home for my 
first summer. I was so happy.

In November, even before I came home for my first break, 
at Thanksgiving, he married the banker's daughter and 
accepted a posting in another town. I never saw him again.

I was shattered. Devastated. Crushed. Humiliated.

I got over him, but not quickly. Not before ruining my 
reputation at my small college, by going to bed with every 
man who asked, including the professors. I spent the next 
three-and-a-half years on my back or on my knees, seldom 
with the same man for more than one night. 

Finally, I got it all back together, again. I went home, 
found a job, went back to Church, met a dear man and 
married him, and had my two beautiful daughters. I 
couldn't ask for any more in my life.

But, I still think about Reverend Dale.

-- Edited by Sleazy Liz, 4/92

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 15