We strolled unobtrusively through the gates and, no one having challenged us,
walked swiftly towards the imitation Greek temple at the top of the rise. Dusk
was falling, a school day in autumn. I was on fire with lust and fear of
discovery. One genius forefinger slipped inside my panties under the table in
the coffee shop was all it took. Although he cared nothing for me, silly girl,
that boy could make me forget my name with his dexterity. My tiny non-uniform
panties were already soaked and I could feel my juices cooling on the bare
thighs under my skirt. I was "in lurve" regardless of his indifference. In those
days he was always welcome in my pants. Looking back I wonder if it was his
expertise I adored rather than any more romantic attraction. Safe under the
eaves of the darkening stone folly we sat watching the stragglers leave the
park. There was a moment when we must have both decided we were alone. I dropped
my school mac on the flags as some sort of blanket and at the same time threw
back my head and arched my back, offering my aching little cherry-stone nipples
to his mouth. Christopher leant down and gripped a nipple with his teeth, not
quite hurting, a sharp deep pleasure and I groaned low in my throat. My hands
were clumsy with lust, trying to reach his jeans while he half-crouched to pull
my blouse open and suck my breast tips into his hot mouth. It was so cold, cold
and damp, but his mouth, my cunt, his cock, our hands were burning. I couldn't
reach his jeans without pulling him away from his intense labor at my nipples
and a moment later it was clear I still couldn't get him out of his pants
without disturbing the other hand moving down inside my waistband towards my
clitoris. My excitement was so powerful I could not bear to move. I just stood
there, vibrating, only my arms still inside my unbuttoned school blouse, my
flesh white in the dusk as he sent near-orgasmic excitement through me with his
hot pointed tongue and sharp teeth. "Fuck me, Chris", hoarsely, "Please fuck me.
I need you inside me". His breathing was jerky, he ripped off his jeans, no
underwear, and hopped for a ludicrous second in a boot until he'd dragged the
rest off. He kept on his sweater. It was colder now, and the light was nearly
gone. I was already on the ground, fingers slithering in my pussy, legs high and
wide. Not a time for maidenly modesty. "Fuck me, I need it so badly, you don't
know how badly", then "YYEESSS!" I shouted in triumph as his cock hit bottom
with a satisfying brutal thud. Straight in like a piston, he knew the trick. We
went at it like cats - no fancy positions, no endearments - just hard, focused
fucking in the dark, and a lot of noise. I loved the friction of the firm-edged
flange of his cock. Some men's dicks are smooth shaped, like a banana. Me, I
love a dick with a strongly pronounced head like a baby's fist and forearm,
arching out to catch me both directions of the stroke. Soon I had a raw spot on
my back where it took the pressure against the stone floor, and God knows what
was happening to his knees (as it happened I never found out). Gasping and
sobbing I felt orgasms hit me like hailstorms, gripping his waist with my thighs
and tensing everywhere until the energy came through me, and straight, and I
felt my guts open like a flower. I fell back temporarily as he straightened up
above me and then, full of gratitude, scrambled to my knees and started to
fellate him. His cock tasted gorgeous, the fresh juice of two clean but
desperately horny people. Deep into giving him pleasure I suddenly realized his
back had stiffened. I raised my head - surely I hadn't hurt him? "I think
there's someone out there", he whispered. Kneeling there, with cooling cumjuice
on my thighs, I felt rich and beautiful and oddly powerful. "Who's there?" I
called clearly. "Come out and say hello". "Nooo", hissed Chris. "Don't. You're
crazy." "Come out, come out, whoever you are!" I sang, and giggled. Out of the
shadow of some laurel bushes came a short bulky figure. His whole posture was
defeated, timid. We stood up to watch him. "Come up here" I called. And he came.
Chris said nothing. His flared nostrils and his eyes showed me he was turned on,
and intrigued, but it was my party. The man was not old, not young. Maybe 40. At
15 everyone seems old. Chris at 19 was a man of the world to me. The man wore a
heavy raincoat, which he never took off while I knew him. He had a white face
like a disappointed potato, but his eyes were black and huge and he was staring
at me like a disciple. He climbed the steps of the temple and walked very slowly
towards us. It was a matter of half a dozen steps, but I think he thought he was
dreaming. "Could I? I mean, would you mind if I? Could I .. touch you?" he asked
very gently. "It's my pleasure", I said smiling, and cupped my breasts to offer
them with both hands. For the first time I deliberately, confidently displayed
myself in the knowledge of my power. He made some sort of choking sound and fell
on my tits, sucking and stroking them with amazing tenderness as though they
were baby animals. He was not clean, and even now I remember the charity shop
smell of old clothes (perhaps not even his old clothes), and a faint whiff of
mould. His hair smelt dirty, but the sense of worship was intoxicating. Chris
was behind me, watching the man's head over my shoulder while his hands kneaded
my ass. His breathing was a cross between shock and extreme lust. I don't think
he knew what to do. I knew exactly what to do. I moved my hips slightly and
touched the back of the man's neck. "D'you want to kiss me?" I asked. As I well
knew, he didn't even think of my face. He sobbed and fell to his knees, burying
his face between my legs, working his surprisingly large warm tongue between my
fat wet labia. He licked and sucked in a frenzy, as if he wanted to coax his way
right up inside and hibernate there for the winter. He reeked of loneliness. I
felt strong and full of pity - I had never been able to give another person
something they wanted so much before. I thought, in my innocence, how unfair it
was that there were people cut off by looks and shyness from the glories of
sexual expression. I was glad to be of assistance. After a minute or two of
watching, Chris urged me to fuck again, rather grumpily, partly just to show
this guy he was there first I think. I slid easily onto the cold stone and we
slickly resumed our frantic rhythm, me flat on my back with my legs round his
waist. I could see the night sky. The man sat down on the floor beside us and
talked quietly. "I was watching you when you were doing that before", he said.
"It was so beautiful". I turned my mind aside from him and absorbed myself in
the sex I loved so much. As I felt Chris's thrusts gain that unmistakable
urgency that always flips me over, and he plunged deep and savage inside me, I
gripped the man's hand as I took the impact of another orgasm. His fingers were
wet. I was lost for a second or two, and when I started taking notice again the
man was pleading very softly with us both. "Please", he said. "Please". Chris
was looking a bit confused, but he disentangled himself from me. I gave that
little sad dumpy man a slow smile and said "Come here, then". And we fucked. On
a cold damp autumn school night. And while we fucked he wept. He touched me with
some sort of reverence. I felt like the goddess. I stood up and walked home with
cum stains on the inside of my uniform. It was only about 6.30. I don't know why
I did it, but it's a good memory. Now I am older I overlay it with complicated
motives. At the time I think I was just so in love with sex, my new find, my new
fluency, and couldn't bear to think of anyone being left out. Chris and I met up
ten years later. "You scared me", he said. "I was such a dickhead. I didn't
understand you." I still sometimes wonder what the sad, lonely man thought, and
if he ever thinks about it now.
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