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Although some of the content is embellishment, combinations, or outright made up, most of the people, places, and situations in this tale are true. I am therefore telling it in the format of one of THOSE stories that you read here, where the author can only sit down for a little while at a time, releasing the information in multiple short posts.
I’ll leave it up to the reader to decide what things did or did not happen.
I was twelve when I first met her, the woman that I was certain at the time I would marry. It wasn’t my first such proclamation, there had been others. But they had only been girls, those early childhood crushes. First was April, who in 1967 lived just up the street from me, but she only had eyes for Davy Jones, lead singer of the Monkees. Then was Lorri, whose long, silky blonde hair I could gaze at for hours, from my assigned seat behind her in the third grade.
This, however, was to be THE ONE. Straight, tall, and thin, yes, she was that. But it was her smile. As I watched her standing up at the altar, maid of honor at my oldest Missoula cousin’s wedding, I would see only that smile. She stood up in the front of the church, next to her very best friend, and I missed most of what was going on as I gazed upon her.
I kept her in sight all through the ceremony, planning out how I would ask her to dance at the reception, sweep her off her feet with my charm. I would convince her to wait for me to grow old enough so that we could run off together. But it turned out that there was a completely separate party for the youngest of us, back at the house. Away from the adults. My family drove back home to eastern Washington the next day, and I didn’t see her again for quite some time after that.
Not until nine years later in fact, when in 1980 I was once more back in Missoula at another cousin’s wedding. This time I had driven myself three hundred miles from my latest landing place in Gardiner to be there. I had told my parents that I would represent the family for them, but I was wondering on the entire drive if SHE had been invited too, my mind resurrecting those dim memories of another wedding long before. I had never forgotten her.
Sure enough, there she was, sitting all by herself towards the back on the groom’s side, with nothing but open seats all around her. She looked absolutely lovely in a long skirt and summer blouse, waves of dark black hair surrounding her face, just as I had remembered her from so many years ago.
I slid into the one on her left, asking “Is this one taken?” She threw me a sharp, questioning look, her eyes narrowed, then glanced at all the empty chairs around us. I ignored all of that, putting out my hand instead, telling her that we had met before and where. It was all true of course, so she relaxed and we started talking while we waited for things to get started.
“I can’t believe that I don’t remember you.” she said at one point.
“That’s because we never got to dance the last time.” I replied. “If we’d danced then, I would never have let you go again.”
Her eyes went wide then, her head turning to look at me more closely. “You look awfully young.” she said, searching my face for something.
“I really do.” I shrugged. “It’s a curse.”
I watched her intently as she seemed to think about this for a moment, then come to a decision, leaving that behind. The conversation continued. I can’t remember what all we talked about, although her life for the past nine years was part of it.
“Maybe if I’d danced with you first that night, before Greg,” she said at one point, “I wouldn’t have married him and wasted five years of my life.”
We went on and on like this, first just looking at each other, then both feeling the need to touch, then more. As we spoke, I would catch brief, sudden glimpses of her body beneath her blouse, as her movements would sometimes open up the tiny gaps between her buttons, or widen the one at the top where those same buttons stopped.
Before I knew it, I had missed another cousin’s wedding vows because of her.
The rest of that event was a blur, although I do remember my Aunt giving me a number of very pointed looks, and one of my cousins taking my new date up a nearby hill for a few minutes of a private talk. With the late afternoon sun just behind the two, that light summer dress became almost invisible, a fact that I took every advantage to observe. After a rather animated discussion, including many looks in my direction, she came back to my side, leaning her mouth down close to my ear, looking directly at my cousin as she did so.
“Take me home.” was all that she said.
We took her car, and we didn’t speak again for a full half hour, not until she had pulled up in front of a small house. After she turned off the car, she Bayan Eskort turned and looked straight into my eyes, searching for something.
Then she finally asked her question. “Lynne’s not kidding, is she? You’re only twenty one?”
I didn’t answer her. I only took both of her soft hands in my own, looking once more into her face. We sat like that for a while, each studying the other’s eyes for, something.
She spoke again, a question, but not a question. “At least tell me that I won’t be your first.”
Once again, I did not answer.
Finally, she turned away, reaching over to open her door. “I’m going to hell for this.” she whispered, more to herself than to me. As her door began to open, she said, “Come on in. We might as well go there together.”
We went into of her house, its darkness a contrast to the bright sunshine outside. I watched her body move under the thin summer outfit, long legs scissoring back and forth, leading up to a rounded ass. She closed the door quickly behind us, then began to nervously pace around the room, running her fingers through her hair as she did so.
As if she suddenly remembered my presence, she stopped and looked up at me, saying “I need a drink. Are you thirsty? Go get me some wine or something.” Looking me over once again, she let out a sound of frustration before going into a back room.
I searched her kitchen, but was unable to find any wine. I did come across a bottle of Jack Daniel’s though. Pouring into two tumblers, I quickly emptied mine, then refilled it and carried both with me while I waited for her to return.
While waiting, I looked around the tiny, cluttered house. On one wall were pictures, most with her in them. In one, a much younger version of her sitting on a horse, my oldest cousin on a second horse beside her. It appeared that she had three brothers. Big, quiet, Montana men, the kind that probably didn’t look too kindly on having their sister taken advantage of.
It was then that I noticed the highly reflective glass covering a picture of her with a man. Or more accurately the reflection in the glass, as in it I had a pretty clear view through the slightly open door and into her bedroom. She was changing her clothes. Already down to her bra and panties, I could see almost her entire body at last, covered only in those two lacy items of clothing.
The view was not good enough for me to make out too many details, although I could see well enough when she removed the bra. The curves of her ass, cradled in those thin lace panties, held my interest just as much as the much smaller breasts, each lifted up by their own stretch of cloth and lace. Reaching her hands behind her back, she expertly undid first one clasp, then another…
I gasped as her naked breasts came into my view for the first time. Large pink nipples tipped her small, firm tits. I had been stealing glimpses of those inside of her blouse all day, but seeing them in their entirety made me instantly hard. They were not at all large, those beautiful breasts, but were instead just right, as Bob Seiger would say, “way up firm and high.”
These were my first real naked breasts, and I was not at all disappointed by the fact that I only saw their reflection. Soon enough, I imagined, I would be seeing them first hand.
She must have heard my gasp, because she turned her face my way to see what I was doing. I was glad now about the lack of a detailed view, perhaps she wouldn’t be able to tell that I had been watching her. My heart racing, I held my breath, hoping that she would not discover my invasion of her privacy. As she held one arm strategically across her bared chest, we each watched the other like that for what seemed like a long time, then, slowly shaking her head, she moved further into the bedroom, out of my narrow line of sight.
I had to sit down then, plopping myself down in a big overstuffed chair, my back to the bedroom, and taking a big drink from my glass. I sat that way for a few minutes, wondering if I was about to get thrown out of her house.
“That’s Greg.” she said from behind me.
“Huh?” I replied. I’m known for my witty banter.
“Greg.” she said again. “The asshole.” she added. Looking into my face as she reached down and took her drink from me, she must have read the confusion in my face.
“The picture that you were staring at,” she said, throwing back her entire drink in one gulp, “was of me and Greg, my ex husband. I keep it there to remind myself of just how bad life can be.”
Glancing over at the picture, she said “Wasn’t that what you were wondering? You were looking at it for quite a while.”
She leaned down, so that one hand was on each arm of my chair, and her face was up close to mine. Nodding to her empty glass, she added with a smile “Get me another.”
As my gaze moved from her Anadolu Yakası Escort face to the empty glass, I couldn’t miss the sights on the way. She had changed clothes all right. No longer wearing the light, frilly summer dress from earlier, the delicate white sandals, the lacy items under it all. She had now donned a scoop-necked light pink t-shirt and a pair of cut-offs with the top two buttons undone. No bra this time. The shirt was loose enough, and the neckline was low enough, that in that gap I could see down to the open buttons on her cut-offs, the lacy tops of the panties that I had seen reflected before, and much, much more above them.
So firm were they that they did not so hang from her chest, they simply descended, soft twin cones of tan, and white, and pink. Unable to tear my eyes away, I could feel myself growing hard again. She had to have noticed that, for as I was looking down her shirt, her face was right above mine, looking down at me. She finally placed her hand under my chin, tilting my head back so that all I could see was her deep brown eyes.
“We’ll get to that.” she said, pushing her glass into my hand, then lifting herself up from the chair arm. “For now though, I would dearly love another drink.”
Taking the glass, I tried to do just that, but she remained right in front of me, so close that our bodies touched when I stood up. One arm went around my neck, one went down to my very evident hardness, alternately squeezing and stroking it through the light dress pants that I had put on that morning in preparation for a wedding. A little pressure on my neck, and I was feeling those soft cones pressing against my chest, our skin separated only by two layers of fabric.
Before I could begin to enjoy that feeling though, her mouth suddenly covered mine, her tongue driving between my lips, tasting me. On an unexpected sensory overload, I could not concentrate on any one thing, her strong hand, her soft breasts, her probing tongue. I was so overwhelmed that the thought of using my own hands on her didn’t even occur to me.
At least I began to return the kiss though.
As suddenly as it had begun though, it was over. Releasing my member as well as my neck, her hands moved between us, now pushing herself off of my body. Licking her lips, she cocked her head and smiled widely at me.
“You’ll do.” she said, stepping back even more now. “But first…” she trailed off, tilting her head towards the kitchen.
I got the hint, and, downing my second drink in just the way she had done her first, went to refill both glasses.
I needed to collect myself, to think about what was going on, so I took my time getting the drinks refilled. Turning around to face her once again, I noticed that she was staring at the picture.
The one that I had been watching her reflection in earlier.
Oh crap, I thought. She can see it. I had been found out. I took a deep breath, and handed her the glass.
“You can see a lot in this picture, can’t you?.” she said, taking the drink, looking straight at me. Certain that the next thing to come out of her mouth would be about me watching her undress, I simply nodded.
Then she seemed to change the subject. “I was twenty-five when we got married.” she said. “That was eight years ago.” She turned to look at the picture once again, lost in her thoughts.
“Am I what you’ve been dreaming about all those years?” she asked, almost absently. “A used car, old, discarded, left in the back field to let the grass grow all around me?”
She wasn’t making any sense now, or at least I was lost. I did what came to me instinctively though, walking up behind her, and surrounding her with my arms.
“What could I possibly have that you would want?” she wailed. “My hair is too black, my boobs are too small, and my butt is too big!”
“Young guys want blue-eyed, busty blondes, not an old, lumpy, string bean like me!” She began to sob, leaning back against my chest.
I suddenly got it.
“That’s what he used to tell you, wasn’t it?” I asked her, slowly rubbing my hands up and down her arms.
After a moment’s pause, she nodded.
Continuing with my moving hands, now reaching her shoulders too, I said, “He must have said it a lot.” Taking a chance, I added, “Especially after he started cheating on you?”
Another pause, she began to say something, then, just another nod.
I put my drink down on the mantle, next to his picture, then took hers and placed it beside mine. We did not need them anymore.
The fresh scent of her long, buoyant hair in my nostrils, my hands resumed their travels along the outsides of her arms, their downward paths now reaching her hips. I made the decision. It was now or never, and I would have to be the one who started.
So, the next time my hands traveled up, they were Pendik Escort on the fronts of her arms. After that, I was brushing ribs with fingertips, hands moving inward with each upward path, until I came to the beginnings of an outward swell, and I paused…
Her body tensed at that contact, she pushed her back hard against me. It would have been difficult for her not to feel the firm rod now resting against her back, nestled between the rounded, denim-covered hills to each side.
I waited to see what she would do next, each hand just touching the sides of a breast, my hardness surrounded on either side by her bottom.
She waited with held breath for a moment as well, until finally realizing that I was asking, not taking. In silent reply, her trembling hands slowly rose to cover mine, moving them inward just enough to completely cover her, squeezing her fingers into mine so that they formed cups, cups that held only her. At the same time, she moved her hips, first to one side, then the other, finally back to the center. The motions sent jolts of pleasure along the length of my member, as her soft curves rolled me underneath.
Her hands retreated then, leaving mine still in place, still covering her breasts, able to feel their soft, silky texture, the gradually stiffening points beneath. In this dance that we were doing, her meaning was clear to me.
It was my move again.
For some people, their first time was in the back seat of a car, or in a cheap hotel, maybe in a bed at their parent’s house when older ones were away. For me, it was on the floor of that cool, dark living room, hearing every sound from outside. Singing birds, distant lawn mowers, a bouncing basketball down the street. And from inside as well, the sound of hardness plunging into wetness over and over, of deep breaths in, then out. Cries from us both, as we began to climb to a mutual peak, pleasing each other in ways that I had only dreamed of until then.
I felt myself slide inside of a woman’s body that day, a feeling completely unlike any other. Sinking into the heat, the wet, silky channel, the welcoming suction, giving a feeling that you belong that way forever. My length slowly traveled in, then out, bumps and folds inside brushing across the sensitive head of my cock. Skin against skin, our legs sliding across each other, our hips meeting, then retreating.
So many places there to hold, to rub. Places that no woman had ever let me touch before, firm, soft, naked breasts, the full cheeks of her ass, the smooth skin of her stomach giving way on one end to solid hips, on the other to hard ribs. Running my fingers along the outside of her sex, thin walls drawn inside of her as I slid in, bulging back out on the return.
My first feel of the sensitive button at the top of those same lips, the tiny nub, wet with her juices. I learned to alter angles to change feeling, each different direction providing contact in its own way.
I felt a woman shudder and shake in ecstasy for the first time, feeling from the inside as her muscles clamped tightly around me, holding me deep, pulling me deeper. From the outside as her chest heaved against mine, stiff nipples sliding and jiggling against my skin. I kept driving myself into her, even through that, looking straight into her glazed eyes while I kept pounding, pushing until at last…
So many firsts. So much to learn, and an eager partner, willing to teach me. I remember lying on my back looking up, my hands caressing her breasts and letting her do all the work, watching the expressions cross her face as she slowly ground herself onto me. We were both exhausted at this point, the slow, gentle rocking of her body on mine was as much as either of us could manage. Her bed was a shredded mess beneath me.
Tiny whines came from her as she rocked back and forth. Moving both hands off of her breasts, I ran my fingers across her legs, her thighs, her belly, reaching back to grab her cheeks and pull her more deeply on, to me pull me more deeply in. There were so many juices that we couldn’t seem to get enough friction between us.
She finally collapsed on top of me, too tired even to roll off, our bodies still joined as I rolled us onto our sides before we both fell instantly asleep.
We did so much more over the weekend that I lost count of how many times, and ways, and places we pleasured each other, she on top, me on top. On the bed, the couch, the kitchen floor. Face to face and from behind. On our knees, on our backs, even standing, holding her legs up and apart while pounding in with all of my fury.
More than once I tasted my juices mixed with hers as they poured back out of her, my face buried between her legs, my tongue between her folds, licking her to still another peak. Sucking her hole clean, only to return soon after with another harder, longer tool, filling her with my seed once again.
We took breaks to eat, sometimes to sleep, only leaving the house once to retrieve my car.
It was after twelve on Sunday night when I finally forced myself from her arms. I had 300 miles of driving to do in order to be at work by eight.
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