Oh…Diane!

 

Part 2 of the Early Experiences of Hot Jeannie ã 2007

 

(ff)

 

Celeste was curiosity and youthful experimentation.  Lisa was blossoming discovery.  Diane was sublime surrender.

 

I need to remind you that at that age I didn’t have much self-esteem.  I thought of myself as skinny and plain, and my mom was always yelling at me and calling me stupid.  I wondered why anyone would be attracted to me.  Lisa was so pretty; I felt I had won a lottery when she came on to me.  I remained on cloud nine throughout my time with her.  I may not have understood the attraction but I certainly understood the lovemaking, and the magnificent orgasms that ensued.

 

So, cloud nine or not, why did I still dream of Diane—the image of her fingering herself in the doorway burned into my memory?  I guess it’s simple: Diane was the ideal.  She was the quintessential blond bombshell with the best figure in school and supermodel looks, (in my time) a Cheryl Tiegs clone attending the same school as me!  To me, Diane was unattainable, lust unfulfilled.  Until that day with Lisa in Diane’s bed I would have never thought of her as anything but straight; the cheerleader and homecoming queen in every boy’s wet dream, someday to marry the star quarterback and have two kids and live in a mansion on a hill.  Even with Lisa nestled between my legs, I still dreamed of Diane.

 

The day that Diane clumsily ‘bumped’ into me after school would have been farcical if it hadn’t raised my blood pressure a tad.  She said she was sorry as she helped pick up my spilled books, but when she got close and looked into my eyes with her baby-blues, I nearly fainted.  She lightly touched my arm, and I swooned.

 

“Er, Jeannie, I heard you’re a math whiz” she said, “Can you come over my house and help me with my homework some night this week?”  She looked sincerely hopeful as she said “and maybe if it’s not too cold we can go in my pool.  It’s heated, you know.”

 

Holy shit!  I willed myself not to read too much into her invitation, though the memory of her touching herself at the doorjamb—her soft moan, her rolled-back eyes, her frantic hand doing its work hidden within her pants—made me shiver with desire.  Did she see it?

 

“Yeah...yeah, I guess I could.  What about tonight?”  I wasn’t going to be seeing Lisa, so why not see where this would go.

 

Her face lit up and she said tonight would be fine.  I didn’t have a decent swimsuit to my name but right then I didn’t care.  The late fall weather was nippy, but I dreamt of the warmth of Diane’s embrace, not her heated pool.  She said her and her mom would pick me up, so that dashed all hopes of anything happening between us.  On the bus ride home I thought even being with her and helping with her homework would be enough of a thrill.

 

Diane’s mom was of course beautiful too.  I appreciated that she didn’t seem to mind that my neighborhood wasn’t as nice as hers.  Their house was really nice and the pool looked beautiful.  I brought my ratty navy blue one-piece suit.  I suddenly changed my mind about the pool when I imagined what Diane would look like in a bikini.  I wanted to see her in the worst way.

 

We worked on her math homework at the kitchen table.  She had a hard time with problems that I thought were easy.  After we managed to get through all her homework, she asked if I wanted to go swimming.  I said I would.  She went to her bedroom while I changed into my suit in the master bath.  She did have a bikini, though certainly not like the ones modeled in the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated that I regularly masturbated to.  My Cheryl Tiegs comparison was confirmed; she looked stunning.

 

By the time we went outside, it was quite chilly, and I had goosebumps.  Diane came close to me and remarked how neat it was that she could clearly see my hard nipples through my suit.  The way she looked at me got me wet long before we jumped into the thankfully heated pool water.

 

I harbored no illusion that she would come on to me.  Like I said, I was just happy to be near her perfection.  We played and swam for a while until she told me she was ready to get out.  She looked even better wet than dry.  I remained wet.  After we dried off, we went into the house, and I was surprised to find no one else home.  She told me her mom had some errands to run and would be back later to drive me home.  She invited me up to her room.

 

I saw it in her eyes before she began haltingly admitting she was pondering lesbian sex.  She admitted how hot she’d been seeing Lisa and me in bed.  She surprised me by saying that she thought I was pretty and that my skinny frame turned her on.  She said she really liked my nipples.

 

As a gracious guest, I pulled my suit down and offered them to her.

 

She tentatively teased them with her lips before sucking on first one, then the other thirstily.  She looked up into my eyes and asked if I was ok with it.  OK? —my pussy was like a beehive—a very wet and buzzing hive!  I couldn’t believe what was happening so I just stood there next to her bed. 

 

She stopped and said the most amazing thing: “Would you like to do the same to me?”

 

I must have nodded or made some other stupid gesture of assent, for she slowly dropped her bikini one piece at a time to the floor.  I was mesmerized.  To me, her body was everything mine wasn’t.  She had big, round breasts, with nice upturned nipples—and she was shaved down below!  She still had faint tan lines from her summer tan.  I was drooling I wanted to taste her so much.

 

She saw how I was looking at her and she blushed.  “What do you want to do?” She said, unsure of herself.

 

I asked, “This is your first time with a girl, isn’t it?”

 

She nodded, her face blushing a deeper red.  I suggested we lie down on the bed and let nature take its course.

 

Nature took over in full force.  I caressed, teased, touched, and explored her entire body.  This was not just going to be sex; it was to be art appreciation, maybe even adoration.  Her beauty made her my shrine.  When my fingers slipped between the folds of her wet pussy, she flinched and pulled away a little bit.  I said “Would you like to touch me instead, for now?”  She did, and her exploration began.  She spent a long time playing with my nipples, so much so that I was close to cumming.  I was ready to use my own finger to finish me off, but I hoarsely asked her to touch my pussy.  She moved down and started to play, parting my labia for a good examination.  I croaked the word “tongue” and she hesitatingly began licking my extremely wet pussy.  I knew eventually she would find my clit, which was almost vibrating by that time.  When she did—the tip of her tongue lightly flicking against my engorged little nub—I shivered and groaned and came all over her face.

 

She was aghast.  She asked me if I had peed.  I explained that sometimes I squirted when I had a great orgasm.  She seemed proud that I felt this one had been great.

 

We lay on the bed and talked.  Diane told me all about her masturbatory fantasies.  I sheepishly told her I wondered why someone so pretty would want someone like me.  She smiled and told me I was pretty too, and that she especially fantasized about my nipples since that day with Lisa.  I couldn’t get over the “pretty” part, but who would argue?  I asked her if she would like to kiss.  She hesitated but said yes, and we did, softly at first until our passions overwhelmed us.  I mewled when I realized the tongue now between my lips had been in my pussy.  Diane took my soft cry as the encouragement it was and she was all over me again, sucking one nipple while tweaking the other between her thumb and forefinger.  Her hand left my nipple and moved tenderly down my quivering stomach at the same time her mouth moved back up to kiss me again.  This orgasm was completely different, the cum-quake beginning not at my pussy, but deep in my belly.  I cried and enjoyed the spasms that overcame me.

 

Diane was breathless and flushed, ecstatic at my response, so I coaxed her onto her back and gently nestled between her thighs—it was to be her turn.  I used all my newly acquired pussy licking expertise on her.  She squirmed, making these small chirps each time I nuzzled her clit just right.  Suddenly she clamped her thighs tightly around my head. My tongue was forced deeper, my nose slightly above her tiny rigid pearl.  She bucked and bucked to a rhythm all her own until she screamed and inundated my tongue.

 

As her climactic throes subsided, I lifted my head to look at her.  Her breasts heaved beautifully; her magnificent blue eyes languidly staring back at me.  I asked her how she felt.  Words like “wonderful” and “magical” spilled from her lips.  I needed to kiss that mouth again and feel those beautiful breasts press against mine.  Our kissing was leading to more until we heard noise downstairs.  Diane’s mom was home, and I needed to get home as well.

 

Diane’s mom (her name was Connie) gave me a ride home.  In the car, without Diane there, she said things like “worried about Diane’s future” and about her meeting “the right boys in school.”  I’m not sure where the insight came from, but she KNEW.  She knew what we had been doing in Diane’s room, and she was warning me off!

 

Instead of enjoying the afterglow, I was depressed.  Why did I think I could love and be loved by a girl like Diane?  I was just her “phase,” her same-sex “experiment.”  That night I cried in bed.  I should have been happy I slept with the prettiest girl in school.  Instead, I felt more alone and unwanted.

 

The next day, Lisa was cool toward me, so I knew Diane must have confessed to her.  They still had their clique of friends, and now I had nobody.

 

It was a long school year.

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