The First Time

a Short Story by Varangian

Spring, 2006

It’s been many years since my first sexual experience with another person, decades in fact.  I remember it, though, in remarkable detail.  It occurred just weeks after I began to squirt and had become addicted to masturbation.  I was twelve then and soon whacked off twice a day.

My friend Jerry, a neighbor boy, had not done it yet, although he was due.  He was four months my junior.

Then there was Cathy, a girl our age who hung around with us, a buddy since kindergarten.  She was a tomboy who intimidated Jerry, but I had always been her match in either running or climbing trees.  She had sprouted little boobs over the winter, just large enough to notice beneath her blouse that warm spring day.

School was out.

* * *

The three of us crossed Tireman Avenue to enter “the field,” a vast tract of undeveloped land that seemed to extend forever.  There was a dry dump near the front of it with a trail leading past it.  We avoided that place and strode through high weeds towards the creek, our favorite place.

We had not visited it since the previous autumn.  We had splashed there in our underwear, Cathy just in panties.  Her chest then was about as flat as mine and Jerry’s.  We noticed nothing about her except the lack of a bulge at her groin.

But now, decades later, I recall that she possessed beautiful, sexy legs that were slender and creamy smooth.  She was a natural blonde.  Jerry’s legs, I remember, were no less attractive.  But now that I was whacking off — twice already that day — I viewed my friends as sexual objects, trailing them, ogling their bare legs, as we tramped to the creek.

After we arrived I initiated some rough-housing, mainly to cop a feel of Cathy’s new titties.

“Stop it, Tom!” she protested, but she did not try to wriggle away from me.

I was half atop her, our faces close.  At the time I was unmindful of her prettiness, but now I remember her as a very beautiful young girl.

I suddenly kissed her and she kissed back, both of us unpracticed.

“Aw, Jesus!” Jerry exclaimed in disgust and wandered over to a nearby cotton wood tree.

“Want to play dirty?” I asked her.

“No!”

But she grinned up at me.  We both wanted to kiss some more, and as our lips pressed together I enjoyed a lingering feel of her left titty, which was not nearly a handful.

“Aren’t we going to climb trees or something?” Jerry called to us.

Ignoring him, Cathy whispered, “I’ve heard older girls talk about, you know.”

“Dirty stuff?”

“It’s not dirty, Tom!”

I suddenly realized that Cathy was more advanced than I regarding “dirty stuff.”  I fondled her small tit and we kissed some more.  She seemed to get excited.  Finally, she pushed me away and stood.

“We can’t do anything with Jerry around,” she said in a low voice, staring at my face in a peculiar way.  I didn’t have a clue about what she meant.

“I’m going back, now,” she said.  “Come over to my house after supper.”

I watched her leave, admiring the backs of her lovely thighs.  In my old man’s memory they were absolutely stunning, rare and precious.  A boy of twelve could not truly appreciate them as could a guy fifty years later.

“Where’s she going?” Jerry asked, coming up to me.

“Home,” I said  “She has things to do.”

“Just as well.  She was getting in the way.”

Jerry was more ignorant of sex than I.  I decided to teach him a bit, not knowing what exactly.

“I’ve started whacking off,” I told him.  “I’ve been doing it since last month.”

He gaped at me with an open mouth.

“I, I haven’t done it yet,” he stammered.  “I thought only older guys did it.”

“I’m old enough to squirt.  I bet you are too.”

Jerry seemed to become very defensive.  He hunched his shoulders and stepped back.

“Let’s get naked,” I said, “and find out.”

Suddenly his attitude changed.  He grinned at me devilishly.  “Maybe I can.”

We stripped naked beside the creek, our privacy secured by hundreds of acres of tall weeds.  At the time the sight of his young flesh intrigued me, although I was unconscious of the prettiness of his androgynous face.  But I now remember that he was a pervert’s dream.  He, like Cathy, was blonde.  His limbs were well-fleshed and shapely in a very sexy way.  The smooth torso was dramatic in its pubescent allure.  His nipples surmounted small cones of flesh.  His small, circumcised cock was hard, jutting about four inches.  Mine was five inches long, and unlike Jerry, I had a few strands of hair at its base.

We started playing around in our naughty nakedness, splashing into the creek’s cold water then onto the grass beyond it under a tall tree.  On an impulse I kissed his lips a fleeting moment.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“We could do things together,” I said.  “Nobody will know.”

“Like whacking off?” he asked.

“Why not?  I bet I could make you come.”

“Are we going to kiss too?”

“If you want.  I do.”

The strictures against queer play, ingrained in most boys since kindergarten, did not deter us, safely alone in the vast field.

We lay upon the ground, kissing, touching tongues, trading spit.  I enfolded Jerry’s hard pecker, and he took mine in hand.

“Are we going to suck?” he asked.

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah!”

I look back at that time, half a century in the past, with the fondest memory.  I sucked my friend’s small cock.  I still recall the musky taste and slick texture of it in my mouth.  He soon bucked violently and came for the first time, coating my tongue with a small, thin emission.  I should have bottled it and saved it as a trophy.

“I think I came,” he said a minute later.

“Yeah, not much, but it’s a start.”

He played with my hard cock, licking his lips.

“What does it taste like?” he asked.

“Find out for yourself.”

He leaned down to fit his lips around my knob.  Then he began to suck.  It was my first blow job, of course, and hardly the best I’ve ever experienced.  It remains a precious memory, although at the time it was just a very naughty game. 

I had already whacked off twice that day, and it was only past noon.  So it took some time for Jerry to bring me off.  He didn’t complain.  He seemed to enjoy sucking my cock.  That is, until I yelped and spewed into his mouth.  He almost puked.

“Jesus, Tom!” he exclaimed, after scooping up creek water to freshen his mouth.  “You should’ve warned me!”

“I will next time,” I said.

“If there is a next time.  I don’t know about this queer stuff.”

I laughed.  “We haven’t done butt fucking yet.”

“No way, Tom!”

I clapped him on the shoulder.  “Well, at least we’ve found out what cock sucking is like.”

He grinned.  “You can suck me any time, Tom.”

In retrospect I wish it had gone differently.  It would have been exciting had we developed a full-blown homosexual affair, one that lasted until we were fourteen and began to grow body hair.  But at the time I had considered our mutual blow jobs just an amusing experiment.  I did received his first ever squirt in my mouth, though.  That’s something to remember.

“I’m going to fool around with Cathy,” I told him as we dressed.

“You mean it?  Like with a girl?”

“She is a girl, dummy!  I think she’s interested.”

“Yeah.  I saw you feeling her up when you were kissing.”

“Do you mind?” I asked him.

“Cathy’s always been just a buddy.  I guess things are changing.”

“Yeah.  She has tits now.”

“Why can’t she still be a buddy, Tom?”

“It’s all about sex, Jerry.  Can you imagine the three of us having sex together?”

“Jesus!”

“I don’t think she’d go for it, but it’s a thought.”

* * *

I went over to Cathy’s house after supper.  She was waiting on her front porch.

“What kept you?” she asked.

“My mom made me do the dishes, like always.”

There was at least two hours of daylight remaining.

“Let’s go into the field,” she suggested.

She had a curious expression on her face.

“Do you want Jerry to come along?” I asked.

“No.  Not this time.”

I remember Cathy very well, even after all these years.  She had a face like Jerry’s.  Bundled up she could pass for a boy and Jerry for a girl.  Except for the hair, of course.  Jerry had a boy’s cut.  Cathy had two long, blonde braids, tied with ribbons, that reached her shoulders.

“Let’s go,” I said, taking her hand possessively.

“Not here!” she hissed, shaking me off.

But after we crossed Tireman and got well into the field, she allowed me to hold her hand.  I knew that we’d kiss and that I would feel her boobs.  She was no longer just a tree-climbing buddy whom I’d known since kindergarten.  She was now a girl who was no less curious about “things” than I.

A quarter mile into the field she flopped to the ground in the high weeds and pulled me down with her.  We rolled around together, out of sight of everybody else in the world.  We soon began kissing, and she let me fit a hand under her blouse to feel soft titty flesh.

“Can I see them?” I asked.

“I want to see you too,” she responded with an impish grin.

“I don’t have boobs.”

“You know what I mean, Tom!”

“Who’s first?”

“Let’s get naked together.”

We stared at each other as we undressed.  She sucked in air, when she saw my hard cock.  It was not quite a gasp, merely a surprised response to something entirely novel to her.

I remember well the first sight of her naked body.  I suppose at the time I did not fully appreciate the beauty of it.  But I have since become a pervert, ogling pubescent girls who are now forever out of reach.

Over all Cathy was well-fleshed yet slender.  She was then into the third month of her twelfth year.  Her creamy breasts, eventually to grow rather large, were at the time firm cones with roseate tips.  They were too small to jiggle.  Her cunt was a raised mound divided by a crack that seemed to be entirely devoid of hair.

Although I sucked on her titties, I lacked the wit to slaver her gorgeous thighs and eat her out, as I would do today, fifty years later, had I such a willing girl.

She played with my cock, exciting me, even though I had already come three times that day.

“That feels really good, Cathy,” I said with a hand on a soft, upper arm.

“What happens?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You said that it feels good.  Does it feel better and better?”

“Yeah.  Then I squirt.”

“I want to see that!”

“What about you, Cathy?  How do you feel good?”

“I rub myself.”

We began to masturbate together.  What an idiot I was at twelve!  I could have fucked the beautiful girl.  I’m sure she was willing.  I would have to wait five years for my first fuck, and with a girl who was nowhere near so fine as Cathy.

I did stroke her fresh thigh with my free hand as we pleasured ourselves.  Her climax was signaled by a sharp in-take of air and a slight, gasping noise.  I shot onto my belly, not a lot, but more and thicker than my first time.

Cathy insisted that we put on our clothes after that, although I wanted to play some more.  Then and afterwards we didn’t kiss and touch again.  Her curiosity had been satisfied.

So in a single day I had sexually explored my two buddies, both of whom refused to do it again.  I began to whack off three times a day.

About age fourteen Cathy and Jerry began to go steady, and it lasted through high school.  At some point, I suppose, they fucked for the first time, but I was no longer close enough to them to know.

My sorry life of solitary secret pleasure endured until I was sixteen, when a somewhat hefty girl named Betty let me undress her.  Six months later, when I was seventeen, we fucked.  She was not a virgin.

I never had a virgin, never ripped a cherry.  I’m an old man now and will never have the opportunity.  It could have been so different, fifty years before, when I had Cathy naked in the field, curious and eager to discover sex.  I dream about it. 

END

Contact Varangian: ludmax11@hotmail.com