index


Message-ID: <28103asstr$978189004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Frank Downey" <Fab4Fan99@prodigy.net>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 30 Dec 2000 01:02:51 EST
Subject: {ASSM} "Alexandra" (MF, rom, teen, slow)
Date: Sat, 30 Dec 2000 10:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Well, here's the second offering from the desk of Frank.

I had some very nice notes about my first, The Perfect Six, but some
readers disagreed with my calling that one "slow" in the story
notes. Well, *this* one is *slow*. If you're looking for a stroke
story, you might as well just move on. <G> This is not a sex
story. This is a full blown romance with some naughty bits.
Considering, as you will soon see, the story begins with the
protagonists 6 and 8 years of age--and this is not a pedo
story--you can see where there'd be just a wee bit of development
necessary before we get to the boinking <G> Oh, and this
puppy isn't short <G>.

However, there's enough naughty bits to call for the standard
disclaimers. If you're a kid, goodbye. If you're offended,
goodbye and get a life, please.

Copyright 2000 by the author. If nobody has to pay, you
can use it. If someone has to pay, you can't. Simple, right?

As always, comments, criticism, and raves are heartily
encouraged. The mail I got for The Perfect Six was
deliriously appreciated. And I am going to answer it all,
but I had to finish this, first, because it was burning a hole
in my brain.

Without further ado:

**********


This is a work of fiction. This never happened. This is not biography. Well,
a little of it sort of happened in a roundabout way. But most of it is
fiction, especially the ending.

However, deep inside the heart, soul, and essence of Alexandra lurks the
essence of a girl I once knew, a long time ago. This is for her.



ALEXANDRA
By Frank Downey
Fab4fan99@prodigy.net

--One--

"BRAT!"

"TOAD!"

Well, don't all 8-year-old boys think all six-year old girls are brats? And
don't 6-year-old girls think 8-year-old boys are toads? Well, most of them,
anyway. That's my experience.

And those were our respective ages when Alexandra's family moved in next
door to mine. I was 8, she was 6. However, I don't remember ever calling her
a brat. And I don't remember her calling me a toad. That was her twin sister
Cheryl, who still *is* a brat and probably still considers me a toad.

Alex was different. There were four girls in that family, and they all
competed for attention. Alex and Cheryl were the oldest, followed by Andrea,
who was 4 that first summer, and Jennifer, who was 3. I always felt bad for
their Dad, Mr. Callaghan, the poor guy was outnumbered.

Alexandra and Cheryl were fraternal twins. If you didn't get that just by
looking at them, you'd figure it out after spending seven seconds with them.
Cheryl was the boisterous one. The younger ones seemed to take Cheryl as a
role model. Like I said--competing for attention. Alex didn't do that. She
went and sat in the corner. So, it was probably no surprise that I--the most
introspective male 8-year-old you ever met--noticed Alex first.

I don't remember all that much about the first couple of years I knew them,
but I have a vivid memory of a few years later. I was 11, Alex was 9. The
neighborhood crew I ran with was in their backyard, and we were playing tag,
or something. Something loud, with Cheryl organizing and yelling and
pontificating, as usual. And I remember Alex, sitting by herself in the
corner, reading. The rest of the crew badgered her, telling her that she
should play with us, but she refused. I admired her for it. Me? Oh, I was
playing tag. An eleven-year-old boy, who'd rather read in the corner than
get dirty? Well, yeah, actually, I was. But that day, I played.

The next time I saw her in the corner of the yard, reading, I grabbed my
latest and went to join her. The crew happened upon us shortly thereafter,
organizing a game of something. I turned them down. And you can bet I got a
boatload of shit for it. I also got a sweet little smile from Alex. That
offset the razzing, and then some.

I also remember, about a year later, getting my first kiss from her. It was
in a game of Truth or Dare, where Alex had the dare, and Cheryl--of
course--dared her to kiss me. She blushed, but she did it. It was warm, and
sweet, and soft, and made me all tingly. But that was it.

--Two--

Alex and I were always friends, of a certain sort. We weren't
go-out-and-do-something friends. We were, if you're on your porch I'll come
chat with you friends. We still occasionally read together. That sort of
thing.

I suppose it started to change a little the summer before my junior year in
high school, which was the summer before Alexandra's freshman year. I went
to a private high school, but she was going to attend the local public one.
I turned 16 that summer, just after Alex turned 14. We both had summer jobs.
And, it seemed that our schedules somehow coincided a lot, as we used to
arrive home at the same time quite a bit.

It just seemed natural to settle on one or the other's front porch for a
chat. The chats got longer, and longer. We'd sit there for hours, just
talking. We'd talk about our jobs. I'd talk about high school. She'd talk
about being worried about high school, mainly because of Cheryl, who was
blonde and was well on her way to being a candidate for a Playboy
centerfold, and who flirted with anything in pants. Alex was described by
most people as "cute". She was introverted. Under the glaring light of
Cheryl, she could feel like a gnat. I think I was the first person she
discussed this with. It worried her.

I know I was the first person she ever showed her short stories to. And she
was the first person that I shared my poems and songs with. And, I made her
laugh. Alex *never* laughed. Smile, sure. Chuckle, giggle, yeah. But not
*laugh*. I was doing an impression of a customer that had been in the store
I worked in, and she started howling. Great big belly laughs. I found, over
the summer, that I made her laugh quite a bit. Nobody else could. It was
nice to be able to do that.

When school started, our nighttime chats became less frequent. That was by
necessity. My workload was brutal, hers only slightly less so. But, we still
made sure to hook up a couple times a week for a talk. Her worst fears about
Hurricane Cheryl were coming true--she was often left in her wake. I tried to
reassure her.

It helped that she got asked out on a couple of dates. She had a few
short-lived boyfriends that year. I had a girl that I dated most of the fall
and into the winter. And we'd talk about that, too. That was actually rather
humorous. These relationships were typical high-school stuff--rocky as a
dinghy in an ocean storm. I'd complain about Marie, and Alex would say, "I'd
never do that to you." She'd complain about one of hers, and I'd say, "What
a jerk. Doesn't he know how to treat a girl like you?" I suppose, if we had
been older, we could have read the signs better. But we didn't.


-----Three------

Anyhow, by the time winter turned to spring, both of us were, again,
unattached. And complaining to one another about it. However, I had a bigger
problem. There, looming in the not-distant-enough distance like a great big
anxiety attack, was one of the prime milestones  (or millstones) of a High
School Junior's existence: The Prom. And I *had* to go. Tiger and Bill would
never let me forget it if I didn't.

Tiger and Bill? They were my best friends, almost from the very start of
freshman year. The three of us were tighter than an overtuned guitar string.
The Three Musketeers. The Three Stooges. Huey, Duey, and Louie. Kirk, Spock,
and McCoy. The Beatles, minus Ringo. That was us.

And they were going to the prom, and would take it as a personal affront if
I were not there with them. After all, what are Moe and Larry without Curly?
The Beatles could live without Ringo, but John? I tried to point out to them
that if they included their dates they could be all *four* Beatles, but that
didn't wash. It was The Event of The Year. The Third of Three was expected
to be there.

Easy for them to say. They had dates. They had girlfriends, actually. I had
nothing, and time was a-gettin' on. And no *way* was I going stag. Then
Tiger made the suggestion: "Hey, you don't need to be in love to go to the
prom. Why don't you ask one of the neighborhood girls you run with? You
know, just as friends."

It was a capital idea. Now, I knew who Tiger had in mind--a couple of the
girls from up the street that I ran with. He knew them. And, yes, one or two
of them would be glad to go, as long as I did the whole "just as friends"
preamble. One, in particular, I knew would go and that I would have a good
time with.

But I didn't ask her, because Tiger's innocent suggestion had made me think
of something completely different. I didn't ask any of the girls up the
street. I asked Alexandra.

And there was no preamble. No qualifications. I just asked her, "Alex, would
you go to my prom with me?" And she said, "Yes." And smiled.

It's funny--walking back to my house, I wasn't filled with relief that I had
finally gotten a date for the prom and Bill and Tiger would get off my back.
All I could think of was--how the hell did I not notice before this how
pretty she is when she smiles?

--Four---

The prom was just fine, fine, fine. The six of us did the whole limo bit. I
went over to get Alex before the limo showed up, and, when she walked out of
the house, she took my breath away. The shoulder-length ringlets of dark
brown curls she had had since she was six were piled up on her head. Her
lightly applied makeup--which she never wore--accented the twinkle in her
chocolate brown eyes. Her eyes. HER EYES! I had known her since she was SIX
how on EARTH had I never noticed her eyes before? The lavender dress was
fairly low-cut. Since when did Alex have cleavage? She was very
petite--always had been--but she filled out her dress just fine, thank you
very much. And then that smile again. Did the little girl next door, my pal,
my chat buddy, change overnight? Or had I finally woken up?

All four parental units took copious amounts of pictures. I was glad, glad,
glad. I wanted copies. I was going to carry a few around with me, and the
next jerk that called Cheryl "the pretty twin" and Alex "the smart twin" was
gonna get an eyeful of THIS. Not that I'd blame them for not noticing. It
had only taken me nine years, right?

We piled in the limo. There with Tiger and Bill and their dates, Alex's
innate shyness asserted itself. Luckily, not for long. I had warned the guys
that she might go into a shell at first. Hey, they're good guys. They're my
best friends. They and their dates helped me draw her out. I performed my
special magic trick--I made her laugh--and she found a second person that
could make her laugh--Tiger. Tiger can make a fencepost bark like a seal.
Both of their dates were sweet, and much bonding commenced. By the time we
arrived at the prom, Alex had discarded her shell for the duration and the
Three Amigos (plus female accompaniment) were ready for a Time.

And a Time we did have. We ate. We danced. Tiger and I made Alex laugh until
she cried. We badgered the DJ to play Born to Run so Bill and I could sing
it Really Really Loud while making an effort to look like we were trying to
dance. This made Alex laugh, too. Then we danced some more.

There was, of course, an after-prom party. We had the limo until the wee
hours, so what did we care? I accepted a beer (a very rare event.) Alex
accepted a wine cooler (an unheard of event--in fact, it was her first.) We
didn't drink enough to get drunk, but we got happy. Somehow--I don't even
remember how--we ended up on a couch with my arm around her and her head
snuggling into my chest. It just seemed the natural thing to do when I put
my hand under her chin, tilted it upward, and leaned down to kiss her. It
seemed just as natural when I did it again, a few minutes later. And again.
And it seemed just as natural, when I took her home, standing on her porch,
to wrap my arms around her--as she wrapped hers around me--and *really* kiss
her.


--Five--

So, that's where It All Started, right? Well, not exactly. For a while, it
seemed like we were both scared that what had happened that night was due to
Prom Pixie Dust and couldn't be recreated in the real world, or something
like that.

But *something* had definitely happened. Not only did our porchside chats
increase in frequency--and length--now, it seemed like we were always doing
something together. If I was going to the store, it seemed natural to go
over and ask her if she wanted to go. If she was going to the ice cream
stand, it was natural to ask me. If I wanted to go for a drive, I grabbed
her. Movies? Shopping? We'd always see if the other wanted to go. And, it
was natural that, when I scored two very coveted tickets to see Bruce
Springsteen in concert, I asked her to go with me.

It was Springsteen that did it. First of all, there was absolutely no
logical reason why I should have asked Alex to go with me. I had plenty of
BossManiac friends that would have cut off an arm for that ticket--I don't
think Bill has forgiven me yet--and I decide to ask Alex, who had only the
slightest inkling who Bruce Springsteen even was. Her musical tastes ran to
Irish folk music, and classical. I told myself that I was doing it to
initiate the unaware. That, although it might be fun to attend with someone
else who knew all the words to Darkness on the Edge of Town and wasn't shy
about singing along, it would be more fun to suck an unwary nonbeliever into
the Church of Bruce. While there was a kernel of truth in that, it wasn't
the real reason. And it certainly wasn't the reason she eagerly agreed to
go.

Somehow, it had happened that, if I was going somewhere, I wanted her
along--and she wanted to go with me. And, if she were going somewhere, she
wanted me along--and I wanted to go with her. The destination was almost
unimportant. And this little fact of life had snuck up on us so gradually
that neither of us had even realized it yet.

Anyhow, there we were, seeing "BROOOOOOOOOCE SPRINGTEEEEN.......AND  THE E!
STREET! BAAAAAAANNNND!!!!!!" on their tour in 1980, supporting The River
album (still my favorite.) It was stupendous. It was mind-boggling. It was
The Greatest Show On Earth. I knew all the words. I sang along. I shouted
myself hoarse. Alex? She started the night with a "So what's this Bruce
thing all about, anyway?" look on her face. By the time they did "Rosalita"
she was standing on a chair. Yelling a lot. I knew the words, she didn't, so
when they did "Thunder Road", I made sure I sang the "Show a little faith,
there's magic in the night" line right at her. Because it was true. And I
was rewarded with That Smile. Times ten.

She babbled the whole ride home about how great it was. Another convert for
BossMania. I walked her to her porch, and, instead of running in the door,
she grabbed me. And kissed me, long and deep. I was breathless--and I know
she was, too.

Bruce Pixie Dust? I hoped not. This time I was going to test the theory.
Well, first, I had to make sure the convert was taken care of, so I went out
the next day, headed to the record store, and bought Alex a complete
collection of Bruce. I presented them to her, she squealed delightedly,
kissed me again--and slammed the door in my face. And sheepishly opened it a
second later, inviting me in to listen with her. I laughed, let her go
explore the Majesty of Bruce by herself, and told her I'd see her later.

It was that night, on my porch, one of our chat sessions. Except there wasn'
t much chatting. I pulled her close, and kissed her. And kept kissing her.
We broke the kiss, and I could feel her breath on my cheek. She reached down
and planted little kisses on my neck. I entwined my fingers in her curls.
She rubbed my back. Then she looked in my eyes again, and I kissed her
again.

I think that one lasted about three weeks.

When we finally broke the kiss, and caught our breath, Alex leaned over and
whispered in my ear, "My God, I've never been kissed like that in my life."

I just laughed. Then, she grabbed my face in her hands, looked into my eyes,
and said, "So, are you going to do it again, or do I have to beg?" I didn't
waste any time.

We necked for a while. It was glorious. Then she had to go inside.

---Six--------

The next afternoon, Alex came and knocked on the door. I opened it for her,
and she walked right past me into the kitchen, grabbed my car keys off the
table, handed them to me, and said, "Let's go for a ride."

We drove for a bit, and then she said, "Just exactly what happened last
night?"

"Well, you *were* there. And it seemed to me that you were a willing
participant."

She giggled. "Very willing. But, what I meant was, is something happening
between us?"

"That's a question, isn't it? Well, from my end there is."

"FINALLY!" She yelled.

"Huh?"

"Well, I was thinking about it, and I realized something. I think I've only
admitted it to myself recently, but.....I've been in love with you since that
Truth or Dare game."

I think I just about drove off the road. I managed to control myself, and
pulled into the first parking lot I could find. I found an out-of-the-way
spot, turned to her, and said, "You *are* kidding."

"Oh, it just dawned on me recently. But, think about it. You're the only guy
I know who's like me. You're sweet, you're kind. You make me laugh. When I'm
with you, I'm happy. You make me feel whole. And I couldn't really define it
until now, but I've known it since I was ten. And, I think I've been waiting
for you to do what you did last night for a very long time."

"Oh, man."

"Don't worry, Chris, you're timing's perfect. I probably would have run
screaming out of sheer terror if you had done that any earlier, no matter
how much I wanted you to."

I laughed. "Well, I'm slow on the uptake. It took me until the first time I
made you laugh."

"That long ago? Why didn't you say something?"

"Why didn't YOU say something?"

We looked at each other. And cracked up laughing. "We're quite a pair, aren'
t we?" I said.

"Yup. See--we even get terrified together, without even knowing it."

I took a deep breath. "I love you, Alexandra."

"I love you, too, Christopher."

That was all that needed to be said. From that moment on, we were A Couple.
It was understood.


----Seven------

Actually, considering we had been close to inseparable for some time by
then, not much changed. Except, when we walked to the store, we held hands.
When we grabbed a couch and a couple of books to read, we did so with her
head in my lap. And we still talked--we just kissed a lot more in between
sentences.

I suppose the proof was late that summer, when she had a penpal that she had
corresponded with for years come to visit for the first time. She was from
Ireland, and she came over for a couple weeks. Alex introduced me to her as
"Chris, my boyfriend." That made it official.

Of course, there were a few other changes in our relationship. Alex was a
Good Girl, I had known that from the start. Virginity was saved for the
wedding night. Of course, there's a huge gulf between kissing and
intercourse, but I was unsure how much of that gulf she was willing to
traverse. We never talked about it.
I was unsure when it came to that. I suspected that I was her first *real*
kiss, and I knew for a fact that she had never been touched. To be honest,
both of those statements were true of me, also. It was the blind leading the
blind.

To this day, neither of us knows if she sent out a subtle sign that I
caught, or if I just guessed right, but, one day, in October, we were
kissing. She was sitting indian-style on the couch, facing me, and I was
twisted, half facing her, and our lips were locked. I had my hand resting
lightly on her stomach, and I just slid it up. I half-expected her to remove
it. She didn't. She sighed, and pressed her torso forward, as if to increase
the pressure my hand was putting on her breast. So I did it for her--pressing
against her breast through her shirt and bra. She practically stuck her
tongue down my throat, and then she broke the kiss, concentrating on what I
was doing to her breasts. She leaned back, so I could get my other hand up
there. She sighed contentedly and gave me a smile, different than her usual
one--but just as good.

After I was done, she looked up at me with those shining eyes, and said,
"Oh, goody. Another way to make me feel good. You just keep coming up with
those, sweetie."

 From there, things progressed rapidly. The next night, out parking, I had
her shirt completely off. A couple nights after that, she shocked me by
reaching for my belt buckle, while I had contemplated trying to get in *her*
pants but was scared to try. There had been a limit she had set, but, beyond
that, she was willing to try anything..

As I quickly found out, when she engulfed my member in her mouth. I was
shocked. Stunned. And harder than I had ever been in my life. I had jerked
off, of course. What teenaged boy doesn't? But, that was nothing like
*this*. She was inexperience, unpracticed, and I had to hiss `Watch the
teeth!' once. But it didn't matter. It was fantastic. She was fantastic.
After a couple of false starts, she was bobbing her head up and down like
someone who had actually done this before.  I felt my climax building,
warned her, she ignored me, and I came--in a torrent--right into her mouth. I
was more shocked and more stunned.

She climbed up next to me in the back of my station wagon, a little
satisfied smile on her face. "Well, that's a bit of a different taste. I
think I like it, though."

I stared at her. "Alex, you amaze me."

"What, you think us shy, demure virgin types don't get horny?" she laughed.

"Oh, I get it. You just did that to me so I'd return the favor," I teased
her.

She blushed. "Oh, no, Chris....I didn't mean...no, I've always wanted to do that
for you...no, I didn't expect......."

"Relax," I interrupted. "Do you think I have even the slightest problem with
returning the favor? Lie back."

I pulled off her pants and panties, and got my first ever look of a girl's
pussy. I worshiped it. I worshiped her. And then, I worshiped her, and it,
with my tongue. I'm a pussy addict. My favorite participatory sport is
cunnilingus. And it all started that night.

I found her clit and massaged it. I ran my tongue up and down her pussy. Her
heavy breathing got ragged, and then turned into little squeals. Then she
came, bouncing up and down so hard she almost broke my nose. Not that I
would have minded--or noticed, for that matter.

"Nnnnnnnngggggggggggg....." was the first thing that came out of her mouth
after she recovered the ability to breathe. Her eyes fluttered open, and she
saw me there, grinning at her.

"Y'know," she said. "I've had orgasms before. Playing with myself. But
never, ever, ever like THAT."

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing a couple minutes ago."

That opened the floodgates. We became the First Couple of Oral Sex and
Mutual Masturbation. The barrier was still down on the other thing, but who
cared? And there were chips in that barrier. "I'm waiting until I'm married"
gradually became "I'm waiting until I'm ready." So, ready could mean
tomorrow, it could mean three years from now. As long as I got to worship
that beautiful pussy of hers, I could wait until the earth spun off its
axis, for all I cared. And she knew that. The sex was great because it was
based on trust. You don't have sex with someone two to three times a week
and not ever have actual intercourse unless you trust that person
completely. She knew I respected that barrier, and would never attempt to
tear it down.

It wasn't all sex, it's just that the sex was new. You don't start a
relationship with someone you've been friends with for nine years and have
it just based on sex--it's impossible. I knew Alex, inside and out, and she
knew me. We studied together. We went for walks, or drives. We tried to go
out to eat at least once a week. We still read together, her lying on the
couch, head on my lap. It was, looking back now on it, idyllic. I spent a
lot of my senior year in high school with Alex.

Of course, there was a looming problem.

College.

--eight--

I had started looking at colleges the previous year. I thought I might want
to get away. We lived in the northeast, and there was a school in the
Midwest that I took a liking to. This school was my first choice before
Junior year ever ended. By the time it came time to actually apply to
colleges, my life had changed.
Alex, of course, wasn't going anywhere. She still had two years of high
school left to go.

She encouraged me. My reasons for getting away were valid, and she thought
it would be a good thing. I applied to some local schools, and got into
them, but also got into the one in the Midwest. Alex told me, "If it's meant
to be, then it's meant to be. I fully plan on being here waiting for you
when you get back." So, I decided to go.

But that was six months away, and now was all about Alex. We had a wonderful
first Christmas. I flooded her room with flowers on Valentine's Day. She
baked soda bread and made Irish stew and took me to a step dancing festival
for St Patrick's day. We studied, listening to Springsteen. We fooled around
in the back of my station wagon. We'd leave silly notes in each other's
mailbox. She told me her dreams, and I told her mine, and we found out that
we were each in the other's.

And, of course, there was another Prom. The Biggie, the Senior prom. There
was no scrambling for a date this year. Tiger and Bill still had the same
girlfriends, so it was the same cast of characters, The Three plus Three.
And, instead of ending with a first soul-kiss on a front porch, it ended up
with me waking up next to Alex in a hotel room we had rented. We had fallen
asleep after a wonderful couple hours of Everything But. That's right, I
slept with her without *sleeping* with her. Waking up next to her, seeing
her beauty in the morning light, was worth the price of admission.

It was a wonderful summer after that. Knowing that I was going away in the
fall, we spent as much time as possible together that summer. My Dad made a
joke about wondering if we went to the bathroom together.

The week before I left, she offered "it" to me. But it was halfhearted.

"Y'know," she said, "I've been thinking about letting you have my virginity
before you leave."

"Do you want to?"

"Part of me does. Really bad, as a matter of fact."

"I can understand that. But I'm not taking it until *all* of you wants to."

She sat for a minute, then just looked up at me and said, "I love you. When
I do give it away, it's yours. I promise. And I don't think you'll have to
wait too much longer."

A week later, I was a thousand miles away.

-----nine-----

I liked school. I liked being away from home. I made a lot of new friends. I
enjoyed seeing another part of the country. It was cool.

But I missed Alex.

I met Karen. We became fast friends. When I got to know her I found out that
she was...unusual. She was practically a nympho, with a special fetish for
taking guys' virginity. She found out I was cherry, and put the full court
press on. I told her, "sorry, I'm saving that for Alex." She teased me
mercilessly, and then told me that it was the sweetest most romantic thing
she had ever heard--and then went back to teasing me mercilessly about it. I
didn't mind. We were good friends. She really did respect my
decision--despite the teasing--and she was a great kid, lots of fun to be
with. I arranged to have her pluck my roommate, who was *very* nice to me
for a week afterwards.

And, I wrote a lot of letters. I pretty much kept a diary of my life the
first half of that first semester, but I didn't put in in a notebook. I put
it in an envelope and mailed it to Alex. She did the same. I ran to the
mailbox every day. I know she did, too. We talked on the phone once a week,
on Sunday night. It usually spilled over into the wee hours of Monday
morning.

The letters got a little less frequent around the end of October. I didn't
mind, really. Writing the kinds of letters we were writing was time
consuming, and we had work to do. The tone of the letters never changed. Our
phone conversations never changed.

Until Thanksgiving Day. I couldn't come home for Thanksgiving--not enough
money, not enough time. I called her on the day, and got her right in the
middle of the meal. Normally, that wouldn't have been much of a problem.
However, she sounded distracted--and I could hear Cheryl yelling in the
background, "Did you tell him yet? Did you tell him?" I asked what that was
all about, and she made something up. She cut the call off in record time,
promising to call me back later. She never did.

Three days later, I got The Letter.

There was another guy. She had met him through Cheryl. Now, you have to
understand about Cheryl. Cheryl changed boyfriends like most people changed
socks. She also gave most of them what they were most interested in. And she
hated the whole Chris-and-Alex thing. She constantly badgered her sister
about "throwing her youth away" tied down in a serious relationship--now, a
long-distance serious relationship. I also believe she was jealous. I know
for a fact that she was a shrew. She'd like nothing better than to break
Alex and I up. With me a thousand miles away, she saw her opportunity.

So, Alex had been dating this guy for about a month. Now, we had no problem
with that. I pretty much "dated" Karen at school. We went out all the time.
Neither Alex nor I expected the other to spend our time apart walled up like
hermits. I had no problem with her dating.

I had a big problem with her surrendering her virginity to someone that wasn
't me.

She was lonely, and horny, so she let him get a little physical. Then she
let him get a lot physical. Then he was over her, insistent, begging, and
she was saying "no, no, no" and all of a sudden she found herself saying
"yes".

Oh, she was pushed. No doubt about it. Do you think I couldn't have pushed
her? After all our times of mutual gratification, don't you think that
barrier of hers was paper-thin? It was. It would have only taken the
slightest push on my part, and it would have crumbled. I had known that for
close to a year. I swore to myself I would never do that.

And now, someone else had.

She had surrendered her virginity. And mine was still ingloriously intact.

The rest of the letter trailed off into tear stains, half scribbled
apologies, pleas for forgiveness, etc, etc. When I read the letter some time
later, I realized that she never did say that she wanted to break up. She
also hinted that this guy had been pushed right out of the picture shortly
after the Event. But, I didn't pick up that subtext right away, that first
time I read it. I took it as a breakup. And a horrible, agonizing betrayal.

I reacted maturely, calmly, completely in control of my emotions. Right? Who
am I kidding. I was eighteen years old. I LOST it.

Tore my half of the room apart. Screamed. Cried. Called her every nasty name
I could think of, in every language that I knew them, and even made up a few
of my own. Then I had one of my of-age floormates buy me a bottle, and I got
toasted. Then, I called Karen.

That was a no-brainer. I was betrayed. I was horny. Karen was willing. She
was surprised. Thought I was saving myself for Alex. "Yeah, and I thought
Alex was saving herself for me. I was wrong." I showed her the letter.
Karen, bless her heart, knew this was a revenge-fuck, and still didn't mind.
She told me she'd help me out.

It was good. She was great. The girl had talent, no doubt about it. The
orgasms were fantastic. She knew what she was doing. But it wasn't what I
had expected. It wasn't profound. The earth didn't move. The stars didn't
realign themselves. Hey, I enjoyed myself. It was a lot of fun, Karen made
sure of that. I was satiated, completely.

But I wasn't content. Because it wasn't Alex.

---ten---

I spent the next week in a fog. Then I got a surprising phone call.

It was from Andrea, the middle Callaghan sister.

Andrea had started life trying to be Cheryl Two, and quickly found that that
didn't completely work for her. She was still boisterous, fun-loving, the
life of the party, but she had avoided becoming a manipulative contemptible
bitch. She was a good kid. She and Alex never quite understood one another,
but I helped, because I loved Alex and was inordinately fond of Andrea. I
considered her the kid sister I didn't have, and she felt the same way. And,
despite their wildly different personalities, there *was* a bond, a strong
one, between Andrea and Alex.

Which is why Andrea called me. She was worried about her sister. She had
managed to drag the whole story out of Alex.

"Chris, it's Andi. Look, you've got to *do* something!"

"What do you want me to do, kid?"

"I don't know, but *something*. Alex can't eat. She can't sleep. Cheryl is
walking around here like the cat that ate the fucking canary, and I want to
shove my fist down her throat. And Alex is a walking pile of depression. She
reads your letters and cries. She looks at your picture and cries. My
parents, as usual, are oblivious. But, Chris, right now she *hates* herself.
How can you keep getting up in the morning if you hate yourself?"

"Andi, you know what happened?"

"Yeah. And I know you must have been devastated. But, dammit, Chris, she is
too. I know she did this. I know it was her fault. I also know if there was
any way to take it back, she would. I also know she still loves you. And I
know damn well that you still love her."

"Yeah, I do." I took a deep breath. "Look, Andi, I need a sign from her.
Something. Doesn't have to be big. But I need something. I need her to take
the first step, even if it's a baby one."

"I'll work on it."

It took a week for Andi to bolster Alex's courage, but a week later, there
was a card in my box. It was a small one, which said "Thinking of You" on
the outside. Inside, she had written,

My dearest Christopher,

Words can not say how sorry I am.
I can only hope that someday you can forgive me
Please don't hate me, because I love you,
And I always will.

Alex

I read it, and read it, and reread it again. I think I hugged it a little
bit. Then, I composed my reply. Since I was flying home in a week for
Christmas break, I kept mine short and simple. I just didn't want to leave
her hanging until I returned. I bought a small card, and wrote,

Alexandra, my love,

If love exists,
All things are possible.
Does love still exist?
It does here.

See you in a week.

Chris

---eleven----

I got off the plane, and looked for my parents. They knew the flight, the
time, all that, and were coming to pick me up. Or so I thought. Unbeknownst
to me, Alex had gotten her driver's license two weeks before. Also
unbeknownst to me, she had convinced my mom to perform a Switcheroo.

I spotted her first, and my heart skipped a beat. I think I thought she was
an illusion at first, since I wasn't expecting her to be here. She was
looking in the other direction, and didn't see me coming. I think I ran. I
dropped my carry-ons, picked her up, swung her around, and held on for dear
life. As a reward, I got The Smile, and then I got a hot, heavy,
weak-in-the-knees soul kiss in the middle of thousands of people in a busy
airport.

We talked on the way home. Then--since it was too cold on the porch--we went
to my room at home and talked some more. I forgave her before she asked me
to. I told her about Karen, and she said she understood. She cried, I cried,
we held each other, and we kissed a lot.

I had made an appointment with one of the local colleges to inquire about
transferring. It looked like it would be completely doable. Alex was a
little upset, because she was afraid that I was transferring home because I
didn't trust her any more.

"Not at all," I told her. "It's got nothing to do with trust. It's got
everything to do with love. I just can't bear to be that far away from you
anymore." That, she wholeheartedly agreed with.

Christmas Eve, Tiger and Bill came over. Their previous girlfriends had been
high school flings, so they showed up with their new college girlfriends. I
was still with Alex. Thank God. The girls were very sweet, there was more
bonding, and we ended up drinking too much eggnog and going out around my
neighborhood singing Christmas Carols. We weren't that bad. Heck, if we had
been sober, we might have even remembered all the words. People threw
money--or tomatoes--and the proverbial Good Time Was Had By All. Alex and I
exchanged gifts at midnight.

And, for New Year's weekend, my parents went away.

Alex came over on New Year's Eve. I made spaghetti with marinara sauce--Mom's
recipe always works--and we broke into my parents' wine stash. We ate, we
drank, we talked. And then I took her upstairs.

It started like it always had. I took her shirt off, and played with her
sensitive breasts. She was fairly small, but that was OK, because I had
found I could fit almost a whole breast in my mouth and still tease the
nipple with my tongue, a little maneuver that drove Alex wild.

Then, I moved down. Boy, had I missed worshiping her this way. She was
soaked. It was heavenly. I curled my tongue into a little funnel and probed
her entrance. I brought my tongue up and down her pussy lips and flicked it
at her clit. Then I settled in on her clit, and started moving a finger in
and out of  her hole. She went wild--even for her--thrusting her hips at my
finger and face. She gasped. She moaned. She gripped the sheets, then
gripped my head, practically tearing a couple clumps of hair out. Did I
mind? Are you kidding? It was fantastic. She had never been all that verbal,
but, when she came, I got a very satisfying "oooooOOOOOOOOOOYYEEEEEE!" from
her.

I crawled up beside her, and she pulled me into her. "Chris, I want you to
make love to me. I need you to. I need you to make the hurt go away. I need
you to make it all better. I need you. I need you in me, I need it so bad.."

"Sweetheart, you *don't* have to beg."

She smiled at that, but kept it up as I adjusted myself, murmuring, "..need
you...I need my love inside me....need it so bad....oh I need it....."

She got it. It took some effort. She was tight. It was worth the effort. I
finally got myself buried to the hilt, and rested for a minute. She looked
up at me, and gave me That Smile. Times a million.

I gathered her up to me, and started moving, in and out. This was so
intense, and it was my second time, and I had no illusions about how long it
would take. Not very.

Alex lowered her face to my neck, kissing it lightly, as I gently thrust in
and out of her. Then she moved her lips up to my ear, and whispered. "Oh, my
love, I waited so long for this. This feels so right...oh, I needed you so
bad....I could do this forever."

I chuckled and whispered back. "Unfortunately, *I* can't."

She giggled, and said, "It's OK. I don't mind. I already had one. It's your
turn." Her breath was getting more and more ragged. "It's OK, Chris. Cum
inside me. I want you to. Cum for me, Chris." By this time, her words were
punctuated by gasps, and I knew she was getting close, but I just couldn't
hold out. I did what she told me to do. I came, spectacularly, up inside
her.

As I lie on top of her, still buried in her, I realized something. I was
still hard.

She realized it, too. "Hmmm," she giggled, "seems to me like somebody's not
done yet."

"Alex, you're a miracle worker," I said. She giggled again. "Let's try
something." Without disengaging, I put my arms around her back, and rolled
us over.

"Hmm. This is interesting," she mused. She adjusted her legs and arms to get
some leverage. She ended up sitting up straight, hands on my stomach for
leverage. Then she started moving herself up and down on my member.
"Oooooooh, I think I *like* this!"

I put my hands on her hips to steady her. "I think I like this myself."

"Ummmm.....oohhhh.....That's cause I'm doing all the work....."

"No, that's not it at all. It's because I get to watch you."

I wasn't kidding. She had her ringlets of hair pulled back off of her face
with a bow, but a few had escaped, and curly strands framed her face and
snaked down her neck. Her face was flushed. Her eyes were closed. At one
point, she bit her lower lip, showing me the small gap between her two top
front teeth, a feature that I had always found endearing. Her chest heaved
from exertion and excitement. She started murmuring something. I couldn't
hear at first. Then it got a little louder; "oh God it's so good it's so
good it's so good oh God oh God......"

I could tell she was close, so I strengthened my upward thrusts in time with
her downward ones. She groaned, and then dropped her arms by her sides. I
increased my leverage on her hips as she approached her climax, and she lost
control and flopped around. When it hit, she fell forward and lied on my
chest for it, moaning and writhing on me as her pussy spasmed around my
cock. I wrapped my arms around her. It was fantastic. She was in no
condition to do much of anything after that, so I flipped her over and
finished myself off, enhanced by her dreamily whispering "I love you..I love
you....,"in my ear the whole time.

--twelve--

We were cuddling after that, my arms wrapped around her, when I felt her
shiver. I gradually realized she was shaking. Her whole body was convulsing.
Then, I realized why--she was crying into my chest.

"Alex?"

"Oh, Chris, I'm so ashamed."

"What, about this? You are kidding, right?"

"No, not about this." Her voice got quieter. "This should have been my first
time. You should have been my first. "

"And you should have been mine. There's no use crying over spilled milk."

"Yeah, but at least yours was fun. Mine was a disaster."

She had never talked about it. We talked about *us*, but not him, or that. I
sensed she needed to, so I let her. "It really was a disaster, you know. I
had let my hormones get the best of me. When he touched me, I got so horny,
because it had been so long, and I was ready by then. You were going to get
it when you came home; I had already decided that. But he touched me, and I
needed...*something*....and I think I let him go all the way because by that
point I desperately needed to get off and nothing else he was doing was
making it happen, because he had no clue. And even doing *that* didn't get
me off. He was horrible. And I felt like dirt the whole time, wishing I was
with you. I even tried to fantasize I was with you, but I couldn't, because
every inch of my body knew that I *wasn't*. I regretted doing it before I
even started, but I couldn't stop myself. And Cheryl made it worse. She
gloated. She spent a week saying to me `little Miss perfect finally gives up
her precious virginity, and it's not to her own boyfriend!" And worse." She
sighed. "Then, I'm here with *you*, our first time, and it's everything I
could have dreamed about plus more. It was fantastic. I haven't come down to
earth yet." She looked at me. "I made you wait forever. Now I wonder why I
made you wait. Especially when it turns out that I couldn't."

"First of all, it was worth the wait. Second of all, I really don't care
anymore that I wasn't your first. I am kinda hoping, however, that I *will*
be your last."

I must have said the right thing, because the version of That Smile I was
treated to could have lit up four star systems.

"Alex," I told her, "I know you as well as you know yourself. I've known all
along that beneath that calm exterior lies raging passions. I suppose I
shouldn't be surprised. I'm just glad you're bringing those passions into
*my* bed."

"And, my dearest Alex, before I go back to school, I'm buying you a
vibrator."

She was still giggling when I drifted off to sleep.

--thirteen--

I awoke the nest morning with somebody's hands wrapped around my morning
Woody and someone sitting on my legs. I fluttered my eyes open, and there
was Alex, straddling me. "Hello, sleepyhead. Glad you woke up. You certainly
wouldn't want to sleep through this, would you?"

"You don't waste any time, do you?" I asked her.

"Hey, we've had a year and a half of foreplay." She sank down on me. What a
way to wake up.

Alex was confirming a discovery she had made the previous night. She liked
the female superior position. She liked it a lot. I was not complaining.
And, I made a discovery about her. Alex makes slow, tender, gentle love in
the morning.

She straddled me for well over an hour. She cuddled me. She kissed me, and
nuzzled my neck, and ran her fingers through my hair. I rubbed her back, and
played with her breasts. It was like making out, except I had my cock buried
deep in her pussy. Sometimes she rocked back and forth. Sometimes she lifted
up, and settled deliberately back down, and then did it again 30 seconds
later. Sometimes she just let it be in her. It was unhurried, calm, gentle,
altogether indescribable.

In the middle of it, I reached up and whispered in her ear, "I didn't think
it was possible to be this close to another person."

"I woke up," she said, "and decided that I wanted to crawl inside you and
wrap you all around me."

When we finally came, it wasn't an explosion. It was more like a cool,
gentle summer rainstorm at twilight taking the edge off of a blazing hot
day. It was something I'll never forget as long as I live.

We had all day, all night, and most of the next day before my parents came
home, and we made up for a lot of lost time.

--fourteen--

We explored each other as much as possible before it was time for me to go
back to school. I actually did buy her a vibrator, much to her amusement,
and told her that she had to confess in her letters whenever she used it.
She confessed a lot, much to *my* amusement. She called it The Substitute.
She used to write, "You made me so horny over the phone that, as soon as I
hung up, I had to use The Substitute."

The transfer was approved, so when I came home to her arms in May, it was
for good. And in time for *her* junior prom.  My new school was 45 minutes
away. Not quite next door, but close enough. She spent so much time there
with me that she fell in love with the place, and decided to go there
herself. Of course, the first year I was there, she was still in high
school. I put a ring on her finger that Christmas. Her parents had a slight
conniption--how many high school seniors go back from vacation with an
engagement ring?--but we promised them a long engagement. We were waiting
until we both got out of school, but we wanted to make the promise to one
another.

I graduated school, and got a good job right away. I moved into an
apartment, and Alex moved in with me. Two years later, she graduated.

The wedding that summer, as befits us, was a Time. Tiger was the best man,
Bill was an usher, and Alex chose Andrea as maid of honor, which delighted
me. Cheryl had thought herself entitled to the position, as befitting a
twin,and had a snit about it, but Alex told her, "Refresh my memory. Which
one of you tried to break us up, and which one helped us get back together?"
Cheryl didn't even show up. She wasn't missed.

So, maybe not the first, but The Last, forever and always. And, getting
another look at That Smile was extra special, when it was accompanied by, "I
do."

--epilogue--

Alex still makes sweet, gentle, tender love in the morning.

We have three kids. Sasha is ten, Bruce (of course) is seven, and Katrina is
five. Sasha has a crush on the boy next door, and still doesn't get why that
makes her parents laugh so much.

And there was this tour, last year. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band,
reunited. We each have our own computer, in adjoining rooms (hers in the
bedroom, mine in my study) and the MP3 bootlegs of shows from the tour were
popping up days after each show. We'd play a game of "who can find what",
yelling at each other through the doorway.

"I got Copenhagen and Berlin!"

"Oh yeah, well I got the first three Meadowlands shows!"

Did we attend a show ourselves? What, are you kidding? Fourth row seats, got
off the internet, and though I joked about having to auction Katrina off to
pay for them, it was worth every penny. They played all the good stuff and
Alex caught one of Miami Steve's guitar picks. It was, as it always is, a
Time.

Bruce was ending every show with a new song. It's called "Land of Hope and
Dreams." We knew all the words, of course, from all those bootlegs. There's
a couplet in there: "Dreams shall not be thwarted, faith will be rewarded."
You got to admit, the man has a way with a lyric, because truer words were
never spoken.

And, every time I sing those words to Alex, I get--you guessed it--That Smile.

And I never get tired of it.

---fin---

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+