index

Message-ID: <39463asstr$1038366602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "smilodon" <smilodonREMOVE@postmaster.co.uk>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 26 Nov 2002 23:09:48 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Story: Losing It (mf.first.rom)
Date: Tue, 26 Nov 2002 22:10:02 -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


Losing It


Do you know what it's like to have something take over your whole life? To
be so obsessed that every waking thought leads only in a single direction? I
do. My preoccupation was the usual one for a sixteen year-old male - sex -
but I was a particularly suitable case for treatment. What really gripped me
was that I seemed to be the last of my entire class to have a proper
girlfriend. To hear the others talk, you'd believe they spent every night in
some incredible bonk-fest. Not me. I wasn't getting any - had never got any!
It wasn't for want of trying. I'd come close on a couple of occasions, if
you'll forgive the pun. There was this one girl who was supposed to be
really easy, mad for it. Naturally I was the one who bombed out. I got her
to the bedroom and then received that "What kind of girl do you think I am?"
line just as my hand was disappearing into her knickers. I didn't answer
that one; it must have been totally bloody obvious! Not even a moron in a
hurry could have mistaken my intentions. Still, crashed and burned, again!

There I was, sixteen years old and pure as the driven snow. Everyone else
had steady girlfriends and seemed to be at it like demented rabbits. Not me.
All alone with a dog-eared Penthouse and a box of Kleenex as my only
consolation. Something needed to be done! I mean, it wasn't as if I was that
bad looking. Some of my pals were total mobile zit-farms. OK, I'll confess
to the odd infrequent blemish - the kind that usually erupts on a Friday
night and you make it worse by messing with it - but other than that I was
mostly presentable. I had the regulation number of eyes, ears and teeth. I
just didn't have, couldn't get, a girl. The problem was the usual prime
cause of teen-age angst. The girls I fancied didn't fancy me, and the ones
who did, well, I didn't want to know. No wonder Auden called it the 'age of
mirrors and muddle.'

It was probably because I was so obviously desperate. I must have been
transmitting signals like Sputnik. Orbiting the Earth every ninety minutes
bleeping, "fuck me, fuck me!" That's enough to put anyone off. I took advice
from my all my worldly-wise pals. "Don't try so hard," they said, "you scare
them away." Fat lot of good that was! They all had it cracked, didn't they?
My desperation was making me a laughing stock. They'd greet me every Monday
morning with "Hey, Mark, get laid yet?" and a lot of snide sniggering. It
was driving me mad.

Things took a turn for the worse over the Christmas holidays that year. I
met this girl, Nicola, at a party on New Year's Eve. She was gorgeous! She
had long red hair and lovely green eyes. We got on really well. To tell the
truth, I was just a wee bit hammered at the time so I guess I was quite
relaxed. We arranged a date for a couple of days later. One of the greatest
trials for a teenager in England is the weather. It must be the only country
on the globe that doesn't have a climate, just weather, lots and lots of the
stuff! It pissed down that evening so I arrived at her place looking like
the sole survivor from the 'Wreck of the Hesperus.' Of course, I was too
young to drive and the finances didn't stretch to a taxi. I walked the mile
and a half over to her place in the biggest bloody downpour since Noah
turned to boat building. My coat kept me dry for at least the first hundred
yards.

I reckon her parents were singularly unimpressed with my impersonation of a
terminally drowned rat. I stood there dripping on the hall carpet while she
rounded up her coat etc. I shuffled from foot to foot and squelched a bit.
Her dad glared at me like I was a serial rapist and her mother had a
slightly pained expression on her face like she had severe case of wind and
was too classy to fart. Nicola, on the other hand, looked stunning. She wore
this really short mini-dress that showed off her lovely long legs. Her hair
was shining like watered silk. I can remember thinking that my luck had most
definitely turned. I even sprang for a taxi to keep her dry.

It couldn't last, of course. We had a pleasant enough time, at first. I took
her to a Blues Club I used to frequent called The Vat. We danced a bit and
chatted a bit and I dripped a lot. Things were going swimmingly until I
attempted a seductive smooch to a slow number near the end of the evening.
Her stomach must have been black and blue from the prodding of my rampant
cock. I kept grabbing her buttocks to pull her against me and she responded
nicely by digging her fingernails into my hands. Now I know this can be a
sign of passion but it Nicola's case it definitely was not. It was more of a
'stop groping me, you insensitive ape' kind of signal. Needless to say I
didn't get the message until she stomped hard on my foot and said, "Piss
off! You smell like a wet dog." Now it may surprise you to know that that
isn't the most romantic thing that's ever been said to me. I took her home
in stony silence. Ever the optimist, I asked if I could call her. She said
something like yes, in about three million years when you've evolved some
more. I took that as a 'No'. I'm perceptive that way.

A few weeks later, I met another really nice girl called Lyn. Same lyrics,
different tune, I'm afraid. We were necking on someone's sofa. The lights
were out and the scent of raging hormones filled the evening air. I had my
hand up her sweater and was playing with her nipples and the tongue
wrestling had entered the sixth and final round. I thought I was home free.
Of course I blew it. I thought I'd try this really 'sophisticated' line I
heard somewhere. It's called the 'hereafter technique.' It goes "If you're
not here after what I'm here after, you'll be here after I've gone." All
delivered with a rakish grin. Excruciating, isn't it? The left side of my
face was swollen for a week.

I felt I was the favourite for the Male Virginity World Championships:
through to the last sixteen with only the Pope to beat for a place in the
quarterfinals. Fortunately for me and for the sanity of my family - did I
mention I was an impossible little prick at home? - I met Sarah. She wasn't
one of those instant knockout babes like Nicola or Lyn. She was, well, less
obvious, somehow. The most startling about her was her smile. It sort of lit
her up from within, if you know what I mean. It was the sort of smile that
could change even the English weather. It could be pissing down one minute,
Sarah would smile, and suddenly it was sunny. At least, it seemed that way
to me.

Did I mention she was a bit shy? When we first met I spent about an hour
talking to the top of her head. It was a very nice head, as heads go. She
had mousy brown hair. That was all I could really tell. Suddenly the
situation tickled my sense of the ridiculous and I started to laugh.

"What's funny?"

"You, me, everything."

" What are you on about?"

"Look. I've been talking to you for ages and I have no idea what you look
like. I reckon you could give an incredibly accurate description of my feet
when the Police ask you for a photofit of your assailant."

She looked up at me then and smiled. The effect was magic. I felt something
melt inside in me. My brains turned to mush. "I'm sorry," she said, "I'm
always doing that. Everyone tells me off about it but I can't help it.
Looking right at people makes me, sort of, I don't know, cringe a bit,
inside." "Why?" I asked her. Which didn't exactly score a '10' on the scale
of the week's brightest questions. She shrugged and I noticed things moving
deliciously under her sweater.

"Do that again."

"What?"

"That sort of shrug you just did."

"Why?"

" I love the way you jiggle."

I had that familiar 'Oh My Christ' sensation as she stared at me. Then, to
my immense relief, she burst out laughing. "It is true what they say about
you, then," she said. It was my turn to shrug. I knew what was coming, sure
as fate, and muttered something defensive. She kept laughing. "You should
see your face! You're absolutely beetroot! " That, of course, made me even
redder. "I don't mind, really, I don't," she said. "But you shouldn't be in
such a rush. You give all the girls the impression that you're only
interested in sex and nothing else. It's like it could be anyone as along as
they're female." I gulped. I stammered. She put her hand on her my arm. "We
like it as well, you know. The difference is we want it to be a part of
something, not the be-all and end-all." I was cowed, felt humiliated. She
saw the look on my face and smiled. "Now I feel really mean. I've hurt your
feelings. I think you're really a nice person, underneath."

I reassured her that I wasn't hurt a bit, well no more than being smashed in
the nuts with a cricket bat. Anyway, to cap it all, she asked me out! I
stood there open mouthed. The neighbourhood flies were in severe danger. I
recovered enough composure to accept graciously. Which is to say I managed
to keep my foot out of my open mouth, for a change.

We dated for a couple of months. The Monday morning jokes stopped. Everyone
just kind of assumed that we were 'at it'. The truth was stranger. I hadn't
touched her. We'd held hands and had the odd chaste goodnight kiss but that
was that. She wasn't as shy now. She looked at me when we talked and we
talked a lot. Sarah was interested in everything. She had a real knack of
pinpointing the weaknesses in any of my carefully constructed arguments,
whatever the subject. Yet she never made me feel small or ridiculed my
little dreams. She'd just smile and touch my hand and things happened to my
cerebral cortex. I'd never had a friend like Sarah.

She was much more mature than I was and being with her made me grow up a
bit. Not before time, I suspect I hear you say. One day, the realisation hit
me that I was scared of losing her. Somehow, she had overcome my obsession
with sex and replaced it with something else I didn't really want to think
about. I was in danger of falling in love!

Spring finally limped into what passes for summer and, at the weekends,
Sarah and I would go to the beach or take my dinghy for a sail. I had a
small motorbike by this time and we were able to come and go as we pleased.
The beach was our favourite place. We went there as often as the weather
allowed. The first day it was warm enough to strip off and sunbathe, I got
my biggest surprise. Sarah peeled off her habitual jeans and sweater to
reveal the tiniest bikini it was possible to wear without getting arrested
for indecent exposure. She was amazing! The description 'petite' was
invented for Sarah. She stood a couple of inches over five feet and you
could almost have enclosed her waist with two hands. Her hips were rounded
but slim and she had the most perfect breasts I have seen to this day. She
caught my expression and grinned. "Like what you see?" Stupid question. I
loved it. I put out my arms to her and she came to me.

We kissed properly for the first time. It was natural, easy; and it sent my
pulse rate off the scale. When we eventually surfaced for air we were both a
little flushed and breathing rapidly. She looked at me shyly but with a
glint in her eye. "I guess you do like what you see!" Like I said, stupid
question. I cut short any further conversation with another kiss. If the
first was good then this was spectacular. It felt like my whole being was
incorporated into that one embrace. How she did it, I don't know, but she
seemed to inspire every possible emotion in me with just a kiss. I was left
breathless, confused, happy and gloriously in love.

There's not a great deal you can do on a public beach in England without
either frightening the horses or attracting the attention of the local
constabulary, but we did our best. That blanket could have told a tale or
two. All too soon the weather changed and we had to cover up as another icy
blast from the steppes of Russia whipped the sand into spiteful, stinging
volleys. So it was back on the bike and a long ride home through wind and
driving rain that left us both soaked to the skin and shivering. When we got
to her place, she turned shy again. She stared directly at my feet and said,
" My parents are away this weekend. Would you like to stay over? I don't
think I'd like to be in the house alone. My mother says you can have the
spare room."  There probably is a word to describe my reaction but none I
know comes close. Euphoria? Ecstasy? Far too mild! I rode home at least four
feet above the tarmac, which is quite a trick on a three-foot bike. I didn't
even notice the Godawful weather.

The weekend couldn't come soon enough, of course. Monday dragged, Tuesday
crawled and by Wednesday I was fit to be tied. Her mother had spoken to mine
and it was agreed that we were 'sensible young people', which seems to me a
contradiction in terms, and that Sarah's folks would be happier if they knew
she wasn't alone. So would I. Sarah never told me what she thought about
that week but there are absolutely no prizes for guessing which way my mind
was working. Actually, by Thursday my mind had stopped functioning entirely
and I was on full gonad autopilot. It was life, Captain, but not as we know
it. Friday came at last, oh rapture! But there was still a whole day of
school to get through. It was like swimming through treacle. The hours
dragged by until the final bell rang to put an end to the torture.

I hurried home as fast as I could and showered, shaved - a relatively recent
phenomenon - and jumped on the bike to speed off towards Sarah and waiting
bliss. In theory. Wouldn't you just know that would be the moment when the
bike played up? The bastard thing would not start! I tried to kick it into
submission but it wouldn't co-operate. An hour later, with me covered in oil
and sweat, it finally fired up. There was nothing for it but back into the
shower. My little brother, cocky fourteen year old brat, stood there pissing
himself laughing. He had me sussed.  'You wait!' I thought. 'Just wait 'til
it's your turn.' Once free of the house and with the bike running sweetly, I
couldn't stay mad. I can remember that short ride as clearly as anything.
For once it was gloriously sunny and the air was warm. I rode along singing:
and catching a variety of insect life with my teeth as a consequence.

Sarah had bought some stuff for a barbecue and we sat in the back garden
eating burnt hamburgers and declared them 'brilliant'. It was my first
effort at cooking. There was a bottle of wine, thoughtfully provided by her
father, whether he knew it or not. We watched the sun setting over the sea
and all was very definitely right with the world. It grew chilly so we moved
inside and watched some old film on the TV. Sarah snuggled up against me and
I cupped her breast with my hand. It moved enticingly; she wasn't wearing a
bra!

I slid my hand down her flank and up again, under her sweater this time. She
snuggled in closer and made a throaty purring noise that seemed to connect
my ears with my balls and all points in between. My hand was suddenly full
of warmth and softness; topped off to perfection by a hard little peak that
nestled into my palm. We kissed; that is to say, I looked into her eyes and
drowned. Her head came up, our lips met and everything else in the World
receded beyond conscious thought. Her arm came around me and she pulled me
down. We fell off the sofa.

Somehow her knee managed to land in my crotch and I saw stars. I was lying
there doubled up as the nausea rushed through me in waves. Sarah was caught
between sympathy and helpless laughter. Women can be so cruel. There is
something about seeing a fellow smacked in the bollocks that reaches their
dark side. Any man would wince in sympathy, but not a woman. Oh no. They
find it funny. They find it so bloody hilarious in fact it's almost more
painful being laughed at than being knackered. OK. I suppose it was quite
amusing, given the situation; but she didn't have to go into hysterics.
There were tears rolling down her cheeks as she spluttered and coughed and
tried to make consoling noises. "Oh Mark, poor you. Oh I'm sorry" tends to
sound better when not accompanied by peals of feminine laughter.

After a century or two, the pain eased sufficiently for me to sit up. She
was still cackling like a deranged magpie. I gave her a look that would
curdle milk. She ignored it and went off again, laughing fit to bust. It
took her longer to recover than it did me. Whatever, the moment had gone and
we both knew it. We went to our separate beds that night, me to nurse my
injured pride and bruised balls and she to. giggle herself to sleep, I
supposed.

Something woke me early the next morning. It was a hand around my cock. I
went from deep slumber to wide-awake in no seconds flat. For the first time
in my life, it wasn't my hand gripping the Pride of the MacDonalds. There
was something warm and silky pressed against my back. I rolled over, hardly
daring to breathe. Her hand explored the topography of my erection. Her
fingers sought and found all the sensitive places. She stroked around the
head and rubbed the shaft. Her other hand found my sac and massaged it
gently. I must have been groaning out loud. She started a slow pumping
rhythm, running her hand up and down with a feather-light touch. I reached
for her but she shook her head briefly. " Let me," she whispered. I was in
no state to argue.

My hips rose in time with her gentle stroking. She leant over me and kissed
me deeply, murmuring endearments.  My balls were turning somersaults and I
knew I just had to explode. The wish was father to the deed, for a few
moments later, I was racked by a shuddering orgasm that had me thrashing and
gasping as I sent spurt after spurt of milky white fluid arching into the
air to puddle on my chest and stomach and dribble over her hand. She looked
at me with big eyes. "Wow!" was all she said. Speech was well beyond me, I
was totally out of it.

I regained consciousness a couple of eons later. She was smiling at me. "Had
to make sure there was no permanent damage," she said, with an impish grin.
She answered my weak but delirious smile with another kiss then slid away
and walked, naked, from the room. I was granted a brief glimpse of those
outstanding breasts, with their turned-up nipples hard as rocks, and the
cutest arse in Christendom before she vanished through the bedroom door with
a provocative wiggle. Sleep claimed me again pretty soon and when I awoke
for the second time, I still wasn't entirely sure that it hadn't all been a
wet dream. If it was, it was the best ever!

That Saturday was the best of the summer so far. It was warm and still
without a cloud in the sky. We packed up some sandwiches and jumped on the
bike to head off to the beach. Quite a few of our friends were also down
there so we spent the day messing about together on the sand and sunbathing.
I think I was the happiest guy alive that day. The looks that Sarah was
getting in that incredible bikini made me feel really proud - and it wasn't
just the boys who were casting envious glances her way. If anything, I was
even more proud of the way that she overcame her natural shyness and joined
in with the rest of the crowd. She was a revelation. The quiet, mousy girl
had blossomed into a vivacious, happy bundle of sparkling energy. She
positively glowed.

We rode home slowly in the early evening. I was weaving the bike in long,
easy swoops up the lane to her house. She hugged me close as we rode and we
were both singing for the joy that was in us. There is nothing like that
first touch of love. We'd invited some friends over for another barbecue and
this time I didn't cremate all the burgers. Sitting around in the garden,
listening to someone playing guitar while we all sang along, the evening
passed in a bright blaze of happiness.  The last friends departed and we
stood together at the gate listening to the laughing voices recede into the
darkness. We were alone at last.

Nothing was said as we moved into the house. I could feel my heart pounding
hard enough to crack a rib. There was fear in her eyes mixed with something
else. We both knew that this was the moment. It was so right somehow, the
only possible end to a perfect day. Sarah took my hand. Her shyness returned
and her head went down. She led me up the stairs, still not looking at me. I
could hardly breathe. We paused on the landing and she looked up at last.
There was a sort of challenge in her eyes now. I raised her hand to my lips
and kissed it gently; putting every ounce of feeling I could muster into
that simple gesture. She gave me a tremulous smile and she had a sort of
misty look about her that reached right down into my heart and soul and
churned me up.

We seemed to float into her bedroom. I mean, one minute we were on the
landing and the next we were in her room. We came together in a clumsy rush
and fell onto her bed. There was a brief ecstasy of fumbling and zips. She
lifted her hips to help me. Predictably, I fell on my arse in the rush to
shed my jeans. We both pretended not to notice. Sarah slipped under the
sheets and I slid in beside her. For a long moment we just hugged each other
so tightly it was if we were trying to meld into one form. Her skin had
taken on a rosy hue, as if lit by an inner fire. We were both panting hard
like it was the end of a marathon. I opened my mouth to say something but
she shook her head; no words were needed.

I eased back from her and let the sheet slip away. Sarah tensed for a moment
and then relaxed as she saw the look of absolute wonder on my face. My
fingers trailed down her neck and onto her breast. Her arms wrapped around
me and we kissed, oh so gently. Her breast was full and firm under my hand
and I lightly rubbed her nipple with my thumb. It sprang to attention. She
sighed softly. I moved down her body, kissing and nibbling until I captured
that nipple with my lips. I sucked gently and rolled it slowly with my
tongue. My hand encountered the soft tangle of her bush and her legs parted.
She went rigid and gasped as my finger slid between her dewy lips. I
searched the folds and vales, an explorer in unknown land on the brink of
some amazing new discovery. All the while her nipple graced my mouth and she
held me firmly, pressing my face against the sweet satin softness of her
breasts.

I fumbled for a condom. "Let me," she said. The foil finally co-operated.
"Oh no! It's too small!" I burst out laughing. "It unrolls," I told her and
between us we managed to get the bloody thing onto my rock hard cock. We
moved together easily. I slipped into her without resistance. The surprise
must have shown on my face. "Horse riding," she said, smiling up at me. Of
course, I misunderstood her and immediately started out like I was astride
the favourite in a Selling Plate at Aintree. She wrapped me with her legs
and adjusted my rhythm to a gentler, deeper thrusting.

It couldn't last. I did my best, honestly, I did. I tried to think of
anything but what was happening. I even tried doing calculus in my head. She
started to buck against me. That did it. I'd been waiting for this for
almost seventeen years. I couldn't hold any longer. The pressure was
building and building and Mother Nature's safety valve fulfilled its prime
function. Some kind of super-nova chose that moment to explode in my brain.
My back arched and my hips went into overdrive. My whole existence was
centred somewhere near the base of my spine. I felt myself coming from
sixteen miles back. It drew nearer and nearer and I got more and more
frantic. Suddenly it was there and I poured myself into her in wave after
scintillating wave until I was utterly spent. I think I yelled when I came,
I hope it was "Sarah!"

When normal service was resumed, I saw she was looking at me. There was a
look of total awe on her face and her eyes were wide. "Wow!" she said. I
groaned. " Fuck me!" Sarah giggled. "I just did," she said, "wasn't that
fantastic?" I could only dumbly nod my head. Words failed me, which was
probably just as well, I'd have only put my foot in it. I lay down beside
her and we cuddled for a while in silence, each wrapped in our own thoughts.
After a bit she stirred and sat up.  She looked down at me and I stared into
her eyes. They spoke such great tenderness that it almost made me weep.
"That was my first time, " she said. "Me too, "I replied. She hit me with
that devastating smile again. "I'm glad it was you, Mark," she said. "It
should be special when you lose it."

Thanks to Sarah, it was.

-- 
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> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+