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Message-ID: <44768asstr$1066173010@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Tom's Diary 3-15-02 {Gina Marie Wylie} (mf teen)
Date: Tue, 14 Oct 2003 19:10:11 -0400
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	+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read this
and I'd never have bothered to write it. IMHO,  if you can read and
enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

	++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my part.

	+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: MmFf, all combinations except those
just having only M or m's; the major other code is inc.  If things like
this offend you, you will offend ME if you read further and complain.
Copyright 2003, by Gina Marie Wylie.

	+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Yes, I really am *that* Gina Marie Wylie, and yes, it's been a
while.  I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.

	-------------------------


	Tom's Diary

	Introduction & March 15th, 2002.

	I'm Tom Ferguson; I'd doff my hat and bow, but the gesture is pretty
meaningless when you're writing an introduction to people as opposed to
actually standing in front of them introducing yourself.  Plus, I don't
hardly ever wear a hat.

	I am sixteen years of age, sixteen and a half, more precisely, when
the events I'm about to relate happened.  A high school junior,
attending North Phoenix High.

	I am five ten, very skinny, barely a hundred and thirty pounds.  I
have short brown hair, what my dad calls a `business man's cut.'  I
don't know; I'm not a business man, but it's what I like. Blue eyes.

	I'm a good student in school, but no where near a grind like some I
could name.  I'm not a jock, a nerd or a dweeb: just average in looks,
above average in grades and below average in social skills; like I said,
average.  This is about the change in my social skills, first and
foremost.

	Before I go on, I want to give an initial dramatis persona.  Be
advised that it quickly changes; I leave it as an exercise for the
reader to keep track of the new names.

	My dad is Dave Ferguson, an aerospace engineer, thirty-eight years
old, married to my mom, Ellen, a year younger. Mom is an economist and
mathematician; she's worked at home for years and years, before my
sister and I were old enough to go to school on our own.  At the time
this happened, she was working Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from ten
to six.

	My sister is Joanna; I've always called her JR, no one else does.
That's a story all by itself, and I'll get to it in due course.  Joanna
is thirteen, skinny like me, but eight inches shorter; way skinnier; not
even a hundred pounds.

	Mom is best friends with Kim Wells, who is mom's age.  Kim's
daughter is Penny, thirteen like JR and Penny is JR's best friend. Penny
is taller than JR, not as thin. Penny is a little taller, a little
heavier than JR.  I'd never heard anything about a Mister Wells, but Kim
and mom have been friends since college.  Kim looks like she could be
mom's sister.

	My best friend is Tony Richardson, a junior like me; that's about
all we have in common except being friends.  Tony is the co-captain of
the football team, a running back.  Not only taller than me, but forty
or fifty pounds heavier, very blonde, very crew cut.  For all that Tony
is a certified jock, he's really a nice guy; we've been friends since
third grade. Tony and I average out to normal in the introvert/extrovert
categories; he's more outgoing than I am, I'm more cautious.  As a
result, a time or two I've kept Tony from going off the deep end and
doing something completely dumb; on the other hand, Tony has encouraged
me to do any number of things I'd probably have passed up, left to my
own devices. Dancing comes to mind.

	Tony's girl friend is Sue Ellen Wilson; she lives next door to Tony.
Once upon a time, back in third grade, Tony lived next door to me; in
sixth grade, he moved next door to Sue Ellen, about two miles away from
where we live.

	A year after Tony moved I learned some important lessons. We were at
Rosalie Sanchez's house for a New Year's Eve party for us seventh
graders; my hormones had really started to kick in and I was eager to
find out more about girls.  I'd come on my own, Tony had come with Sue
Ellen; I'd been at the party for about an hour, when the giggles and
titters from the kitchen drew my attention.

	I heard someone mutter something about mistletoe in the doorway, I
glanced up and saw the sprig.  Then Tony appeared, having heard the same
news. With a big, shit-eating grin he left, coming back a minute later
with Sue Ellen, who he proceeded to kiss a whole lot more hotly than I'd
ever seen in real life.  Sue Ellen got into it as well, and they caused
more than a few blushes in the room.

	A few minutes later Tony was standing next to me, as people were
debating who might go next.  "You should try it, Tom."  He told me.  I
looked around; my eyes settling on our hostess, Rosalie.  Short, dark,
exotically beautiful.  I'd had a crush on her since forever.

	Kismet, Karma, fate...call it what you will. I started towards her,
she started towards me.  I wanted to kiss her; she was on the way to the
bathroom. I put my arms around her under the mistletoe, and kissed her
the same way Tony had kissed Sue Ellen.

	Abruptly I was pushed away, and Rosalie wiped her mouth with the
back of her hand.  "Eeew!"  She exclaimed, "You put your tongue in my
mouth!" She turned and stalked away; I was left non-plussed, not
understanding why it had worked for Tony and failed for me.

	Later, Tony kind of hinted that he and Sue Ellen had been doing a
whole lot more than kissing for some time; that he couldn't tell people
he was going with her, because everybody thought they were too young.
Tony wasn't happy about that.  And I realized that you can probably kiss
a girl you're going with a whole lot more friendly than you can kiss
someone you barely know, no matter how many times you've thought about
her while jerking off.

	In truth, that first exposure to the facts of life, however cursory,
was a formative experience.  Rosalie never invited me to a party again;
was barely civil at school.  I felt bad and would have apologized,
except Tony convinced me that guys should never apologize.  I learned
later that sometimes Tony is full of shit.

	As a result, after that I was even more cautious than I had been,
socially speaking...with girls anyway. At the time of these events, I'd
actually gone on one date, when I was a sophomore, right at Halloween. I
took Ramona Duncan to the Halloween costume party; Ramona was the
daughter of a woman mom knew from work.  Her mom and mine arranged the
whole thing. Ramona was significantly more shy than me; our moms knew
that but had wanted to see if propinquity propinqued. It was a date
filled with silence, as neither of us could think of anything to say to
the other. We did manage to exchange a half-hearted, `Good night'  at
the end of the evening.

	One last piece of set dressing: our house.  Mom and dad had gone to
college together in the early 80's. When dad graduated he got a decent
job and then he and mom got married.  They looked around for a place to
live and found this place, a two bedroom duplex, somewhat unusual then
in Phoenix as it had two stories.  Down stairs was a living room, and a
kitchen, laundry room, and bathroom; upstairs were two generous bedrooms
and another bathroom.

	Mom was pregnant with me when they moved in; three years later,
pregnant with JR, mom and dad decided then that they needed a bigger
place.  They already knew JR was a girl and wanted her to have her own
room.  Right in the middle of house hunting, the family in the mirror
image duplex next door moved away.   Dad decided that we could buy it
cheap, and did. They renovated the entire duplex, the room that had been
our kitchen became a dining room, the living room became a family room;
the other half pretty much remained like it had been. Because the
upstairs bedrooms shared a long wall, there was no way to go between
them.  The only way to go from the upstairs bedrooms on one side to the
bedrooms on the other side was to go downstairs, then up the other set
of steps.

	Mom fretted about that, when I was little; because they were now in
the new bedrooms, while I was in their old room, and JR across the hall
from them.

	We had fire drills once a month; where I'd run down and meet them at
the bottom of the steps and we'd go outside. We had smoke detectors and
all of that. Personally, I liked the arrangement; my parents didn't
`drop in' all that often, unexpected like, to my room.  The guest
bedroom was across the hall from mine, but usually if there was a guest,
JR got sent to sleep there and the guest moved, temporarily, into her
room.

	A typical day at that point in my life was to get up at 6 am, go
down the hall to the third bathroom in our house, shower and dress for
school.  At half past six, I'd have breakfast with everyone else, then
at 7:30 or there abouts, I'd drive myself to school; JR usually rode
with dad, as the junior high JR went to was in the opposite direction
from the high school.  While mom's schedule was regular, pretty much,
she pretty much didn't leave the house until 8:30 or 9:00; even the days
she worked.  She was consulting with a major local bank, doing economic
forecasts.

	Anyway, schedule: I'd come home from school, usually picking up JR
and sometimes Penny around three from the middle school.  When we got
home, JR and I would change clothes, then we'd study until 6 or so, then
start dinner preparations.  After dinner, at 8, we could watch TV, read,
or do what we wanted.  Mostly I read; JR frequently went to visit Penny,
or Penny came over to our house; JR reads a lot too, Penny not so much.

	A word about JR: She's three years younger than me.  My earliest
memories are helping mom take care of her; I even helped change JR's
diapers, although I doubt if I was that much help.  JR was my little
sister, and I was her big brother. Our relationship meant a lot to me
and I was proud of it.  I was there to help, advise, and make sure no
one bothered her. I took to the role with a will; far more extroverted
in it than I'd ever managed any place else.

	We were friends, we talked a lot, played all sorts of games with
each other and our parents; we had a lot of fun together.

	The closest thing we ever had to a fight was when she decided that
she would use some hydrogen peroxide she'd found and turn herself into a
blonde. I convinced her, after much argument, that she should wait for
mom to come home and ask her. Sure enough, mom explained that it had to
be done carefully or it would look...bizarre. Not then, but a week or so
later, JR turned blonde for about a month; she hated it and applied a
rinse to go back to brunette.

	Enough setup!

	Now to the actual events of the day it all started...


	Friday, March 15, 2002

	I was reading on my bed, laying on my back, book overhead, when JR
knocked on the door to my bedroom.  "Phone call, Tom.  Tony."

	I got up, headed downstairs, wondering who it could be, not even
slightly aware how much my life was going to change, all stemming from
that phone call.

	"Tom old buddy!"  Tony was in a jovial mood.  Which meant, I
figured, that Tony wanted something.

	"You doing anything, Tom?"

	"Reading." I replied. I heard the snort on the other end of the
line.

	"You remember I was telling you this week about my Uncle and Aunt
from Seattle coming to visit us; that this was spring break up there, so
my cousin Marsha is with them."

	"Yeah,"  I said, curious.  "I remember."

	"They got in earlier than we expected.  Did I mention my Uncle works
for the Seattle Supersonics?"

	Maybe a million times. "Yeah."  I replied.

	"Marsha is a few days younger than me; she's a basketball player.
Anyway, Marsha wanted to know if she could come to the game with us
tonight.  I told her Sue Ellen and I were going with you."

	A fig leaf for Tony with his parents, I knew.  How many times in
four and a half years had Tony pretended to be visiting me, or out with
me, when he'd really been inside Sue Ellen's panties?  I hadn't any
idea, but I was sure it was a lot. I was the perpetual third wheel that
he trotted out to show that he wasn't having sexual congress with Sue
Ellen.  From the number of times I was trotted out, I assumed he was a
busy beaver.  He was my best friend, Sue Ellen was nice; I'd never, ever
had a problem covering for Tony.  And, of course, since we'd both gotten
driver's licenses, the number of times and excuses had increased an
order of magnitude.

	"No problem,"  I told Tony.

	"Ah, there's a problem." He said limply.

	"A problem?"  I sighed, thinking I had a glimmering of the problem.

	"They're loaning my car to my Uncle and Aunt for the weekend, so
they can go up to Sedona and scope out houses; they're thinking about
getting a house there to stay in during the summer."

	I'd heard often enough about snow birds, and I murmured assent,
although anyone expecting warmth in Sedona was going to have a big
surprise their first winter there.  "So, I was hoping you'd be able to
drive Marsha, Sue Ellen and me to the game tonight."

	"Yes, sure."  I said a little miffed he hadn't understood my grunt
the first time; then realized that was probably a bad way to go about
deciding such things.

	"And could you, ah, escort Marsha?"

	"Is this ah, like a blind date, Tony?"  I asked sarcastically.
"She's ugly, right?"

	Tony came right back.  "Marsha isn't ugly!  She's really nice, Tom.
I promise."  I could tell there was something else.  "Like I said she
plays basketball, right?"  He went on defensively.

	"That's what you said."  I knew there was something else, it only
remained to find out what.

	"I mean, aside from the fact her dad was a player, she is too."

	"Tony,"  I said, getting a little exasperated, "what?"

	"Tom, she's six six."

	I tried to imagine a really nice, six and a half foot tall girl.  My
imagination failed me.

	"Please, Tom!  Please!  I mean, we can leave early, if it's a
problem."

	Sure, leave early.  Drop Marsha off, he'd go to Sue Ellen's house
and play doctor or something.  I sighed, "I guess this is what friends
are for, right?"  I asked.

	"Yeah, Tom.  Thanks, you'll do it?"

	"Sure, why not?"

	"I owe you, guy.  I owe you!"  Then Tony said he had to run, he was
at the airport waiting to pick up his Aunt and Uncle's bags.

	In the meantime, I was left to contemplate what to wear on a date
with a giantess.  I decided, like I always decide when going out, to
wear dockers and a long-sleeved sports shirt.  Tony says I'm sartorially
challenged, I asked him to spell either word, which he had problems
with.   Yeah, Tony dresses better than I do, but I once pointed out to
him that I'd dated as many girls as he had.  That broke Tony up, as of
course, I'd been on one date with one girl, and he'd been on a million
dates...or more...with just the one girl.

	I drove over to Tony's a little before six and got out.  Tony was
there at once, smiling, shaking my hand. A minute later I met Marsha
Richardson; Tony had been right about her, low-ball if anything.  She
was drop dead beautiful, if a little tall.  She smiled shyly at me, I
smiled shyly back.

	She was thin, but had a really cute face, and her dark blonde hair
was done up in a pony tail.  She was wearing a flower print blouse and
black stone washed jeans.  Sue Ellen was abundantly sumptuous when it
came to breasts; Marsha had a full plate as well, although nothing like
Sue Ellen.

	Tony went next door to get Sue Ellen, and as soon as she and Tony
were in the back seat the two of them immediately lip-locked.  They were
kind of like Romeo and Juliet, with only half the family baggage; Sue
Ellen's parents worshiped their daughter, nothing she wanted was denied
her.  Tony's father wanted his son to be a NFL super star, and didn't
want any `distractions.'  Tony's mother was much nicer, but more quiet
and reserved than her husband.  Tony and Sue Ellen were star-struck
tragic lovers, who could never get enough time together.

	As I drove I glanced at Marsha to see how she reacted to the back
seat frolics.  Marsha flicked her eyes back towards Tony and Sue Ellen,
and mock-grimaced.   Tony and Sue Ellen had passed the kissing stage and
were now feeling each other up.

	I nodded, and a few minutes later we were at school.

	Marsha was much easier to talk to than Ramona, and we traded a lot
of anecdotes about our schools.  Like Tony, Sue Ellen and I, she was a
junior, and as Tony said, a jock on the varsity girls B-Ball team,
majoring in pre-college athletics.

	As such, she was lucky; our girl's varsity played first and applied
some major whupass against their opponents; it was pretty to watch.  The
boy's team was pretty bad, and managed to lose by thirty points; nothing
pretty about it.

	After the games we went out into the commons where they held the
dances.  I'd not really had much of a chance to learn to dance; that was
more Tony's thing than mine.  "Not hard, Tom."  He'd told me once, "You
just stand out there, pretend you're a bag of shake and bake. No sweat."

	Marsha did want to dance, and that was when I learned a lot about
Tony's cousin that hadn't been apparent up to then.   Marsha was just a
little...wild...out on the dance floor.  She really got into the music,
and she danced like there was no tomorrow, right up to getting really,
really close to me.  I'd heard about freak dancing, but never really had
any experience with it; now I experienced it.

	I might not have that much experience with girls or freaking, but
when a girl is rubbing herself against me, I found it pretty easy to
jump to conclusions; not to mention rub back.  And that's what she was
doing. First her breasts, then a while later her groin came in contact
with mine and stayed there for several minutes, grinding against the
biggest boner I'd ever had in my life.

	After the second dance like that, it was all I could do to keep from
messing my pants,  Tony came over to me after that dance, leaned close
to me.  "I don't know about you, but I feel the urge to go someplace
more private."

	I could only nod, trying with every bit of my will power to make it
seem like this was no big deal, it was something I did every day.
"Where?"  I managed to gargle.

	"My parents and Marsha's went to a Sun's game, they'll be back
around eleven.  It's nine thirty now.  Sue Ellen's parents won't be back
until one."

	"Sue Ellen's would be good."  I said, wondering if Marsha would be
interested in continuing to grind pelvi together some place else; some
place where it wouldn't excite comment if neither of us was wearing
anything when we did it.

	I drove the two and a half miles to Sue Ellen's; it was hard to keep
my mind on the road, because Sue Ellen was going down on Tony while I
was driving.  Between that and Marsha sitting next to me with a smile on
her face, no matter what stupid thing I said. It was very hard to
concentrate.

	Sue Ellen had to be pretty good at it, she managed to bring Tony off
in the five minutes it took to make the drive.  I was worried about how
Marsha was going to react, but she just had a big smile on her face.

	We went inside, Sue Ellen directing us to the family room.  For a
few minutes Tony and Sue Ellen did some passionate make out while
standing up, then they vanished.  Headed, I was sure, for Sue Ellen's
bed room.

	Marsha and I had been making a little kissy-face ourselves, stopping
only after the other two vanished. "Most boys,"  Marsha whispered, her
hand now on the front of my jeans, "are kind of put off by how tall I
am.  I intimidate them."  She had worked the zipper of my jeans down,
her hand wrapped around my hard on.

	"I could never do this in Seattle."  She said, looking me in the
eye.

	I nodded, trying to show I was interested as much in what she was
saying as what her hand was doing, that all of this was something I was
used to, instead of my very first time ever, except in wet dreams, none
of which had compared to this.   Then Marsha was kissing me, hard and
passionate, and I kissed back.  After three  or four minutes, she pulled
back, smiling at me.

	"Can I tell you a secret?"  I nodded, and she smiled again. "Three
quarters of the girls on my team are gay, the rest are bi.  I've never
been with a guy."

	With that, she leaned down and took me in her mouth. I was startled,
again real-life with Marsha was even better than any wet dream I'd had
over the last few years.  I looked down at her, her head in my lap.  If
a girl is sucking on your hard on, is she likely to object to being
groped?  I didn't think so, although it was a temptation to defer my
explorations until I'd been gratified personally.

	I cupped her breast with my hand, letting the warm, full, firm shape
fill my palm.  At once her nipple made itself felt, rock hard solid; an
obvious target for further titillation.  I concentrated on her hard tip,
first just brushing it with the palm of my hand, then taking it between
my thumb and forefinger.

	"Ahhhhhh!"  Marsha sighed sibilantly when I did that, then redoubled
her effort in my lap, using her tongue now as well. I thought about
frying bacon, I thought about clouds in the sky; I did everything I
could think of not to think of how close she had me to coming.

	My orgasm, when it came, did not appear to suffer for the delay, and
for a moment all I could think of was the blaze of pleasure in my
midsection.   When I grew aware again, Marsha was finishing me up,
licking everything that was putting in a belated appearance.  I'd shrunk
to about two-thirds the size I'd been a minute before; as soon as I
noticed she was still licking me, it stood right back up.

	Marsha giggled, gave me a dainty little kiss, then sat up.  "Would
you be grossed out, if I kissed you?" She asked me in a soft voice.

	I looked at her, considered for a millisecond, then shook my head.

	She leaned close, and then we were kissing; I'd made a good choice,
I found, as I didn't taste anything, just Marsha.  Even when she stuck
her tongue down my throat.

	This time I slid my hand underneath her blouse, searching out her
other breast.  I learned that her nipples were in sync when it came to
hardness. I started chaffing that one too, and Marsha went into
overdrive with the kiss. After a moment, her hand went back to my boner,
still sticking out of my slacks; that lasted a few minutes, before she
pulled away. For a second I wasn't sure what she was doing.

	Turned out, Marsha was unbuttoning her blouse, so I could get at her
breasts without messing with her clothes. She smiled at me, glanced
down; the message was clear: not only did she want to be kissed, but
where.  I leaned down, kissing one of her hemispheric breasts, until I
finally reached her nipple.   I used my tongue on it, swirling around
the erect center, three or four times. Marsha took my hand, moved it
between her legs.

	I mentally did a double take; sure, guys were always saying that
girls were just as horny as us...I'd just never met a girl where that
had been true.  Now, evidently, I had.  Still, in spite of my cornucopia
of plenty, there was a niggling worry in the back of my mind...what if
she was just a tease? Her hand had gone back to my hard rod; I laughed
at myself.  What kind of tease starts with what is normally considered
to be the holy grail of relationships?

	For the next few minutes I proved my inexperience; I wasn't sure
what I wanted to do.   I was kissing Marsha's breasts, my hand was
rubbing around her crotch...right in the middle of that, I decided that
odds were, she wasn't going to object if I hauled her slacks down, so I
started undoing her jeans.

	In seconds I had my hand inside her panties, feeling her crinkly,
damp pussy hair while I was still working on her breasts with my tongue.

	I heard a soft chuckle after a few seconds, and I stopped and looked
up.

	Marsha was smiling at me, nodded at my erection.  "I always heard
that with a boy it was pump once or twice, then he'd shoot.  After that,
he'd fall asleep and let you rest."

	I could feel her hand, squeezing my hard on, I felt her hips lift to
meet my fingers pressing against her pubes.  I couldn't think of
anything that wasn't a smart-assed remark; I had no intention of messing
this up, so I kept my mouth shut.

	"Tom."  I looked more directly at her, when she said my name. "Would
you do for me, what I did for you?"

	Go down on her?  I nodded, wide-eyed, agreeing without hesitation.
This was so far beyond my wildest dreams that I made a quick decision to
review my wild dreams as early as possible, in view to upgrading them at
once.

	"At my school,"  Marsha whispered, "when you try out for the girl's
varsity, they have a little `attitude test' we have to take.  You visit
each of the five starters, go down on her.  At the end of the night,
they get together, compare notes and declare a `queen of the night.' And
then all five go down on thier favorite. When I was a freshman it was me
they picked."

	I somehow doubted that was something that got back to the coaches
and parents; I wondered why I was hearing about it.

	Marsha grinned wickedly.  "I didn't sleep at all that night; never
even felt tired.  Not my first year, not my sophomore year when I was a
starter, or this year."

	Another words, I thought, while no man might have gone before where
I was about to go; there had been a lot of lips there before this.

	Ah, hormones! Had I heard this story in the privacy of my own room,
I would have thought it wildly erotic, I would have masturbated
imagining it. But here and now I wasn't sure if I wanted to do it with
someone who had sex with quite so many people.

	Of course right then my hormones were more interested in what was
happening than my brain.  I moved down to get between her legs, and
Marsha finished sliding her jeans off.  I leaned close and for the first
time tonight had serious seconds thoughts.  There was an odor, very
strong and not all that pleasant.  I hadn't a clue what to do, until
Marsha breathlessly told me to kiss her clit.

	Her clit wasn't hard to find, it was nearly the size of the tip of
my little finger.  I spent quite some time licking and sucking on it,
and after a bit, Marsha was too worked up to give me any more
directions.

	As unpleasant as the odor was, the taste left even more to be
desired; I'd heard that girls smelled like fish, that the fluid was
heavy and acrid.  Marsha smelled like sweat and maybe a hint of pee;
mixed with a taste that was simply strong and gamey.  On the other hand,
there I was, eating a girl's pussy; what I lacked in experience and
intellectual enthusiasm, my hormones made up for.

	"Put your tongue in me!"  Marsha gasped, and I tried to do just
that, shoving my tongue up inside her.  I was startled by how far it
went; my nose pressed against her clit; I almost laughed.  A head job
for sure!  Maybe a nose job!  I stifled my giggle, and concentrated on
using my tongue.  I found the best position was with my hands underneath
Marsha's bottom, lifting her up; she was twisting and writhing, trying
to get my tongue in deeper as well.

	Marsha was moaning and sighing, then gave a huge spasm, twitching
and jerking as if she was being electrocuted; except someone being
electrocuted isn't saying, "Harder!  Faster!  Deeper!"  while she's
dying.

	"Oh yes!"  She finally said, calming down, "just like that! Oh, did
that ever hit the spot!" She leaned over, pulling me up, her tongue
coming into my mouth, harder and more passionate than ever.  She was
fumbling with the front of my jeans, sliding them down over my hips,
pulled me into her.

	I nearly came as I slid inside her.  My God!  It's really happening!

	Still, the sensation wasn't at all like what I'd expected.  I'd
heard a lot about tight, hot boxes; Marsha was slippery and while the
sensation was wildly exciting, there seemed to be a lot of room left
over. Oh God!  I don't measure up to most guys!  That realization shot
through me, and went a long ways towards adding to my staying power; a
cold douche cutting through the fog of my hormones.

	"Marsha...should I use a rubber?"  I asked, looking down at her. The
expression on her face is one I'm going to remember all of my life: Girl
in major lust. After a second her expression vanished, replaced by a
deep laugh.

	"You know what they call a girl who leaves birth control to a boy?"
I was still getting used to the feeling of where my hard on was; the
hormones were coming back.

	I shook my head.

	"Pregnant." She completed the question.  "Coach doesn't want any of
us knocked up, she has this arrangement with the school nurse; we got
shots.  I'm not going to get pregnant.  You're the first boy I've slept
with, you aren't going to catch anything from me. Am I gonna get
anything from you?"

	I shook my head empahtically no; not possible, unless you really can
pick it up off a toilet seat.

	She lifted her midsection against me, started moving with me. Things
kind of went on autopilot there; I started some serious humping, she
humped back.  It took a while, but I could sense Marsha was getting
close; when she closed her legs underneath me it wasn't hard at all to
come with her.  Both of us were pretty noisy, and it was only afterwards
I felt the least bit of embarrassment.  I looked around, breathing a
sigh of relief; no spectators.

	I leaned down, starting kissing Marsha's breasts again, and I heard
her giggle.  "It's getting kind of late to start over."

	I was still inside her, I moved a little bit; if I'd thought she was
moist and slippery before, now the sensation was cubed. Hormones didn't
care a bit, I just kept moving.  Marsha's legs wrapped around my butt,
she stuck her tongue down my throat and in about a minute I was getting
close; Marsha was too.

	"God, I think I'm gonna nick name you Ironman," Marsha breathed in
my ear.  That's when I spurted again.

	This time it was me who came down off a tremendous high; Marsha was
lightly stroking my butt with her hands, kissing my ear, using her
tongue.  "Oh, I wish I could package you up and ship you back to
Seattle!"  Marsha murmured in my ear.  "All that stuff about boys not
being any good was just bull shit!"

	My hands made a beeline for her breasts, and she giggled. "They're
right about the one track minds though!"  She lifted my hands away, "We
need to get up, get cleaned up. It's almost midnight."

	As if on cue, I heard Tony say from outside the room.  "Marsha and I
need to be getting back, Tom."

	I glanced hurriedly at the door, afraid he'd come in, but he wasn't
visible.  I got up, held out my hand for Marsha, and I pulled her to me,
kissing her like men have been kissing their first woman since the dawn
of time.  Hard and hungry for more.

	Marsha kissed back for a second, then pulled away. "You're nice."
She said, then leaned down and picked up her blouse and jeans from the
floor where they'd fallen.  She hastily got dressed, and perforce, so
did I.

	A few minutes later Tony and Sue Ellen came in; Sue Ellen had a
definite `just been loved' look, just like Marsha.  The two girls traded
smiles; I didn't dare look at Tony.  Tony, Marsha and I walked over to
Tony's, where they bid me good night.

	The porch light was on, the house lights were on.  I reached out and
took Marsha's hand anyway.

	"Don't get all sloppy and gooey."  She said matter of factly,
looking now, like she had at the start of the evening.

	"I had a good time."  I said, knowing it sounded really lame and
stupid.

	She grinned, "I did too.  Something I will always remember. G`night
Tom."  She and Tony went through the door, and I drove home by myself.

	My house was as dark as the Richardson's had been lit.  I got out of
the car, walked inside, went upstairs and straight to bed.  I lay awake
for just a few seconds, remembering all of the sensations; Marsha's
mouth around my erection; my hands and tongue on her breasts.  Going
down on her; being in her and coming and then coming again. Three times?
I thought so for me.   How many times for Marsha?  At least three, maybe
four or five times.  I fell asleep, a grin on my face.

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