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Message-ID: <50758asstr$1111360202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Cheryl Allen Tessler" <cat47@hotmail.com>
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ReSent-Date: Sun, 20 Mar 2005 14:38:59 -0500 (EST)
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ReSent-Subject: At fourteen, pt 2, (Mf, cons, oral)
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Subject: {ASSM} At fourteen, pt 2, (Mf, cons, oral)
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Date: Sun, 20 Mar 2005 18:10:02 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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If you're offended by stories with sexual content, don't read any further; 
likewise if you're offended by sex involving a minor.

Publishers won't touch stories about minors, which is one of the reasons I 
am thankful ASSM exists.


Before I even got home, I was chastising myself for being a wimp.  I had 
spent nearly three months trying to get into Ray's house, then chickened out 
at the crucial moment.  I hadn't acted at all like a grown up.  Had I been a 
grownup, I reasoned, I would have been calm, sexy, alluring, a bit of a 
femme fatale (not that I knew, at the time, what a femme fatale was).  When 
Ray had protested that I was leaving too soon, I should have smiled 
knowingly, barely hinting that I had triumphed, then let him screw me.  
Instead, I had acted like--well, I didn't want to go there.

I briefly examined the underlying premise of my having sex with Ray, namely, 
that it was possible to grow up by having sex with a man.  It seemed 
entirely plausible then, and even now I don't blame myself for believing it. 
  Women, I reasoned, grown women, had sex with men.  Ray was definitely a 
man.  The conclusion was ineluctable.  Looking back, it's clear that I was 
fixated on the wrong thing.  If, as they say, the only difference between 
men and boys is the price of their respective toys, then I didn't need Ray 
at all.  But I thought I did, and all weekend I wondered what Ray would do 
if I showed up again.

On Monday, as I approached his property, I could see he wasn't in his yard.  
Now, instead of just greeting Ray and judging his attitude by his response, 
I would have to knock on his door like a supplicant.  I knew, after all, 
what would happen if Ray let me in his house.

When Ray opened the door, he smiled broadly.  "You're back," he said 
enthusiastically.  "Come in, come in."

I was surprised, but very relieved, by his reception.  I took a few steps 
inside and was about to turn around when his arm encircled me, just below my 
tits, and pulled me forcefully against him.  It was the first genuine 
physical contact I had had with him, and it was thrilling.  He wasn't merely 
powerful.  His arm around me was like an irresistible force meeting the 
perfectly movable object.  It was the kind of embrace that gets an 
involuntary response, either positive or negative.  My response was entirely 
positive, and entirely inappropriate.  I giggled.  I giggled like a child.  
I caught myself, but it was too late.

In an effort to project an air of maturity, I extracted myself from Ray's 
embrace and turned around.  I pulled the hood of my jacket off my head, with 
both hands, and smiled at him.

For a split second, his expression registered recognition.  Then he smiled 
back at me.  "How about some hot chocolate?" he asked.

Hot chocolate was not what a grownup would drink.  "Um, no thanks," I said, 
"maybe I'll have some coffee later."

I could tell this amused him.  I shrugged off the implication that I was too 
young to drink coffee by turning around and walking slowly toward his 
kitchen, removing my jacket as I went.  Once in the kitchen, I draped my 
jacket over a chair and began taking off my clothes.

"So what's this all about?" he asked, stopping at the entrance to the 
kitchen.

"What do you think?" I asked.  I was trying to act sexy, but for a five 
foot, three inch, fourteen year-old blond with a pony tail, that's a tough 
sell.  Picture Tinkerbelle trying to imitate Marilyn Monroe.
  I continued removing my clothes, delicately draping them over the nearest 
chair.  All was going well, I imagined, until it came time to remove my 
panties.  They were plain and white, not at all sexy.  In addition, I had 
not yet mastered the art of removing panties gracefully, and I nearly 
tumbled forward onto the floor when the panties tangled in my ankles.  
Smooth move, I said to myself.  That must have made you look like a doofus.

After I recovered my balance, I looked up at Ray.  "I left too soon on 
Friday," I cooed, in a voice pitched too high to sound sexy, "but I won't 
leave early today."

Ray didn't move.  "Well," he said, "maybe it was a good thing you left when 
you did.  How about some coffee?" he asked cheerily.

I was crestfallen. I stepped over to the drain board, next to the sink where 
he was now busying himself with the teakettle, pressed my stomach against 
the counter, and leaned over to look at him.

"You mean you don't want to," I paused, "screw me?"

He patted my ass.  "I'm sure it would be very nice," he said, "but a man 
shouldn't take advantage of a little girl.  You're not even fourteen yet."

"I am so," I said indignantly.  "I'm in ninth grade."

"Then you don't look your age," he replied.  "Besides, what's the big deal?  
There must be lots of boys at school willing to screw you."

I crossed my arms and frowned.  "It's not the same," I grumbled.

"Don't pout," he said.  "Put your clothes on.  Would you like some milk in 
your coffee?"

"Yes," I said, because my mother always had milk in her coffee, "but I don't 
want to put my clothes on."

"You'll look awfully silly sitting naked in my kitchen drinking coffee."

This comment startled me.  "Don't you think I'm, ah, OK to look at?"

He detected the anxiety in my voice.  "You're as cute as a girl can be," he 
said gently, and the rest of you," he looked me up and down, "is very nice, 
too."

"Then I don't get it," I said insistently.  "Why don't you want to screw?"

He handed me a cup of coffee.  "For one thing, you might get pregnant."

"Can't happen," I said, as I followed him to the kitchen table.  I raised my 
nose in the air.  "I'm on the pill."

He plunked himself onto a chair and looked up at me.  "You're what?"

I jauntily put a hand on my hip and turned sideways.  Looking over my 
shoulder at Ray, I said, "That's right.  I'm on the pill.  I won't get 
pregnant.  What do you say to that?"

"I wonder why a girl your age is on the pill," he said.

I sat down, leaned forward, and looked earnestly at Ray.  "My mother 
suggested it."

"Your mother!  Is she for real?  Are you for real?"

"Don't act so surprised," I said, leaning back in my chair.  "It makes 
sense."

He grimaced.  "For you, I guess it does."

I was about to point out that I had eliminated his objections, but he spoke 
first.

"Just how long have you been, ah, active?" he asked.  "It's obvious I'm not 
the first man you've been with."

Here, I thought, was an excellent opportunity to explain that I was 
experienced yet inexperienced.  "I've had a boyfriend," I said, a touch of 
sadness in my voice, "but you're the first man I've ever been with."

"How old were you when you met the boyfriend?" he asked.  "Twelve?"

"No," I said evenly, "I was thirteen, almost fourteen."

"So what happened to him?" asked Ray.

I took a sip of coffee.  It tasted terrible.  Perfect, I said to myself.  It 
tastes the way I feel.  I ran my finger around the top of my coffee cup.  
"We broke up," I said.

"You broke up?" he asked.  "Why?"

"What difference does it make?" I asked.

"I'm interested," he said.  "I didn't have girlfriend when I was fourteen.  
I'd like to know why kids break up."

Shit, I said to myself.  Why would anyone be interested in that?  Ray is 
just trying to weasel out of screwing me.  He wanted me on Friday and now, 
seventy-two hours later, he's acting like I've got the plague or something.  
Still, I reasoned, a little talk about my boyfriend could easily turn to 
talk of sex, and a naked female talking about sex could arouse a man's 
interest.

I looked up at the ceiling and exhaled.  "OK, I'll tell you, but you have to 
promise not to tell anyone else."

"Cross my heart," said Ray.

I filled Ray in on the details.

I had met Reggie a year earlier, in December.  He was a really cute guy, 
sandy hair, gorgeous face, and he was fifteen.  He saw me at the mall in 
Allentown, though I had noticed him first, and I was flattered when he tried 
to hit on me.  When I found out he lived in Allentown, my interest in him 
increased dramatically.  I was afraid to date a boy from my own school 
because of something that happened to me in elementary school.  Briefly, I 
had played a game of doctor with a boy, when I was ten, that went further 
than we expected it to.  I had his dick in my mouth, for just a second, and 
for weeks after that I was terrified that it would get around.  It didn't, 
but I resolved not to date a boy I went to school with.  I was sure that if 
a boy asked me to play doctor again, I wouldn't refuse.

"Wait," said Ray, "you tried to give a boy a blow job when you were ten?"

"No, I didn't even know what a blow job was."

"Then how did his dick get in your mouth?"

Ha, I said to myself, a chance to talk about sex.  I raised my right foot 
until my heel rested on the chair, affording Ray the best possible view, 
rested my head on my knee, and directed my gaze across the kitchen table, 
away from Ray.  "I don't know," I said wistfully, "I was just curious, I 
guess."

"And what did you find out?" he asked.

I turned my head and rested my chin on my knee.  Looking directly at Ray, I 
blinked my eyes several times.  "Not what I expected," I said, in a 
half-amazed, half-wondering voice that someone would use to describe, say, a 
millionaire giving all his money to charity and becoming a hobo. "It had 
almost no taste or smell, but I was stunned.  My eyes opened very wide.  It 
was indescribable, but very nice."

Ray shifted a bit in his chair.  "OK," he said, "go on."

I picked up the story again.

Anyway, Reggie invited me to a dance at his school.  With the exception of 
three slow dances, during which Reggie turned me to mush by simply wrapping 
his arms around me, I thought the dance was a bust.  After we left, Reggie, 
as I suspected, had no trouble getting me to play doctor for real.  Just 
like the first time I had a dick in my mouth, I was fascinated.  Somehow the 
effect on me was mesmerizing.  To make a long story not quite so long, 
Reggie and I learned a lot about sex from each other, and every minute was 
as mysterious as it was glorious.  I couldn't get over how wonderful it felt 
to have his arms around me or his body next to me.  I just craved his touch, 
loved it when he rubbed against me or squeezed my shoulders.

Ray interrupted.  "So you didn't like the sex?"

"No," I said dreamily, "the sex was very nice, but the sex went with the 
touching, and vice versa."  I smiled at Ray.  "Don't you agree?"

By now, Ray knew what I was up to and he couldn't conceal the fact that I 
was making headway.  He agreed with me, grudgingly.

"But I still don't know why you broke up," he said.

"I'm getting there," I said, enormously pleased with the double meaning of 
my reply.  I went on.

Now Reggie couldn't get away from home in the evenings to see me, but he 
didn't want to miss a day with his girlfriend, either.  After school, he 
took the bus from Allentown to Emaus and came to my house.  This was risky.  
Not long after I turned thirteen, my mother's boyfriend, Dave, warned me 
about bringing boys to the house.  "I know you're probably already screwing 
around," he said, "and I'm not going to let you turn this place into your 
own little cat house.  I'll cane you if I catch you here with a boy."  He 
turned to my mother.  "Isn't that right?" he asked.  My mother simply 
nodded.  I knew that Dave wasn't kidding, because once after an argument 
between him and my mother, a discussion which I only caught the end of, he 
ordered my mother back to their bedroom.  I didn't hear much, but my mother 
was not in the best of spirits when she came back to the kitchen.

I thought I had Dave's schedule down pretty well, but a week after I turned 
fourteen Reggie stayed a little too long and Dave came home a little early.

"So Dave caned you," said Ray.

"Yes," I said, trying to sound as though it wasn't a big deal.

"I would guess that hurts," said Ray sympathetically.

"Stings like crazy," I answered.

"You, ah, weren't wearing you pants, I take it," said Ray gently.

"Or my panties," I replied.

"What did you mother do?" asked Ray.

"Huh," I snorted.  "She just sat there and watched.  Afterwards, she told me 
I had been fairly warned and that I couldn't complain.  Then she sent me off 
to my grandmother's."

"You mean you got kicked out of the house?" asked Ray.

"No, not kicked out, just sent over to talk."

"About what?" asked Ray.

"Nothing, really," I said.  "Grandma was just sympathetic, that's all."

"That you got caned," said Ray.

"Yes," I said.

"Did she know why you got caned?" asked Ray.

"Not exactly," I said in a nasal voice.

Ray tilted his head a little.  "Good thing, I guess.  Grandma probably would 
have become very upset."

I looked down at my coffee.  "So you see," I said, "I've had a boyfriend, so 
I know what that's like, but I've never done it with a man.  I'm not going 
to get pregnant.  Wouldn't you like to try it, just to see what it's like?"

Ray's gaze fell on me, and I knew just where he was looking.  Finally, I 
said to myself as I shifted in my chair to give him a better view.  Maybe 
he'll pick me up and carry me into his bedroom.  I could feel the powerful 
arm that had embraced me when I first walked through his door under my back, 
the other under my knees, effortlessly lifting me off my chair.  Then Ray 
sighed, almost imperceptibly.

"No," he said very quietly, "I don't think that's a good idea.  A 
thirty-five year old man shouldn't screw a fourteen year-old girl, even if 
she wants him to, even if she can't get pregnant.  It just wouldn't work 
out."

Exasperated, I let my arms flop down at my sides and put my right foot on 
the floor.  "I can't believe how unreasonable you are," I said.  "I'm not 
trying to date you, or anything like that."

"Then what are you trying to do?" he asked.

"Nothing more than I've said," I insisted, holding my hands out in front of 
me.

"Even then," he said, "I don't think it's right.  You wouldn't want to have 
sex with a man who wasn't willing, would you?"

I didn't have an answer, but I didn't believe he wasn't willing, either.  He 
looked at me, leaning forward in my chair, my elbows on my knees, a pose 
that was beseeching but hardly provocative.

"If you like," he said gently, "you can blow me again, but only if you want 
to."

I flew off the chair as though it was an ejection seat.  "Of course I want 
to," I said sweetly, after I threw myself on my knees.

Ray was visibly startled, but he pulled his pants down anyway.

There was an upside to all of this.  The first time I had blown Ray, he had 
kept his hands to himself, as though he was afraid to touch me.  I wondered 
what he was doing with his hands, but I had only glanced up at him once, on 
Friday, when he had gasped particularly loudly.  His head was tilted back, 
his hands were behind his head, and the muscles in his arms were tensed.  As 
I began to blow him for the second time, his hands rested on my shoulders.  
When he squeezed me, about a minute later, my entire body went limp.  I 
moaned, quietly, and from that point on he massaged my neck and shoulders, 
squeezing me now and then very firmly.  His hands overwhelmed me.  They made 
Reggie's hands, which I thought at the time were spectacular, seem like limp 
appendages.  Ray's hands transported me, made my eyes moist, excited and 
relaxed every nerve in my body.  I dragged out the blow job as long as I 
could.

Ray, though, was just like Reggie in one respect.  There comes a point in 
every blow job when the guy feels himself approaching an orgasm and is no 
longer content to let the girl control the pace of things.  He may urge her 
on gently, or forcefully, or even violently, but urge he does.  Ray's 
urgings were communicated by his hand on the back of my head, and were just 
short of forceful.

When I had finished, when I had sat back on my haunches and smiled, I was 
sure I had closed the deal and that Ray could no longer resist screwing me.  
He didn't move, at first, and the anticipation of the moment tied me in 
knots.  Then he bent over and began to pull up his pants.

I mumbled an oath and leaped to my feet.  For the first time, my head was 
higher than his and, bent over as he was, his face barely a foot away from 
me, he found himself staring at the pussy I so desperately wanted him to 
use.  He sat up in his chair, leaving his pants around his ankles.

"Can I sit on your lap?" I asked, "just for a little while?"  I turned 
slightly to the side and struck a pose.

His lower lip quivered, barely, he looked me up and down, he struggled 
mightily with himself, then sighed.

"I guess," he said, "but only for a little.  I know what you're up to."

I turned sideways, put my right arm around his neck, a slid onto his lap.  
After resting my head against his left shoulder, I put my left hand on his 
right shoulder.  Then I wrapped both my arms around his neck and pulled 
myself against him.  I thought, that is, I had pulled myself against him, 
until he put his arms around me and squeezed firmly.  Just as I always did 
when Reggie squeezed me, I trembled, but Ray was ten times stronger than 
Reggie.  My insides churned violently.

I fit very neatly on Ray's lap.  In fact, I was small enough to fit within 
his lap.  While Ray's left arm held me pinned against his chest, he slid his 
right hand down to my hip, and then to my thigh.  His thumb was nearly 
between my legs.  I pressed my nose lightly against his neck and slowly 
nuzzled him.  He tightened his grip on my thigh and pulled my leg up 
slightly.  Sure that I had finally conquered him, I whispered in his ear.

"Gawd, the way you hold me feels fabulous.  Take me to bed with you."

"You're an amazing little girl," he said softly, "truly amazing.  I've never 
been interested in small women, but here you are, just a tiny little thing, 
doing a damned good job of making me reconsider.  But I can't screw a little 
girl.  I couldn't lie on top of you without feeling like I was screwing my 
daughter."

"But you let me blow you," I said.  "Did you feel like you were letting your 
daughter blow you?  Do you even have a daughter?"

"No, I don't have a daughter, and I shouldn't have let you blow me, either.  
I wasn't going to let blow me, but then I didn't make you put your clothes 
on after you took them off, and then I got interested in your story.  By the 
time you finished, I'd talked myself into believing it was OK to let you 
blow me.  And right now, I'm not working very hard to keep you from talking 
me into screwing you.  But you're not going to."

I guessed, at this point, that the battle had been joined but probably 
couldn't be won that day.  To Ray, I wasn't bedtime material yet, and 
although I was ready to go to bed with him in a heartbeat, I felt just the 
slightest twinge of reluctance.  Compared to him, I felt tiny, and he didn't 
have to say anything to make me feel that way.  Sitting in his lap, I fully 
appreciated just how much bigger and stronger he was than I.  It captivated 
me, completely, but I sensed the huge difference between us.  When he gently 
lifted me off his lap and told me to put on my clothes, I obeyed without 
pouting.

I nearly floated home from Ray's house that afternoon.  When I got to my 
room, I took off my clothes and relived every moment I had been with him, 
over and over again.  I was sure that sooner or later I would end up in bed 
with him, and equally sure that the time until then would be happily spent.  
When I had asked him if I could drop by the next day, he had said yes.

Copyright 2005 by Cheryl Allen Tessler, cat47@hotmail.com  All rights 
reserved.  Not to be reproduced without written permission from the author.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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