Memory
by eboy – eboyandsuch.wordpress.com

Fantasy, reality... Truth and fiction... Sometimes, as I look back on the past, the line between what really happened and what I wanted to happen begins to blur. Before I know it, the past is growing into something more than reality, become just another part of my continually re-imagined life. Some of this happened, some didn't.

I was a freshman in high-school, and had my first girlfriend. We'd been going out for months by the time this day rolled around, and our petting had gotten quite far. She was more experienced than me, but not by much: I gave her her first orgasm, lying on my bed one day. She gave me my first orgasm by the hand of another. I thought the world of her; she thought she loved me. Both of us wanted to please the other. On this day, we had taken a long bus ride down to Fort Funston, a park several miles south of the city. It's a coastal park, all high cliffs, sand dunes, and scrub. We had climbed up to the edge of the cliff, high above the beach and the many people walking along it. We stared out over the ocean, watching the waves. Then we stared at each other for a while. Eventually, we stopped staring and started touching. Our lips met first, tongues following soon after. Our hands came in third, but, not to be left out, moved quickly. It seemed a very short time until her hands were under my shirt, on my bare chest, and a very short time indeed until mine were fondling her gorgeous, heaving breasts through her bra. Our focus moved away from our mouths and tongues about then, and my hand wandered down her warm stomach, soon meeting the hem of her jeans.

There, one side to the scrub of the cliffs, the other open to the walkers passing far below and the roaring sea beyond them, I unbuttoned her jeans and eagerly slid down her zipper. There, exposed on the wind-swept cliff, knowing that not a soul would see us even though many were near by, my hand slipped down into the warm confines of her crotch. She was breathing hard beneath me, already trembling slightly. I rubbed gently, then softly slipped my fingers beneath her soft cotton panties, my fingers tasting the warm liquid of her pussy. I rubbed slowly, but soon picked up the pace: once, long before, I had been criticized and told only to tease her until my hand was beneath her pants, and to take it quickly from there. From a few short months of experience, I found her clit, and felt her breathing hesitate. A few moments of caressing, and I heard her gasp and grunt beneath me, shaking slightly.

I spent a minute longer with my hand on her warm, dripping crotch, then withdrew. She quickly moved her hands to undo my own pants, but here I stopped her: it would be a rather unpleasant day, with sopping wet underwear.

She laughed a little, reminded, and we resumed our kiss. Here, though, my memory falters, twists, and turns. She waves aside my concern, reaches back towards my crotch. I feel her long, warm fingers caressing my hardness through the cloth and moan. She whispers lightly in my ear, and then turns her attention to my pants. A second hand joins the first, fingers rippling over my growing erection, and then both hands hook my waistband and pull. She looks me in the eye and grins, her hands slowly weaving through the soft hair surrounding my exposed, erect cock.

At her urging, I turn on my side, facing away, and close my eyes as I lean back into her soft breasts. Her hands encircle me, holding me tightly to her, caressing my chest, my stomach, my thighs, my balls, my cock. Down below, the sounds of families talking and dogs barking drift between the crashes of the waves, but here, high above, all I have is her sweet breath behind me and the soft sound of her hands on my flesh. Her fingers grip my cock and stroke its length with slow intensity, sending waves of pleasure through me to match those of water below me. She hears my breathing deepen, quicken, and responds, hand moving ever so slightly faster, fingers gripping ever so slightly harder. I feel her breasts quiver behind me with every stroke she takes, and her soft lips kiss my hair. While the waves down below swell, their sound overwhelming the sounds of people, the pleasure of my flesh overwhelms all else, and I feel the hot liquid coursing out onto the sand before me. I shake with orgasm, and she holds me, tight and warm, pressed to her, her hand never ceasing its movement. When I finish, we lie there and watch as the sun goes down over the world far below.

The bus ride home that day was long. It was late, dark, and not many other riders were about. We sat towards the rear, and maybe three people were near us. Sitting there, leaning against each other, she asked me whether getting her off outside today had "weirded me out." I replied that I had very much enjoyed it. Thoughtfully, she asked if I would ever want to have sex outside, and I could only nod my head.

Again my memory twists, and the dark bus becomes something more. I quietly pull off my jacket and spread it over us like a blanket, pulling her close against me. Her head lies on my shoulder, and I kiss her beautiful hair, just as she had done for me, earlier. Beneath the jacket, my hand travels downwards. She gasps a little and raises her head to look at me as my fingers gently knead the insides of her thighs, moving upwards to finger the waistband of her jeans. Her eyes are questioning, but her lips are parted slightly from panting, and I kiss them, gently. She curls against me, again, and my fingers unbutton her pants. As my hand slips into the warm space between her thighs, I look around, my eyes lighting on the other passengers, all unaware of the beautiful wetness my fingers are probing. She pants, blushes, and quivers as I gently caress her, but stays blissfully quiet, lost in the feelings of her flesh. She orgasms there, hidden in the lovely warmth beneath my jacket, and then we slip off the bus and walk quietly home, hand in hand.