Liam’s First Time


My apologies for the delayed post today.
Was entertaining guests this evening,
no time to write my own reflections.
So here is a somewhat longer letter from Liam.

Liam writes:

Dear Eon,

The first time I had sex I was 17.  I was sort of seeing this girl Leanne from my homeroom in highschool.  I say sort of because I don’t think she really thought of me that way, but we spent most of our time together.  We walked to school together almost every day.  Home again, too.  Spent lunch break together, working on homework and art projects and stuff.  She was pretty with long black hair and pale skin.  Her eyes were big and gorgeous green.  She had a cleft palette when she was born, but she’d had a lot of surgeries to fix it by the time she was 16, so she just had a scar on her upper lip and a slightly crooked nose.  Maybe a bit of a lisp.  I thought it made her more exotic.  I think she thought it made her ugly, which is why she never expected guys to think she was beautiful.  She had a slim waist and a great big round butt, which I loved.  It stuck out and wiggled back and forth when she walked.  Her back was kinda swayed at the bottom, so the way her ass stuck out was a bit exaggerated, but I was 17.  To me it was sexy.  It was so hard to ignore that wonderful wiggling ass.

I can’t remember why, exactly, but she had to go to the store one lunch hour to buy something, and I volunteered to go along.  Maybe I invited myself along, I don’t know.  I sometimes think she was just being nice to me because I was a bit of a goof and awkward with the girls, but I like to think maybe she actually liked me because I was funny and smart when I got over being shy.  She had had boyfriends before, but she was single at the time, and I was hoping that we’d end up becoming a couple.  Anyway, we went and bought this thing, and we were walking through the parking lot back to her car, and it was a crowded parking lot, so I was walking behind her so I didn’t get run over.  And I just stared at her butt the whole time.  She must’ve glanced back and caught me looking, but I was 17.  I figured it was the perfect crime, her having to watch for traffic, no way would she catch me.  But she did.
The car ride back to the highschool was pretty quiet.
“You think my butt’s too big, don’t you?”
She sounded kind of angry. I was caught off guard, but she was clearly offended that I’d been staring.  Must’ve caught me smirking and thought I was laughing at her or something.  Boy was she wrong.  I blurted out the first thing that came into my head.
“I always wanna touch it.”
I was in deep already.  Might as well see how far this would go.
“It looks so round and soft.  Sometimes I wish you would be naughty just so I could spank you.”
“Um… look, you asked.  I shouldn’t have been staring, okay?  I’m sorry.  But I wasn’t laughing.  I was admiring.”  And then, as a sort of afterthought, I muttered, “Maybe daydreaming a little bit.”
The rest of the drive was spent in a kind of contemplative quiet, her mulling over the things I’d said, maybe wondering what to make of it, and me just staring out the window, wondering if I could put my foot in it any deeper.  I wasn’t too upset.  I’d never really had any chance with a girl before.  This was the first time I’d ever admitted how I’d felt, though.  My heart was pounding.  I felt like maybe something should be happening, somehow this should have turned out different.  But she was just quiet and distant and I felt like a bit of an idiot.
We had different classes that afternoon.  I waited for her after school in the usual spot, and she didn’t show.  I wandered home, punting a rock along most of the way.  When I lost the rock I switched to a pinecone.  I admit it.  I was down.  Like, really dejected.  She must’ve thought I was your typical sex crazed dude now.  I mean, I was, but usually I wasn’t so obvious about it.
My route home took my by her house, so I swung wide by a couple of blocks and hit the store for some cola on my way.  Got home and sat around playing video games, drinking pop and feeling sorry for myself.  When my buddy Don called I was ready for some activity, so I grabbed a hoodie and took off to meet him.  We went into town to the coffee shop everyone always gathered at.  It was open until midnight, great place to hang out.  They sold used books there, and had boardgames and net access, and were friendly to large groups of teens.  We spent a lot of time there.  Don had gathered a good crowd, Ru and Sae and Mike and Ben and Betty… the twins, too, Bianca and Beth.  Lots of B names in that crowd, now that I’m writing them down.  But there was Jer, too, acting odd as usual, but getting lots of laughs.  And Jean was there.  She came right over for hugs and sat on my lap when I found a place at the couch.  I put my arms around her and we cuddled close.  She always knew when I was feeling low.  Her and I were tight, had been for years.  Funny how I never thought of her as a romantic option.  We’d even shared a bed a few times, nearly naked, but somehow it just never seemed sexy or anything.  She was cute enough, but…  She was more like a sister to me.  She was close to Leanne, too, and I sometimes thought she might secretly have a thing for her.  I knew she was bi.  I just didn’t know how bi, you know?  Anyway, she was an odd girl, didn’t ever ask me for anything, but was always physically affectionate with me.  I guess I’d always been really nice to her, affectionate without being aggressive like some other guys.  Never pushed her for sex or touching or any of that.  She was quiet and easy to be around.  So I lost myself in her company and in the crowd.  When Byron showed up the night really got started.  That guy was brilliant, funny, tough and cool, always had something interesting on the go.  He had Aden with him, and before long we were all down at the little airstrip in the middle of town, talking big philosophy and watching the stars.  Byron had a couple joints, so we smoked a bit.  I always started grinning and telling stories when I got high.  People began to drift off as it got later.  I lost track of who stuck around, caught up in a conversation with Byron.  Eventually, must’ve been 1 am, I was getting cold (Jean wasn’t around keeping me warm anymore) and I made to go.

Couldn’t find the keys to my car.  Tried all the doors.  Locked.  Damn.  It was an hour walk to get home, and everybody with a car had already left.  Double damn.  The guys I’d offered a ride to all slugged me in the arm or gave me a shove, but it was friendly enough.  We started trudging.  One by one they all turned down streets that would lead them home.  I was on my own, with a half hour to go.  The rain started.  I didn’t hurry my pace.  I was lost in thought.  Thinking about Leanne, thinking about how I’d told her I thought she was sexy, her ass was incredible, how I wanted to touch her.  I might as well have told her how I fantasized about her naked, how some days I showed up early to pick her up on the way to school in the hopes she’d still be in the shower when I got there.  Sometimes she was, and I’d sit in the den and wait.  She’d walk by from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her and one in her hair.
“Hey, Liam,” she’d say.  “Just be a minute.”
She was always more than a minute.  I remember the time she left her door cracked open while she was changing.  I got teasing glimpses of pale skin, but I was never sure what I’d been looking at.  Still, that didn’t stop me from jacking off that night, thinking about her naked body.  I always hoped it would happen again, that I’d be able to contrive some way of accidentally stumbling in on her.  But that was a bit hopeless now.

The rain suited my mood.  When I neared my house, I realized I didn’t have keys to get in.  They were on the same ring as my car keys.  I didn’t feel like breaking in.  My dad was the type to call the cops, even after he saw it was me.  And I really didn’t feel like waking up my folks and explaining to them what I was doing out in the rain at 2 in the morning.  Especially when I’d told them I’d be staying the night at Don’s.  They probably figured I was a good boy and I’d been in bed right at 10 pm.  So what to do?

I wandered around for a while, getting thoroughly soaked, feeling miserable, considering the merit of waiting for sunrise and weighing it against waking up my parents.  When I looked up from staring at my squishing shoes as I slouched along, I saw a light on in the window of Leanne’s house, and I realized where my traitor feet had taken me.  But then I figured, why not?  In my current state I’d at least get a little sympathy.  Maybe it would be enough to get some forgiveness for the things I’d said earlier.  And lucky me, the light was on in her window.  I wandered over and peeked inside.  Through the gauzy curtains I could see she was sitting in bed, reading.  I didn’t know what time it was anymore, but it must have been well past 3.

I tapped on the window.  She started and glanced up.  Got out of bed, slowly, and pulled the curtain aside.  When she saw my face in the glow of her bedside lamp, she pointed to the side of the house with the carport.  I understood, and went to wait by the basement entrance there.  She left her room and moved through the den to let me in.
“Hi Leanne.”
“Hey.  You’re soaked.  Come in, but be quiet.  My mom’s still awake.”
Her too?  What was with these women?
“What are you doing here?”
“Lost my keys.  Had to walk home from town, and couldn’t get into my house.  Thought I’d gamble on waking you rather than pissing off my parents.”
She stared at me, a strange frown on her face.
“Uh, look,” I continued, “I just need a place to sit and dry out, maybe a cup of tea.  When the sun comes up I’ll go home and make up some excuse about having a fight with Don.  I don’t want to bother you.”
She sighed.
“No bother.”
She took me by the hand and led me into the bathroom, which was across the hall from her room.
“Take off your clothes,” she said matter of factly.
“You’re soaked.  Take off your clothes.  I’ll get you a robe.”
I stripped and wrapped a towel around my waist.  I was freezing, and there was no way my shriveled dick was going to embarrass me by jumping to attention, even naked in front of the girl I liked.  I was too tired and too cold to even think about that, really.  Well, maybe not that cold and tired.  But close.
She came back and tossed me a white terry cloth robe.  I put it on, cinched it tight, and followed her into her room after letting the towel fall.
She had a large room.  It took up most of the basement, and had an actual fireplace at the far end, with a wide stone hearth.  She was sitting on the hearth, loading wood into the fireplace.  I went and gave her a hand getting the fire started.  Then she left me sitting there, warming up and drying out, while she went upstairs.  I heard a murmured conversation, and then the floor creaking and the closing of a door at the far end of the upstairs hallway.  Her mom finally going to bed, I guessed.
Leanne came back with two mugs of hot chocolate, loaded with little marshmallows.  We sat in companionable silence and drank, and I sighed with contentment as the cold and damp eased away.  Along with it, my worries began to slip away.  I could tell she wasn’t upset with me over earlier.  So I just stared into the fire, and was happy to be silent.
I must have nodded off, because I don’t remember her getting up.  But she took the cocoa mug from my hand and led me to the bed.  She patted it, and I climbed on, sitting somewhat awkwardly in my robe.  I didn’t want to lay down on her bed.  It was too much of a reminder of the way I’d crossed the line earlier.  I was beginning to wake up, and I was feeling way out of my depth here.
She pushed me back on the bed.  She turned out the bedside lamp, and I saw her backlit by the light from the bathroom across the hall.  Her curves were starkly visible beneath the thin nightgown she wore, which looked like a pale halo floating down from her shoulders.  She took a deep breath, and let her nightgown drop to the floor.  I heard it slither across her skin.  The darkness of her pubic hair was a tempting shadow beneath the pale curve of her belly.  I wanted to reach into that shadow and see what I would find.
She climbed onto the bed and knelt beside me.  She reached down and gently spread the robe, revealing me in all my skinny glory.  I felt self conscious and more than a little nervous, but my cock knew what to do.  It was standing almost before she touched it.  When her cool hands closed around it, it came fully alert in an instant.  The jolt it sent through me!  She stroked me a few times, experimentally.
“You’re bigger than I thought you’d be,” she said.
“You… wondered… ?” I managed.
“Well, yeah… after I’d had time to think about what you said… I realized… you’ve always kind of liked me.”  She nodded to herself, then looked over at my face.  “Haven’t you?” she added quickly, suddenly unsure of herself.
“You have no idea,” I whispered.
That seemed to decide her.  She swung a long, graceful leg over me, and used her grip on my penis to guide me into the gap hidden below that nest of dark curls.  She was wet, and warm, and it was so unexpectedly pleasant to be inside her that, one, two, three strokes of her slick folds and I came inside her.  I barely had time to gasp and it was over.
She ceased her gyrations when she noticed me getting soft.
“Already?” she pouted.
It was not good for my frail self esteem.
“Shit… no, I… are you gonna get pregnant?”
“I’m on the pill, relax.”
I fell back on her pillows and stared at the ceiling.  What a disaster.  I could feel myself going soft already.  She knelt there with her hands on my stomach and watched me for a few minutes, and then she climbed off the bed.  With a tug on my hand she guided me to the bathroom, where she started the shower.  Now that I was seeing her nudity in full light, I felt arousal stir again.  A slight tremor of possibility caused my limp cock to twitch.  With her back to me, she never noticed.  She was leaning into the shower to adjust the temperature of the water.  I let my eyes wander over her body, settling finally on that glorious full moon ass.  Slowly, my cock began to harden.
“Let’s get cleaned up and go to bed,” she said, then squealed as I pushed her into the shower.  The curtain snapped closed behind us and I pressed her against the wall, kissing her clumsily, passionately.  I covered her neck in kisses, let my lips caress her collar bone, cupped her breasts and shoved them into my mouth.  I didn’t now what I was doing, but I knew I wanted to do it all.  I sucked and licked and squeezed, caressed her sides, gripped her big firm butt.  I’d read a few porn magazines.  I knelt in the warm spray of the shower, and put my face in her crotch.  She gasped in surprise, then laughed when it became evident I was having trouble finding something worth licking.  She hadn’t ever shaved, and she was rather furry.
“Lower,” she said, and I obeyed.
I found her vagina and let her smell envelope me.  I tasted her wetness and my own failure.  It spurred me on.  Half guided by her sounds and whispered commands, half instinctively, I gave oral sex for the first time, and I loved it.  The way she moved her hips and pushed into my face.  The musky scent of her, the taste on my tongue, the slippery tunnel I slid my fingers into, the beautiful wet skin and warm mounds of flesh I could touch and squeeze.
When I stood up again, I was hard as a rock, and she returned the favor by going down on me.  She stroked me and swallowed it down her throat until her lips bumped my balls.  Her fingers tickled the underside of my scrotum.  She bobbed her head and licked and sucked and I got harder and harder.  The sight of her, young and perky and soaking wet, hair dripping, skin flushed and beaded with moisture, the spray splashing over her curves, it was too much.  I came again, never thinking to warn her.  She made no sound of protest, swallowed it all, licked the residue from my shaft and stroked me until more came out and she licked and swallowed that too.

We finished showering.  We took our time, running our hands over each others bodies in eager exploration.  We soaped each other up and washed each other’s hair.  We touched and talked and laughed.  We went to bed, and we lay in a tangle, hands never laying still, fingers tracing ticklish lines of pleasure over one another’s skin.  I bathed her head to toe with my tongue, kissed every inch of her, got right down close to her vagina and opened her wide and examined the way she was built while asking questions and loving her every giggling answer.  I fingered her to another climax, the whole time asking over and over what felt nice, where to touch her, how, when, why?
She taught me so much in those hours, and as the sun came up I was stiff and aching and she lay back and spread her legs for me.  I slid inside her with relief, feeling the slippery grip of her pussy ease the ache with that first stroke, finding my rhythm, letting her guide me with her words and her hands until I came again.
“Don’t stop,” she begged me, “I’m so close!”
So even as I came, and the pleasure overwhelmed me, I gritted my teeth and kept plunging my cock in and out of her, harder now, faster, striving to get her there before I went limp and loose again.  It didn’t take long.  Her eyes went wide as she stared into my eyes, she bit her lip and she clawed my back.  She arched as her orgasm took her, shaking and turning red until finally she was able to gasp in a breath.
We collapsed in a heap.  She cradled my head against her breasts and stroked my hair.  I nuzzled her and gave her little kisses and playful bites.  Her mom’s footsteps on the stairs nearly went unnoticed.  At the last moment, as her mother came around the corner, I rolled off of Leanne’s warm soft body to the side opposite the doorway, and she snapped the bedsheets up and over me.  Blinded by the light from the bathroom, her mother peered into the darkness of the bedroom.
I held my breath.  Leanne ignored her.
“Leanne?  Who are you talking to?”
“Huh?  Wha?”  Her sleepy mumble deserved an Oscar.
“I heard you with someone,” her mom accused.  Thank god there was only the lamp by the bed, and no overhead light she could lean in and switch on.
“Mom, go away.  I’m trying to sleep.  You’re ruining a wonderful dream.”
I felt like I was going to burst.  I couldn’t hold my breath any longer.
The silence stretched.
She turned and walked away.  We heard her stomp upstairs and slam the door to her room.
Relief flooded over us.  We whispered and laughed and didn’t get any sleep that night.  When the sun came up, I put on the clothes that had been drying by the fire, and left by the garage door.  I made my way home, feeling very good indeed.

*Image from Internet*




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This titillating tidbit comes from Hannah, who says she discovered what the funny little button down below was for while learning to ride a horse at the tender age of twelve.  Up until that time she hadn’t thought about her vagina much, and she hadn’t considered that her crotch might be a source of pleasure.  If anything, she thought her private folds “were sort of gross.  Growing up in a conservative, Christian household will do that to you.”

Horses terrify me, so it never fails to impress me when someone displays mastery over such a majestic and powerful beast.  When I was a wee lad, annual visits to my grandfather’s farm would usually result in tears as my siblings and cousins were all taught to ride, and I, quaking in fear, would do everything in my power to escape my grandfather’s huge workman’s hands and the horrifying horse ride to follow should he manage to get a grip on me.  I wasn’t always successful, but more often than not I would wriggle my tiny body into one hideaway or another, and they would be forced to give up the chase.  A favorite escape was beneath the cattle grid.  No one else was small enough to fit between the bars.  If I managed to escape behind the barn, and followed the ditch in a running crouch, I could circle behind everyone and dive for cover beneath the cattle grid at the end of the driveway while they were all searching elsewhere.  I spent many long afternoons laying there in the weeds, staring at the big blue sky and daydreaming, seeing shapes in the clouds, chewing on stalks of grass, and thrilling at the occasional sudden rumble of tires as trucks or tractors passed overhead on their way to and from my grandfather’s farm.

I learned to masturbate there, touching myself through my overalls.  I’d wake from an afternoon nap in the shady groove below the cattle grate and find a little tent had been pitched in the front of my denims.  My imagination being what it was (and still is!) I would picture red skinned Indians setting up camp, erecting a teepee below my beltline.  I would stealthily walk my fingers along, the brave settler with his rifle, coming to evict the evil Injuns from his acre of land.

(I read one too many adventure stories as a kid, maybe.  These days I’d think, ‘Let them stay.  My acre was theirs to begin with, and my government had no right to give it to me.’  But that’s a topic beyond the scope of this blog.)

So my hand would walk down the length of me, ambushing and shooting Indians along the way, until the final confrontation with the chief, who had heard the shots and dying screams of his tribe from the teepee, and stayed hidden within in terror.  As the settler bursts into the teepee, the chief disarms him with a sudden chop of his tomahawk!  Ha ha, so it would be hand to hand!  Undaunted, the brave frontiersman grapples with the Indian chief, attempting to choke the life from him.  My arm plunged down the front of my overalls, I would grip my erect penis and shake it about, enacting that final battle.  I don’t know how many times the settler fought the chief before that particular struggle became something else.  Certainly the first few times, the chief would fall down and lie dead, and I would be flushed with a feeling of triumph and glory as the hero reclaimed ‘his’ land.  But was that just the thrill of victory in an overactive imagination, or actual pleasure, the rush of endorphins presaging orgasm?

At some point, though, the chief vomited violently as he died, and such a surprising rush of pleasure wracked me that I cried out loud, sitting up abruptly and bopping my head on the heavy metal bars above me, more than a little afraid that I’d broken my dink and my skull.  My hand came out sticky and smelling strangely, that pungent and not altogether unpleasant odor we all come to know eventually.  I wiped it in the grass and dirt.

I was rather embarrassed over the wet spot on the front of my overalls, and took great pains to sneak back into the house to clean myself up and change.  I remember soaking my overalls in the creek afterwards, getting them all muddy, then going back to hand them sheepishly to my grandmother and feed her some line about falling in the pond.  They came out of the laundry good as new; my relief was a palpable thing.  Over the next few days, when my penis seemed to behave normally, my fears subsided, and I began to experiment to see if the strange (and pleasurable!) event could be made to repeat itself.

That poor, fate-cursed Indian chief…

Hannah writes:

Dear Eon,

By my third month of riding lessons, I was feeling more confident in the saddle.  At last I could let my mind wander as I rode, instead of concentrating feverishly on not falling off the horse.
Constellation was a beautiful horse.  She got her name from the pattern of white stars down her left flank.  She was gentle and dainty, always moving as though she was concerned for the comfort of her rider.  Chestnut brown, except for her markings, with a gorgeous white mane and tail that I spent hours braiding with pink ribbons for derbies.
Well, one day, autumn, the leaves changing colors and drifting down around us as we rode, my mind drifted off with the falling leaves.  Thinking about everything all at once and also nothing much at all.  That’s when I noticed a strange sensation of warmth spreading up through my tummy.  As I began to focus on it, it became more pronounced.  My legs were warming up right down to my knees.
Just then we reached a place in the trail where a small log had fallen across the path a few weeks before.  It was still there, no real challenge to traverse.  I lifted slightly in my saddle and Stella (that’s what I usually called her) hopped the log with ease, taking special care with me on her back.  As I resettled myself in the saddle I felt the rub and response in my vagina for the first time, and realized where this feeling of heat was coming from.
Without further direction from me Stella settled into an easy walk.  For a time I just swayed on her back, wondering at the pleasure I was feeling.  I have always enjoyed riding, but this was clearly different.  I’d also been warned against the sin of touching myself.  I was smart enough to put two and two together.  So I wondered, and I worried.  How could this feeling inside me be bad?  It didn’t feel bad at all.  It felt good!  Delightfully good, perfectly good, like… well, like a hug from Papa when he would pick me up and whirl me around, or when Tommy tried to hold my hand, and I let him, just for a minute, before I pretended to be shy.  It felt… safe.  Exciting and safe at the same time.
Constellation was happy to run when I urged her forward.  We galloped along the mossy trail, the colorful leaves of autumn falling all around us, the upright, bright white trunks of birch trees flying past on all sides.  I let myself go to the sensation building within me and even urged it along, just like I was urging my horse.  I could cling tighter with my legs, reducing the rub.  I could press forward, canting my hips to increase the pressure, or lean back to tease my perineum.  I used the gait of the horse and the movement of my own pelvis to bring myself to the shuddering edge of climax before reining Stella in.  I was afraid this new sensation would sweep me away.  I might get hurt riding through the woods alone half-addled with this strange new joy.
So I dismounted, looked all around to be sure I was quite alone, and then wandered off the path into the forest.  At a good distance, but still able to see my horse, I lay down in a fiery carpet of fallen leaves and I used my hands to finish what the saddle had begun.
The first touch of my slick labial folds surprised me.  The wetness, the slishiness of it.  I sniffed my slippery fingers and even tasted them, experimentally.  When I inhaled deeply, my senses were awash in the smell of my secret self, what I would eventually come to know as the arousing musk of sex.  It only heightened the urgency of the moment.  I had to know!
I forced both hands down the front of my jodpurs, struggling to get my wrists past the tight waistband.  Sliding my fingers along the length of my lips, top to bottom and back again, sent shivery pleasure spiralling through me.  The feelings were like the curlicues on fanciful calligraphy and I was the page.  I could write my desires with my fingers using the ink of my own juices.
I thought of Tommy, I thought of my Papa, I thought of the immense penis on the workhorse, Job (Papa named him after the Bible’s Job and I sometimes had to groom him).  My fingers swirled and rubbed, prodded and tugged, and everything I did brought new feelings of ecstacy to glory in.  I knew in my heart that this was one of God’s greatest works and that He made me this way so that I could feel His touch.  I had never felt so close to Him or so safe.
Masturbation has always made me feel safe.
When I discovered my clitoris, well, you can imagine the fun I had!  I had no need to penetrate myself then, there were so many other places to explore.  I brought myself to a shuddering orgasm, soaking my panties and leaving me breathless.  Constellation came over to investigate and did a horsey whuffle of my crotch that made me squeal.  Her snort was concerned.  She was saying she thought I was behaving rather strangely, but she stayed by me.
I spent all afternoon lying in the woods, touching myself, exploring my body.  I squeezed my nipples, tracing their shape with my fingertips.  It made me shake and wiggle with happiness.  When I ran out of other places to touch, I put a finger into my vagina, marvelling at the squishy sounds and the lovely feeling as my whole body tightened before I came again.  I even put a finger into my anus… slowly, cautiously, remembering Sunday Bible studies and fearing God’s wrath, but somehow knowing it wouldn’t come.  He loved me, and He would never strike me down for enjoying His gift of my body.  His wrath didn’t come, but I did, again and again, as I rolled over onto my tummy and rode my hands, gasping, all the way to Heaven’s Gate and back.
It was only when I realized that it was getting dark, and that I would be in a lot of trouble for riding in the woods at night, that I gave up my explorations and made my way back to the stables.  I walked Stella most of the way, not wanting to risk an accident in the gathering darkness.  I felt I was brimming with warmth and satisfaction all the way down to my toes.

I’m 44 now, and masturbation is still my safe place.  It’s where I go when I’m sad, or lonely, or hurt.  It’s where I go to be alone with God.  I see no disparity between my beliefs and my actions.  Jesus said to love ourselves and to love one another was the most important thing, and I know it is true.
Don’t be afraid to love yourself, for God loves you.  The more you love yourself, the more you are able to love others.

Many blessings,

*Image from internet*

Peppermint Tease


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Tonight’s offering comes from J.E. in California.  J.E.’s enthusiasm for his tale, his complete return to that time in his life, comes through in his enthusiastic scribbling.  Kudos to you, J.E., for capturing all the ardor of teenage passion.

J.E. writes:


The smell and the taste of peppermint has always done it for me.  It’s Cheryl’s fault.  She loved peppermint and always had a peppermint candy to suck on, peppermint tea to sip, peppermint gum to blow bright green bubbles with.  She was the first girl I ever kissed, first girl I ever made out with.  She gave me my first blowjob, too, but I’ll get to that.

When I was 16 I went to one of those dumb highschool dances and I was really awkward in my tux, pretty much the only guy who bothered dressing up.  In a small town like mine that makes a dude stand out.  Especially since I spent the whole night standing off to the side watching everyone else dance.  Cheryl kept looking at me throughout the night and I would blush like an idiot and quickly look away, never thinking for a second she was checking me out.  A popular girl like Cheryl, looking at me?  One of the hottest girls in school?  Short and blonde and stacked and just way too perfect for me.  Probably just couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the skinny dork in the tux.  Everyone else was too cool to wear one but my mom had insisted.  It was almost enough to make me skip the dance completely, but… well, I was hoping magic would happen.  I’d heard ZZ Top’s ‘Sharp Dressed Man.”  You never know, right?

The magic didn’t happen until the next day, though.  I wore the stupid tux and didn’t get a single dance.  I spent the whole night watching other guys go off into the bushes with girls, or just stand there tongue-wrestling in the dark corners like they didn’t give a damn who saw.  One of the girls even took Mr. Hyden by the hand and did a long slow grind on him on the dance floor.  I guess he’s a handsome guy.  He might be the youngest English teacher we’ve ever had, but he was still 10 years older than her.  It was definitely causing a stir in the other chaperones, but nobody stopped it.  I even watched Tyler put his hands up Lea’s shirt and feel up her massive tits.  She didn’t look like she enjoyed it, but she didn’t stop him, either.  Lea might’ve been a bit on the chubbier side but her boobs were bigger than my head and I would’ve traded my tux in a second to be in Tyler’s place.  Was there something in the water?  It seemed like everybody was horny and scoring but me.  I was having trouble hiding my boner by then so I said, “Fuck it,” and I left.

So the next day I’m tired and kinda down on myself.  Obviously I didn’t get any action and I’m feeling like an idiot cuz why the fuck did I think last night would be any different?  I’m tall and skinny, my front teeth stick out, I have a big nose, too many zits.  My hair is curly and dull brown and impossible so I just jam it under a hat or a toque most days.  Top it all off, people keep making stupid comments at me about the tux.  Haha, yeah, I stole it from my grandad.  Very funny.  Had to dig him up first, though.  What’s that?  Who died?  Yeah, yeah, tuxes are for weddings and funerals.  It’ll be your funeral next, wise guy.  I’ve just about had it.  This awful day has dragged by and I cannot wait to get the hell out of there.

Suddenly the bell rings and I’m home free.  I grab my shit and jet before anyone can get between me and the door.  That’s when it happens.  I’m in such a fucking rush I run right into Cheryl just outside the door to the classroom and knock her flat on her ass.  Everyone’s piling out of the classroom around us and they crack up.  Way to go, klutz!  Smooth moves, dipshit! Someone smacks me across the back of the head.  I’ve dropped my books and scattered my homework everywhere but all I can do is stare at her.  She’s so beautiful, so incredibly gorgeous, her mouth is so sensuous, and yes, she’s sucking on another mint and she’s all red in the face like she nearly choked on it when I knocked her down.  I can see down her shirt.  Tight white cotton.  All that pale skin curving down into soft, mysterious shadows.  I would never in a million years dream of touching this girl but no one else has offered her a hand up yet so I just reach down and haul her to her feet.  And I mean haul.  I’m so pumped on adrenaline I practically throw her into the roof.  She’s pressed up against me now, her breasts soft and warm against my chest, her breath hot on my face.  Peppermint.  It’s all I can smell.  In that moment I realize I have my arm around her waist to keep her from falling over after manhandling her back to her feet.  My junk is rubbing her stomach.  If I wasn’t so bloody terrified I think I’d probably have a massive hardon right now.

She doesn’t pull away.  She goes, “Hey, aren’t you the guy in the tux?”
I mumble something like, “Duh… pretty.”
I don’t know what I actually said, but she smiles up at me, searching my face, only inches away, and says loud enough for everyone to hear, “Well, I thought it was cute,” and kisses me right on the mouth.

I can’t even think.  I can’t react, I can’t kiss her back.  I’m stunned.  I’m drowning in peppermint.  My instant erection nearly knocks her over backwards.  Everyone around us hoots and hollers.  My face is burning.  Fuck me!  I run.  I don’t know what else to do!  I’m so embarassed.  I can’t figure out what just happened!  Cheryl just kissed me.  In front of everyone!  I just pitched a tent.  In front of everybody!  Am I high on some crazy drugs?  Is this for real?  Am I dreaming?  What the fuck just happened?

She catches up with me down the street from the school.  I left my bag and books and everything when I ran.  She hands them to me.  I take them in silence and just start walking again.  She walks with me.  I can’t look at her.  I’m fucking terrified.

She says, “I mean it, y’know.  I’ve heard the things people have been saying all day.  But you were the only one who went to that dance last night who actually gave a shit.”  (Like I’m going to tell her my mom made me do it.  No way.)  “None of the guys in our school know what dressing up really means.  They figure they just put extra gel in their hair and wear a shirt that actually got washed recently and they’re good to go.  But you wore a tux, and it looked good.  Didn’t you see me looking at you all night?  J, are you even listening to me?”

She grabs me by the arm and stops, turns me to face her.  I can’t help but look her in the eyes.  Blue eyes.  Earnest.  She knows my name.  She must have asked someone before she chased after me.  She’s begging me with her eyes to understand.  She wasn’t making fun of me.  She really meant it.  As it slowly dawns on me this amazing girl actually thinks I’m cute, she drives it home with another kiss.  This time our tongues touch.  I lose my breath.  The world disappears.  I’m in heaven, and it smells and tastes like peppermint.  Time stops.
When she finally pulls away she smiles at me shyly.  Her!  Shy!  I can’t believe what I’m seeing.  Like she doesn’t know if she crossed a line or something.  I’m about to tell her she can cross the line as often as she likes when I realize I’m sucking on her peppermint, and we both burst out laughing.

Just like that I’m as comfortable as I’ve ever been with anyone.  Cheryl and I are suddenly a thing without officially being a thing.  She’s popular and her friends think she’s weird for hanging out with me but she deflects their questions and shrugs off their comments.  Sometimes she even jumps to my defense and tells them how great I am.  They roll their eyes and change the subject.  But I don’t care.  She says I’m a sweetheart and that’s just how she likes me.

The thing I remember most though is the peppermint.  She would be drinking peppermint tea.  We’d kiss and that taste would cool my tongue.  It would make me salivate.  It was like her kisses stayed inside my mouth.  I remember getting her peppermint lip gloss for her birthday.  She put it on right away.  Her eyes went wide.
“It tingles!” she laughed. “It’s making my lips numb!  It’s really minty!”
Then she pushed me down on the couch.  Went straight for my belt buckle.  I felt like a chump but I actually stopped her.
I said, “Are you sure?”
She just giggled and said she wanted to know if it made my thingy go numb, too.

The moment the head of my penis slipped inside of her mouth I lost all control.  I started to pant and moan.  Cheryl’s lips and tongue wrapped my cock like fire.  A slow, tingling coolness began to move along the length of my shaft as she worked her mouth up and down.  She spread her lipgloss right down to the root of me and back up again, gently sucking.  The warmth and the wetness and the pressure all combined were like nothing I’d ever imagined.  She was clumsy at first, but improving moment by moment.  Her fingers tickled my testacles, scratching lightly with her nails.  I could feel my balls tightening.  Shit, I was going to shoot my load.  I couldn’t finish in her mouth, she’d never forgive me.  I couldn’t think straight.  It felt so good!
“Cheryl!” I croaked.  Too late.
She squeaked in surprise as my cum flooded her mouth, but she did the damdest thing.  She clamped on tight, locked her lips around the head of my cock, swirled her tongue around, and sucked.  It actually hurt, she sucked so hard, but the pleasure was so intense I didn’t even consider making her stop.  My hips bucked and my cock throbbed and Cheryl held her breath, held on, until finally I stopped spasming.  When she took her mouth away my cum stretched from her mouth to my cockhead, like a little bridge, then broke and splattered over her lips and chin.  She gave me a small smile, embarassed and suddenly shy.
“I didn’t know what to do,” she said sheepishly.  She got up and got a towel from the bathroom.  I could hear her rinsing her mouth out and spitting into the sink.  When she came back, she watched as I wiped myself off.  I was apologizing all the while for getting off in her mouth.  I babbled about it being my first time and I didn’t know what to expect and it caught me off guard and then she stopped me from talking with a deep kiss.  I could taste my cum, mixed with peppermint.  It probably would have been far less pleasant for both of us if it hand’t been for that lipgloss flavoring everything.

It was Cheryl’s first time, too.  Suddenly, we were both endlessly curious about everything sex had to offer.  We hungered for knowledge.  We explored each other again and again, making new discoveries, sharing all of our firsts.  In my memory, all of it smells and tastes like peppermint.

In the end, we didn’t last.  She had to move away.   We tried to keep in touch, but we were teenagers.  The rest of the world was waiting.  But for that semester and the summer that followed, we were too high on teenage love to care.  To this day I get hard at the smell of peppermint.  I still sometimes order her favorite drink, peppermint mocha, and sit alone at a coffee shop remembering the whirlwind crazy bliss of it all.  So many sharp bright moments, and so much that’s blurry and out of focus.  I’m sure I’ve idealized her in my memory, but so what?  My first love was a peppermint angel, a pure white creature of candy canes and lip gloss and bright smiling laughter.  That’s how I will always remember her.

Yours Truly,
J. E.

Well, here’s to you, Cheryl:  Tonight I’m drinking a cup of peppermint tea in your honor.  Here’s to all of the warm-hearted, perceptive women out there who take the time to look a little bit deeper and see the man underneath.

*Image from internet*