- I’ve taken on a new writing project, not erotic, and haven’t had much time for erotic stories. I’ve been thinking about short little anecdotes for the sake of readers newly subscribed to the website. Most of the stories that follow are drawn from my own experiences while some are inspired by others. There is truth and elements of truth in all of them. Each one is named after the girlfriend and recounts a memorable experience.
I met Polly while I was still in high school. She was one grade below mine and liked to hang out with the boys who played computer games and Dungeons and Dragons. She was short, fun, had blonde hair and a lazy eye. At that age I masturbated nearly every night. It wasn’t long before I imagined having sex with her. I hadn’t had sex yet. I knew that she liked me. Whether she masturbated never even crossed my mind. Girls and their sexuality was still a mystery. If she sat next to me, her hip touching mine almost accidentally, my cock hardened. Just the presence of her body next to to me made mine rigid with her femaleness. Men like to say they’re so hard its painful. That’s not quite true. It can be painful if your cock is trapped in your jeans. Then all your cock wants to be is upright—at the angle of a girl’s cunt. Sometimes I could jamb my hand in my jeans pocket and straighten my cock. But the pain that boys are really talking about is the pain of pleasure: of being like a drawn bow, rigid, cock weeping, while the place between a girl’s thighs is unobtainable.
One night while we were walking with friends, we held hands. I squeezed hers. She squeezed mine. We kissed when we weren’t being watched, my hands on her hips, hers pulling mine against her pelvis. I felt a girl’s breasts for the first time. Later, alone, I imagined what I would have done to her if we had been alone. If I had had the courage. And I came. Thick, powerful spurts that shook me, overshot, streaking the bed and wall.
I picked her up on the way to movies. It wasn’t the first time I’d been alone with her, but now my pulse pounded in my ears. I asked about her day. She smelled like she’d taken a shower—lavender and soap. I drove. It was summer but getting dark out. I was hard, distracted, talking about nothing. Do you mind if I pull over? I asked. Okay, was all she said. I tried to adjust my cock without being seen. Are you okay, she asked. But she must have known what I was doing. She was as rattled as I was. .
I pulled the car under the darkening shadows.
I leaned across the center console. We kissed. First I felt her leg, then her thigh’s inside, then pressed my palm between. She groaned plaintively, opening her legs, pivoting her crotch into the palm of my hand. Her breaths came in short gasps. I moved to her breast, pressing my thumb into her nipple through shirt and bra. Her own fingers found my zipper, then dug out my cock. My cock had never been touched by a girl before. She masturbated me. The pleasure of being touched, masturbated by a girl, of my come being summoned by someone other than me lasted less than a few strokes. My body obliged her. Powerful spurts strung her hair, lips, breasts and lap. I came on a girl for the first time.
And I didn’t know what to expect.
Her hand slowed and stopped. She grabbed me by the shirt, looked behind her, opened the door, and not wanting to let go dragged me across the center console. I half stumbled out of the car. She pressed my back against it, kissing me with a kind of desperation, grinding her pelvis against mine. She accidentally cut her lip on my tooth, paused, and gingerly touched her lip. Laughed. Bit her lip. Fuck, she breathed.
What now? I asked. She was sprayed with come. She brushed her fingers through her hair, feeling my semen. Then she kissed me again, hard, before she leaned beside me, back against the pickup truck. We gazed at the stars.
Sorry, I said, without meaning it.
I like it, she answered.
She smiled and we turned toward each other. This, she said, touching a drop of semen on her shirt, I like. She kissed me. One by one she touched each drop of come and kissed me. I was hard by the last kiss, as hard as when we started. She squatted. Looked up at me as though for permission, and took me in her mouth. That a girl would want that in her mouth was a revelation. And I came again, head thrown back, blindly gazing at the spinning stars. She tasted and swallowed come for the first time. And when she was done she was shaking. She kissed me furiously, the taste of my own orgasm in her mouth.
Truth was, I didn’t know how to make a girl come. She almost desperately showed me, almost forcefully guiding my hand and fingers to her clit. Both of us lay in the back of the pickup truck. The way her back lifted off the truck bed, the way she screamed, the way she convulsed and cried my name with each convulsion? I was hooked. The smell of her orgasm on my fingers the next day? I masturbated to that smell. There was nothing I wanted more than to open her thighs again, to be between them, to feel their convulsions squeeze my hips.
William Crimson | June 28 2018