Thank you all for your comments. I am humbled by your words. I have decided to write about myself a little more. Evey thing is real; it happened. Sometimes only once. When I write about my fantasies, which I will do if you wish, I will make it plain.
Rachel and I were 14. The first flush of puberty had passed, and had left its gentle swellings on our breasts and hips. We had overcome the urge to gaze at each other,longing for that which the other had.
The moment passed as fleeting as the kiss of a butterfly's wings. One moment, my friend and I were laughing about some silly schoolgirl trivia, when there was a look in her eyes almost like pain or some unutterable, unfulfillable longing. They became pools in which, in that moment, I would gratefully have drowned. The utter stillness of the moment was as if someone had died. The death, I realised later, was that of our innocence. Neither of us could bare to break the moment, but soon, we were breathing in unison as our spirits intertwined. She leaned forward and held her face so close to mine. Her breath caressed my cheek, and filled my head with her scent. Her eyes closed, and I watched as she moved closer and her lips brushed against mine. My pulse raced, while in a distant part of my being, my upbringing was chained away for life. Rachel kissed me. Quite simply, and yet so luxuriantly, that I felt myself melt with love for her. Her hand cupped my shoulder and gently sought out my budding breast.
I let her lay me down, let her unbutton my school blouse and slip it from my shoulders. I let her kiss my neck and move still lower to my aching breasts. At what moment, I wonder did my acquiesance become an urging? I don't remember the transition, yet, as she reached the gentle swell of my tummy, I prayed that she would not stop. I felt her fingers fumbling with my skirt, tugging at the zip and undoing the little leather clasp until she could unwrap me like a child's birthday present. She kissed me lower. Her lips and tongue traced the gentle path of my panties, and I knew that I would not be complete until she had savoured the very essence of my girlhood. I let my legs part slightly in hopeful supplication. Rachel stopped, and I opened my eyes to look again into hers. I saw the track of tears running down her face, but there was no need of words. I knew, as did she, that in that precious moment, I was utterly hers. With unbroken gaze, I felt her hand press gently under the waistband of my panties, and into the sensual wetness of my arousal. My whole body seemed to ache for her touch. I arched my back as her exploring finger found the tip of my clitoris. Again, she paused. Again, seeking my permission needlesly. Now, I too was crying, hoping, needing, demanding her touch. She cupped my sex in her hand, and dipped a finger deep into the well of my desire. The pressure was too much to bear and my body exploded into a cataclysm of total negation.
At that moment, I was hers, and would be forever.