The wonderful thing about Solo Touch is discovering that you're not alone!
I've been lurking here for months and I love reading all of the contributions. The stories have sparked memories of my own. Stories that I have never been that comfortable sharing in person. The idea of sharing them here makes me nervous, but the good kind of nervous. The nervous you feel during a first kiss or touch.
My first time touching a boy and being touched by a boy was when I was fifteen. Dennis and I were doing a children's play at our local community theatre. He was seventeen and the most talented of the boys. He was tall, lanky, with long blonde hair. He had a wonderful sense of humour. I was (and still am, a bit) on the shy side. And all the girls were wild about Dennis. They were bold about their interests in him. I was not yet comfortable enough in my own skin to be brazen. I could be wild in my head, but very still in public. I often wonder if mindreading wasn't one of Dennis' talents, too.
The only advantage I had was that I had over the other girls was that I lived in the same suburb as Dennis. The community theatre was situated near the center of the city and often my mum would give him a lift or his folks would to the same for me. One evening my mum asked Dennis if he would like to have dinner with us. I was mortified! But Dennis accepted the invite and then I was suddenly thrilled. Although I was tongue-tied by the idea of having him in my own home. Mum and he kept the conversation going while I was in my silent heaven watching his every move. I don't think I ate a bite, I just pushed my food around on my plate. After dinner (with just the three of us, my parents were divorced and I am an only child) I cleared the dishes, my normal chore. Dennis offered his assistance and mum went off to watch one of her shows on the tube.
While we cleaned up the dinner things, I asked Dennis which one of the girls at the theatre were his girlfriend. He answered that he didn't have a 'girlfriend' only friends who were girls. He was being clever, but then the thought that he might be gay occurred to me. I politely (and stupidly) asked if he was gay. He laughed and I felt like the village idiot for asking. Everything was so awkward for me, rinsing a dish, wiping off the counter -- his presence made me feel so self-conscious and excited. The flushing in my face during dinner had moved lower to my center.
'Want me to prove it?' he asked me.
'Prove what? I replied.
'That I like girls.'
I didn't know what to say. So, I mumbled something about not meaning to cause any offense and turned to soak a pot in the sink. I nearly yelped with surprise as his hand came up under my skirt and caressed my pussy. I tried to turn towards him to reprimand him, but he leaned against me, pinning me against the counter. His free hand found my left breast. His warm breath was on the back of my neck.
I protested his boldness, but within moments I didn't want him to stop. He gently massaged my tit while his fingers rubbed my firm clit beneath my damp panties. I did warn him of my mum, that she might walk in on us. But this only increased the movement of his fingers in my crotch. I was dizzy from the sensation of his touch. He pulled the front of my blouse out of my skirt and slid his hand up under my bra. I grasped the edge of the counter to keep my balance. He tenderly rolled my nipple between his thumb and finger. Then he moved my panties aside and his fingers explored the sopping folds of my pussy. His wrist pressing against my ass as he toyed with my clit. One finger curled and dipped into my pussy -- not deeply, just pulling slightly against the back of my vagina. My legs began to tremor as the concentric circles of pleasure began to ripple across my tummy. And the fuzzy vision that always forewarns my climax blinded me. I grunted (in a most unromantic way, I'm sure) and folded over the sink as my orgasm erupted. As I fell forward I bumped my head on the faucet. With my bra gathered up over my left breast, I shivered with an extra stab of sensation as my naked nipple brushed against the cold porcelain of the sink rim. And then Dennis extended his finger deeper into my slippery pussy. My contractions gripped his digit and sent another smaller wave of pleasure through me.
My ears were ringing, my face was perspiring, he pulled his hand from between my legs as I turned toward him. I felt fabulous, embarrassed, in love, angry, lustful, and frightened by everything I was feeling. He moved his lips to mine and gently kissed me as he pulled my bra cup back over my breast and lowered my blouse. He had his eyes closed as he kissed me, I know, I didn't. My heart was beating a military march. I couldn't seem to stop trembling.
His tongue began to explore and met with my tongue. I heard his zipper go down and he guided my hand to his fly. He helped me free his rigid cock from the confines of his underpants. I wanted to stop our kiss to look at him, but his lips were locked on mine. He wrapped my hand around his cock and blindly taught me how to pump him. We were standing too close together for long strokes. I could not believe how steel-hard he was, yet how soft the skin of his shaft was. It was sticky wet as it slid across the palm of my hand. His hand gripped my wrist and moved my fist in faster beats. Then our kiss ended as he gasped for breath and I finally could see what I had never touched before: an erect penis. He softly cursed and tensed up as his cum squirted onto the front of my skirt, in a series of spasms, white, thick strands of cum splattering the dark gray wool.
'Dennis,' my mother called out from the parlour, 'do you want dessert?'
Now Dennis' amazing boldness evaporated and his voice was shaky as he answered, 'No, thanks.' He stuffed his still stiff cock back into his pants as I quickly wiped the evidence off of my skirt with a damp dish towel.
Fifteen minutes later, mum gave Dennis a lift home. I stayed home. I was too afraid that in the car mum would be able to smell the sex on me. I could smell it. I went up to my room, fell back on the bed, and carefully coaxed another orgasm out of my sore clit. Pinching and tugging on my nipple. Dennis had taught me, once and forever, the nerve path between my breasts and my pussy.
So much of sex is a maze. I entered the maze that evening twenty years ago. I hardly slept that night. My emotions were all contradictions. I never wanted to see Dennis again, yet I couldn't wait to see him the next day. The only thing that would stop the thousands of thoughts tumbling through my head was the extraordinary way my pussy responded to my fingers as I recalled Dennis fondling me, finger-fucking me, plucking at my taunt nipple, his hot breath on the back of my neck.
It is a memory I've never worn out. I will use it again tonight to help me sleep. That is how I fell asleep that night twenty years ago.