Study Abroad: the First Time

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The true story.


At the suggestion of the other party in this story, I present this in Diary format, beginning with the day he first touched me...

Thursday, November 12, 2009.

Dear Diary,

I'm not sure whether to laugh, or to cry. I've certainly done enough laughing-I spent at least 40 minutes, laying on his bed, giggling my way to mini-orgasms.

But I'm ahead of myself. You know Iain, right? The guy I've been nearly getting off with, under the (dubious) cover of a blanket, in the (extremely public) lounge? Who found the spot, right under my bellybutton, that can almost get me off without even touching anywhere else?

The lounge was loud tonight. People were being annoying, and Iain suggested that we go to his room to get away, so we could watch TV in peace. After some mental debate, I agreed. I was nervous, because last time I was in his room, alone with him, things got fairly awkward on my end. I pushed him away when he tried to move forward; I'm a virgin-so completely that I've never even been kissed. Perhaps the bruised lower abdomen (from my forcing him to push hard enough on my spot to just about get me off from the outside) bespeaks a connection which skipped a bit over the bounds of 'innocent kissing', but I stick to my black-and-white definitions. I'd go crazy otherwise.

Speaking of crazy, what happened tonight DEFINATELY was.

We went to his room to escape the hubbub of the lounge, and found our comfortable spot, laying on his bed. I was tucked comfortably under his arm, like usual. We watched a bit of TV, but as soon as it was over, I could tell something had changed.

'What do you want to do?' he asked me. My stock response was, 'I dunno.'

And I really didn't. But he took it as an invitation to sneak his hand down to the spot below my belly button that, when pressed just right, starts the irreversible flow of juices that tends to spiral into my desperate rush to my own room to finish what he started-as it has several times in the past week.

My every thought was focused on how wrong it was, even as my hands guided his to the right spots to push on, away from the bruises from last time. It felt good. Better than usual, actually. I was hornier than usual, and I think it reflected in the slow rock of my hips against his hand.

'You can let your hands wander,' he said softly, encouraging me to go where I didn't let him. Already breathless, I just shook my head and hummed a negative response. Fed up, I guess, with my constant refusals, he asked if he could.

I'm not sure why. I was slightly dizzy from the rush of relocating blood, I think. His fingers on my stomach felt connected to the deep parts of my womb, making me slightly crazy with pleasure.

But I had the sense to think, and to speak: 'Fine. From the outside.'

Even through heavy jeans, and my panties, the feel of his hand between my legs, the pressure as he dug his fingers right where my core would be, it was almost too much. I didn't know what to do, it felt so good. I think I may have bucked against his hand, but I was a little too lost in the feeling, the knowledge that, if not for a few simple layers of cotton, he'd be pressing against the most intimate part of my body. Years of keeping as quiet as I could worked to my advantage, or I'm sure there would have been some suspicion from without the room. I'm not even sure if I was breathing, the sensations were so intense.

I could feel how wet I was, my panties sliding across my vulva and clit, the pressure as he tried his damnedest to get his fingers inside me, even through the heavy material. I can't remember anything in my life that's ever felt better-except what happened next.

I was just conscious enough of what was going on to recognize that he mentioned his hands getting tired. Apparently, I was being hard to please. (Insert eye-roll here.) The decision took five seconds, if that. Letting him inside my jeans would cross a barrier that I never really imagined crossing, but so had letting him outside my jeans in the first place. I knew my own hands couldn't do whatever he was doing, so I moved his hand from outside my jeans to just inside the waistband.

'Outside the panties,' I whispered-gasped-I'm not sure.

'You sure?' he asked. Even as I nodded, he slipped his fingers down over the damp outside of my panties. Through the jeans, I had only really been able to feel a general pressure, and a point where the tips of his fingers drove into my core.

Now, though... I was able to feel exactly how he curled his fingers, dug into my panties... Despite the fabric barrier, I think he got inside a bit-but I couldn't be sure how far or anything. The very memory recalls the moisture, and I can't think past that point. It was a delicious haze of who-knows-what. I was aroused and ashamed and amused, and very, very horny. His fingers worked against my clit, and pushed deeper into my core.

I couldn't really tell when I started cumming, but I'm not sure I stopped for a while. My whole body twitched and writhed-I think it might have annoyed him that I couldn't sit still for half a second, but it's his fault for making me feel so damn good. I had NEVER been able to do this on my own.

By the time he pulled his hands out of my jeans, I could barely breathe, and I knew I wouldn't be able to stand for a little bit. I tried to roll over onto my side, but the mere movement of the muscles in my stomach set off more of the same. I must have cum again, because I couldn't do anything but lay there, twitching and enjoying the sensations.

Somewhere in there, we were interrupted, too. His roommate came back, and we had to lay still, a blanket thrown over my disarrayed lower half-not that he couldn't tell by my expression, I'm sure. I'm not sure when it happened, either... but sometime in amongst the writhing and squirming and cumming, there was a really, hilariously awkward pause...

As soon as I regained my mind, though, I wasn't sure what to do. I had just let a guy closer than I had ever let a guy before-and I still hadn't-haven't-kissed him yet! And it had been incredible.

I couldn't help it. I almost broke out into hysterics-at least, the laughing kind. As I giggled, my whole body convulsed. My entire core kept fluttering, sending waves of pleasure throughout my body, which caused, in turn, more giggles. I couldn't stop it-I could barely breathe. It was so much more amazing than I had ever imagined, and it just wouldn't quit.

Eventually, I managed to stop the giggles. Unfortunately, it was because I was getting really kind of dizzy.

'You okay?' he asked. I tried to sit up and failed.

'I feel like I'm going to pass out,' I breathed, forcing back some more giggles. The whole situation was absurd.

He ran and got me a glass of water, which I forced several sips down of. My pussy was still convulsing every few seconds, and it still felt absolutely delicious.

After a bit, I had to leave... I tried to stand, and managed a few steps before having to catch myself on the crossbeam by the doorway. He laughed at me, but I couldn't bring myself to be angry, I simply felt way too good.

I thought I'd regret it, but I don't. Not yet, anyway. I don't know if it's going to happen again... I didn't do anything for him, and I feel bad for running off and leaving him hanging. But I was so embarassed. I've never cum that hard, ever in my life. I hope for more, but if I can ever look him in the eye again, I'll be kind of surprised.

I should get a shower and get to bed, though... You keep your mouth shut, because if this gets out, I'll never live it down!





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