Don't Stop

The year I went to college, I was still sexually inexperienced. I had kissed some lips and caressed some breasts, but that was about it. I am not counting my many hundred solitary masturbation sessions which had only erotic magazines for company, or even some mutual masturbation with boys at scout camps. With girls, I remained, if not an innocent, then certainly a novice.

I met Elsa at a Christmas dance back in my home town in the south of England, not far from London, where teenagers sat on opposite walls and only the brave ventured onto the floor. I joined the brave after some nervous waiting and beckoned an attractive dark dark-haired girl, who I had been admiring, to join me. We managed some awkward and barely rhythmic movements vaguely in time with the music, and above the volume of the music I discovered that her name was Elsa. By the end of the next DJ’s track, we looked at each other. I shouted, “Let’s get out of here.”, she nodded, and we escaped with relief into the darkness of the night.

As we walked towards her home, we paused to kiss, and I noted her enthusiastic response. We stepped into a heavy shadow, away from the street-lights, where our kissing became more passionate and more prolonged. Then I felt her hand on the front of my trousers. My cock had already grown hard when, with unexpected expertise, she unzipped my jeans and in a deft movement pulled out my cock.  

She began to stroke me and I drifted into a dreamland, but Elsa soon reminded me that she wanted attention too. She unbuttoned her top, loosened her bra and pulled my hand onto her warm breast where I felt her nipple hard with anticipation of my touch. Her skilled hand movements were evidence that she had done this before. As I plunged my tongue between her lips and marvelled at the softness of her breast, I quickly reached the point of no return and my semen spurted out of me which she expertly directed away from her clothing.

Like so many inexperienced young men, I made the mistake of thinking that, with my climax, the encounter was over and I began shift away from Elsa. But she was still pressing herself against me. Her legs were apart, each side of my leg, as she pushed her pelvis against my thigh. I still didn’t get it so Elsa moved away from me with the briefest show of irritation. As we parted for the night, she said, “Next time, let’s remember me."  

As I walked home, I puzzled over these parting words. Of course I will remember her, I thought. I didn’t understand what she meant. I remembered her when I wanked again that night, and the next morning when I thought of her hand on my cock and my hand on her breast, but I still didn’t get what she meant by remembering her.

The next time we were alone together, kissing in the same dark shadows not far from her home, I thought I knew what to expect. Soon enough I felt her hand on my cock and my hand went under her sweater to feel her breast. I discovered with pleasure that this time she was without any bra to hinder my eager touch. I squeezed her nipple while my jeans were quickly unzipped as before. Her grip on my cock was as delicious as the previous encounter, but after a few strokes she grabbed my hand that was exploring her tits and thrust it between her legs. Under her short skirt, my hand pushed against the textile of her panties. I felt her adjust her stance, shifting her legs apart to allow me better access to her underwear, which, and this was a surprise to me, was rapidly becoming wet.

While Elsa continued to massage my cock, my fingers were on a voyage of discovery, slipping under the edge of her panties to feel her wet and smooth inner labia. She released my cock for a moment to lift her skirt and pull down her underwear to her thighs. My hand could now slide down between her labia oozing with a mysterious fluid. She pushed my hand hard against her. I was surprised that she wanted me to press so firmly. ‘Did all girls like it this rough?’ I thought to myself.

My image of the polite and gentle female sex was smashed. I was confronted with fierce desires that demanded to be satisfied not by tenderness, but by violent pressure and furious movement.

All this stimulation and excitement was too much for the young man I was.  Her skillful handiwork ensured that I came messily over my own hand massaging her pubes which were abundantly covered in coarse dark hair.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered hoarsely in my ear. “Keep going. I want to come too.” So I obediently continued with my unskilled handling of her labia. I didn’t know about the clitoris at that stage in my life but I found her vagina and pushed two fingers inside her, keeping up the pressure as best I could while kissing her deeply until she let out a muffled gasp. She seemed to freeze, her knees buckled under her and her head dropped onto my shoulder. For a moment, we were both silent and spent.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. “Don’t forget that it isn’t all about cocks and spurting sperm everywhere. I want my sexual needs satisfied as well. For a first-timer, you did OK. Thanks.”

So began our regular pattern of mutual wanking. She always remained in charge, demanding to be satisfied. I did get better at arousing her and bringing her to her climax while holding back my own orgasm until she was ready. We never had full penetrative sex. Elsa said that was too ‘dangerous’, so we continued to use our hands.

I found this very satisfying at the start of our sexual relationship, but I came to be bored with the predictability of our encounters and we broke up when I returned to college. Wanking each other had been terrific and very exciting, but in the long term, it wasn’t enough.