I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud

Barely a breath of breeze kissed the leaves on the trees. Certainly not even enough the trouble the long grass in the meadow. The rabbits were too hot to venture from their burrows, and to me, it was the perfect day to just wander and see where I’d be taken. 

A white Egyptian cotton summer dress and nothing else. I looked, though I say it myself, virginal, innocent, yet ready to explore. 

As I left the house behind me, my whole outlook on life seemed to morph into an altered state. I really did feel virginal, in every respect. As I walked, I glanced down. Oh, how many adolescent girls do that? Look (carefully) and you’ll see them, just checking themselves out…just taking a quick look at their emergent boobs and flat tummies. As they do, so did I. The years seemed to fall away, and each step took me back in time, back to when my pubescent body first awakened and gave me my first unmistakable sexual feeling. 

Now, as then, a distinct tingle between my legs. A feeling of wetness which, at the time gave me pause for thought. Was this another unexpected period? I smile at the memory. I’d taken the hall pass to the restroom and hastily pulled my panties down to find, not blood, but a rich, wetness that could only come from sexual arousal. I remember the deep intake of breath at the realisation that, for the first time in my life, I was horny. 

The meadow smelled wonderful as its rich canopy of wildflowers are beginning to scent the air. I love meadows, especially just after they have their first cut. The resultant scent is, to me at least, the closest you’ll ever get to aroused vagina without actually breathing one in. That fresh, almost floral scent, yet interwoven with musk…and desire. 

Across the meadow, into the coolness of the woods, and for a while, following the footpath. Since I put the shelters in my wood, I know, absolutely know beyond all doubt that sexual activity has taken place, quite literally, in my ‘neck of the woods’. There are signs. Sometimes, a discarded condom, sometimes, a pair of panties. How I love finding ones with initials on the label in heavy, black laundry marker. ‘JW’ You can’t tell a girl’s age from her panties…or her bra. Look at me for example. I still fit underwear I wore when I was 15. But whoever JW is, she left her panties in my wood. She must still be at school, because the laundry marker was still jet black, and not worn at all. They were dark blue and I almost missed them. The dried, white stains in the crotch spoke of her arousal. Oh, they had been here too long for me to smell her, but the sexual energy that surrounded them was impossible to miss. 

Because I have nature cameras in my wood, sometimes I catch some sexual action, but I found that I wasn’t interested in that today. I decided to leave things be, and simply allow Miss Brain to pursue her own path with me. Today, that path was virginal self-exploration. Even the realisation of it made my heart beat faster. 

Deeper into the woods, well away from the footpath, passed the badger sets, and deeper into the soft, green womb of the trees. 

A small clearing, barely wide enough for me to stand in, and even then I could touch the trees on all sides, yet nature had conspired to allow enough sunlight to touch the woodland floor that allowed close-cropped grass to grow, giving me a soft, green carpet upon which to stand. I slipped my sandals off, and stood, barefoot on the cool green herbage. Slowly I reached for the large white buttons that hold the shoulder straps of my dress, first one, then….slowly now, Anna….the other. I look to each side as I brush the straps away and my dress crumples to the floor. 

I crouch down to pick it up, but I notice I’m keeping my knees together….very virginal! My dress safely on a tree, I put my hands behind my back and lean backwards against a silver birch tree. I feel it’s cool smoothness against me and I look down at my body. It may be 23 years old, but it doesn’t look it. This morning, when I showered, something made me remove my nipple piercings. I know why now. They would have been out of place with how I’m feeling. 

My firm, small breasts jut out from my body, seemingly ignorant of the force of gravity. The nipples are hard and erect. My flat, toned tummy with just a gentle feminine swell to it and then my hairless pubic bone. I run the back of the fingers of my right hand down between my breasts and over my tummy, allowing it to fall away mere millimetres before it would touch my clit. Oh, but I feel it though, pulsing away like it did that day in school. Shouting its message “Notice me” ever more urgently. 

Now, like then, I touch it tentatively and now, like then, it sends a shudder through me. Oh back then, I knew the mechanics of masturbation. I think I knew then when I was 10. I’d even tried it a couple of times, but it did very little for me. That day, it was like a switch had been thrown, and a voice was saying “The circuit’s complete. You’re ready for this now.” 

I touch my clit and feel the surge of energy it gives. I get that peculiar feeling inside me that I had back then. I know now that it’s my vagina widening and lengthening ready for sex. The wetness wells out from within. I close my eyes and let my consciousness drift between that dim little restroom cubicle, and the here and now until it becomes almost seamless. 

I begin to feel that feeling. That…urgency…..that feeling almost like being desperate to pee that frightens so many girls off from their first orgasm. I feel…..oh, what do I feel…..what did  I feel then? I’d clamped my internal muscles, determined I wouldn’t pee, yet somehow denying myself the very thing my body was screaming for. Then I realised. I was in a restroom stall and sitting on the lavatory. Who cares? And so I had relaxed and the feeling instantly swelled into a mighty crescendo and I came. I came hard. Somewhere, dimly at the edges of my consciousness Miss Brain was telling me, in her own, disgusting way “You’re cumming….you’re wanking your cunt, and you’re cumming, you dirty cunt.” 

Here in my wood, the orgasm tore through me from my feet to the top of my head. You may have noticed, but when you orgasm, all your physical senses change. They’re directed solely to your orgasm and nothing else matters. Even pain mutates into pleasure. 

I even saw myself in that tiny clearing. Dress hung on a branch behind me, tiny boobs, hairless, yet masturbating furiously… I realised I was pinching my nipple really hard, well into the point of pain, and yet there was an innocence about that, too. 

The cum rolled slowly down my inner thighs as it had that day. I remember I had stood up because I wanted to see this milky-looking substance….this girl cum…I’d touched it…..smelled it….tasted it….and found that it was good. Similarly here, in the forest, I did the same thing. 

Back then, there was no need to pee, and there was no need now. I had yet to make the connection, although that imminent pre-orgasmic feeling of needing to pee had lodged itself somewhere for examination at a later date, but in that moment, I was worried about it. What if? Over the years ‘What if?’ Has become ‘Who cares?’  

I was suddenly aware there was more breeze, or perhaps because I was sweating, but I had cum, not a dirty thought in my head. My 13 year-old self had reached across the years and blessed me with an innocent cum. 

And it was glorious.