In high school, there’s usually only one reason a senior will date a
sophomore. I know that now. At the time, though, I was naive enough
to think love was involved.
Jack first asked me out in October. This was a huge deal to me.
First, as I’ve said he was a senior, and a good looking one at that.
Second, he was a varsity football player. Standing right at six feet
tall, short brown hair, green eyes, great build. He was a great
running back, on a great football team that would make it to the state
quarterfinals that year.
So of course I was flattered to be asked to a movie. He picked me up
at 6, met my parents, brought me flowers — the whole nine yards.
Very polite, he opened the door to his camaro for me. Off we went to a
nice dinner, where he was funny and charming and interested in what I
had to say. Then to a movie, some cheesy romantic comedy. Then home.
He walked me to the door, the perfect gentleman. I hugged him and gave
him a kiss on the cheek, which I thought was pretty bold. We said
goodnight, I floated inside.
We really kissed on our third date, two weeks later. He actually asked
my permission. We were sitting in his car, talking, when he says, “I’d
really like to kiss you. Would that be ok?”
“Fuck yeah!” I thought, but just nodded my head. He leaned in, very
slow. I closed my eyes, felt his lips on mine. Ohgodohgodohgod I
couldn’t believe it. I was lost, feeling his hand on my cheek,
pulling me closer. He leaned back, looking at me, smiling. I smiled,
feeling a hot blush rising in my cheeks.
He came in this time, and I felt his tongue touching my closed lips. I
couldn’t believe this was really happening to me! I had dreamed of my
first *real* kiss. I had had others, never welcome (something for
another story) but this was one I had dreamed about since he first
asked me out. He pulled back a little, and whispered, “Open your
mouth, Julia.”
I did, and felt his tongue enter and touch mine. My arms came up and
gripped his. I don’t know how long we kissed. Eventually he moved to
my neck, brushing my hair back, causing me the shiver and moan
slightly.
All this was so amazing. He had moved one of his hands to my side,
just below my left breast. I realized after a while that his hand had
moved slightly up, and his fingers were caressing the bottom of my
tit. This made me hotter, and I actually groaned when his hand slid
down. But then I was shocked to feel his hand come back up, this time
inside my blouse.
The heat of his skin against mine was intense, but so was the
conflict. Good girls don’t get felt up, this I knew. At the same time,
I wasn’t a good girl because of what had been done to me. This
conflict made me stiffen. I started to speak.
“Shhh…” he said, soothing me, rubbing my side under my shirt. “It’s
ok, just relax.”
It didn’t feel ok, but I couldn’t say anything. And it felt so damn
good. I felt his hand come up and cup my tit through my bra,
squeezing. His fingers rubbed my nipple. I moaned again. I felt it was
wrong, felt ashamed, but also felt loved, and wanted, and sexy. I
didn’t protest, not even when he slipped the strap off my shoulder and
lowered the cup.
His hand on the skin of my breast was electric. His kisses increased.
Part of me wanted him to stop, but I said nothing. But I saw the clock
on the dash, and used it as my out.
“Jack, I need to get home.”
He kissed me for another minute, his hand massaging my tit. As I was
about to say something again, he looked at me, smiled, and pulled
away.
We were silent on the drive home. I was still torn about how I felt.
He asked if I was free for dinner the next night. I said I was.
Dinner, it turned out, was at his house. His parents, of course, were
out for the evening. Looking back, this was so obvious I should have
seen it coming. But at 15 I did not know what I know now.
One thing it was impossible to predict, though, was he was actually a
pretty good cook. We had a very nice candlelit dinner. Afterwards we
sat on the couch, supposedly to watch some movie. Of course I don’t
remember what we were supposed to watch because we were making out
almost instantly.
Things progressed much faster than the night before. Within minutes
his hand was under my shirt, on my tit, which was pulled out of my
bra. My conflict, while still there, was not as loud as the night
before.
I ended up laying back on the couch, he was beside me, not completely
on top of me. Suddenly he sat up and began to unbutton his shirt. My
mind was screaming, but I only watched as he took it off. He came back
to me, and I held my arms out for him. Feeling his muscles, his skin,
directly was an unbelievable turn on. He kissed my lips, then my jaw,
and my neck. Down my neck, to the top of my blouse.
He looked at me, smiled, and undid the top button of my red blouse. I
stiffened, and felt his hot kisses so near the top of my breasts.
Another button was opened, and he was kissing my breasts directly,
liking and sucking lightly, though not on the nipples.
My mind reeling, I wanted to complain, to stop it. I wasn’t
comfortable, it wasn’t fun. A third button opened. He placed one hand
on each of my A-cup sized tits, squeezing them directly. “Jack,” I
said, as he leaned forward, “I…”
I didn’t finish. He sucked the nipple of my right tit in. I gasped,
arching towards him. My mind was protesting, the bra was pushing in to
the bottom of my tits, but damn his mouth felt good. I made my
decision, pushed him away, sat up.
Before he could speak, I removed my shirt, then my bra, and pulled him
back to me. For the next several minutes I was lost, holding his head
to my breasts, as he gave me pleasure I had not experienced years
before. I came back to earth, however, when I felt his hand under my
skirt, touching the crotch of my panties.
“You’re wet,” he said, and I blushed. I knew I was. I felt his hand
work under my panties, touching my outer lips. I reached my hand down,
took his wrist to pull it away. “Don’t do that,” he said, “let me
touch you.”
“Jack, no, not now.”
“C’mon, Julia. I love you, you know that. Let me touch you.”
The lie, so obvious now, was believed then. I didn’t want to be the
wimp, the little girl who couldn’t do what I knew most of my friends
had already done. I let go of him, felt his fingers probing. I even
raised my hips when he pulled my panties down my legs and off. My
skirt followed, and I was naked before him.
He stood and undressed. His was not the first cock I had seen, of
course. It still fascinated me. He stood back before me and, before he
could sit down I thought of something I had been made to do years
before. I would show him I was no baby. Besides, I really didn’t want
him to fuck me, and I knew that’s where we were heading.
“Sit down,” I told him. He did, hesitating only a moment. He was
supposed to be in control, after all. As he sat I slid off the couch,
before him, going to my knees. Before he could say anything I took his
cock in my hand and sucked the tip in.
“Christ!” Which I took to mean he liked it. Emboldened, I began to
suck, taking more in. I slowly bobbed my head. “Damn, Julia, that’s
good. Here I thought you were all innocent… Jesus!”
His words hurt, but I knew he was right. I had done things, things had
been done to me. I sucked him for a few minutes, feeling in control,
when I lost it again. He placed his hands on my head and pushed me
down. I began to gag, pushing back. I came off his cock, glaring at
him.
His hands still on my head, he said, “Open back up, Julia.” I shook my
head. His hands held me tighter. “Damn it, girl, open your fucking
mouth!”
Tears welled in my eyes. “Oh don’t act like you haven’t done this
before. Shhh… baby, open your mouth.” Burning with shame, I did. I
allowed him to pull me back down, and let him use me, bringing my
mouth up and down as he wanted.
After a time, the inevitable. “I’m gonna cum, baby.” He pushed me
down. By this time tears were rolling down my checks. “Yeah, take it
all!” I felt his dick pulse once, twice, three times, more and more
cum shooting into my mouth. I swallowed, gagged, coughed, tried to
swallow more.
His grip on my head relaxed, I pulled away, lay on the floor curled
up, crying softly. After a moment he came to me. I flinched from his
touch.
“Hey, baby, it’s ok. You were great. I loved it. I love *you*. It’s
ok…” On and on he soothed, and again I believed him. He held me,
caressed me, then began to kiss me again. I ended up back on my back,
this time on the floor, naked, and he kissed my neck, my tits. I felt
his hand in my crotch again, fingers sliding into me. I stiffened, but
let him do it. Eventually he stopped, reached for his jeans, pulled
something out.
I realized, after he opened the package, that it was a condom.
I watched, fascinated, afraid, as he rolled it on his dick, once again
hard. I didn’t want this. I said as much. But as he came to me, I
opened my legs, raised my knees, and reached for him. After a bit of
fumbling, I felt his cock head penetrate me. I arched, cried out. He
thrust in, I yelped. Fuck it hurt, I wasn’t nearly wet enough. But he
didn’t stop, and began thrusting.
You read all sorts of stories about the girl who starts out not
wanting it, gets into it and cums. Well those stories are probably
written by guys and are mostly bullshit. I didn’t want it, and I
didn’t enjoy it. I arched, thrust back, wrapped my legs around his
thighs, but I did not cum. He fucked me there, on the floor, and I
again started to cry.
He reached under me, grabbing my ass, pulling me to him. I fucked
back. He kissed me, my tongue met his. I was his, totally, but only
because I was broken. Eventually he came, shortly thereafter he took
me home.
I went inside, told my parents I had a wonderful time. In my room I
undressed, pulled on a long tshirt to sleep in, got in bed and cried.