My first love was a cruel hearted girl, but that’s a story for another time.
My second was a soft and sweet thing whose heart I broke accidentally, like knocking a China cup off a table.
Her name was Sophia and she was always smiling, which was alien to my angry teenage heart. She was the first person who showed me that love could be playful and silly.
She was both shy and adventurous all at once. Constantly daring me to make moves and then getting cold feet.
We had one summer of intense passion. I would come to her house after her parents left for work. She would pour me a big glass of too sweet iced tea and we would sit in her pink bedroom and listen to music and talk.
There was a dreamlike quality to that time. There is something unique about being young and spending every day with someone and you becoming obsessed and drunk of the feelings.
She apologized early on that we couldn’t “go all the way.” She was scared and wanted to wait and to be honest I was scared too. I had done it with my first girlfriend and it was a crazy thing with all kinds of emotions and weirdness.
That summer though, we did what kids always do, we skirted the rules as much as possible.
So there was kissing and heavy petting and every week we seemed to find a new way to turn each other on.
She was a nerdy little thing, always wanting to play video games or card games or board games. I wasn’t much for those kinds of games so she would entice me with little wagers, and the stakes were always sexual.
Not wanting to push things too far, if I won I would make her “show me.”
She would squirm out of her blue jeans and panties and then pull her shirt and bra up to her neck. Her cheeks would be bright red, her smile would be mischievous.
I remember her pretty legs, strong from sports, closed tight as she fidgeted and pouted.
“Ten minutes, that’s the deal,” she said between giggles.
Then she would slowly spread those legs.
“All the way,” I would remind her. A bet was a bet.
Fumbling in the dark, necking in movie theaters, kissing in shadows, that was one thing. This was something completely different. All her secrets laid out for me in the light of day. She was all mine to explore.
There was something forbidden in it. We weren’t doing the usual. You weren’t supposed to show boys everything, not like that.
I relished it in a way I didn’t understand then. It was more than sex, she was relinquishing power. Giving me free reign over her most secret parts.
And I loved it. I took in every inch of her, touching and kissing and seeing what each little caress would do to her.
That became my game that summer, figuring out her body, seeing how she liked to be touched, seeing how much I could make her squirm and moan. Finally after practice, making her come.
There was nothing like making her come. The way her body tensed and shook and the way she looked at me after, thankful and amazed.
Sometimes she would stop me, panting, saying “we have to stop or I won’t be able to not…”
The word fuck wasn’t in her vocabulary. Not then, but it hung in the air, my cock hard in my jeans, her pouting and squirming, wanting more but enjoying the torment of our rules.
That summer ended and we fell apart, but I still remember the strength of her thick thighs around my head, the taste of her, pretty wet spots on pink sheets, and the giddy realization that she would always let me win.If you liked this story you can send me a tip via paypal.me/writingdirty