How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 04

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So far in this series, all the girls have shown the initiative; the one in this chapter also will. When I realized that, I recognized that almost all “my” girls are like that. Is it my chivalrous streak, or am I the more bashful type? Certainly, I don’t like the idea of a father seducing his daughter, but then he may be very willing, when she makes the first move. Do women writers here prefer to have the man take the initiative? All rhetorical questions; maybe there is a discussion of this on the forum.

The girl in chapter 3 told a quite plausible story. The eighteen year old one in this chapter tells a rather fanciful one, after her friend tells all the background. “Fanciful” is related to “fantasy” and that’s what everything on Literotica is about, even the possibly autobiographically true stories, fantasies for the readers. This story dates back, of course, to before youngsters could learn all about sex from the media and internet.

This story is not for readers who quickly scroll down to see if there is hot sex on the first page. I hope that readers who enjoy a long, sympathetic description of an idealized first time will like it.

I wish mine had been that good.

Now that I have completed the story, I have to apologize for Mark’s having wanted to tell in much more detail than I had anticipated. I enjoyed it and hope that readers also do, but only in chapter 5 will he be able to ask the question and hear Peggy’s answer. That isn’t quite true; he never really asks the question — the title of this series. He and readers do hear from Peggy all he could want for an answer.

* * *

My name is Mark. Peggy and I had our eighteenth birthdays a week apart in February. We’ve known each other since grammar school, never anything special between us, except that we both weren’t part of the “better” crowd: both our parents working, no dancing school, no team sports, not outstanding in school.

After Easter, kids started talking about our graduation prom. Of course, some were going steady, their date for the prom. Others were pairing up, a couple of them making up with their old friend so that they had a date. Peggy and I weren’t the only ones to agree to go with each other for lack of someone better. That doesn’t sound nice; we were quite pleased that we had agreed to go to the prom together. At the prom, we saw some very unexpected couples: she taller than him, pairs we had never seen together before — desperate last minute choices.

After we had agreed to go to the prom together, I invited her to a movie, nothing special, just our first date. Her parents wanted to meet me. That was a little sticky for both of us, but mostly in anticipation. I was invited to dinner, and it was all right. So we went out again, and I began to look at her a little different, not just seeing the Peggy I had always known. Maybe she wasn’t good looking, but I had known her so long that her face was just her face. I suddenly recognized that she had a nice figure, wondering why I hadn’t notice before.

Eighteen: recognizing that my date for the prom had a nice figure, that was going to be in my arms when I tried to dance with her, and didn’t everyone make out after dates? One girl in our class junior year had even gotten pregnant, at least, that was the rumor. If Peggy and I were going to date till June …?

Then next time in the movie, she had her hand where I could hold it, and she didn’t take it away when I did. Just holding hands with a girl in the dark made my cock stir? Eighteen. When the movie ended, I let go of her hand, but outside, walking her home — small town, just a couple of blocks from where I lived — she took my hand and murmured:

“Last time we held hands was crossing streets on a grammar school outing to the fire station.”

I had forgotten that, but if she had remembered? I squeezed her hand and nodded, and she squeezed mine. Eighteen, my cock stirred again. At her house, she turned to me, still holding my hand, and looked at me, tilting her head up a little and to the side. The girl in the movie had done that, and they had kissed. Nerd! She had to murmur: “Everyone does.” We did, just a first kiss, really my first kiss. Had she kissed a boy before? I couldn’t remember seeing her with anyone she might have kissed.

After that, we always kissed, of course, and better — French kissing! — and embracing. I was embarrassed about my cock, but she just hugged our hips tighter together. Then the next time, I wasn’t embarrassed, and she hummed, when it twitched between us.

The following week, she suggested that we sit on the isle. Before the movie ended, she whispered that we leave. We hurried out of the theater and hurried to the darkest spot on the way to her house, in the shadow of a hedge. Then it was embarrassing again; my cock was stiff between us, and she wanted me to hold her breast. I can’t remember how I knew that, but she did, and I did, just through her sweater and bra. She moaned, and her hips rocked against my cock, and I came casino oyna — all up in my jockey shorts, more than when I beat-off. I must have also moaned. Did she know what had happened?

I was going to have to wash my shorts before I put them in the laundry, but I wasn’t going to have beat-off, like I did after our other dates — but I did. We walked to her place and kissed again.

The next week, when I picked her up, she murmured that we didn’t have to go to the movie. It was a warm spring night. She suggested that we go somewhere else, where I knew there were no street lights. As we walked there, I already anticipated having to wash my shorts again; my cock was already stiff. I hoped that she didn’t notice that I helped it move around in my shorts.

We kind of started where we had left off. When my hands on her back discovered that she wasn’t wearing a bra, she nodded. Oh, the previous week, she had chuckled and murmured that it was good that she hadn’t been wearing a blouse that would have been wrinkled. She wasn’t again. My hands slid down and then up under her sweater — on her bare skin!

She hummed with a nod, and her hips pressed harder against mine — and my cock — when she leaned back. She could only want my hands to find her naked breasts! They did, and I moaned with her; it was so arousing to be holding her firm breasts, and feel her stiff nipples between my fingers.

Of course I came again, this time letting my hips rock with hers, only afraid that it might soak through to my chinos. Her hands had been down holding our hips together. Then it was very embarrassing; she murmured: “Did you? Wish I could have.”

I could just nod; she had understood what was happening down there, and she had admitted that she had also wanted to come. What was that like for girls — for a girl, for Peggy? What were we going to do now, only minutes into the start of the movie, where our parents thought we were?

“I want to hold it,” she murmured, and I felt her hand slid around my hip. Did she want to open my fly, pull down my jockey shorts, want to find out how wet they were, and touch my bare cock?! I was holding her bare breasts, but that wasn’t sliding my hand down between us, like hers was doing.

Her hand only held it through my chinos and shorts. It wasn’t now so stiff, but when her fingers grasped it through the cloth, it was again. She moaned, and I did, feeling her fingers trying to creep in closer around it, having to pull the front of my chinos together to grasp around it.

“I just had to hold it,” she murmured. I hoped so, hoping that the wet part of my shorts was above her hand, and squeezed her breasts. She purred and murmured:

“I’ve been wanting you to hold them, to feel your hands on them, on my skin.”

Was she suggesting that she wanted to hold my bare cock?! She squeezed and purred again, murmuring: “It’s so big and stiff.”

It sure was, and twitching! Peggy, talking like that, squeezing my cock, and we were only closer because we didn’t have anyone else to go to the prom with?! Was that how other couples were?! Did she know more about this than I did? She had an older sister, so maybe. I was an only child.

“Where’s the park bench?” she murmured: “I want to sit on your lap.”

We both knew where, and I was relieved that she let go of my cock. We went to it. If she sat on my lap, she couldn’t hold my cock. I sat down, wondering how she would in her skirt. Darn! She pulled it up around her hips and straddled my legs, and then told me to move my hips forward!

I did. Did I understand that she wanted to straddle my hips so that her pussy was near my still erect cock? I didn’t, but then it was obvious that she did. I knew that I and classmates were always horny, but were girls too, especially my Peggy? “My” Peggy? Till the prom.

She leaned forward and started another kiss. That was fine, and my hands slid back up under the front of her sweater. Were her nipples always so stiff, just inviting my fingers to squeeze them, and making her moan. How did that feel for her? Had that made her hips twitch?

Oooh! She wanted her crotch right up against my cock, wanted her pussy right against it! Could she feel it twitch — right against her pussy?! What did a pussy look like? It wanted to rub my cock? Did that arouse it, just rubbing there — not in it?! Shit! Her crotch was rubbing my cock through all that cloth; I was going to come again! More yellow stains, and she had never moaned like that before!

I came. I could come that good again, so soon?! Her hips were still rocking, but then she gave a disappointed sounding moan, and they stilled. She sighed with another disappointed sounding moan and murmured:

“Your lucky; I wanted to, but couldn’t.”

She had recognized that my twitching cock had come again and hoped that she could, that her pussy could? She had thought that rubbing it on me that way might have given her an orgasm? She sighed and kissed me again. We had lost lip-contact. Then canlı casino she murmured:

“Anyway, it was good for you, and better for me than before, but just frustrating.”

This was unfair, I thought, her making me come, but not being able to, herself. I hugged her to me and murmured:

“I’m sorry, unfair; maybe we shouldn’t have done it.”

“Oh, I wanted to, couldn’t help myself,” she replied and gave me a small kiss. Then she murmured:

“Maybe another time, but not next weekend, you know, period.”

I didn’t know, had never thought about that. Sure, I knew vaguely that girls had their periods, but never connected that to the girls in my class. She sat back and said:

“We could go to the ice cream parlor until the film’s over.”

We did. As I was walking her home, she said that I was maybe right, that we shouldn’t have done that much, and we agreed to spend the next Saturday night at the baseball game, the big, final game of the season.

That was fun too, letting me wonder that we hadn’t gotten together long before. The next weekend was the prom — Prom, with a capital P!

Peggy had strapless evening gown. Of course, I was wearing a dark jacket and tie, my new dark jacket. In the decorated gym, I could appreciate that she had more to hold up a strapless dress than a few of the other girls in our class. We didn’t try to jitterbug, but when music for slow dances started, we ventured on the floor, chuckling as we tried to dance. When there was a slow foxtrot, that was easy, dancing as close together as we could, like most of the other couples. At the end of the set, I had to hold one side of my jacket close to hide the bulge in my pants, but other guys were doing the same. I didn’t say anything, but Peggy did, nodding at them with soft chuckle and murmuring: “Like you, like us.”

Then it was the last dance, and we all — almost all — were kissing in the darkened gym. Peggy murmured between kisses — had my fingers brushed the zipper of her dress:

“You can’t unzip it; it’s almost all I have on.” We kissed again, and she added:

“Wish you could.”

My fingers played with the tab of her zipper. She chuckled and rubbed her hips on mine and murmured:

“Stop that! You want everyone to see me in just panties? If it were just you …?”

“You want me to?”

“Hmmm? Guess I said that. You’ve seen the rest.”

“Hmm! Just held it.”

“Not so loud!”

We whispered, our lips almost touching. She whispered:

“Then you can see them. Mmmmm! — but I want to, too, I also just held it.”

My cock had twitched. She hummed and added: “Like that,” and thrust her tongue between my lips.

My cock twitched again, and I sucked and caressed her tongue with mine, hoping that all the other couples and the chaperones weren’t looking. We kissed some more in the back of the taxi to take her home. When I paid, the cabby smiled and said: Like when I was your age.”

I blushed, that he had been watching us, but Peggy grabbed my hand and said:

“If he did back then,” and we kissed some more, embracing and immediately feeling my cock. She just hummed, when I reached down and moved it up, and then our hips were back together, and my fingers back on her zipper. It was late, and there was no traffic. She hummed and murmured:

“If you want to, just a preview, really the right word.”

I pulled down the zipper, down to her waist, and she stepped back and let the top of her evening dress flop down. I wondered if her stiff nipples had help it flop forward. She just looked up at me with pleased grin, then asked when my parents went to work. Suddenly a car came around the corner, it’s lights giving me a better view of her nice breasts, letting me recognize that there was no crease under them, but only for a instant, before her hands flipped the top of her dress up over them.

The driver honked. Peggy shrugged and murmured:

“Hope he was only looking at them and didn’t see my face. When do your parents go to work on Monday? Zip!”

I zipped her dress up, and she jiggled her breasts in it, then repeating:


“Eight, nine, nine-thirty, latest for Mom,” I answered.

“I’ll be over at ten,” Peggy replied.

“Sure, nice,” I agreed, and we parted. Monday was the first day of vacation.

Monday morning after breakfast, before Mom went to work, I told her that Peggy was coming over. Mom thought that was nice, telling me that we could make sandwiches for lunch, if she stayed that long: “or to take to the pool, if you go swimming.”

It was only after she left for work that I remembered what Peggy had said about wanting see my cock, suddenly suspecting that that was she had in mind now. How could I have forgotten?! It sure was good that I had, else I couldn’t have so innocently told Mom that Peggy was coming over, but Mom also hadn’t suspected anything, thank goodness. Would Dad have? He didn’t know.

If that was what Peggy had meant …? I went kaçak casino and straightened up my room, and went to the bathroom, not just shaking my cock, giving it a wipe with my washcloth. I straightened up little in there too, and then waited.

The church bell struck the hour, and Peggy knocked. I opened the door, and she grinned at me, wearing a seersucker blouse and Bermuda shorts, but I suddenly recalled the view of her breasts when her top had flopped down and wondered what we were going to do. I must have just stood there for a moment; she said: “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

I stepped aside, and she came in. As I closed the door, I said the most harmless thing that came to mind:

“Mom said we could make sandwiches for lunch.”

“You told her I was coming over?” she replied in a surprised tone.

“Yeah. Good thing that I forgot what you had said; might then not have.”

Peggy grinned with a nod, and said:

“I didn’t forget.”

“But then I remembered.”

“That’s good. Where’s your room?”

As I led her to it, I realized that I had been expecting we would go there, but not anticipated that she would be so direct. If she wanted to see my cock, it felt like it wasn’t going to disappoint her. In my room, she turned to me. At least, she now looked less sure of what to do or say, murmuring:

“Yeah, I guess we don’t have to close the door.”

She glanced at my bed, then smiled wryly and said:

“Didn’t really think how this would be.”

“Me neither.”

We both chuckled. Her cheeks were rosy, and I felt that mine were warm. After a moment she said: “If we lie down, I don’t want to get my blouse wrinkled, even if we don’t,” and pluck at the top button.

A seersucker blouse getting wrinkled? As good an excuse as any, I thought, nodding and agreeing:

“I guess not, nor my shirt.”

We were going to get half naked, just like this?! She grinned with a nod and began unbuttoning her blouse, it open before my shirt was. She was wearing a bra. She noticed my glance and said:

“Had to wear it, couldn’t go to breakfast without it. Oh, you’ve got hair on your chest.”

“Not much.”

“I like that,” she replied, slipping her blouse off, and looking around, then tossing it on my chair.

I took off my shirt and did the same. Then she stepped closer and lightly ran her fingers over the hair on my chest and looked up at me and said:

“You can take it off, unhook it.”

I reached around her with both arms. While my fingers fumbled — I had seen Mom’s bras in the laundry, not much help — her hands slid down my sides, to the waistband of my pants. Was she also going to immediately suggest we take more off? She nodded, when her bra finally popped free. I slipped it off her shoulders. She had to take her hands off me to get it off her arms, a little to my relief. While I stared at her breasts and stiff nipples, she blindly tossed it in the direction of the chair.

We stood looking at each other. She took a deep breath, making her breasts rise. I moaned softly, and she did with a little nod, her eyes dropping down to the bulge in my pants. She looked back at me and murmured:

“Guess we’d better lie down first,” and kicked off her sandals.

“Um-hmm,” I agreed, wondering what came after “first.”

When she moved to lie down, I helped my cock move around and stumbled out of my loafers, then joined her on my bedspread, that settling my question about whether I should have pulled the covers back. We embraced — her bare breasts pressed to my chest — and she murmured:

“This is nice, better now, just didn’t know how we would get here.”

“Faster than I thought,” I admitted, adding: “but it is nice.”

We kissed, discovering that we couldn’t both have our heads on the pillow. She urged me to roll back and rolled half onto me. We had plenty of experience kissing, standing up. This was better; her thigh slid over mine, then down between mine. After a few moments, her thighs twitched together on mine, and my other thigh drew up and held hers. She nodded with a soft moan. Then her hips rocked down, and the hold of her thighs loosened. In a reflex, mine thigh drew up higher between hers. They squeezed together on it, as she nodded with a better moan.

We had to come up for air. She sighed and murmured:

“Better than standing up.”

“Um-hmm,” I agreed.

Then she grinned and pushed her shoulders up and move her thigh over my other one, straddling both of mine, and pulled herself up higher over me, holding her shoulders up with her arms straight. She looked down at her breasts and then at me with grin and said:

“I want to feel you suck them.”

Of course, I thought, why hadn’t I have thought of that; a guy was supposed know to do that without being asked. Too late, but not too late to do it, and they looked so lovely, and that was what they were for, to be sucked.

Did suckling kids enjoy sucking and nibbling on them as much as I did. Did nursing mothers moan like Peggy was, then offering the other one to be sucked and nibbled? She moaned, and her hips rocked down, her thighs pressing mine together. She moaned again and then muttered:

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