by Michael K. Smith
[From Chapter 6; set in 1972; he's 17,
Neither Alex nor I dated much our last two years in high school -- except with each other. And though we often referred to going out together as a "date," we knew we weren't using the word in the ordinary way. This was precisely the period during which teenage hormones reach their frantic peak (as we both could attest), and most students dated a lot, whether they were going steady or playing the field.
When Alex was a junior, in 1972, she took a "special topics" course in social psychology. Searching for a term paper topic in the area of interpersonal relations, she naturally thought of our own relationship . . . but there wasn't much she could truthfully say about it without revealing The Secret.
Then one of her girlfriends providentially began to encourage her to "go out with boys" more often, and the dating process became her research subject. And in the course of her research, my sister decided that we really *weren't* dating other people enough. When she asked me what I thought, I agreed that we dated much less often than most of the kids we knew -- but so what? They were still looking, but we had found each other.
Alex was perturbed at my complacency (her word). If we didn't date other people, she insisted, we would inevitably become bored with each other. We would be like "an old married couple" before we even got to college. We were limiting ourselves physically, as well. When was the last time I had gone out parking with a girl other than her? Well, she had me there; I hadn't even kissed another girl in months. However, the two of us had also shared many other wonderful experiences that were beyond the dreams -- perhaps even the imaginations -- of most of our friends.
I thought about it after Alex stomped off in exasperation. I understood the point she was making (sort of) but I wasn't sure why she thought it was important. Was she implying that she wanted to have sex with other guys? She had always been free to make out with or fuck whomever she pleased, and we both knew it. I was mercifully free of jealousy and always had been. Perhaps it was conceit, or simply the conviction that Alex loved me as I loved her. I was pretty adept at psychological compartmentalization, too.
For myself, I certainly didn't object to a sweaty make-out session with a nice-looking girl. What I objected to, or was impatient with, was all the preliminary rituals -- the girl establishing her moral standards for the record, the boy protesting the Platonic innocence of his motives, the gradual ground-giving -- before you could both get down to the heavy breathing and groping and fondling that you knew you were going to do anyway. It seemed hypocritical to me then, and it still does. A graceful, non-adversarial seduction, in which both parties participate but neither knows the result in advance, is much more satisfying.
"Well, okay," I decided with some irritation, if Alex thought we should date around, then I was going to beat her to it. I began making a mental list of girls I knew whom I might even *want* to ask out. Girls who were intelligent and pretty. I had no use for bimbos, nor would they probably have put up with me. Several of my top possibilities were already going with someone else.
The third girl I called was Marianne McKelvey. She was in my journalism class and had just that semester begun writing for the school paper, on which I was Assistant Features Editor. She was very attractive, with a nicely proportioned body, large circular eyeglasses that made her wide gray eyes seem perpetually startled, and long, chestnut hair which she usually wore tucked into a practical knot on top of her head. She had a musical laugh and an engaging habit of biting her lower lip when she was concentrating over a typewriter. She was friendly to everyone, though not a tease, and a couple of times I had noticed her giving me sidelong, surreptitious glances in the newspaper office. I was curious about Marianne both intellectually and physically.
When I called her that evening and invited her to a drive-in movie on Saturday, I detected a moment's hesitation which I decided was just her surprise at my asking her for a date. I had never made a pass at her. She was probably wondering why I had called her up out of the blue. She sounded pleased when she accepted, though, so I thought no more about it.
Then Alex returned to tell me, rather sheepishly, that she had called up Bill Brumey, a senior on the swim team who had recently broken up with his latest cheerleader girlfriend, and asked him out. Bill was a nice enough guy, except for his apparent predilection for brainless blondes, and I gathered that he was both surprised and flattered that a girl as pretty and smart as Alex would take the initiative. But his family car was unavailable, he said; he would *love* to go out with her, but he was temporarily without wheels. Alex looked at me from under her lashes and stroked my forearm with one finger. Would I be interested in double-dating?
Her "poor little me with a problem" routine was so unsubtle, I knew she was apologizing for our earlier spat and asking for a favor at the same time. My sister always had me in the palm of her hand -- sometimes literally -- when she wanted something. I called Marianne and cleared the new arrangement with her; she had no objections, and even sounded a bit relieved. I wondered if perhaps she didn't quite trust my motives.
The family vehicle was a Chevy station wagon, originally Mother's car, but she seldom was able to drive it anymore. Alex and I shared it most of the time and kept it in gas and oil and tuned up. We ran most of Mother's household errands and, in return, we had almost unlimited use of the car. And a station wagon is a great car for dates and for weekend jaunts with a bunch of friends.
On Saturday afternoon, I found Alex standing in front of her closet, pondering her wardrobe.
"Don't have a thing to wear, huh?" I laughed. She grinned and swatted at me and I ducked.
"No -- I just don't know how to play this. Is this a "jeans" date or a "frilly dress" date?"
I must have looked at her oddly. "This is only the drive-in, Alex. I hope you don't think I'm gonna wear a coat and tie!"
She looked at me patiently. "Michael, if I think I might end up getting cozy with Bill, if I want him to know it's okay to make a move, then I probably want to wear something we can both deal with in the back seat. But if I *don't* want to do that, I'll probably wear jeans and a long-sleeved blouse that buttons up the back -- and my cast-iron bra!"
I thought I understood her calculations now -- and I began to wonder what Marianne would wear. Did she also subscribe to this body-language code of dressing for dates?
By the time we left the house, Alex had carefully shaved her legs so she wouldn't have to wear hose, and she had settled on a particularly short black mini with a matching velour pullover top. And no bra. It all looked very nice above her long, creamy legs. By her own explanation, I assumed she was dressed for action.
We went by Bill's house first and found him waiting on the front steps. He jumped up and walked quickly to the car, obviously embarrassed at having to be picked up by his date and her brother. Alex hopped out of the front seat and he held the back door and climbed in after her. It dawned on me that Alex could have sat in the back to begin with, but that she wanted to give Bill's ego the opportunity to escort her from the front to the back. She always was a good applied psychologist.
Bill's hand squeezed my shoulder briefly as he leaned forward. "Hey, I really appreciate this doubling, Mike! I've thought about asking Alex for a date but she doesn't seem to go out much; I thought maybe she had a steady I didn't know about. And then she calls *me* and I don't have a car!"
"Hey, yourself," Alex chimed in. "Don't tell him, tell me! What do you mean you were 'going to call me'? Why didn't you? I think I've been insulted!" She snagged his sleeve and tugged him back beside her. "You aren't shy, are you?"
I glanced in the rear view mirror and noted that my sister had crossed her legs and allowed her skirt to ride up even farther. Then I saw Bill blush, and I suddenly realized he *was* shy! A good-looking, reasonably intelligent jock, who could have any fluffy little cheerleader he wanted! I glanced at the mirror again. Alex had hooked her arm through Bill's and was chattering away about inconsequential things to put him at ease; he looked quite happy with his situation.
I thought about it all the way to Marianne's house and concluded that Bill usually dated bimbos because he knew they were no competition for him. An attractive girl who was also very intelligent, quick-witted, and athletic -- like my sister -- was another matter. He wanted Alex to like him and he was a little nervous around her. I filed away that insight for further study.
Marianne met me at the door when I rang the bell. She called over her shoulder that she was leaving now, and slipped outside with a bright smile. She was wearing khaki shorts -- not "short shorts" but short enough -- and a cropped yellow T-shirt that ended just at the top of her shorts, giving me brief flashes of bare midriff. Not the sort of outfit I would have expected from Marianne, somehow, but it definitely suited her.
Her thick, rich hair was uncoiled for a change; it spilled far past her shoulders and it swayed and bounced when she turned her head. The effect was astonishing and enticing. And if the way a girl dressed for a date was a guide to her mindset, as my sister seemed to think, then this could turn out to be an interesting evening.
I casually took her hand as we walked back to the car, which also seemed to surprise her. "Thanks for agreeing to double-date," I said. "Alex and Bill would have been stuck, otherwise."
"Oh, I don't mind." She squeezed my hand. "I'm just glad you asked me out, Michael. I really never expected it."
We weren't early enough to the drive-in to get a good spot in one of the front rows, so we got the next best thing -- a spot in one of the back rows. The picture was sufficiently uninteresting that we could watch for alternate five-minute segments and still follow the plot-line.
An unspoken agreement had existed between high school students and the drive-in management for as long as anyone could remember: As long as there was no screaming, drunkenness, rapine, or parental complaints, the back row was regarded as a "free fire zone."
After the first thirty minutes, with everyone in the car relaxed, I saw in the mirror that Bill was leaning back against the side window with his feet propped up and his loafers off. Alex was stretched out half on top of him, one leg hooked over his, talking almost nose to nose in a low voice. He had one arm around her shoulders and she was stroking his chest with her free hand.
I asked Marianne in a whisper if she would mind switching sides in the front seat so I could get out from behind the wheel; she pulled her knees up out of the way before I could even finish the question. I made sure to steady myself with a hand on her knee as I eased past her. I had barely resettled myself when Marianne's shoes were off and she had tucked her bare feet under her and pressed her thigh against mine.
I put my arm around her and she snuggled up happily with her head on my collarbone. She even reached up and stroked the hand that was dangling over her shoulder. She was sending a blizzard of signals, but I wanted to take things slowly. I was content for the moment to enjoy her warm body curled up against mine and to comb my fingers through her luxuriant hair. She felt so different from Alex -- a novelty. I didn't know her, not in these circumstances, so anything she said or did would be pretty much unexpected. I discovered that made her even more interesting. Marianne would never hold a candle to Alex -- I doubted anyone ever could -- but perhaps my sister was right about our need for social variety.
After a few minutes, Marianne leaned her head back so she could speak softly in my ear. "Michael, . . . if I ask you something, will you promise not to think I'm being dumb?" I nodded. "We've known each other for more than a year, and we've worked in Journalism together for months now. And you've always been very polite and nice to me. But why did you call me up now, all of a sudden? I mean, I'm really glad you did, but you've never said anything to make me think. . . ." She'd run out of explanation.
I thought again about Bill's reaction to Alex's call. Marianne wasn't particularly shy, but she wasn't a flirt, either. My fingertips lightly traced a line down her throat and she swallowed, as if my answer was important to her.
"I knew you were there all the time, you know. You're very pretty: How could I not know?" And as I said it, I knew it was true. "I know I don't date much, but that doesn't mean I don't notice girls. You're pretty, and you're smart, and you can spell -- now."
She snorted a laugh. I had corrected the spelling in her articles until she caught on and began looking up words before submitting her stories.
"And I like you, Marianne. I wanted to get to know you better; I thought there were sides to you I didn't know about. Looking at you tonight, I'm sure of it! Besides," I added, burying my fingers in her hair, "I've wanted to do THIS for months!"
She smiled at me over her shoulder and reached up and kissed me lightly on the cheek. "Michael, you're sweet." She took off her glasses, folded them, and set them carefully on the dash. Her eyes were light brown and gold, but they seemed much darker there in the car.
With one finger on her cheek, I guided her head around, bent down, and kissed her firmly on the lips. It took only a split-second for her to make up her mind to kiss me back. It only lasted a few seconds, though, and I was disappointed -- until she swung around the other way so she could fit more comfortably in my lap and in my arms. Then she hooked herself around my neck and fastened her mouth to mine.
I responded to this delightful assault by putting my hands on her waist, where her shorts and shirt didn't quite meet. I slowly stroked her lower back, letting her call the shots and decide the pace. In fact, I was contemptuous of "grabbers"; such behavior was unsubtle, unfriendly, unromantic, and sometimes dangerous. I much preferred mutual seduction.
But with Marianne, I needn't have doubted. She surprised me again: Without losing her grip on my tongue, she reached smoothly under the back of her shirt, unhooked her bandeau bra, and tossed it on the floor. I realized just how carefully she, like Alex, had planned for contingencies. The bra was a barrier to balance the cropped shirt if she decided to keep our date merely on a friendly basis -- but it also could be removed with a minimum of hassle if she decided otherwise. She had made her decision; she wanted my hands on her body, and I was certainly willing.
But still I restrained myself. We had plenty of time. I slid her shirt up as I ran my palms over her shoulderblades. She shivered and pressed her body against my chest and nibbled at my earlobe. She was relaxed and obviously felt secure and in control, which was what I wanted.
I peeked over Marianne's shoulder at the mirror again in curiosity. Alex and Bill had slumped down on the back seat. I could see Alex's hand clutching at the window ledge and the top of Bill's head was barely visible. From the sound effects, I guessed that his mouth was busy with her tits and that she was enjoying it. Couldn't let my sister get too far ahead of me, I thought.
I let Marianne lean back, moved my mouth down to her waist, and began kissing my way upward, pushing her shirt up out of the way as I progressed. She was moaning quietly under her breath and holding onto the back of my head, and when my mouth fastened on her nipples she dug her fingers into my hair. I knew intuitively that she wasn't very experienced at this, but I also understood that she wanted to be. She had decided it was time to jump off the cliff and I was the one she had selected to catch her. I was flattered, and I had sufficient ego to think she wouldn't be disappointed.
I reached up and tapped on the ceiling panel. "Bill? Alex? Why don't we fold down the back seat?"
Bill looked to Alex for confirmation and she nodded with a lustful twinkle. She already had her top off and her breasts jiggled invitingly; her skirt was hiked up to her crotch. Bill had already lost his shirt and had obviously entered into the spirit of the evening.
Marianne, still sitting in my lap, had begun to pull her tee shirt over her head, but when she saw the other two moving around she hurriedly pulled it back down again. I stopped her and smiled.
"Take it easy, Marianne. We're all friends here; no one's going to mind and no one's going to stare at you." My hands slipped under her shirt and I cupped her full breasts and rubbed my thumbs over her erect nipples. She closed her eyes and arched her back. Then she swallowed, smiled broadly, and removed her shirt.
While the two in the back were rearranging the car, I simply sat back and admired Marianne. She folded her hands behind her and perched there with her shoulders back and her lovely breasts outthrust, hair scattered in all directions. She smiled seductively from beneath her lashes. She knew it was an erotic pose. This sort of thing was so unlike her school persona, I almost wondered if she had a twin.
She got up on her knees straddling me, hand on the back of the seat for balance, and slowly and deliberately swung her breasts just above my face. The sounds in the back ceased for a moment. Alex said "Go get 'em, you guys!" and there was a throaty chuckle I knew well.
Marianne was not at all over-built, but her breasts were much larger than Alex's. Also unlike Alex, she had large soft areolae with small, hard button-like nipples in the center of each. I could not easily suck on her nipples, but I could take much more of her breast into my mouth. A very different experience. And those beautiful, conical masses swaying before me were very alluring -- as was the fact that she was offering herself to me this way.
She didn't seem nervous or unsure of herself, but somehow I knew I was the first guy ever she had ever trusted like this. And I did my part, too. I practically inhaled her tits, chewing very gently and curling my tongue around her little nipples while squeezing the soft flesh I couldn't fit into my mouth. Marianne's body was trembling and her pelvis was grinding slowly against my groin. My shirt had somehow become unbuttoned. I shrugged it off as Marianne sat back on my knees again, running her hands slowly across my chest and looking at me with those dark, glowing eyes.
Bill and Alex had converted the back of the station wagon into a playpen now, and had spread out the two or three thick blankets we always kept in the car. I wasn't sure exactly what they were doing back there, but Marianne was staring entranced past my shoulder and a deep flush was creeping down her torso -- partly lingering shyness and her own lively imagination working on what she was watching, but mostly her own sexual arousal, the flames being fanned in her by whatever activity my sister and her date were engaged in.
I hooked a thumb over my shoulder and raised a questioning eyebrow. Marianne scrambled off my lap, tits bouncing, and climbed over the seat into the back, being careful not to step on anyone. She sat waiting with her legs crossed as I followed her.
Bill and Alex were in a '69' position with her on the bottom. My sister had her mini up around her waist, and her panties, if she had worn any, were not to be seen. Her face was framed by his pubic hair and she obviously had his entire cock in her mouth. Bill's head was buried between Alex's widespread thighs and he was industriously pushing his tongue up her cunt. They were oblivious to us and everything else except themselves. Marianne was trying not to watch them -- out of misplaced modesty, I suppose -- but I gently turned her head toward the undulating bodies eighteen inches away.
"Don't be embarrassed, Marianne -- it sure doesn't bother THEM that we're here! Don't you see how much fun they're having? How much pleasure they're giving each other? Nobody gets hurt and everybody gets off. What could be better than that?"
She seemed to think about it as she watched -- apparently forgetting that she was already half-naked herself. Alex was now concentrating on sucking the head of Bill's cock, and I massaged Marianne's breasts as she continued to watch them, fascinated now. Her hand strayed to my crotch and began stroking my cock though the denim. I'm not sure she was even conscious of what she was doing. I stifled a groan. Watching my sister suck a cock while I was being fondled by my date was having its effect.
I stroked Marianne's inner thigh and her attention flicked back to me. She realized where her hand was and smiled as she squeezed my cock. Then she popped open the top button of her shorts and lay back invitingly. I quickly unzipped her shorts and slid them and her panties down her legs and off her feet. Another surprise: Marianne, with her electric body, full breasts and hips, and lush hair, had shaved her crotch completely bare!
I was more aroused by the sight of the utterly exposed crevice leading to her cunt than I would have been by a mat of pubic hair. I looked back at her flushed face and dilated eyes and grinned my pleasure; she blushed even more. I was certain, then, that she had done this especially for me, hoping we would get this far, and letting me know at the same time how vulnerable she was willing to let herself be with me. She slowly spread her legs and pulled her knees back, and her moist clitoris reflected the light from the movie screen; her dazzling body showed not a single hair below her eyelashes.
It took me less than a second to bury my face in her smooth, sweet pussy. I was peripherally aware that Bill and Alex paused for a moment in their exertions to watch us; they both grinned and returned their attentions to each other. My tongue was busily probing Marianne's pussy and her hands clutched at my hair, pushing my head closer. I knew this was her first time for any kind of oral sex, too, and she was obviously enjoying it. Intermittent tremors coursed through her thighs and across her stomach and her feet pressed against the sides of my ribcage.
After a few minutes with my tongue inside her, she tried breathlessly to reach under my body. "I want to-- to hold you-- your cock! C'mon. . . !
I had already undone my belt and lowered my zipper, and now I pushed my jeans off. I tipped Marianne on her side and curled my body around so she could reach what she wanted. I was erect now, and she had no difficulty getting her hands on my cock. She started rubbing it vigorously up and down, but I quickly stopped her. Many girls make that mistake; they seem not to believe a guy could, or would want to, build up to a climax step by slow, calculating step.
"Just touch it, stroke it, all over -- not so hard, okay? Don't be afraid to use your tongue and your mouth, Marianne, please? Close your eyes and pretend it's a stick of candy."
She obviously was eager to return to me the experience my mouth was giving her, but was unsure how to manage it. She began by holding my cock like a dagger and kissing the head and touching the tip of her tongue to it, but after a minute or two she grew more courageous and took the head into her mouth. I held my hips still while she figured out what she was doing, but at my end of our world things were a lot more active. My head was pushed up between her thighs and my mouth was playing catfish on every bit of flesh within reach. Her aroma and the taste of her was different from Alex, more pungent and spicy, but just as exciting. My hands squeezed her ass and stroked the small of her back, and my fingertips, gliding lightly between her cheeks and across her asshole, made the surrounding muscles quiver reflexively.
"You like that, huh?" I mumbled.
"Oh, God . . ." she moaned. "You have no idea!" Oh, yes, I did. Her tongue moved up and down the shaft of my penis and she licked and sucked lightly at my balls. She seemed to have shed the last of her nervousness and embarrassment in the heat of her growing passion. The juices were flowing in her cunt and the aroma of sex within her was much stronger.
I wondered briefly what her reaction would be if I could time-travel back to yesterday and tell her that she would soon be naked in the presence of three other people, with a guy's testicles in her mouth.
But there was something I had to know. I managed to partly sit up with one arm wrapped around her hips. She came up to the same position, so that we were wrapped in a ball together, hands busy with each other's bodies, our faces only a few inches apart. She had a kind of wild look in her eyes, like she had put all her inhibitions on the shelf for the evening.
"Marianne," I said in a low voice, "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but . . . are you a virgin? I mean, you're absolutely beautiful, and I *really* want to have sex with you, but I don't want to push you farther than you really want to go -- I don't want you to have regrets later. . . ."
I was stroking her clit as I said this, but I still meant it. I was pretty sure this gorgeous girl, whom I had stupidly overlooked, had no illusions about what we were doing being "love," and I wanted to make sure we would remain friends, at least, whatever else might happen. If she was simply temporarily out of control, I had to offer her an escape hatch, out of respect for her and myself.
She squeezed my cock and stretched it toward her. "Michael, do you know how many other guys would ask a question like that at a time like this? None! I can't believe you'd even think about it -- but, no: I'm not a virgin, just barely, and tonight I want you to fuck me stupid! And I won't have any regrets tomorrow. This is what I want, and I'm ready for it -- right now! Mostly because it's you I'm with. Even if I *were* still a virgin, I'd pick you to pop my cherry -- do you understand that? You're a very sweet guy, Michael, and I really do like you, and I trust you, too. What more could I ask for in a lover? Now, can we please stop talking and go on with what we were doing? Please?!"
She pressed her mouth hard against mine and wiped her tongue across the front of my teeth. She was radiating more heat than a homecoming bonfire. How could I have worked next to this girl all these months and never suspected the dammed up sensuality within her? Well, that dam was about to burst!
I hadn't thought about it in advance, but since I was almost leaning against the back of the front seat, it seemed easier to lie on my back and let Marianne get on top. I thought for a moment that it might leave her feeling too exposed to the rest of the world, but in her present state of mind she would probably have gone out for popcorn naked.
So I slid down onto my back and watched my cock go rigidly vertical; I was already imagining what Marianne's cunt would feel like. I loved Alex unreservedly, but this was a matter of pure lust. She knelt between my legs and let her long hair curtain my groin as she took my cock in her mouth once more. She was a fast learner, but she didn't try to deep-throat me either.
"Enough, enough!" I said, and reached for
her arms to draw her up to me. She smiled and moved up to straddle
my hips. Reaching between her legs, she opened her cunt and guided
herself carefully onto my waiting cock. That was a detail I enjoyed:
Instead of grasping my penis and steering it into her, she accepted it
as a target and impaled herself on it. The difference was minor and
the result was the same, but it was *nice* . . . almost a compliment.
Her lips parted and her eyes closed as she settled herself. I held onto her flanks as she moved up and down slowly and experimentally. I moved then to her swaying breasts and covered them with my hands, squeezing them slowly in rhythm with her own movements. I tugged forward and she opened her eyes and bent from the waist, resting her open hands on my shoulders. Now my cock was rubbing strongly against her clit and her eyes had gone smokey. Her tits were pressed against my collarbone and I nibbled at her neck and the underside of her chin, and squeezed her ass. As I picked up the tempo, she rasped "Oh, God. . . ."
Bill and Alex had moved on to the next stage as well. Both had shed the remainder of their clothes and Alex was on her back on the blanket beside me, only a few inches away. She was filled by his cock and thoroughly enjoying it. Her long legs were wrapped around his waist and her head was arched back.
She raised her hips to meet each thrust -- a maneuver I knew well -- and sucked in between her teeth at each stroke. Bill looked completely transported by Alex's aggressive sexuality; I knew exactly what he was feeling at that moment and I was pleased for both of them. Bill was to my sister what Marianne was to me: An enthusiastic and capable sex partner, and heretofore casual friend, who would be a much closer friend after tonight. Neither of them was a threat to either of us and this change of bodies was exciting and exhilarating. Alex had been more accurate about our need for variety than even she had realized.
I unconsciously matched my rhythm to Bill's and soon Alex and I were lifting our lower bodies almost in tandem in our pursuit of orgasm. I felt it building in me and so did Marianne; she was making little moaning sounds and her face was almost agonized with abandon. Without really paying attention, I knew Bill was approaching his climax as well. His eyes were shut as tightly as Marianne's as his sensory input concentrated in his cock.
Unexpectedly, Alex's hand crossed the few inches between our bodies and touched my leg. I took her hand and she twined her fingers between mine and squeezed. I glanced sideways and found her smiling crookedly at me with sparks in her eyes.
I knew immediately what she intended and I laughed silently with her. For the next minute we held hands and squeezed in unison. And we gradually slid our bodies together until our shoulders were just touching. Alex even planted one foot lightly against Marianne's hip and Marianne grasped Alex's kneecap to brace her wild gyrations. Neither of our partners were aware that we were holding hands, of course, but it was like a telepathic link.
My cock was about to explode and Marianne's cunt got the message; my orgasm triggered hers and we tipped over the edge together. Bill could not have been unaware of what was happening next to him, especially when Marianne tried unsuccessful to smother an ecstatic squeal. Bill came ten seconds after I did, and he was followed instantly by my sister's arching climax. She squeezed my hand until my knuckles were white.
It was close to an indescribable experience. Alex and I, each fucking other people, but also sharing our separate orgasms as if we were fucking each other -- a doubled climax. Bill shooting off inside Alex while I fountained into Marianne's steaming vagina, and Alex and I coming together as well, which intensified the experience for both of us. It was almost an out-of-the-body feeling.
Our four overheated bodies slumped in a heap for several minutes while everyone gasped for breath. It finally occurred to me that this must be a very strange situation for Bill and Marianne.
It certainly wasn't the first time two
couples had foregone privacy in favor of fucking space, especially at the
drive-in, but this was a little different. A brother and sister,
pressed side by side, naked, in the back of a car, banging away with their
dates. Nobody had exactly planned it that way, and on another occasion
it might have struck our companions as extremely weird, but the enthusiastic
lust all four of us felt had overcome any inhibitions.
But it was in the back of my mind -- and Alex's, I was sure -- that we still had to be very careful how we behaved toward each other. I wanted very badly to lean over and kiss Alex, but that wouldn't do at all. It would have betrayed The Secret. But as we began slowly to untangle ourselves, I managed to stroke Alex's short ribs for an instant, and she surreptitiously caressed the back of my calf.
Nor, surprisingly, was there no great rush by anyone to cover themselves as the sexual fog began to dissipate. We laughed and make bawdy puns as we casually sorted out our clothing. I glanced quickly at Bills's cock out of male curiosity; it had shrunk considerably, of course, but it was still longer and somewhat bigger around than mine. I made a mental note to ask Alex whether or not his size had really made a difference in how her cunt felt.
Alex had worn black bikini panties under her black mini and Marianne had opted for blazing red under her shorts -- though I hadn't noticed at the time, I was so anxious to get her out of them.
Alex held up the red satin panties and said "Wow!" in mock awe. "Marianne, I like these! How about a swap?"
Marianne actually blushed a little -- after all that had just happened! -- and laughed. She shook out the very brief black lace panties and raised her eyebrows.
"Are you sure, Alex? These are much sexier!" More expensive, too, probably, I thought, but I was reading my sister's mind again. Each girl slipped on the other's panties and they knelt facing each other for a moment, comparing the results.
Alex reached out and minutely adjusted the pair Marianne was wearing. "Hey, those look nice on you; you look good in black!"
Bill and I exchanged glances as we avidly
watched the girls. We were both thinking what a turn-on it was, knowing
each girl's crotch was cradled in the spot where the other's had been a
short while before. And both pairs were "used," which made Alex's
apparent whim even more erotic. But I already knew that this was
a little gift from Alex to me. She wouldn't be wearing Marianne's
underwear for very long.
The movie had another five or ten minutes to run when Marianne and I climbed back into the front seat while Bill and Alex reconstructed the back seat. Marianne picked up her bra, wadded in into a ball, and stuffed it down into the very bottom of her purse. Then she went back to her earlier position, straddling my lap, with her arms around my neck and her nose nuzzling my ear. I stroked her thighs and gave her an affectionate hug. We might do this again, or it might be something we could only do once, but I could live with that too. Either way, I knew Marianne and I would always be more than just Journalism office buddies. She was sweet, sexy, pretty, and smart. Just the kind of close friend I wanted. By choice, I didn't have many.
I knew she wanted to say something because I could hear her hesitate. When she did speak, it was very softly and close to my ear.
"Michael, . . . I don't know what to say. This has been such a wonderful evening! I *love* you. . . ." I froze instinctively and she felt it, and laughed under her breath.
"Don't worry, I didn't mean it that way! I'm not 'IN love', Michael -- though it wouldn't take much. . . ." Her hand moved softly across my cheek. "I love you for being *you*, here, tonight."
"See, . . . I said I wasn't a virgin, and that's true, but. . . ." She took a deep breath and it all spilled out in a rush. "I've never really had sex before, not really. There was this guy when I was fourteen. A girlfriend -- EX-girlfriend -- set me up with a blind date to double with her, and then she and her boyfriend went off and left us, and he was nineteen and he got me . . . he got me all excited. Horny. I had no idea what I was doing. But he . . . he got my pants off and just . . . he just stuck it in, and pushed a few times, and then he came, I guess. It didn't hurt, but he was finished so fast, and I didn't really feel it, and I was scared when I . . . when I saw his cock, it looked so big, and. . . ."
She swallowed and her voice quavered. She was holding tight to my shoulder with her cheek against mine. "And then he took me home and I never saw him again. I wasn't even sure about his name. And I worried for weeks that I might be pregnant." She kissed my ear and her body relaxed. "I've never told anyone about that, not even my mother, but I wanted you to understand." Her confession, if that's what she meant it to be, was complete and she sounded very relieved.
"I've been out with other boys lots of times, but most of them only wanted to grab at me, and I never let them do *anything*. They usually didn't ask me out again," she added sadly. Her head had rested itself on my shoulder and her hand was moving aimlessly around my shirt front. I gently stroked the small of her back and let my other hand rest motionlessly on her knee, comforting her, I hoped.
"I like you a lot, Michael. I guess I have sort of a crush on you -- have had for months. I was surprised when you asked me out, though. I thought at first you'd picked up some vibes from me or something -- that you knew I liked you. And then I worried that you might use that to . . . to . . . I'm sorry, I know you aren't like that. I'm just suspicious of boys, most of them anyway. And then I started thinking about you, and that maybe I could, well, .. . seduce you. I wanted you to like me more. You don't hate me, do you?"
She wasn't faking or exaggerating; she really felt guilty, and I wasn't sure why. I kissed her cheek.
"Marianne, if you were trying to seduce me, I'd say you did a pretty good job; I thought I was seducing you! But didn't you think maybe I'd like it? Doesn't happen that often, not to me, anyway." I stroked her hair and hugged her again.
"Now, listen to me. I'm not afraid of love. You just caught me by surprise. I must be blind, because it never occurred to me that we could be more than just friends. I apologize for that. I *do* like you -- I like you a lot -- and I sure don't want to hurt you. You're sweet, and you're smart, and you're very sexy! But every guy trying to make it with a girl tells her he loves her, and it's a lie. That's not love, that's lust -- and lust is great, but it isn't 'love', Marianne. I asked you out because I thought you'd be fun to be with -- and I was right, in more ways than I expected. I didn't ask you out just to get into your pants, I really didn't."
She hugged me back. "No, you don't understand -- I *adore* having sex with you!" She lowered her voice nearly to a whisper. "I WANTED you to fuck me tonight, and I got what I wanted, and it was fantastic! It was a little strange -- four of us back there, including your sister . . . but I wasn't embarrassed, and that was even stranger, ya' know? I felt sexy, and happy, and relaxed afterward. You were so good for me, don't you see? All I had was half a memory of half a minute of that other guy, whose name I don't even remember. But now, I have this wonderful memory of tonight. You're the first guy I've ever deliberately given myself to, and I'm so glad I picked you. Michael, as far as I'm concerned, you're my 'first'. You're the guy who popped my cherry, and it was beautiful!"
That sounded a little odd to both of us after she said it, and she giggled. But we both understood what she meant. I felt a lot of tenderness toward this girl -- and my ego was pleased with itself, that was for certain. I felt a little guilty that I had been holding Alex's hand and dividing my attention between the two of them at our mutual moment of climax. But Marianne hadn't noticed, I was sure, and it didn't affect her experience at all.
She sat back and stroked my cock through my jeans; there was a twinkle in her eye and a pleased smile on her lips. I smiled back and cupped her breasts in my hands, and drew her back to me. She sighed with pleasure and leaned her warm body against mine and kissed me slowly and thoroughly. My hands moved just as slowly under her shirt, up and down her bare back. Her skin felt so nice. It was a warm, sentimental kiss, not a heavy, passionate one, though we both were aware of the ever-present sexual content as well. We felt very close at that moment.
"Please tell me we'll do this again, okay?" she murmured. "Not any particular time, but 'again'. I don't want this to be the only time we make it together. . . ."
"I promise, we'll do this again," I replied. "I guarantee it. But let's just let it happen when it happens. We see each other every day and we're very special friends now. I want you to stay my friend, and too much pressure by either of us could spoil that. Besides, I think you're going to be dating a lot more now, with a lot of other guys, and I *don't* want you feeling guilty about us when you do, okay? Can we be close, special friends, and occasional, part-time lovers?"
She hugged me gratefully. "That's exactly what I want us to be, Michael. I knew you'd understand me. You're terrific!"
All those few minutes, Alex and Bill had been having their own quiet talk, and kissing, and cuddling. But now Bill said, "Is the movie over?" I noticed the cars around us pulling out a few at a time, and the projection screen had dimmed. "Anyone remember what we saw?" he inquired. "Just in case someone asks?" That cracked all of us up and comfortably broke the spell.
"Who's for hamburgers?" I asked over my
shoulder. "I don't know about you two, but *we've* worked up an appetite!"
Marianne laughingly growled and pretended to bite my arm as I started the
It took a little while to get Marianne dropped off, because we had to say goodnight several times in her driveway, and again on her porch. Her mother finally opened the front door from curiosity: She had heard the car door and our footsteps five or ten minutes before. Marianne suddenly turned shy and we ended our embrace. As she stepped inside I saw her mother smile at her indulgently.
Bill and Alex didn't take as long. They'd been saying goodnight at Marianne's house, and all the way to his place, and I think Bill got a bit shy, too, about me sitting in the front seat by myself while he was in the back seat deep-kissing my sister. He seemed to have momentarily forgotten all that had happened earlier in the evening. He was obviously very impressed by Alex, and not just as a sex partner, either.
In fact, they dated several more times that year and Bill had the good sense not to become possessive -- nor did they have sex on every occasion. Alex developed a lot of respect for Bill and spoke highly of him. And he was delighted to find someone equally athletic who valued him for his intelligence and wit; he was tired of being regarded as "just a jock." After we all went off to college, he sent Alex a dozen red roses every Valentine's day, until she graduated.
My sister tumbled over the front seat before I was out of Bill's driveway and had Marianne's red panties off by the time we reached the end of the block. She sniffed the crotch delicately.
"Yep. She's still there! So am I. There's a gift for you, Michael -- two girls in one!" She rubbed the satin laughingly beneath my nose.
"Very nice," I agreed. "What do you suppose she'll do with your black ones?"
"She'll probably wash them," Alex replied,
stuffing the trophy in her purse. "She's not as kinky as I am," she
added with a straight face.
"Well? How was she?" She sounded a touch impatient.
"What do you mean, 'How was she?' What kind of question is that?" This wasn't like Alex. We told each other everything, but in our own time.
"I mean, what kind of fuck was she?" She traced designs on the quilt with her finger. "Was she-- was she better than me?"
I closed my book and looked at my sister in some consternation. This *really* wasn't like her! She always had the self-confidence of a wolverine. And she knew quite well how I felt about her. Moreover, her present mood was inconsistent with her behavior at the drive-in and on the way home. I began to wonder if I should worry.
"Alex, what's the matter?" I covered her hand with mine. "You aren't jealous, are you? Because that would be really stupid. Don't you know yet that *I love you*? More than anything else in the world, Alex, more than myself -- I love you. And wasn't it you who decided we weren't seeing other people enough?"
She glanced up and then looked back at the quilt. Her shoulders seemed to hunch. "She *was* better than me, wasn't she? At sex." This was bewildering. I took her face in the palms of my hands and made her look at me.
"Alex," I said softly, staring into her eyes as hard as I could, "she was terrific! And she was a virgin, for all practical purposes. Marianne is sweet, and loving, and passionate, and charming, and she has a really great body, and I really enjoyed--" (I almost said "making love" but changed my mind) "--having sex with her tonight. And NONE of that has ANYTHING to do with you and me. You're my darling, the center of my life, Alex. How could you ever doubt that?
"Marianne is a really nice girl, and I think we're going to be very good friends. So what? You certainly enjoyed your evening with Bill, didn't you? I *know* you did, you came like the San Francisco Earthquake! I think that's great. And I think our coming simultaneously is the sexiest thing you and I have done in a long time. Sex is usually part of love, but love doesn't have to be part of sex. You know that; I *know* you know that. Having sex with Marianne was terrific fun, sure. Having sex with you is *making love*, Alex. I could never be jealous of Bill, because I know you love me." I stroked her cheek and kissed her lightly.
"You hold my heart in your hands, Alexandra." I spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. "Don't ever doubt that. Not ever."
I don't know what brought on that spasm of self-doubt, but I must have become nearly telepathic in my earnestness to make her believe what I was saying. She *had* to believe it, I thought. It was all *true*. And she did believe me because she threw her arms around my neck and pulled me down into a fierce kiss. After a few minutes, she put her cheek against mine and spoke softly into my ear.
"Michael, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it, I didn't mean to doubt you. You *are* my darling and my love. I *do* know you love me. And I love you so much, so much. God, I love you!"
We finally fell asleep there with her head
snuggled up on my shoulder and my arm around her. She slept peacefully,
smiling, all doubts erased. And when I awoke too early in the morning,
I lay there for half an hour, unwilling to move and disturb her.
I wanted only to absorb her beauty and her love, and to reflect on how
fortunate I was. How lucky we *both* were, for that matter, each
to have found our hearts' desire so early in life.
--- END ---
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Copyright 1993 by Michael K. Smith. Copies
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