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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: creek.txt (mf, nec)
Authors name: Rzrsej (rzrsej@aol.com)
Story title : By the Creek
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2001. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
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By the Creek (m/f necro)
By Rzrsej (rzrsej@aol.com)
***
This is my first story. Comments and feedback are
welcome.
Please understand, the following is in no way based on
any real event. It is entirely fictional. Furthermore, if
you are offended by unusual stories about sex, then please
do not read this. Finally, do not read this story if you
are under the age of 18.
***
I was 13 when it happened, but as long as I live I shall
never forget it. It has colored my sex life from that day
forward.
Like most 13-year-old boys, sex was something about which
I was more than a little curious. It was before the days
when I began to across my father's cache of Playboys,
before the days when I stayed up late to sneak into the
downstairs living room and watch Cinemax after dark,
cheering inwardly when that rare flash of pubic hair
would make an appearance in some cheesy foreign film.
I knew already that I liked girls. Really liked girls.
The way they smelled, the way their hair looked, the way
my stomach clenched when I was around them. And, like
most boys, I had already started what would be a serious
life-long addiction to masturbation.
The truth of the matter was, though, that at this point,
I still didn't know what I was masturbating about. I
would picture one pretty girl or another from my class
sometimes as I jerked my little penis, but try as I
might, I couldn't picture them other than fully clothed.
Then IT happened, and everything changed.
We lived in a small town, only about 3000 people all
told, a place that was quiet and where nothing much ever
happened. Beyond that, my family lived in a rural
neighborhood, a mile or so outside of town. It was a
relatively new subdivision, and while there were rows of
streets with houses dotting them, there was also a good
deal of undeveloped woodland in places.
One such place was directly behind my own house. It was
odd really, with houses on both sides of us and across
the street, but our backyard seemed like an endless
stretch of pine. It was a boy's paradise, and I cannot
count the Sunday afternoons when friends of mine from the
neighborhood would come over to play army amidst the
winding trails of my "backyard."
We had our share of neighborhood girls as well, of
course. There was a girl named Kelly who lived just next
door, a year younger than me, but a large hulking female,
with a blockish hairstyle. She was something like an
Amazon to poor little old me, and I didn't spend many
days hanging out with her.
Her cousin Stacy, however, was an entirely different
matter. There was no doubt that Stacy's family was white
trash through and through. In the afternoons, just before
sunset, you could hear a blood-curdling cry coming from
the back door of her house, her mother screaming at the
top of her lungs, "STACY! You get your butt in here
right now!" and wherever Stacy was in the neighborhood
she would come scampering.
Somehow, though, her dingy clothes and unruly hair seemed
to accentuate her rather remarkable beauty all the more.
Her hair was dishwater blonde and hung to the middle of
her back. She was a slender girl, even at 13, but she
also seemed to have an aspect of wiry strength sitting
beneath those killer blue eyes and smattering of
freckles.
Sometimes I would talk Kelly into taking me over to their
house, where we would swing or play chase in her
backyard, always careful to keep an eye on that back door
in case her volatile mother should rear her head.
Perhaps I should correct myself, our backyard was fenced
of course, rather than just beginning at the tree line.
Beyond the fence were a small field, and then the trees.
Just inside the first few trees ran a small stream, more
a ditch with water actually. In fact, in the summer
months it rarely had running water at all. Sometimes,
when none of my friends were home, as often happened in
the summer, with camp taking up a lot of my friends'
time, or when I just wanted to be alone, I would wander
back to the creek with a book and just sit to pass the
time.
It was an oddly cool summer day when I wondered back
there with a copy of The Hobbit. It was just past noon,
but there was a nice breeze and the thermometer couldn't
have climbed above 70. I went through the gate at the
back of the yard, walked carefully through the overgrown
field, always wary of snakes, and headed toward the
trees. There was an especially large pine at the edge of
the crop of trees that made a good backrest.
I could see something didn't fit when I was still 25
yards from the creek. It was a bright orange color in the
sunlight, nothing that would appear in nature. I was
naturally curious, but with no real reason to hurry. As I
got closer, my heart moved farther up into my throat.
When I was right on it, my fears were confirmed. It was
Stacy, lying there beside the water, a small patch of
blood clearly visible on the side of her head. Terrified,
I moved toward her slowly, glancing around to see if
whoever had done this might still be lurking about. The
air was still but for the chirping of a few birds.
When at last I summoned my courage, I moved up and knelt
beside her. She was not breathing, I could find no
heartbeat, and though I shook her, her body was limp. She
was still warm, but there was no life left in her. I was
in shock, not knowing what to do. In movies, you always
ran and told someone when you encountered a body, but
somehow movies could never convey the realness of such a
situation. I sat there for a moment, my mouth agape, with
no idea in the world what to do.
Tears sprang to my eyes. Tears over this beautiful girl,
this girl who in some childish way I had loved. I had
dreamed sometimes of hugging her, and I'd had orgasms
thinking about her hair, the way her perfume smelled when
I sat beside her on the swing. Now I would never be able
to smell it again. I would never have the chance to hug
her, never be able to kiss her.
With tears blurring my eyes, I crawled over to her and
looked down. Her eyes were still open in a wide stare,
but reflexively, I bent down and sniffed her. It was
still there, her smell. A fruity, violet sort of smell,
like candy almost, very faint, but very sweet. I followed
the smell, something in me wanting to know where it
actually came from, and I discovered that it was
strongest at her neck. It was so incredibly sweet my
tongue darted out and I tasted her. Her flesh was soft
where my tongue touched it.
Raising my head, I looked into her beautiful eyes again,
and drying my tears with the back of my hand, I said
gently into her face, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm
sorry..." I didn't know what I was sorry about exactly.
Sorry for kissing her? Sorry for what had happened to
her? Sorry for finding her? But something in her eyes
reassured me. Something told me that it was all right,
everything was all right, and a sense of peace spread
over me.
That was the moment when I kissed her. I didn't think
about it, I just knelt down next to her, and kissed her
childish lips with mine. They were soft. Far softer than
her neck even, and though she could not return the kiss,
I imagined that she did.
And then, I did something that I should not have done,
though something in her eyes had invited me, had told me
that, yeah, if I wanted to, it would be ok. I made the
decision that Stacy would be the first girl I would see
naked.
I don't think to this day that they have discovered who
actually killed Stacy. Probably some drifter passing
through; murderers never actually live in small towns,
they just pass through wreaking their havoc. I'll state
emphatically that I had nothing to do with it. I found
her just the way that I have said.
But I am bound to confess, after all these years, that I
was the one who undressed her. I found her lying there in
her orange tank top, her cut off shorts, orange socks and
Keds, and I took them all off, and tossed them in the
creek to make it look as though the murderer had done it.
Slowly, I pulled her tank over her head, her arms seeming
to fight me at every maneuver. Without pausing,
preferring to wait until I was finished, I unbuttoned and
unzipped her shorts and slid them down her tanned legs.
She was wearing a pair of Barbie panties, white, with
pictures of Barbie in hearts polk-a-dotting the fabric,
and two holes in the side from where they were old and
worn.
Looking down at her, I realized, almost laughing at
myself that her shoes and socks seemed incongruous with
her nakedness, and I popped the shoes off one after the
other and rolled the socks off her feet.
She lay there before me now, her eyes looking up at the
sky, her hair in an orange ponytail-holder spilling out
unkempt, her body brown from the summer sun. I looked at
her for a moment, unable to catch my breath at what I had
done. A naked girl, a beautiful naked girl, lying before
me. Her chest was freckled lightly in the same way as her
face, the freckles fading as they neared her breasts.
They were only mounds, really, her breasts, just
developing, with soft brown nipples sitting perfectly
atop each. I could tell when I looked closely that her
left breast was slightly larger than her right, and it
was sad to think that the other one would never catch up
now.
I knelt down beside her and took one of her nipples in my
mouth and tried to suck it, thinking in my ignorance that
perhaps there was something there to suck. And though
nothing was there, it felt good to have this rubbery
nipple in my mouth, on my tongue, between my teeth.
I moved down then, lower on her body, touching her feet,
feeling her thighs in my hand. I pinched her a little,
half-expecting her to complain, but there was no sound,
no movement. Then, I parted her legs, bending the knees
and raising her legs up when I found that this allowed
for the best view.
Her pussy was a small slit, the lips thin and long, and
only a bare tuft of hair had begun to cover her. I moved
still closer now, wanting more than anything to see what
lay down there, between those odd looking lips. Using my
fingers, I stroked her, and was surprised at how
amazingly soft it was. It was almost like stroking soft
cotton.
Then, with my thumbs, I opened the lips and was amazed at
the many wonders that lay there. I stretched them wider
and wider, looking deeper and deeper, discovering the
hole, small but dark and sticking a finger inside to feel
what it felt like. It was still warm inside of her, and
slippery.
Then I understood. I understood what it was that sex was
about all in a rush. Perhaps I had seen something of it
as a child, interrupting my parents and then repressing
the memory, or heard something on television, but it was
as if the knowledge was already there and I had only
forgotten it for a time.
I pulled my t-shirt off over my head, and took off my
shorts and underwear in a rush. I had never been naked
out of doors that I could remember, and the wind was
ticklish, and frightening as well, in its suggestion that
being caught was a real possibility.
My four-inch penis was hard, to the point that it almost
hurt. Unsure what to do, I positioned myself between
Kelly's legs, and lay down on top of her, my chest
against hers, my penis lying between us against her flat
belly. I began to shift myself, trying to figure out
exactly what to do. I wiggled lower, searching for the
opening.
Finally, thinking that I would never be able to do this
with a real girl, I took my penis in my hand, and using
my other hand to find her hole, I pushed myself in.
Kelly lay there motionless beneath me as I went in. I was
unsure what to do at first, and I lay still inside of her
for a bit, feeling what it was like to have a part of
myself inside another human being. Then I began to move.
Maybe it was only to get out, at first, thinking that
perhaps I had gone to far. But as I moved to pull out of
her, the feeling was so good, so intense, that I pushed
back in. I began to move slowly in and out, feeling the
rubbing sensation, looking into her eyes, encircling her
waist with me hands and feeling the softness of her ass
as I pumped.
At last I came, and it was like nothing that I had ever
experienced, allowing my own semen to flow into someone.
It gave me an incredible feeling of freedom to empty my
lust into her like that. I remember that once I was dome
coming I just lay on top of Kelly and listened to my
heart pounding. Finally I rolled off of her and lay there
for several more minutes panting.
There was nothing else to do. I knew that I had to get
away from there, that there would be no coming back for
more, no way to preserve this love of my life.
I gathered my clothes and dressed slowly. Then, after a
last gentle kiss, I made my way back to the house where I
spent the afternoon watching cartoons and trying to look
innocent.
They found her a couple of days later, and there was
quite a stir for a while. A murderer/rapist in our little
town, a true event. It all died down eventually, and
people went on with their lives.
But I was never able to forget though. It was my first
time. It was her first time. Part of me will never be
able to love anyone as much as I loved Stacy.
The End.
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 14