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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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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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In Times Past
by Peter Pan (uds3@hotmail.com)
***
So far as the hard-core, grunt 'n slobber faction of
readers are concerned – those to whom sex is little
more than an animalistic fawning and rutting between
like-minded pinheads, actions which fully undermine, if
not totally negate the intrinsic beauty of the female
form - then this tale is not for you. There are those
however with a higher awareness and it is for those
readers alone that I pen this memory. It is a
completely true recollection. (mf-yteens, 1st)
***
The year does not matter. When one is fourteen, nothing
much matters except being fourteen and enjoying to the
full, those opportunities that life deems worthy of
your participation in, at that precise moment in time.
So it was, that fate that morning should have tossed
Marion clean across the footpath right in front of me
on my way to school. Not that she was overweight in any
way I stress, she simply slipped on the icy footpath,
sprawling face-downwards into quite deep snow. The
least I could do was pick her up.
Now when one loses one's footing, leading to the
humiliation of falling over, and especially in the case
of a female, this detracts totally from any sense of
outer elegance, denting entirely the victim's dignity.
In falling, her legs had splayed outwards and a
momentary glimpse of some light-colored material
beneath the gusset of her winter stockings had worked
its unavoidable retinal magic. As I hooked my arm
beneath hers in an effort to pull her to her feet, she
reacted as one might expect a young school-girl to,
thus affronted.
"It's OK, I'm fine thank you," she gritted, seemingly
less than grateful for my intercession.
In falling, her satchel had slipped from her shoulders
and now lay upturned in the snow which itself lay feet
deep, drifted up against the school chain-wire fence.
Dislodged from the confines of their leather protector,
books, set squares, geometry equipment and her pencil-
set were now strewn around her, their final resting
places identified by multiple holes in the snow. In
hindsight, the scene was not unlike the Titanic
wreckage field. Retrieving her possessions in near
silence, it was a case of neither of us knowing really
what to say.
Handing over her protractor, the last escapee, Marion
half smiled.
"Thanks," she said "Sorry I was a bit gruff just now, I
was really embarrassed." I wondered for a moment if
that included my up-skirt viewing option.
"Oh, that's alright," I replied. "I've never seen you
at school, what class are you in? I'm Noel by the way,"
I added.
Shaking gloved hands she told me her name and confided
that it was in fact her first day there, having
transferred from Dartford Grammar. I had to suppress a
grin, our soccer team having crunched the Dartford
"invincibles" 5-nil the previous weekend.
It wasn't until we actually had gotten to school and
had stowed our gear in the lockers that I was
privileged to catch a glimpse of the real Marion, sans
her winter outerwear, gloves, scarf and hat. It was
worth the wait.
Laughably inexperienced and with all the predatorial
instincts of Bambi, I still could recognise a sexy
young body when I saw one... and right then, I was
definitely looking at one. Slim-hipped but with curves
in all the right places, those bright blue eyes looked
across the hallway at me from the prettiest of heart-
shaped faces. A flawless complexion and full "why-not-
try-me-now?" lips certainly dropped my anchor.
I think I was in love with her before recess. Judging
by several other boys' double-takes however, I
certainly wasn't going to be having this all my own
way. I figured I would keep one step ahead of the herd
though and asked her if she would like to see me at
lunch time. I think I noticed the beginnings of a
blush. At least, I like to think I did!
I couldn't tell you what I had to eat that day but I
remember with undiminished recall every last detail of
that lunch period.
Marion, having been billeted to 3B (British equivalent
of 9th grade) whilst I was resident in 3A meant that we
were unable to sit at the same table. Didn't stop me
from looking across at her in-between mouthfuls though.
I was encouraged by the fact that she was sharing her
table with seven other girls however, rather than mixed
company.
Now the canteen in that school was colossal. One
supposes that having to cater for almost seven hundred
kids in two sittings, it had to be. We're not talking
prison food either. Steaming hot Shepherd's pie, the
width of the plate with vegetables, heated rolls with
cheese followed by rhubarb or apple pie with as much
fresh cream as you could take on board, together with
just about any soft drink you care to name – and that
was a bad day. You paid nothing for it either!
I think it had been a roast chicken Tuesday. Shuffling
now the remnants of my dessert around the plate, I
noticed Marion about to get up. Informing the dorky
sixth-form prefect at the head of our table that I had
some assignment to complete, he waved me free to leave.
I already had a spot picked out.
At the northern end of one of the three enormous
playgrounds, right alongside the tennis courts, sat the
largest of oak trees that had probably been there when
Oliver Cromwell was a lad. Around its huge base someone
had thoughtfully constructed a circular seating
arrangement that could probably have housed twenty
children shoulder to shoulder. As it was, there was
rarely ever more than half a dozen school kids
clustered around that tree at any one time. On this
day, there was no-one.
The air freezing but invigorating, I see it all now as
clearly as I did that day. The great tree denuded of
its leaves but with snow piled-up thickly at the
confluence of its upper boughs. Icicles hanging like
stalactites from the roofs of the Assembly Hall and
Science block away to our left. Someone had painted the
most beautiful vanilla sky also, that hung over the
distant playing fields while more snow clouds were
obviously building up in the east.
As Marion talked I just looked at her. I could see the
gentlest of curves beneath her woollen jumper and as
she moved her arms to emphasise a point once in a
while, their presence would be highlighted. I tried
shifting my focus of concentration but at the back of
my mind was the sexual awakening I had experienced with
Ruth just eighteen months earlier and I simply wanted
now to see Marion undressed.
I think my hands betrayed my physical unrest and how
sweet was the feeling when she took them in hers as she
talked. So wide was the gulf at that moment between a
young girl on the very fringes of maturity and a
fourteen year old schoolboy with absolutely no control
of either his emotions or his dictatorial hormonal
urges.
I have no idea whether the afternoon's concluding
periods included, Latin, Chemistry or French...all I
remember are successive teachers shouting out "Pay
Attention Noel," their pleas falling on majorly
distracted ears.
When the final bell sounded at 4.10. p.m darkness had
fallen and I walked Marion to her bus stop, pointing
out on the way my own home, not so very distant. I
asked if she would like to come over at the weekend
maybe. Her reply of "I'll have to ask my dad," was all
I needed to hear. Obviously she wanted to.
In contrast to the laissez-faire if not fully unhinged
social dictates of the new millennium, fathers of small
children and especially young girls in those days, had
a keen interest in "sizing up" the family environment
whenever any offer was made for a son or daughter to
"come over" for a while. Before relinquishing the reins
in any shape or form, at the very least, a phone call
would be made to determine the family's suitability to
host their child for even the shortest of periods.
Despite passing the preliminaries, Mr. Cardiff was
adamant he wanted to "meet" me before granting his
daughter leave to visit. Accordingly my father agreed
to pick her up the following Saturday morning at which
time I might be "evaluated."
I had never been so well behaved.
At the point I heard Marion's mother whisper to her
husband "He's such a nice boy Arthur," I figured I was
on easy street. If only she could have known some of
the thoughts I was having, looking at her daughter
standing there in those figure hugging jeans. More than
likely Mr Cardiff already knew. He was staring at me,
such as one might ponder a squashed ant.
"We want her back no later than 9 p.m. sharp, alright?"
he barked. Dad assured him he would have her home on
time.
I was luckier than most.
Our home, being adjacent to a huge park had meant that
never in all my childhood had their ever been a
shortage of options when friends came over. Every
holiday the enormous fairground set-up camp just a ten-
minute walk from our rear fence, straight through the
forest. Miniature train rides, large well-equipped
playground, tennis courts, the Mansion House with its
tea-rooms and lavish museum of middle-age weaponry. In
Summer, firework displays and the motor boats and
skiffs on the lake. Beautiful Olde English gardens to
walk through and of course the enormous public swimming
center with four separate pools and a refreshment kiosk
that doubled as a ball room.
Mid-winter and with the great lake frozen over, kids
would spend hours ice skating. It was to this very
venue that I took Marion after she had dumped her stuff
in our hallway and following our ingestion of a few
ham, cheese and cress sandwiches that my parents had
kindly provided.
Rugged-up to the max, we could probably have made a
decent assault on Everest. One of so many pairs and
family groups there that afternoon, just being with her
was all I wanted. She clung to my coat-sleeve as I
pulled her relentlessly towards the tiny island, now
ice-locked center lake, which in summer so many young
couples would row out to, for a brief romantic
interlude.
As my pace quickened, I unfortunately discovered that
my co-ordination skills were not on a par with my
directional inertia, resulting in a folding of my lower
limbs and the direct placement of my rearend on the
ice. It was also brought to bear that I had no ready-
made braking system to hand and was otherwise still
travelling at a healthy rate of knots. Marion, in
attempting to avoid my ankles, orchestrated her second
collapse of the week and lying atop me now was laughing
and giggling hysterically. With those wonderfully soft
and pliant lips but inches from mine, I kissed her. She
stopped laughing!
At the conclusion of a late supper, there was time for
little more than a TV show before we had to take her
home. Sitting in the back seat, I caught my father's
smile in the rear-vision mirror, as I captured one
further kiss just as we negotiated Marion's driveway.
It was 9 p.m. on the dot.
It was to be a further fortnight before she was able to
come over again and had Mr. and Mrs. Cardiff been
forewarned of the circumstances to be played-out that
afternoon, I would have been welcomed at their front
door with an electric cattle prod, if not a double-
gauge shotgun. Probably both!
Dad should never have bequeathed me that bedroom – by
far the largest room in the house. Now in normal
circumstances, the least responsible of parents would
think twice about allowing their son to take a
fourteen-year old girl upstairs alone to his bedroom
for hours un-supervised. Like I would have ever
permitted such license towards any of my three
daughters?
The fact is though, it was rather more than a bedroom.
More of a lounge/study really, with a fold-out day and
night. The room contained my work desk, and with its
own television and stereo system, doubled as an
entertainment center, even a small museum of sorts with
glass cabinets all around the room, containing
artifacts and treasures I had collected since early
childhood. With its own intimate gas-heating also, It
was always hard getting friends and acquaintances to go
home!
The Saturday in question, Marion and I had walked up to
the High Street, but eight minutes distant, checking
out the record stores, having sodas in the ice-cream
parlor and just strolling around the shops. Not five
minutes after we returned home, some friends of the
family turned up unexpectedly and forthwith
commandeered the main lounge which left us with little
or no privacy.
"Would you mind if we go up to my room for a while
dad?" I asked hopefully. Never for one moment expecting
him to agree, I was staggered when he replied , "Sure
kid, I'm sure you two have something better to do with
yourselves than hang around us adults." My mother
however, more alert to the ways of the young male
evidently, shot me a glance. "Just behave yourselves up
there." I think I noticed out of the corner of my eye,
a smile playing around dad's lips and a blush forming
near Marion's. Inside, I was performing high fives.
I had no choice but to behave myself as it turned out.
So interested was Marion in all my treasures and
collectables, I spent the first three-quarters of an
hour answering questions and showing her various
exhibits. Then she wanted to play records, I was
beginning to think this hadn't been such a hot idea
after all. By the time "Are You Lonesome Tonight?"
dropped for its fourth play I was beginning to wish
Elvis had never been born. I figured I would break the
monotony and asked her if she'd like a Coke.
When I got back to my room, Marion was standing over at
the huge bay window, which offered up a panoramic vista
of the rear garden, the dense forest beyond and the
gentle undulations of the parkland east of our fenced
border. Most of the snow had melted and though still
freezing cold, everything was picturesque in its wintry
solitude.
"You are so lucky," she whispered, "No one else has
anything like this to look out at. My little bedroom
just looks over other people's boring rear gardens."
She was right of course, I had known that since I could
first see over my high-chair. She was standing there
hands free at her side, her hair just curling softly at
the nape of her neck. I stood behind her, simply
encircled her waist with my arms. I knew she could feel
my breath on her neck because she put her hands on top
of mine and hugged them tighter.
A fair bit shorter than me, I could see over her
shoulder the curve of her young breasts clearly now and
it would have been so easy to cup them and then squeeze
them softly but I was little more than a child
myself... my technique would doubtless have amounted to
little more than an indelicate mauling. Anything more
forward than a kiss was going to have to be at her own
instigation.
I let her go so we could drink our Cokes. We sat on the
day and night and I seem to remember having so much
trouble with my hands – trying to control them that is.
At the point she turned her pretty face towards me I
just kissed her and for the longest time, I just
allowed myself the luxury of contact with those
wonderfully soft lips. I think my motor sensory systems
were shutting down one by one – I wouldn't even have
fancied my chances if the entire ground-floor had been
alight.
"Are You Lonesome Tonight?" was long finished and with
no likelihood of being replayed for quite a while. At
the point I realised Marion had a hold of my hand and
was holding it flat up against her left breast I needed
little further encouragement. So yielding and warm
there, I squeezed the softness enclosed in my palm
which only served to make her kiss me more
passionately.
I shifted my hand to the other side and began fondling
her with quite some dexterous passion of my own. During
this phase both of us had slipped further down the
couch and Marion was almost on her back. Slipping my
hand up beneath her jumper took us both to the next
level.
She emitted a couple of "Ohhhs" as my hands sought to
cross the borderline between soft curvy skin and what
lay beneath the edge of that flimsy little bra. I knew
little about erect nipples but those that I found that
afternoon were the catalysts for the most exciting and
arousing of times I had ever known. With growing
confidence, I began pulling her nipples gently and the
effect on Marion was dynamic. Lots of moans of (as I
know now of course) pleasure and the onset of her
wriggling her hips noticeably.
Almost supine now and with a healthy few inches of
midriff visible, Marion presented as teasing a profile
as any fourteen year old boy has likely encountered.
Pausing only for breath, we were still kissing in
anything but moderation and with an enticing "tunnel"
now visible between her jeans and her lower abdomen, I
slipped my hand down inside the forbidden zone. This
did cause a reaction!
"Nooo, not there," she pleaded, tugging my hand out.
Obviously she hadn't heard of the old maxim, "If at
first you don't succeed..."
Thinking to launch a major counter offensive, I kissed
her for a bit more, fondled her breasts until she was
nudging white-line fever, then recommenced my lower-
abdominal activities. On a trajectory that took me
beneath the elastic of her panties on my first
incursion, I found my hand in a world of hairy softness
before Marion could react.
More cries of "Noooo, please not inside my knickers,"
but so half-hearted were they, her grip on my arm was
lessening even as my fingers reached her hot little
pussy.
Now this really was education plus! Eighteen months ago
I had learned the ins and outs as it were with Ruth,
but eighteen months makes for a remarkable difference.
I knew what I was doing this time. Pushing two fingers
inside, I felt her shudder partly because of her
obviously intact hymen and partly because I suspect
this was her first ever penetration.
"Just be careful...please," she whispered, nuzzling up
to me and obviously clearing the playing board for a
completely new game.
"What if we just unfold my bed?" I asked her... well,
she didn't say no at least"
I had the thing pulled apart in milliseconds. Had her
under the covers even quicker.
Covered, she let me undress her just as quickly as I
could ...well all but her panties that is. Fascinated
me watching her undo her tiny bra. Like most young
girls they don't mind so much showing off their new and
developing breasts but anything south of the belly
button is not for easy display. Didn't bother me I have
to say, so long as I had digital access I wasn't
complaining.
We must have spent more than forty minutes
'experimenting.' Her breasts she let me do most
anything with. Pulling them, rubbing them and best of
all, suckling them until my mouth ran dry with
excitement. Marion was not even averse to tugging down
the covers and letting me just look at her topless and
believe me, that in itself beat the hell out of playing
Monopoly.
Things were not exactly in remission over on the
Western front either. More than aware quite obviously,
of the biggest erection I had ever had, I was somewhat
keen you might understand to address the problem.
Whilst trying to pull her panties down a few minutes
later, as she giggled arousingly, my erection brushed
up against her hips. I heard her gasp "That's
naughty!!' I had every intention of being naughtier.
Fully undressed myself I wasn't expecting her to do
what she did. As a cool girlish hand took a hold of my
erection I almost passed-out with pleasure.
"Do you like me doing that?" she whispered.
"As much as you like this," I answered, rubbing my
fingers the length of her pussy and pushing in a little
as I did so. I felt her legs spread apart and saw now
what I would later have recognised as "urgency" in her
expression. I pulled her on top of me, her breasts
flush up against my chest and our genitals together. I
don't know what it felt like to her, but to me, this
was heaven beyond my wildest dreams.
After a few minutes of this frictionalised arousal my
erection was pressing hard up against her outer lips.
More than once I had felt her own hand up between her
legs. Would have been years before I realised why!
"We can't make love Noel," she murmured, "I'm still a
virgin and anyway, you could get me pregnant."
Get her pregnant? Right at that moment, that was the
least I'd like to have done to her.
I had to relieve myself – that much was beyond
question. It was just then I realised that with all the
wriggling about we'd been doing, the head of my
erection was but a few inches from the entrance to her
vagina. She must surely have realised that my hands
having a free rein across the soft expanse of her sexy
little bottom were gradually re-aligning perspectives
and it was no accident that my erection "slipped"
suddenly upwards into the most delicate of ingresses.
"Noo, nooo," she cried out softly, shaking her head but
making no attempt to move off me. I figured this was
the ideal time to kiss her long and hard. Barely able
to make headway because of the natural barrier, I was
doing it tough. Marion I suspect was doing it tougher.
"We have to stop," she pleaded. All I could see was the
light stuck on green. Turning Marion over on her back I
got on top of her and would probably have ended up in
Juvenile Court had not a series of knocks at the
bedroom door put paid to my new-found manliness.
"Noel, can I come in please?"
If nothing else, mom's timing was impeccable as always.
(c) Peter_Pan Autobiography:
http://www.lulu.com/content/74426
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 39