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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2007.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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First Explorations 
by Rzrsej (rzrsej@aol.com) 

***

A boy's first time turns out to be with a dead girl. 
(mf-teens, 1st, extreme, nec)

***

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 would come across my 
father's cache of Playboys, before the days when I 
would stay 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 fell, 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 hairless 
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 own 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 was what 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 hair style. She was something 
like an Amazon to poor little old me, and I didn't 
spend many days hanging out there. 

Her cousin Stacy, however, was an entirely different 
matter. There was no doubt that Stacy 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 matted 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 forest that made a good back rest. 

I could see something didn't fit as 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 forest air was still but for the chirping of 
a few birds. 

When I at last summoned my courage, I moved up and 
knelt beside her. She was not breathing, I could find 
no heart beat, and though I shook her, her body was 
limp. She was still warm, but there was no life 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, no idea in the world what to do. 

Tears sprang to my eyes after a while. Tears over this 
beautiful girl, this girl who in some childish way I 
had loved. I had dreamed sometimes of hugging her, and 
I had had orgasms thinking about her hair, the way her 
teen 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 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 
came from, and I discovered that it was strongest at 
her neck. It was so incredibly sweet my tongue darted 
out and tasted. Her flesh was soft where my tongue 
touched. 

Raising my head again, I looked into her beautiful 
eyes, 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 for exactly. 
Sorry for kissing her? Sorry for what had happened to 
her? Sorry for finding her? But something in her eyes 
was reassuring to 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 my own. 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, 
though something in her eyes had invited me, had told 
me that, yeah, if I wanted to, it would be okay. 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, 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 muscular 
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 ankles. 

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, 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 small, 
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 there, between those odd lips. Using my 
fingers, I stroked her there, 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 own t-shirt 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, but frightening as well, in its suggestion 
that being caught was a real possibility. My four inch 
penis was hard already, to the point that it almost 
hurt. 

Unsure what to do, I positioned myself between her 
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 own penis in my hand, and 
using my other hand to find the hole, I pushed myself 
in. 

She lay there motionless beneath me as I went in. I was 
unsure what to do at first, and I lay still inside of 
her, 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 too far. But as I moved to get out of her, 
the feeling was so good, so intense, that I pushed back 
into her. 

I began to thrust slowly in and out, feeling the 
wonderful friction, looking into her eyes, encircling 
her waist with me hands and feeling the softness of her 
ass. At last I came, and it was like nothing that I had 
ever experienced, allowing my own semen to flow into 
someone. I rolled off of her and lay there for several 
minutes panting. 

There was nothing else to do. I knew that I had to get 
away from here, 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 home town, a true event. It all died down 
eventually, and people went on with their lives. 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. 

END

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 49