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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
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Maggie
by Calboy (address withheld)
***
A teen age boy discovers friendship and love that lasts
for a lifetime. (mf-teens, youths, inc, rom)
***
Although it has been over sixty years since it
happened, I will never forget the time I lost my
virginity to a second cousin on a farm in the middle of
Nebraska. It happened at a family reunion. I was just
thirteen years old at the time and my cousin was two
weeks shy of her twelfth birthday.
My family lived in southern California, but Dad had
grown up on a farm in Nebraska where his parents and
several of their siblings still lived. The war had made
travel difficult and expensive, and everyone seemed to
think that time was ripe for a grand reunion in the
late summer of 1946.
My dad had been itching for a road trip, and the
reunion gave him an excuse to travel. After Japan
surrendered and the war ended the previous summer,
gasoline was no longer rationed or in short supply and
new cars were on the market. Dad bought the first post-
war Studebaker Land Cruiser to arrive at the local
dealership for the trip, and we hit the road on the
Thursday before Labor Day.
It was great for me to be alone with Mom and Dad
without my older sister, Sally. She was sixteen and had
teased me ever since I was old enough to understand
what teasing was, and it was nice not to have her
constant verbal – and physical – jabs to deal with. My
folks wanted her to come, too, but she had a job that
summer that would turn into a part-time, after school
job in the fall, and she didn't want to quit. Since we
were going to be gone less than a week, though, they
reluctantly let Sally stay behind. As I said, that was
fine with me.
While I was keen on the road trip, I had my doubts
about the reunion. I was a shy kid and I didn't really
know any of the people who would be there, although I
had met some of them when they came to see us before
the war. Most of those who had made the trip west were
my Dad's aunts and uncles who were much older than me
and had probably made little impression on the pre-
schooler I was at the time.
I expected that the average age of people at the family
reunion would be about ninety and that I would be bored
out of my mind for the three days we would be at the
farm. The journey to Nebraska ended way too soon, long
before I wanted it to, and Saturday morning found us
driving up the long dirt road leading from the highway
to the farm buildings. I was dreading getting out of
the car when it finally stopped.
You can imagine my surprise, therefore, when I saw a
bunch of kids – kids about my age – running around the
big old farmhouse. I had never occurred to me that any
of the old folks who had visited us out west might have
produced kids, but they did. There must have been
twenty or so of them romping around in the big yard.
This wasn't quite what I thought it would be, and I was
more than a little frightened by the fact that they all
seemed to know each other, so I shyly clung to Mom's
hand seeking her protection while the older relatives
were greeting Mom and Dad like long, lost relatives –
which, of course, they were.
I successfully blended in with the adults for a while,
but as we were getting our suitcases out of the trunk
of the car, a girl approached me and invited me to play
"statue" with the other kids on the big shady, grassy
area beside the main farmhouse. I declined, citing the
need to unload, but she persisted and my parents said
it was okay to go play. I gave them a dirty look as the
girl grabbed my hand and dragged me across the gravel
driveway to the big lawn.
"My name is Margaret, but everyone calls me Maggie,"
she told me as we walked. "What's your name?"
"My name is Robert, but everyone calls me Bobby," I
responded, immediately regretting that I hadn't opted
for the more grown-up "Bob".
"Hey, guys. This is Bobby. He just got here." Maggie
chirped as we approached the other kids.
"Hi, Bobby. Where're you from?" asked one of the older
boys who I guessed was about fifteen.
Everyone was looking at me and smiling and I think I
was probably blushing from embarrassment. "Southern
California, near LA," I managed to croak out as I
wished I was someplace else. Nobody seemed to notice or
mind my discomfort, though, and the questions came
thick and fast. Did I know any movie stars? Had I ever
been in the movies? Is it true that it never rained in
southern California?
I soon became more comfortable answering their
questions and not long after that I joined their game
of "statue" which soon changed to "mother, may I?"
which became something else after that that I no longer
remember. The thing was, these kids were really nice.
No teasing, no fighting, and I was having a really good
time with them, especially with Maggie.
No matter what we were playing or where I was, she was
always nearby. It seemed like she was making sure that
I was accepted by the other kids, most of whom knew
each other, and that I was having a good time. I was
really grateful for what she was doing, and there
seemed to be some sort of a bond forming between us.
After an hour of playing, we were called into the big
kitchen for lunch. We all trooped in and sat around a
huge round table with a lazy-Susan laden with food in
the middle. I had never seen a kitchen this big, and
said so to Maggie who had managed to snag the chair to
my left. She told me a bit about the old house while we
ate lunch. It has been built by my great grandfather in
the late 1800 and the kitchen had to be big because
that is where the family and all the farmhands ate.
The rest of the house was big, too because my great
grandparents had nine kids, so there were lots of
bedrooms to begin with -- and some were added later
along with bathrooms when the women began to complain
about the outhouses. I have no idea now how big that
main farmhouse was, but it seemed enormous to me at the
time.
Maggie was the granddaughter of one of my Dad's uncles
who still lived in another house (one of four or five –
I can't recall) that had built a few miles away on the
big farm. Maggie's family lived in Omaha, a three hour
drive to the east of the farm (there were no Interstate
highways in 1946) so her family like ours, was staying
at the farm. Other relative who lived in the other
houses on the farm or nearby joined the reunion
festivities during the day and went home at night.
The adults got to sleep in the bedrooms in the main
farmhouse, but all the kids were put in the bunkhouse
which was used for transient crews during planting and
harvesting seasons but which was vacant that Labor Day
weekend. The bunkhouse had two wings joined by a big
lounge in the middle where there were lots of sofas and
big, overstuffed chairs and a couple of 10 inch TV sets
which were big screens at the time.
Each wing had a huge sleeping room lined with double
deck iron bunk beds, and a big bathroom with showers at
one end, toilets and a trough urinal along one wall and
a row of basins along the other. The girls were given
the north wing, and the boys were given the south wing.
The bunkhouse was clean and functional as I remember
it, but it sure wasn't fancy; the barracks I
encountered at Fort Ord when I was drafted eight years
later reminded me a lot of that old bunkhouse.
Anyway, after lunch I lugged my sleeping bag and
suitcase into the bunkhouse and staked out a lower bunk
for myself. I didn't spend a lot of time getting my
sleeping bag unrolled or unpacking. I really liked my
newfound relatives, and, as quickly as I could, I
dashed back out to be with my new friends, and
especially to be with Maggie.
We played and talked and hung out like kids do all
afternoon, and at around six, we heard the dinner gong
ring. The whole bunch of us ate dinner outdoors on
long, sawhorse tables set up under a huge old elm tree
in the yard next to the kitchen. As I recall, we had
fried chicken, corn on the cob, potato salad and a
bunch of other food I wasn't interested in when I was
thirteen.
Maggie and I agreed ahead of time to sit together, and
we secretly held hands under the tablecloth. I felt
like we were major conspirators, really getting away
with something, but I think most of the adults knew
what was going on. In any case, my heart raced at
Maggie's gentle touch. I was in heaven!
After dinner, the kids all helped with cleanup, and
then everyone trooped into the huge parlor to watch
some old home movies taken when my dad and his siblings
and cousins were young kids. The screen was set up in
front of the fireplace and the furniture had been
arranged theater style so that people could sit and
watch. Most of the chairs and sofa seats were taken by
adults, and the kids were left to find spots on the
floor or around the walls. Maggie and I found a wall
spot in a little tiny alcove, like a small by window.
I should tell you a bit about Maggie. She was about
five feet tall, maybe three inches shorter than I was
then. She had brown eyes and long, chestnut colored
hair which she was wearing in braids that day. When we
arrived at the farm on Saturday morning she was dressed
like girls dressed then -- pedal pushers, a sleeveless,
button-up blouse which was unbuttoned and tied at the
waist, and tennis shoes without socks. Before dinner
she had changed into a peasant blouse, a long full
skirt and sandals. I don't really know if she was good
looking by popular standards, but she looked like an
angel to me.
When we got ready to watch the home movies, we grabbed
a couple of throw pillows off one of the sofas to sit
on, scrunched ourselves down, and got comfortable. All
the adults thought the movies were great. They were
whooping, guffawing and pointing, totally engrossed in
the show. I thought it was boring. The photography was
crappy and I couldn't tell who any of the people moving
jerkily on the screen were. So I turned my attention to
Maggie who seemed neither bored nor enraptured by the
action on the screen; she was just sitting calmly
watching the screen with a slight smile on her face. In
the darkened room I saw my chance to make a move on
Maggie, and I surreptitiously snuck my right arm up and
around her shoulder.
To my surprise, she didn't snuggle into my armpit as I
really thought she would. Instead, she picked up my
hand, swung it over my head and plopped it down between
us. I was completely embarrassed by this obvious
rejection of my affections, and then totally nonplussed
by her next move: she stood up in a kind of crouch,
moved my hand to the middle of her cushion, lifted the
back of her skirt and sat down, mashing my forearm
between the cushion and her butt, and squeezing my hand
between her inner thighs.
It took me a few moments to realize what was happening,
where my hand was and what it was touching. During
those few moments, Maggie grabbed my right forearm with
both of her hands and snuggled into my right shoulder.
It dawned on me then that my affections weren't being
rejected at all. Indeed, they were being encouraged in
a very emphatic way.
I responded by wiggling my hand a bit between her
thighs and I was rewarded by a squeeze as she flexed
her thigh muscles in response. This went on for a bit
before I got bold enough to extend my thumb for further
exploration. I found the softest skin I had ever
imagined and then encountered cloth I knew had to be
panties.
I pressed gently there and Maggie responded by scooting
her butt further down on the cushion to intensify the
pressure. I wiggled my thumb around a bit without
having the least clue of what I might be doing. Maggie
seemed to like it though; she was squirming and sighing
and squeezing my arm rhythmically. Not knowing what
else to do (and being limited in what I could do by our
physical arrangement), I kept up the massage.
Moments later, Maggie arose with a sigh of frustration,
grabbed my hand, turned it palm up, and pried up my
middle finger. She then reached up under her skirt for
a moment and sat back down on my hand as before – only
this time, I had a finger extended instead of a thumb,
and it was pointed in the proper direction. As I flexed
my finger I suddenly realized what she had been doing
under her skirt: she had pulled the crotch of her
panties to one side giving my roving finger access to
her slightly fuzzy pussy.
Again, I was totally clueless about what to do with
this discovery, but I sure as heck wasn't going to let
an opportunity like this slip by without doing
something. My heart was pounding so fiercely that I
thought I would faint as I slowly began to explore
between Maggie's legs with my finger. I remember being
amazed at how soft and spongy the whole area was, and
at how warm and damp it felt. While I was woefully
inexperienced regarding sex when I was thirteen, I
wasn't totally ignorant of a girl's anatomy. After all,
I had an older sister.
We shared a bedroom, played "doctor" and bathed
together regularly until Mom decided we shouldn't be
naked in front of each other – I think I was about nine
at the time. I was still too young to understand the
significance of what I was looking at, but the memory
of what I saw stayed with me. I still remember closely
examining Sally's crotch while she was lying naked,
knees up and feet spread, on her bed when she was about
ten. The few examinations Sally allowed, though, were
pretty much visual ones; I don't recall that I ever did
much poking or prodding. I think I found her vagina a
bit frightening. I got close enough, though, to commit
the smell of her pussy to memory, which can still give
me a huge erection when I bring it to mind.
So while I had a pretty good idea of what a pussy
looked like, what one felt like was new to me, and I
decided to explore Maggie's pussy to the extent that
she would let me. After probing the creases adjacent to
each thigh, my finger discovered a crease in the middle
that was significantly warmer and wetter than the rest
of the area, and I knew this had to be where I so
desperately wanted my finger to be.
I wiggled my finger a bit to open up the crease. Maggie
giggled softly and wiggled her pelvis in response,
showing no signs of wanting me to stop. Son onward I
went, running my finger down her slit, back up, and
then thrusting it a bit further into the dampness. At
some point I brushed across her clitoris, and she
gripped my arm tighter and whispered a soft "Ohhhh" in
my ear. "Cool," I thought. "Let's do that again."
Once more I circled her wet opening and brushed her
little bump with my fingertip and once again she
clutched at me and sighed. On the next circuit she
pressed forward to intensify and prolong the contact. I
took the hint and began an earnest massage at the top
of her slit. Her squirming became more pronounced as
the massage progressed. After what must have been no
more than a minute of this, she suddenly stiffened and
crushed my open hand between her spasming thigh
muscles. Just moments after that she released my hand,
reached down to pull it from under her and kissed me
softly in the ear as she whispered, "Thanks."
I, meanwhile, was totally confused. In my inexperience,
I had no idea that girls could have orgasms (I knew
that guys could from my own pleasant experience), and I
thought I had caused her to have a seizure or
something, and then, suddenly she was all okay and
businesslike pulling my hand out, and then she was
kissing and thanking me! What the heck was going on? As
I said, I was totally confused.
But I didn't have much time to stay that way. The film
broke in the projector, all the lights went on and the
party was pretty much over. Since it was still kind of
early, all the kids went back outside to play in the
semi-darkness of the yard illuminated by only three
rather feeble electric lights attached to the trees
next to the gravel driveway. I was really hoping that
Maggie and I could sneak off and resume our groping
activities in the darkness somewhere, but it didn't
happen. The girls grouped together for some girl talk
and the guys started wrestling on the grass.
Before too long, we were all pretty tired and, one by
one, we trouped off to bed. I had to hide my hard on
(which had stayed with me ever since Maggie had been
sitting on my hand) while I got into my pajamas and
brushed my teeth. After I got into my bunk and the
lights were out, I wanted badly to jerk off, but I just
couldn't do it in a room full of people. I thought of
going into the bathroom, but that was even worse; even
the toilets and showers were out in the open with no
privacy possible. So I fell asleep in blue-ball agony
to have pleasant dreams involving Maggie, enhanced, no
doubt, by the hint of her scent that remained on my
finger after I washed my hands before going to bed.
There were a lot of activities planned for Sunday
afternoon after our extended family literally
overwhelmed the small local church. The pastor must
have wet himself in glee as he counted the bountiful
collection plate proceeds resulting from the overflow
crowd. After a huge outdoor lunch, attended even by
some of the non-family neighbors, we all gathered for
an hour of family history presented by my grandpa and
one of his sisters. It was sort of interesting, but I
really wanted to be with Maggie. I had never felt that
way about a girl before, and, while I might not have
been truly in love with her, it sure felt that way at
the time.
During the next couple of hours, a member of each
visiting family was asked to give a brief summary of
where they were from, how they were related to the
group and whatever personal information they wanted to
share. Dad told everybody we were from California, and
that he was one of my grandpa's grandsons and that we
were all happy to be there and that my sister couldn't
come with us, etc. A whole bunch of other dads told
similar stories with only little details changes. All
of these activities tended to keep family units
together so Maggie spent most of Sunday with her
parents and I with mine. I thought the afternoon would
never end, but it finally did.
When the crowd began to disperse and get ready for
dinner, I looked around for Maggie who, as it turned
out, was looking around for me. I spotted her when I
was walking around some farm machinery about halfway
between the main farmhouse and the barn, not too far
from the bunkhouse. I approached her somewhat
cautiously because I was still bewildered by what had
happened the preceding evening. I didn't know if I had
somehow hurt her, and I had no idea why she had thanked
me.
When she saw me walking toward her, she almost screamed
with excitement and rushed up to me. "Bobby!" she
exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you. C'mon!
Let's go for a walk. There's a neat pond not too far
from here." With that, she grabbed my hand and led me
off behind the barn, over a little hill, through some
woods and down into a little swale where there was,
indeed, a neat little pond. I'm no expert on ponds, but
this one was really pretty in the late afternoon light.
We walked around to one end where the bulrushes gave
way to a sandy little beach with a log just right for
sitting.
Maggie was chattering about the days events during our
walk while I remained silent, not really knowing what
to say. There were so many questions in my head, but I
couldn't find the words to ask them. When we got to the
log, Maggie sat down, looked up at me with a worried
expression and asked, "Are you mad at me? You haven't
said a word. Did I do something wrong?"
"Oh, gosh, no!" I stammered. "I'm not mad at you. I
think I love you." That slipped out before I thought
about what I was saying and I immediately blushed.
Maggie noticed, reached up, grabbed my hand, pulled me
down on the log beside her and kissed me full on the
lips. No, it wasn't a big, sloppy, open mouth French
kiss; it was just a sweet, soft, lips to lips, closed
mouth kiss that seemed to last for hours. It left me
lightheaded, but she tasted so good that I immediately
wanted to do it again. So we did. And several times
after that.
After our kissing subsided, I screwed up my courage and
asked her about our activities during the home movie
show. "Ummm, Maggie? You know, I really liked what we
were doing when we were sitting on the floor last
night. I've never done stuff like that with a girl
before, and it was really neat, and all, but I don't
know what happened. Did I hurt you or something? You
seemed like you were in pain, but then you thanked me.
Were you okay? If I hurt you, I;m really sorry. I
didn't mean to, honest." Once I got started talking I
couldn't seem to stop.
Maggie gave me the warmest, sweetest smile I'd ever
seen and said, "No, you big old sweetheart. You didn't
hurt me at all. In fact, what you did felt really,
really good. One of my best friends found a book about
sex and making babies in her mom's room. It even had
pictures! It said that women can have climaxes if you
rub a certain little spot for a while, I tried it and
it really works! And climaxes make me feel really good!
That's what you did last night: you rubbed me on my
little spot and I got the best climax of my life."
I was dumfounded by this new bit of information. "Well,
I really didn't know what I was doing, but I'm glad it
was nice for you. I didn't know that girls could do
that."
"Guys can, too. Did you know that? Have you ever tried
that?" Maggie asked.
I nodded in deep embarrassment, my face crimson. I had
never acknowledged to anyone, not even my closest
buddies, that I beat off, and here I was admitting it
to a girl I had met just yesterday.
Maggie got a faraway look in her eyes as if pondering
something, and then suddenly seemed to snap back to
reality as she spoke, "Look, you did it for me last
night. Let me do it for you today. Okay?"
The thought of being jerked off by Maggie was really
appealing, but there were other thought as well. What
if we got caught? A girl would have to see my penis and
none ever had except Sally, and she didn't really count
since she was my sister. I guess I thought about it for
a long time because Maggie interrupted my though train
and brought me back to the here and now.
"Well, do you want me to?" she asked, and then added,
"I'm pretty sure I can do it. I've seen pictures.
C'mon, let me do it, please?" And then with a big smile
"Pretty please?"
I really couldn't resist her pleas (or her "please" and
"pretty please"). "Okay." I sounded more reluctant that
I really was. I was beginning to warm to the idea in
spite of all the logical reasons not to that had
entered my mind in the past few moments. "Where do you
want to do it? It's kinda like out in the open here."
Maggie looked around and then pointed to an area off to
our left where the bulrushes grew a bit taller. "How
about over there? I think there is a little space where
we could sit or even lie down and nobody could see us.
We can hear anybody coming down the path to the pond,
anyway."
That sounded okay to me, but I'm pretty sure I was
thinking with my penis by that time. There was a little
sandy clearing among the taller rushes and we settled
in, trying not to disturb the surrounding cover any
more than necessary. I lay on my back and Maggie
kneeled at my waist. We looked at each other and began
to giggle. We were both a little more than a bit
nervous about what was about to happen. I finally
tamped down the giggles and began to unbuckle my belt
and unbutton my fly. Maggie watched as if in a trance.
The moment of truth came when I reached inside the fly
of my Lone Ranger boxer shorts and hauled out my
pitifully small, although firmly erect, penis.
Maggie gasped and leaned forward to look at it more
closely. "That doesn't look like the one in the picture
in the book!" she observed.
"Well," I began defensively, "I'm circumcised, and,
besides, I'm not fully grown yet."
Maggie picked up on my hurt tone immediately. "No, NO.
That's not what I meant. The pictures were of old,
wrinkly penises, and yours looks so soft and smooth and
so … beautiful! Can I touch it?"
"You're going to have to touch it if you're going to
jack me off," I wisecracked back at her.
Without hesitation Maggie reached out and caressed my
erect penis from top to bottom, including my scrotum,
with her soft little fingertips. I absolutely shivered
with anticipation. Her fingers stopped momentarily and
she looked at my face. "How do I do it?" she asked.
I scooted up on my elbows and nodded toward my erect
little penis. "Grab it near the middle like a baseball
bat and then move your hand up and down. The skin is
loose and it will slide with your hand."
She followed my instructions and soon got into a steady
rhythm. "Am I doing it right?" she asked with a worried
look.
"You're doing fine," I responded as I lay back down and
began to feel the waves of pleasure wash over me. "But
when I come, stuff shoots out of the end of my penis so
you'd better point it away from you unless you want to
get ti all over you dress."
"You mean like sperm?" she asked.
"Yeah, I think so" I grunted, "and some other stuff,
too, I think. And it's happening right now!" It didn't
take me long to ejaculate when I was thirteen. Maggie
held my penis off to the side away from and I spurted
gobs of stuff mostly on the ground but some on my
jeans.
"Wow," she exclaimed. "That was really neat! Did you
like it? Did it feel good?"
"Yeah," I panted. I was out of breath even though
Maggie had done all the work. "That was a lot better
than I could ever do it."
"Really?" she asked. She smiled broadly and looked
radiant. "I wanna do it again sometime. And, by the
way, I love you, too," she announced as she bent over
and kissed me again.
In spite of everything that had happened in the past 24
hours, it was still difficult for me to believe that my
current situation was real. I mean the sweetest, most
beautiful girl in the world had let me play with her
pussy last night, and today she had jacked me off, told
me she wanted to do it again, kissed me and had told me
she loved me. It was hard for me to believe that I
wasn't dreaming or something, and I put it to Maggie to
test my sense of reality.
"Maggie," I began seriously, "Nothing like this has
ever happened to me before. I've thought about having a
girlfriend a lot, but I never thought it would be this
wonderful. I feel like I'm dreaming, and I'm afraid I'm
going to wake up and discover that you never even
existed."
"I know what you mean," she replied thoughtfully. "When
I first saw you, I felt my heart start thumping. I was
afraid to even talk to you when you got here because I
thought you'd think I was just a pesty little kid. If
you did, you hid it real well, because you were nice to
me. I have never been happier in my life than I have
since we met. I may be dreaming, too. If I am, I want
to make the most of my dream. Come here. I want to kiss
you again."
I sat up, tucked my shrinking little pecker back in my
jeans, and crawled over to where she sat cross-legged
in the sand. It was awkward to hug and kiss her, but we
managed. At one point, I lost my balance and sort of
fell into her. We were still kissing at the time and I
felt her lip slide up a bit and her teeth come into
contact with my upper lip. Reflexively, my tongue went
up there to see what was going on. Hers, apparently
did, too, because our tongues were soon caressing each
other.
I had often thought about "French kissing" since I had
first heard of the practice when I was eleven. These
were thoughts that bordered on revulsion; I mean who
would ever want to have somebody else spit in your
mouth. Yuck! But it wasn't like that at all with
Maggie. She tasted sweet if there was, indeed, any
taste at all. And the feel of her tongue against mine!
It was beyond belief for me. It was like holding hands
squared, or even cubed. I had never experienced such
intimate communion with another human being in my life.
It wasn't like when we were giving each other climaxes;
we were doing this together and I was enraptured.
I was so enraptured, in fact, that we kept kissing
until it was getting quite dark. I think we both
realized that it was late at about the same time. As we
ended a kiss we both sort of looked up at the sky. I
said, "Uh, oh."
And Maggie responded, "Yeah, we'd better get going. I
think dinner's already over."
We ran back up the path from the pond, through the
darkening woods, over the hill, past the barn and back
to where people were clearing up the mess from dinner.
We were greeted by teasing comments and catcalls. "Here
come the lovebirds!" was one of the milder ones. One of
my great aunts smiled at us with an understanding wink
and shooed us into the kitchen where our dinners had
been saved for us. We ate in embarrassed silence while
others washed dishes and cleaned up the kitchen.
I suspect that our parents had become alarmed over our
disappearance and even more alarmed by the implied
message of our sudden reappearance and our rather vague
excuses for not showing up at dinner time: "Oh, we were
down by the pond, talking, and we lost track of the
time." "Oh? What were you talking about?" "I dunno.
Nothing in particular." I wouldn't have believed it
either. In any case, Maggie's parents kept her close to
them for the rest of the evening, and my parents kept
me with them, too.
So Maggie and I sat with our parents that evening
through some ridiculous activity event that someone had
thought would enliven the family gathering. I was so
upset and disappointed that I don't recall exactly what
it was. I wanted to be with Maggie and I'm sure that I
sulked throughout the entire evening. I remember that
Maggie and I made occasional eye contact during the
evening and that she looked as miserable as I felt.
The "festivities" ended at about ten and the kids were
all shooed off to the bunkhouse. I suspect that most of
the adults stayed for a round of Manhattans or Martinis
or whatever was in style in 1946, but I trudged, slowly
and dejectedly, toward the bunkhouse as I was told to
do. As I approached the darkened building I sensed a
presence close to my left arm. Before I could look, I
felt eight fingers and two thumbs gripping my upper arm
and a familiar voice was whispering in my ear, "Meet me
in the lounge at eleven thirty. I love you." Before I
could respond, I saw Maggie's braided pigtails
disappearing into the darkness.
I raised my left arm and was hugely grateful that I had
gotten a radium dial, luminescent face wrist watch from
my Grandma (on my Mom's side) for my birthday that
year. It was ten past ten. By the time I got to bed it
would be ten thirty, but then it would be a whole hour
before I would be able to meet up with Maggie!
I have always believed that time is flexible and that
night proved it, without question, to me. After I had
showered (Yes, I actually showered because I wanted to
kill time and because I wanted to smell nice for
Maggie), gotten into my pajamas, brushed my teeth and
climbed into my sleeping bag it was only ten fifty. I
had to wait another forty minutes before --- what? My
heart thumped in anticipation.
I kept peering at the glowing dial of my wristwatch
wondering if I was reading it correctly. Ten fifty six,
eleven thirteen, eleven twenty three. Finally, eleven
twenty seven – I wanted to be there on time. I slid out
of my sleeping bag and drifted off like I was going to
the bathroom in case anyone was awake, but then
silently reversed my course and tiptoed to the lounge.
There were no lights on, but there was a bit of a moon
shining in through one of the lounge windows. I looked
around in the dim light to see if there was anyone else
there and found no one. Glumly, I sat in one of the
overstuffed chairs facing the hall from the girl's wing
and looked again at my watch: eleven twenty nine. Okay,
I was early. I could wait, maybe fifteen minutes, maybe
a half hour, maybe all night! I wanted to see Maggie
alone again!
As it turned out, I had to wait less than a minute.
Shortly after I sat down I saw an almost ghostly figure
enter the room and hesitate, looking around. I looked
for braided pigtails but saw only an aura of long dark
hair. I stood for a better view, and the figure raced
toward me, knocking me back into the chair. From smell
more than sight, I knew it was Maggie. She was wearing
a long nightgown and she had unbraided her waist length
hair. As I tumbled into the chair, Maggie climbed on
top of me and began kissing me all over my face. I
hugged her close and kissed whatever part of her I
could reach with my lips. Before long, our lips found
each other and we were engaged in a long, probing kiss.
At length, Maggie broke the kiss, pulled back and
rearranged herself on my lap. She knelt over my lap
with her knees on either side of my pelvis, and then
pulled up the hem of her nightgown and spread it over
us like a blanket. Leaning forward she whispered in my
ear, "I want to see what it feel like for us to be
together – down there."
That said, she lifted the front of her nightie, reached
under with her other hand, hauled out my seemingly
permanently erect penis through my pajama bottoms, and
sat down on it with her sopping wet little pussy. I
gasped at the sensation but did nothing to impede where
I hoped she might be going.
Maggie sighed at the contact between my throbbing
member and her warm, wet pussy. As for me, I could have
died then and have been both happy and thankful.
Nothing, nothing, I had experienced in my young life
could have hoped to have matched this. I was in heaven,
but there was more to come.
Maggie began to slide her pelvis forward and backward
in a regular but slowly accelerating rhythm. Reflecting
back on it now, I'm sure she was making her clitoris
come in contact with some part of my pulsating pecker,
and from the sound and pace of her breathing, she was
really enjoying it. I know I sure was enjoying the
experience immensely. I was, in fact, on the verge of
blowing my load if she kept it up.
Fearing that I might suddenly come, I thought about all
sorts of things that had nothing to do with what was
going on down there. To a degree, I was successful. I
focused on Maggie's scent and on how her back felt
under my hugging fingers. I could still feel her warm
wetness sliding against my cock, but it was under
control.
I was contentedly in a blissful erotic equilibrium
until Maggie's pelvis slid a bit too far back, tilted a
bit up, and caught the head of my stiffness on the
pelvic bone underlying the softness of her vaginal
labia. On her next trip forward, my entire penis
slipped quietly up inside the entire length of her
vaginal canal. I distinctly remember coming in contact
with what I have since concluded was her cervix.
I have no idea whether she planned to impale her young
vagina on my adolescent penis or not. In either case,
she stopped moving once I was fully inside her. We sat
like that for long seconds, not moving and making no
sound. I blinked first, as it were, and felt my cock
throb inside her. Her vaginal muscles answered almost
immediately with as rippling quiver along the length of
my hardness. We both gasped at the sensation, and
Maggie moved her mouth over mine and kissed me deeply.
We stayed like that, penetrating at both ends for some
time.
I don't remember who moved first, but one of us
initiated pelvic movement that felt absolutely
incredible to me. If it was Maggie who started it, I'm
sure that I responded without hesitation. In either
case we were soon hammering our pelvises together in
total bliss.
I don't know whether Maggie actually climaxed during
our mating – I know I sure did -- in spades! – but as I
was shooting gobs of my stuff deep inside her, she
grabbed my cheeks with both hands and gave me the most
passionate kiss I had ever experienced. I knew, at that
moment, that Maggie was the person I wanted to be with
for the rest of my life.
But that was the dream of a young adolescent. Reality
returned to both of us as the dreaminess of a post-
orgasmic high receded. We cuddled for maybe an hour and
then returned to our bunkhouse wings for the rest of
the night. I fell asleep remembering that two days ago
I had dreaded the family reunion. Now I didn't want it
to end.
But end it did. The next morning we packed up the
Studebaker, said our tearful goodbyes and headed back
to California. Maggie and I had exchanged addresses
with fervent promises to keep in touch. For the most
part these promises were kept. We wrote to each other
daily at first and then weekly through high school. We
still stayed in contact, though less frequently while
we were both in college – Maggie at the University of
Nebraska and me at UC-Berkeley – but we wrote less
frequently. Interestingly, however, we always ended our
letters with "I will love you forever" before signing
our names.
I always wondered if I would ever see Maggie again.
Nebraska was a long way from California, and the
opportunities for our paths to cross were severely
limited. I got a job with an engineering consulting
firm in San Francisco after I graduated and Maggie
began teaching kindergarten in Omaha the following
year. It looked to me like we were slowly drifting
apart. We had both dated throughout our school years
and Maggie wrote after graduating that there was a guy
who worked at her school that she liked a lot. Most of
my dates had never managed to measure up to Maggie.
So that was it – or so I thought until I got a postcard
from Granddad – who was then eighty five – that another
reunion was planned for the summer of 1955. It was to
be held at the same place, on the ancestral farm in the
middle of Nebraska. I wrote back that I would be there,
and a day later I got a letter from Maggie begging me
to come. Of course, I wrote her that I would.
The reunion was boring as reunions usually are, but it
was good to see the people I had met for the first time
a decade earlier. Maggie was there, and at 20, she was
more beautiful than ever. I guess I had turned out to
be okay, too, because the guy from Maggie's school was
never mentioned. We managed to sneak off from time to
time during the long weekend, but we never did anything
too serious. The teenage hormones – and recklessness --
had diminished by then, I suppose.
We did kiss a lot and there was some groping going on.
I had never explored Maggie's chest during our
encounter nine years earlier, and that omission left
much new ground to be explored. I think Maggie enjoyed
my exploratory missions and subsequent discoveries as
much as I did.
We corresponded more frequently after the reunion and
the following June, I returned to Nebraska to claim
Maggie as my bride. I brought her back to California
with me and she got a teaching job in the San Francisco
east bay the next fall. Together we reared four
children – two boys and two girls – and were blessed
with five grandchildren and one grandchild – so far.
We celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary just over a
year ago, just in time. Maggie died suddenly last
January from an unknown and unsuspected heart
condition. She didn't suffer at all. But I do. I miss
her so much...
END
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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 52