My wife and I have been a couple since 1985 and we married in 1989. When we met, she was a sixteen-years-old, five foot three, 125 pounds virgin with auburn hair, sky-blue eyes, and the best ass in the contiguous states of the old Confederacy. I was a seventeen-years-old big goofy-ass redneck with two previous, and decidedly awkward, sexual experiences under my personalized leather belt.
We met on a blind date and quickly fell in love, and then in lust; lots of lust, hours of making out, fingering and handjobs at the beginning. Then, one winter's Saturday night, we decided to "go all the way." She had been put on birth control pill a few month before, so we thought we were ready.
Well, we were wrong. Oh, we tried. We tried everything: fingering, licking, all sorts of inventive foreplay, but I could not get my relatively large cock, a seven inch Mellow Yellow can, in her virgin pussy. After about thirty bewildering minutes, I brought her to the first four orgasms of her life, using two fingers, and she jacked me off ont her tits - a satisfying sticky, if somewhat frustrating, finish for both.
Monday morning, I consulted with the alpha male sage of our mullet-sporting sub-group and he told me the straight dope on crashing through "the iron gates of life," with my sore-headed soda-can cock.
The next time we met, I came equipped: a fire-engine red 76 Camaro, a four pack of peach wine coolers, a small jar of Vaseline I had liberated from my mom's medicine cabinet, and, most importantly, a raging erection. After a few drinks of the disgusting potent potables, we began our earnest quest to pop the cherry.
She lay across the back seat. I began to lick her 80s era hirsute twat, so sweet and fragrant. I flicked her bean with my tongue for about ten minutes, and then, slipped first one, then two digits into the moisture. She began to convulse almost immediately, and I felt the spasms of her vagina around my fingers and a bit of a very slick ejaculation.
She then asked if I wanted her to stroke my swollen shaft. Not wanting to waste yet another load, I said, "No," picked her up - I was a strapping boy - and sat her on my lap. She began to grind her sopping slit all over Moby: yes.
We met on a blind date and quickly fell in love, and then in lust; lots of lust, hours of making out, fingering and handjobs at the beginning. Then, one winter's Saturday night, we decided to "go all the way." She had been put on birth control pill a few month before, so we thought we were ready.
Well, we were wrong. Oh, we tried. We tried everything: fingering, licking, all sorts of inventive foreplay, but I could not get my relatively large cock, a seven inch Mellow Yellow can, in her virgin pussy. After about thirty bewildering minutes, I brought her to the first four orgasms of her life, using two fingers, and she jacked me off ont her tits - a satisfying sticky, if somewhat frustrating, finish for both.
Monday morning, I consulted with the alpha male sage of our mullet-sporting sub-group and he told me the straight dope on crashing through "the iron gates of life," with my sore-headed soda-can cock.
The next time we met, I came equipped: a fire-engine red 76 Camaro, a four pack of peach wine coolers, a small jar of Vaseline I had liberated from my mom's medicine cabinet, and, most importantly, a raging erection. After a few drinks of the disgusting potent potables, we began our earnest quest to pop the cherry.
She lay across the back seat. I began to lick her 80s era hirsute twat, so sweet and fragrant. I flicked her bean with my tongue for about ten minutes, and then, slipped first one, then two digits into the moisture. She began to convulse almost immediately, and I felt the spasms of her vagina around my fingers and a bit of a very slick ejaculation.
She then asked if I wanted her to stroke my swollen shaft. Not wanting to waste yet another load, I said, "No," picked her up - I was a strapping boy - and sat her on my lap. She began to grind her sopping slit all over Moby: yes.
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that is his name, and yes, it is a Melville reference. I tried to slip the head in, still too tight. Then, I reached into the console and retrieved my secret weapon. I dabbed a healthy petroleum glob on my glans and rubbed it against the entrance. And then it happened... it went in. She took a deep breath.
"Does it hurt?" I asked.
"A little," she said.
Despite that, she began to grind with gusto. After about ten strokes, her pussy gripped my cock and began to pulsate. She came twice more, and though I tried to hold back. I squirted too. She started to climb off, but I grabbed her arms and kissed her deeply.
"Just sit here for a minute," I instructed.
We kissed. I sucked her tits, and then, for some reason, I reached around and began to finger her perfect pink little asshole. She recoiled at first, but didn't ask me to stop. Then, I felt the great white whale began to stir, and resurface. Her cum, my cum, and unbeknown to me at the time, blood from her ruptured hymen, leaked out, giving ample lubrication for session number two.
She rocked her way to two more shuddering climaxes. I laid her back on the seat, climbed between her legs and began to pound. Forgetting my strength and bulk, I struck a bit too hard and banged her head on the door. I apologized, pulled her down a bit and went back to work. I fucked (made love to) her a total of four times that night. She had eight orgasms, multiple orgasms, God's gift to certain blessed ladies.
Eleven o'clock came quickly and we knew we had to get ready if we were to make her midnight curfew. When we opened the car door, the dome light evinced the various body fluids on my back seat. She had a few drops of blood on the hem of her skirt, but we were able to remove the stains before I dropped her off at her front door, kissed her goodnight, told her I loved her, and drove away into the darkness, feeling like a man.
I have that same feeling when I fuck her now, all these years later.
"Does it hurt?" I asked.
"A little," she said.
Despite that, she began to grind with gusto. After about ten strokes, her pussy gripped my cock and began to pulsate. She came twice more, and though I tried to hold back. I squirted too. She started to climb off, but I grabbed her arms and kissed her deeply.
"Just sit here for a minute," I instructed.
We kissed. I sucked her tits, and then, for some reason, I reached around and began to finger her perfect pink little asshole. She recoiled at first, but didn't ask me to stop. Then, I felt the great white whale began to stir, and resurface. Her cum, my cum, and unbeknown to me at the time, blood from her ruptured hymen, leaked out, giving ample lubrication for session number two.
She rocked her way to two more shuddering climaxes. I laid her back on the seat, climbed between her legs and began to pound. Forgetting my strength and bulk, I struck a bit too hard and banged her head on the door. I apologized, pulled her down a bit and went back to work. I fucked (made love to) her a total of four times that night. She had eight orgasms, multiple orgasms, God's gift to certain blessed ladies.
Eleven o'clock came quickly and we knew we had to get ready if we were to make her midnight curfew. When we opened the car door, the dome light evinced the various body fluids on my back seat. She had a few drops of blood on the hem of her skirt, but we were able to remove the stains before I dropped her off at her front door, kissed her goodnight, told her I loved her, and drove away into the darkness, feeling like a man.
I have that same feeling when I fuck her now, all these years later.
