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It started when I was in junior high school.

One day, as I was sitting in the back of the classroom during study hall, I began to daydream about one of the older boys in the school. Unconsciously, my hand drifted under my skirt, and my fingers were lightly rubbing the edge of the elastic of my panties.

Vickie’s voice, from the seat behind me, was startling when she whispered, “Oh, Barb, isn’t that lovely.”

“Shut up! Someone might hear you!”

“Don’t worry, No one is paying any attention.” Then Vickie’s hand was suddenly under my skirt, feeling the location of my fingers. She squeezed my hand, and her hand drifted slowly, gently upward. “Where is it?”

Her fingers generated marvelous feelings as they caressed my pubic mound. But, all too soon, the bell rang and it was time to leave. Confused, I tried to avoid her as we left school, but she caught up to me and walked beside me.

“I can make it feel really good,” she said in a hoarse voice, as we walked side by side. Frankly, my knees were weak, and my mind whirled with plans for letting her prove her ability.

Although I hadn’t paid much attention to her before, I began to treat Vickie as a best friend.

Just a few days later, we were playing after school in her back yard. Her house was the same as the others in the neighborhood, but her back yard was very deep–it actually extended the length of two or more of the ordinary back yards. And, there was a grove of about a half dozen pine trees, that surrounded a cool, dark glade. In that glade, I felt completely isolated from the rest of the world.

We were doing something–I can’t recall what–then I felt her presence behind me, and her warm breath in my ear, as she whispered, “I’d like to make you feel good.”

Her arms went around my waist, and she kissed me, or licked me–I don’t know–on the nape of my neck. It would sound icky to a young girl, but it felt–well it felt nice. Very nice.

How hot she seemed as her lips caressed my neck–and how natural it seemed as she pulled my arms upward, and lifted my shirt off in a fluid motion. Her hand rubbed the surface of my ‘teen’ bra, and focused pressure on my right nipple. My breasts were still conical, just developing, but her rubbing showed me for the first time just how sensitive my nipples could be.

There was nothing that I could do except to revel in the feelings that she was giving me. I felt warm and a little dizzy, and leaned back to her.

She continued to nuzzle me, and with both hands she kneaded my breasts. For the first time, I felt a warmth between my thighs.

With the tips of the fingers of her left hand, she began to rub up and down my bare belly. Her fingers moved gently down the front of my skirt, grazing the top of my pubic mound. The feelings were indescribably intense, and I was so wrapped up in them that I didn’t even notice when she unclasped my bra, unzipped my skirt and let both garments drop to the ground.

She gently pulled me backwards, until I was sitting in her lap, as she sat down on the ground.

As we sat, she continued to nuzzle, continued to rub, until I had my first orgasm in her arms.

Later, she and I had many lovely times together. She taught me about my body, and made me love her. I can’t even begin to explain what she taught me.

However, our times together were soon over. When I began high school, she family moved away, and, although we wrote to each other at first, we eventually lost contact with each other.

In high school, I never made contact with another girl like I had with Vickie. At first, it was because I mourned my lost love. Later, it was because I was afraid to make such a contact with any of the other girls. I had no way of telling which of them would be interested in such games, and feared that if I approached the wrong girl, that she would spread the word that I was “strange.”

However, I did discover that the making of love with boys and, later, men could be quite pleasurable as well. Although, and perhaps it was just the memory of my first time of feeling the wonder of sex, I never found a man who could satisfy me in the same way as Vickie. As a result, through my late twenties I was my own woman. I never married, and I developed a rather successful career. I dated, and made love with a few men–some of them were nice, but none of them were “right.”

I first saw her at the office. Her breasts and legs caught my attention as she parked her round, lovely bottom against a corridor wall as we talked. I don’t believe that she noticed as I gazed at the long stretch of her thighs underneath the hem of her skirt. We frequently talked, and became office friends–often eating lunch together.

I don’t know if I mentioned that she was married. Our conversations would often turn to married life, and sometimes to her sex life. I discovered, for example, that her husband was a very conservative lover. She loved him, but would have been happier if he would loosen up and include such things as mutual [tag]masturbation[/tag] and oral sex in their lovemaking routine.

It was perhaps a month or two later that she, in some way, recognized my attraction to her. Her reaction was in the form of teasing and joking. We never discussed getting closer, and I never broached the subject of woman-to-woman love. However, she was aware of my attraction, and, I suppose you’d say that she took advantage of it for her own amusement.

For example, one day when I brought some paperwork to her at her desk, she swung her knees around against my leg and began rubbing me with methodical strokes, watching my eyes steadily with a slight, mocking smile.

I don’t know what she was seeing in my eyes. Perhaps my pupils dilated. Perhaps there was some sort of softness that she could detect. She saw something, though, and laughed out loud, showing the tiniest tip of shiny tongue between her pink lips and wet, white teeth. I felt a strong tug of affection for her at that moment, and a lovely warmth in my loins.

She had a fondness for sheer, silky blouses. When she wore one, it gave me the urge to put my hands on her shoulders and delicately caress the place where her bra straps were visible through the fabric. When she wore a sweater, I felt an overwhelming desire to run my hands under it, and to squeeze her lovely, round breasts.

Later–whether she started it or I, I don’t know–we developed a game. First, it started with light, though sexy, banter. I would comment, for example, on the color of her panty hose and ask her to pull up the hem of her dress so that I could see them better. She would say “No, your stockings are nicer, why not pull up your dress?”

Then, it gradually became more physical. We would meet in various quiet corners of the building, and she would lean back against me, gently rubbing her bottom against my mound. Sometimes, she would turn around and give me a quick peck on the lips–once or twice, the kisses were deeper. But always, she would break away after a few moments, straighten her dress and leave me to dream of her lips and her body.

Then, she got [tag]pregnant[/tag] with her first child. This caused a change in our relationship. I believe part of it was that her husband wouldn’t sexually satisfy her because of her pregnancy–but the result was to my benefit, because our necking sessions at work became more involved, and lasted longer. She seemed to find it harder to break away after a brief touch or kiss, and she and I would often hug, kiss deeply and fondle each other through our clothing. In fact, she seemed to become frustrated, since we dared not do anything that lasted more than a couple of minutes for fear of being discovered.

I craved her–but would only take our relationship as far as she wanted.

A few months into her pregnancy, I moved from my old place to an apartment which just “happened” to be a block from her house. This meant that it became very convenient for us to car pool together. We spent ever more time together, and I eventually would spend evenings at her home, both when her husband was present, and when he was away on a business trip.

When her husband was away, we would play. At first, we behaved like teenagers–we sat on the couch and necked, then, after a while, we would pet.

She complained of backaches as her body grew larger–so I read all the books I could find, and learned to give a skilled massage. This meant that I could see her naked, as she would lay on her bed, and I would massage her aching muscles.

Soon, we both would wind up naked, and we would kiss, and cuddle and would either masturbate each other, or watch each other as we masturbated ourselves. I don’t believe that she started out as skilled at pleasuring another woman as Vickie was, but we learned together, and could give each other the greatest of pleasure.

Once, she took me as I was sitting down. I was sitting on the couch, and she sat before me on the floor. Her hand reached under my skirt, her fingers entering my womanhood. She crouched on the floor next to me, her hand searching, moving, feeling within me. It felt so strange, to sit quietly, hands folded across my breasts, her arm extended up inside me–my legs spread far apart.

Sitting still, maintaining myself through the pure ecstasy of her explorations: her little touches, her experiments, her caresses, her attacks. Those long fingers plunging into me, then withdrawing to move around my nether lips–the bud of my clitoris at first erect and swollen, then withdrawing into the engorged nest. She rose, her fingers still in place, her mouth seeking mine. Our tongues crowding into each other, the one seeking the other, pleading and prodding.

I opened for her, whispering in her ear as she massages the inner ridge of flesh, wrings it and makes it come like rain, the honey weeping on her hand–my ecstasy telling her that I am hers. Surrendering with each gush of that pink and hidden place.

She sat next to me, and we kissed. As we kissed, I removed her housecoat–she wore nothing underneath except a pair of thin, silky panties. I kissed her mouth, her neck, then spent time kissing and licking and sucking on her lovely breast–now swollen with her pregnancy. I kissed my way down her front, and moved myself forward until I could reach her panties. I began to lick at her through the thin barrier of the fabric, and her hands flew to my head, stroking my ears, her open mouth making small cries as the tension built.

I moved aside the sopping nylon and buried my face against her. Her nails grazed my back, as her legs jerked convulsively upward. Her ankles locked against my spine. I moved slightly upward to her center, sucked in into my mouth. Her loins rolled upward in powerful thrusts as she cried out, my tongue and lips constantly moving until I felt her shuddering against me, heard her scream, the tenseness dissolving out of her.

–end–

anonymous author