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Wolf

Age when it happend: 17
Where it happened: Automobile
Langauge: English
Sex: Male
Rating: 9
Category: Straight

Seventeen, nowhere to go, nowhere to be: just in the world, and wondering what would come of it. I lied about my age that night, lied to everyone that asked, but I could dance, and one of my friends took me to a bar where they didn’t ask much, and told even less. She was there. No beauty queen, but not bad. Older, much. Sheree. Fourty and blonde, and looking at me like I was made of mud or something. But I could dance. And I did. She never tried to dance with me, never even spoke to me until I started playing slide bowling and dancing at the same time. Then she watched…and when it was over she led the round of applause. Thank you, and take a bow.

As the night drew nigh, and began to travel to the dawn, the bar closed, and Sheree offered to spare my friend the trouble of transporting me. I agreed, never knowing what was to come next. Small car, but great seats, she drove me to the school where I had spend my middle years, and pulled up beside the sallyport for the cafeteria. Pulling on a joint, she handed it to me, and I took a pull, coughed up my lungs and handed it back. It didn’t take long for her to question my age. In my state one will get you twenty, and she was sure I wasn’t of age. I lied, wouldn’t you?

She reached for my crotch all of the sudden, like a snake to the kill, and her hand rested where no hand but mine had before. Oh my! Then she kissed me, and leaned into the kiss to stroke me even more fully. I recall reaching for her breasts and that she raised her blouse to help me, knowing that I didn’t have a clue. Oh, she was wonderful, the soft flesh of her breasts filling my hands like pillows, and the heat of her kisses, and the pressure of her touch. Sheer delight…

Even though there was more to come, these things must first be told, so they are. She was a queen, a goddess, and yes, the weed was playing games with me, but even now, after twentyone years the memory still burns at me, and the learning that begun that night carries forth to today. She was a goddess, and still she is, at least in my heart.

She showed me how to lower the bucket seat, and then she helped me to shed my clothes, and she pulled up her skirt and I saw a woman for the first time. Such a creation, and there it was before me. I was going to be a man, as long as I didn’t faint first. My dreams were real, and she was a vision, with long slender legs, and rounded hips that seemed to magnatize my hands, and her smell was like butter, but the melt was her sex, and it was good.

She led me by my staff, and guided me into silk and velvet. I was amazed that anything could feel this good, and she guided me, stirring my hips with her hands, and offering her breasts to me for kisses and nips, the nipples like candy, and the rest like cotton. I was hooked, buried in a woman who could be my mother, but thankfully she wasn’t. She led me to the edge, and amazed me by being able to stop me before I fell. And she was like a nymph, so agile below me, and with me impaled within her like a short spear from beyound. And the kisses, how they burned.

And then, she released me to ride the crest of heaven for the first time. And she thanked me for my gift, never knowing, at least not from my lips, how grateful I was to her for hers. As I withdrew from her I could see all of what was her, and I still to this day see what she gave to me, and taught me, even though she was the one who says she was taught. She told me as we dressed that one day I was going to be “so good”, and I have tried to live my life with that in mind.

My lovers today all remark how gentle and paitient I am with them, and all of it flows from my Sheree, and that night by the school. My son recently left that school for high school, and yet even now as I recall, it never seemed more vivid, more real, and I never learned as much within its’ walls as I did without, in the parking lot by the cafeteria with Sheree, my first time…

Though I never told her, I do now, thank you, Sheree, for making my first time last forever. You were the one who was so good, and all I can ever hope for is to be able to pass on what you taught me that night for as long as possible.

P.S. To Carl, reference #8384, there are always better writers, and always better liars, but the truth will always set you free, and sometimes, grammar isn’t the most important thing, if the message is real. I hope that this story reaches someone where it reaches me, the heart. Sheree was as real as you are, and this truth is perhaps the best first time that ever was, if only because it is real.

Stephen

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