Where it happened: at home
Langauge: English
Sex: Male
Rating: 10
Category: Straight
My parent’s were in a mixed marriage, and had two kids. One day someone sent a social worker to see them as potential foster parents for a mixed race girl who was coming from an unstable household situation. Seems her mother was a dyke lesbian (I never did figure out how her mom managed to get pregnant in the first place) who was too wild to provide a stable household environment (motorcycles and bars were her style). My parents were not particularly enthusiastic about taking in a foster kid, but given that few families were willing to take in a mixed race kid, and that we were, in that sense, an ideal household, they agreed.
So there we were, two unrelated 12 year olds, both bursting through puberty, hormones surging, parts of our bodies bulging that had never bulged before, and living next to each other. Looking back, I think she must’ve been sexually abused before she got to us, because she had that sense of her own body, her sexuality, that was not typical for a girl her age. She was just a bit overweight, struggled with school, and could be quite boisterous and aggressive. She was my opposite in most of these ways. I was quiet, shy and smart. While I had no previous sexual experience, I had read everything that I could get my hands on, from the nudie magazines that I had found near the trash bin at school to the copies of “Joy of Sex” and “The Happy Hooker” that belonged to my friend’s mother. I knew what a clitoris was and what it was for, which was pretty advanced for a male 12 year old.
I can’t really remember how the process got started. I remember that we used to sit together on the sofa at night watching TV, both just in our pajamas, and that sometimes I could catch glimpses of her breasts when her shirt hung down as she was playing with the dog or something. Sometimes we would play-fight, which might end up in tickling or wrestling, again just wearing the flimsy pajamas. I would get hard, and she thought this was so funny. She would laugh and run away, but she would always come back fairly soon, looking for more.
I remember once that my pajamas had a little rip in the crotch, and she was sitting back on the sofa, watching for little glimpses of my cock when I would move around. She would do things to get me to move, nudge my leg or something. We teased each other unmercifully, and it didn’t take long to realize what we both wanted to do.
One night, after a particularly intense session of teasing and rubbing, and after everyone else was in bed, I sneaked into her room. At first she pretended to be asleep. I think she was afraid we would get caught, or not sure that she really wanted to do anything. I crawled in bed next to her and I don’t really remember just what happened next. I know that I kissed her, and that I stroked her pussy. She wasn’t very responsive, but she spread her legs willingly when I stroked her. I got down between her legs and licked her for a while, and made her come. After that, there was no turning back. When I finally slid my cock inside her, it felt so slippery and squeezy and tight. It was really dark, I couldn’t see anything, just had to feel my way through it all, and of course we didn’t dare make a sound, so we couldn’t moan out our feelings or even get very bouncy. I stroked long and kinda slow for a very little while before my orgasm hit and I came inside of her. (what did we know about birth control?)
The orgasm felt absolutely great, there’s no arguing with that, but I thought it fell short of the hype. I had heard that orgasm with a woman through intercourse was about 100 times better than orgasm from masturbating, and I knew that I definitely preferred intercourse to masturbation, but it wasn’t as great as some guys made it out to be. And I felt vaguely guilty that, while she didn’t tell me “no”, in some way I had persuaded her to do something that she hadn’t, deep down, wanted to do. Even so, I think we did it two or three more times after that before she got angry with me one day, and I could tell it wouldn’t happen any more.
Not much later, the social worker came back and took her away. They accused my father of making sexual advances toward her. I wouldn’t have been surprised if this were true, knowing my father, but it is also possible that she fabricated the story to get out of our house, and away from me…
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