tagErotic CouplingsA Kiss is Still a Kiss Ch. 02

A Kiss is Still a Kiss Ch. 02

byMaxSebastian©

The whole of the next day, Harry was simply buzzing around school. He felt different, somehow - more confident, as though his big night had given him some new kind of authority or verification of life.

He felt energized through class, and even though he found his mind wandering during the quiet moments, back to thoughts of lying with Samantha Williams, he actually found on the whole that his mind was sharper than it had ever been.

He suspected it was something to do with the sudden complete absence of silly, niggling insecurities he had always carried along throughout school - concerns about what people thought of him, what girls thought of him, what the future heralded.

During morning break, he was given a funny look by Greg, Amy's boyfriend, which made him wonder how much Samantha's former boyfriend Jeb knew about her fooling around with him.

Still, right now he had no concerns at all about what anyone else might think of him. The only important thing was what one Samantha Williams thought of him.

The only confusing thing was why the target of his affections was no longer in class.

"Hello, Earth to Harry!"

Biology class. Harry jumped at the sound of Amy Jones' voice right next to him. He turned to find her sitting next to him. What? Mr Olsen was already into his preamble about cells and mitochondria and things like that. Why was Amy sitting next to him?

"What are you doing?" he asked her, and looking around saw that Finch was now sitting on the other side of the room, in the seat Amy normally sat in during this class.

Greg, Amy's beau, was sitting behind Finch, and appeared to be blowing little balls of paper into the back of his head through a blowpipe made from a ballpoint pen. Finch looked over at Harry and raised an eyebrow, the same question no doubt on his mind - why had Amy taken his usual seat?

"Didn't you hear me?" she whispered now.

"No," he replied with a whisper of his own, trying not to let the close proximity of the pretty blonde, or her excessive perfume, give him an erection in the middle of class.

"I want to know how you turn Samantha into a pile of goo all the time."

Now it was his turn to give Amy the same kind of baffled expression that Finch was sending his way.

"What?"

Amy sighed, paused a moment as Mr Olsen's eyes flashed in their direction, and then said: "Look, I can accept she has to spend a fair amount of her spare time with you now, but when I do get her to myself for five minutes, she can't stop talking about you."

Harry just smiled. What could he say? Life was great.

"It's very boring."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

Mr Olsen was now directing the class to begin setting up their microscopes to look at the slides of cells he was about to pass out.

Amy hissed with irritation. She leaned in to whisper to her temporary lab partner, even though they probably could have talked normally now, since everybody was busily getting on with the practical.

"I want to know what you do when you're with her," she said.

Harry frowned. "I don't know if she'd want me to tell you. It's private."

"She tells me everything." Amy took a slide from Mr Olsen as he passed by, and now started setting it in place in the microscope.

"Everything?"

Her lips curled up in a dark grin. "I know you made her come like a freight train last night."

"What?!" Harry nearly choked.

"Oh don't worry, I won't tell anyone else," Amy said, though with the tone that suggested she now had a secret over him, which she could use to her advantage. "Not even to Jeb, who wants to beat you to a pulp, by the way."

"Jeb? Why me? I never forced her to - "

"Oh, you'll be okay. I doubt he'll do anything, it'll just look like ridiculous sour grapes if he does."

Amy peered into the microscope, and Harry said: "So if you know so much about me and Samantha, what do you want me to tell you?"

Amy huffed, as though he was being an idiot for not being able to read her mind. She said: "I know what you do with Samantha, I just want to know how you do it."

"How?"

"God," she rolled her eyelids. "Come on, you give her an orgasm practically by touching her. I can spend a whole weekend with Greg, and he can't even raise my pulse."

Harry shrugged. "You said I'm a dork," he said.

"So what, you're not going to tell me because I hurt your feelings?"

"No. What I mean is, I've never been with a girl until I kissed Samantha on that stage."

"And?"

"Well, people like me - dorks like me - tend to use the Internet as a substitution. You know, since girls don't bother with us."

"Eww. That's just gross."

"No," he said. "What I mean is, since we can't do it for real, we tend to read about it a lot instead. Sex, I mean."

He saw a glimmer of light spark inside Amy's big green eyes. She said: "So... what you're saying is, because girls aren't interested in you, you dorks are all experts on how to please girls?"

Harry chuckled, and took over the microscope to peer down into the eyepiece at the boring little building-block-of-life. "I'm not saying we're experts," he said, "but I should imagine we're more knowledgeable than those Neanderthals you girls all seem to be drawn toward."

As he attempted to identify the various aspects of the cell Mr Olsen had flagged up on the whiteboard, he felt Amy jab him in the side with her elbow.

"Okay, Mister," she said. "So tell me how well you're in with the rest of the dorks around here."

"The rest of the dorks?"

"Well, you must know if there's some other guy that might be... you know... like you..."

Harry tore himself from the microscope and stared at Amy, his mouth open in surprise. "Wait, wait..." he said. "Let me get this straight. You, Amy Jones, want me, Harry Albright, to set you up with a dork?"

"You don't have to act all weird about it," the blonde scowled.

Harry shook his head. "And you suppose I just happen to have some kind of secret army of dorks I can just call upon at any moment..."

"No, but you might know a few that are in the same pervert league as you are."

"I'm a pervert, and yet you want someone like me," Harry chuckled. He found he enjoyed winding Amy up. It was a classic reversal of the school's power hierarchy.

He wasn't a sadist, however. He said: "Look, honestly Amy, I don't think I'd be much help. The only person I know well enough to confirm a similar obsession with sex is Finch, and he's... well... probably not your type."

Both of them now looked over across the room at Finch who, dork or no dork, was currently engaged in a hopelessly one-sided wrestling match with Amy's current disappointment - no doubt provoked by the constant barrage of paper pellets against the back of his neck.

Harry's friend really wasn't boyfriend material with his disheveled clothes, his mass of tangled black curls and those beer-bottle glasses. Probably wouldn't be until the middle of college, when he'd meet a quiet, unassuming wannabe librarian with an inferiority complex.

"He's completely obsessed?" Amy asked, not taking her eyes off him.

"Champion of the pervert league."

The blonde girl just continued staring, gently rubbing a finger against her chin.

"Interesting," she said, "Very interesting."

Then Mr Olsen began circulating around the class to collect sketches of the cells they were supposed to be examining through the microscopes, and suddenly Harry and Amy were scrambling to create the sketches they were supposed to have already done.

*

Harry largely forgot about his conversation with Amy most of the rest of the day - otherwise he might have mentioned something to Finch.

As classes broke for the middle of the day, he caught sight of Jeb, Samantha's previous boyfriend, at the end of the hallway. The guy obviously saw Harry, but the hallway was just too crowded for the football player to get to him, with hoards of other students hitting the lockers on their way to lunch.

Nevertheless, Harry fled the other way, not wanting any kind of confrontation. In a way he felt sorry for Jeb, knowing all too well what the guy had lost.

He had to wait all day to catch up with Samantha, feeling that nervous energy steadily building inside him as the fateful hour arrived, and he could drag Finch across to the school auditorium for another evening's dress rehearsals.

After a hellish afternoon of more wondering where she was, hoping she was okay, she hadn't been taken sick, he arrived with Finch in the male green room behind the stage feeling so anxious he was a little nauseous himself.

Would she even be here tonight? He knew this evening Mr Howard was planning on rehearsing mainly Romeo's scenes with the Montagues, none with Juliet.

As they worked with Mrs Gibbon, who was doing all the costumes along with the teaching assistant Ms Swift, Finch's cackling about his ridiculous fat suit and half-bald wig at least helped keep Harry's attention diverted.

Harry's own costume was a little on the embarrassing side, comprising a pair of green tights, a medieval tunic that didn't come down nearly far enough, and the most ludicrous contraption ever to fasten over his crotch. Mrs Gibbon swore it was very authentic for the period.

He felt all eyes on his manhood as he finally shuffled out on stage, and had to do his best to struggle on, twice being asked to take it again by Mr Howard after stumbling in his speeches.

At the end, he tried to persuade Mrs Gibbon to take pity on him, and perhaps lengthen his tunic or something, but to no avail.

The humiliation of his costume had achieved one thing, however - it had taken his mind off the issue of whether Samantha might be there or not. All the time out on stage, he couldn't see a thing in the audience below, the bright stage lights highlighting everything on stage meant that everything beyond the edge was just darkness.

But, after failing to persuade Mrs Gibbon to do anything to conceal his ridiculous codpiece, he returned to the dressing room to find the most beautiful girl in the world waiting for him.

Her arms were folded and her pretty face was full of joy to see him. His heart swelled.

"Don't look!" he said, "Not until I've had a chance to take off this awful costume!"

Samantha was wearing a fairly simple black halter and a pair of denim shorts that were verging on the scandalous.

She laughed, "I think you look really nice in it. Enhances some of your best features."

With that, she gave in to temptation and stepping up to kiss him, also made a grab for his codpiece.

"It was so humiliating out there," he complained, pulling off his tunic now, and finding the hanger for it.

"I think every girl in the house was wishing she could have you," Samantha chuckled, and now pulled down the offending armored hot-pants concoction Mrs Gibbons had rustled up for Romeo.

"I think I'd prefer wearing your dress to that," Harry said.

As he hastily pulled on his own clothes, he was going to ask what she wanted to do for the rest of the evening, but he stopped himself, remembering the question that had been burning a hole in his brain all day.

"How come you weren't in class today?" he asked her. "Or yesterday for that matter."

Samantha shrugged, "I had a change of mind."

"A change of mind?"

She kissed him, long and hard, even slipping her tongue inside his mouth before she broke apart, beaming. "I decided I might want to try and get in to a better college after we graduate, rather than community college."

Harry scratched his head. "A better college?"

"You know," she started fastening the buttons on his shirt for him, "the kind of place that you might want to go to?"

Harry felt his heart swelling inside his chest.

"I told my parents I wanted to try to get in to a good school, and they decided to get me some extra tuition. You know, to catch up."

"Well that's fantastic. I thought all kinds of horrible things might have happened to you."

"Come on - I want to show you something," she said.

She pulled him away, just as Harry had a million and one questions he wanted to ask her.

Through the back-stage area, he followed her through the female dressing room - disturbing a few late-changing actresses, who weren't pleased at the intrusion, though were apparently quite forgiving since it was Romeo and Juliet coming through, which appeared to carry some kind of romance forgiveness ticket. Then they climbed a set of stairs that Harry had never seen before.

"Where are we going?" he asked her, though did not stop his pursuit of her.

"You'll see."

Upstairs, they passed a little room, and then found another set of smaller stairs, which climbed up into darkness. A little door at the top opened into a small balcony overlooking the stage, dominated by a huge control panel that made the place look a little like a radio studio.

"Cool, isn't it?" she giggled.

"It's the lighting box, isn't it?"

"Certainly is," she said, and he heard her lock the door behind them.

The only furniture in the place other than the control panel itself was a long bench for lighting engineers to sit on, which appeared suited for the purpose since the place appeared too small for even a standard classroom chair to fit and allow others to pass behind.

He wasn't going to complain at the lack of space - or the risk of their being discovered. If someone wanted to chuck them out, let them. Meanwhile, Harry had some unfinished business to carry out with a certain young Capulet.

Samantha put her arms around him and pulled him close for another deep, tender kiss, brushing her hair back out of her face as she sucked gently on his lips.

"I missed you today," he said, feeling a little light-headed to be breathing in her perfume, and touching her warm body.

She smiled, "You knew I'd be here for the rehearsal?"

"I hoped you would - but we don't have our scenes until tomorrow."

"I wouldn't miss seeing you for the world."

Harry slipped the strap of her top over her shoulder, to find to his surprise that she wasn't wearing a bra. She chuckled a little as she heard him catch his breath at the sudden sight of a bare breast, and then he was pulling her whole top down, to kiss and caress her there, a little stunned at the sheer nakedness of her breasts.

"I only came here for you," she said, and moaned as he took one of her nipples into his mouth. "Didn't feel I needed to... dress up."

"I'm glad you didn't," he said, adoring the softness of her breasts and the oh-so-feminine scent of her perfume.

He kissed up her neck, and found her mouth with his again, as one hand continued to coax her breasts, the other holding her tight. Samantha popped the fly of her shorts to reveal the top of her neon pink panties.

She was so sweet, so pretty, Juliet on her balcony.

"What did you say to Amy today?" And now he felt Samantha's hand slipping down to seek out the hardness in his jeans.

"Huh?"

She said: "Amy told me she spoke to you in class, and now she's on a mission."

Harry looked at her, confused for a moment. Then he sighed as the events of biology class returned to mind.

"What did you say to her?" Samantha raised an eyebrow.

Harry sighed again. "She asked me why I make you feel the way I do, and I said to her it was probably because I'm a dork and..."

"And I go for dorks?" Samantha chuckled.

"No. What I meant was, us dorks don't get to spend time with girls mostly, so we tend to read about it instead, which means compared to your average sports jock, we might know a little more about..."

Samantha laughed, "Well that's definitely true about you. What did Amy say?"

Harry shrugged, "She might have asked where she could get a dork of her own."

"No! And what did you say to that?"

"I said I didn't really know anyone I could say for sure knew the kind of stuff I do - apart from Finch."

Well, that just about felled Samantha, who creased into a laughing fit at the thought that Finch might be Amy's mission.

Harry flashed her a warning glance - her laughter might draw unwanted attention to their little hideout - and she nodded, giving him the silent signal of a thumb and forefinger zipping up her mouth.

He kissed her as if to compensate her, and she melted into him, all thoughts of Amy or Finch or anything else now drifting away as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, and also now allowed his hand to drop to her waist, to quietly sneak inside her shorts.

In response, her hands were unfastening his fly, and sinking into his underwear.

"You think anyone's going to come up here?" he asked, as her fingers circled around his hardness, fumbling with it, pushing down the waistband of his jeans to free up his cock.

"I hope not. You wanna stop?"

"No," he said, slipping her shorts down past her thighs, allowing them to fall to the ground.

Samantha turned around and giggled, pushing back against him so his erect cock nestled between her buttocks, feeling wonderful pressed tightly against her hot, velvet flesh, though her underwear remained in the way. He brought his hands up to cup her breasts as she stood flat against his body, and she groaned at his touch.

"You feel so good," she breathed as he kissed her neck, and she turned her head to claim his kiss on her mouth.

"You feel pretty good yourself," he smiled, and as he held her with one hand, with the other he pushed his cock down, so that its tip grazed over her pussy and now lodged between her thighs, making her smile.

"Hey, sit on the bench," he said, helping her move back to take a seat.

Now he knelt down in front of her, parting her legs wide on the bench to expose herself completely to him, her panties already a little out of place, one side tucking inside her little pussy.

She ducked forward to kiss him on the mouth once again, but then he was slipping a finger or two under the edge of her underwear, pulling the fabric aside to fully reveal her pretty pink pussy, and he was bowing before her, his tongue emerging to trace over her tender folds.

He was so hungry for her. The scent of her arousal fueled his lust, making him feel animalistic urges.

"Oh Harry..." she gasped as he kissed her clit, and gave in to his desire, feasting on her, his tongue slipping out to delve inside her glistening lips, tasting the tangy cocktail of her juices while every breath was saturated with her perfume and that underlying earthy aroma.

She was his princess, she was his goddess, and it felt amazing to worship her.

"Just there," she whispered, a finger of hers now pointing the way to her clit, "lick me there - suck me there."

How it made him throb with need to hear her not only enjoying him crushing his face up against her most intimate place, but actively demanding it, showing him what she wanted as she ran her fingers through his hair.

He did as she wished, enveloping her little button in the intense heat of his mouth, massaging the flesh surrounding it with his lips as he sucked and pressed his tongue to her clit.

"Oh God, yes, like that," she gasped, and added breathlessly: "and use your fingers..."

He smiled, and would have said something genie-like, perhaps "your wish is my command", except that he just didn't want to break his contact with her.

Slipping one finger, and then two into her tight, wet pussy, she groaned quietly, almost purring.

He had no idea how long they continued like that, but it was a long while as she simply indulged in the extraordinary sensations his mouth and his fingers inspired in her, and he adored feasting on her, sopping up her copious nectar.

But then she was urging him up, to sit on the bench while she dropped to the floor, kneeling to sit on her calves between his thighs, and take hold of his hardness in her hands.

"You have such a wonderful cock," she said, beaming at him as she slowly pumped him, squeezing him in her fingers.

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