A Year of Firsts Ch. 03bymelaniej©
Once again, the following morning I felt a little ashamed of myself, especially when I saw the underwear lying balled up beside the bed. Even so, there was still a sense of discovery. I felt that a door had been opened to a whole new world and it was, if nothing else, exciting.
I fought any temptation to repeat that experience for three days. By mid-week however, I found myself daydreaming in class, wondering what it would be like to have a boy touching me. I had no one particular in mind; in fact he was faceless but tall and strong. It must have been obvious that I was distracted. I was usually the perfect student and several teachers and some of my friends asked if I was OK.
That night I struggled through my homework, my mind only half on the job. Eventually I had a shower, shaved my legs and underarms and put on my favourite little pink camisole and panty set and went to my room. The camisole was cut low, showing off the tops of my breasts and exposing my stomach and belly button. The little panties were probably the briefest that I owned, just covering the top wispy hairs of my pubic mound and cut high making my legs seem even longer and slimmer than they were.
I liked wearing that set because it seemed like something a woman would wear, rather than my usual plain, cotton, little-girl underwear. I inspected myself in the mirror from different angles. I wondered if I looked like a grown woman who orgasmed or if I was just a plain little Catholic virgin like my friends. After years of being satisfied as the plain little virgin I suddenly wanted to be the grown woman.
I switched the light off and climbed into bed. I knew that I was going to touch myself, event though I tried to convince myself that I was tired. The knowledge alone was making me wet down there. I wondered if a boy saw me in my cami and panties, he would want me. As much as I liked the camisole I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have a man's hands ripping it open and exposing my breasts. No man except a doctor had even seen my breasts and I suddenly wanted them to be seen. And touched. And kissed. And then my hands were caressing them softly, feeling the nipples harden and press against the silky material of the camisole.
I slid the material up and over my breasts, letting my fingers touch the soft pale skin, letting myself indulge in another fantasy, that man leaning and kissing them, tasting them, tasting my nipples, circling them with his tongue.
Then I continued the fantasy story, adding elements, he had been watching me undress, watching me slide the camisole off, then he had come up behind me and embraced me, his strong but soft, gentle hands finding my breasts, cupping them, turning me around, leaning and kissing them.
I slid the camisole over my head, exploring my breasts and belly, sliding my hands to my thighs. On an impulse I sat up on the edge of the bed with my feet on the floor. I imagined he was watching and slowly parted my thighs as I ran my hands down them. Would that make him want me I wondered. I could feel the wetness and the tingling had become a stronger urge, a need and my hand rubbed the outside of the little pink panties, rubbing my wetness into the delicate fabric. In my fantasy he was watching me, wanting me.
I stood and turned, my hands gliding slowly down my back and over the curve of my bottom. He would be looking at my bottom now, wanting to touch it. He would move close and gently run his hands up the backs of my thighs and over my bottom, feeling the thin material slide against my smooth skin. I realised that I wanted him to see all of me, naked.
I slowly slid my undies down, feeling them resist where they had puckered slightly into the slit between my vaginal lips. Then they pulled free and I wriggled a little until they fell to my knees. He would be caressing my bottom now. My own hands felt the smooth skin. I allowed the pink panties to fall to my ankles and caught my reflection in the mirror. It caused a moment of thought about what I was doing. I was, or at least thought I was, a very hardworking, private, modest, middle-class girl and here I was doing this sort of thing.
I began to realise that half the thrill came because it wasn't something anyone would expect of me. Quiet little Melanie would never go home and strip naked imagining a man was touching her all over. I loved the thought that tomorrow I could put on my school uniform and no one would suspect I had had this little night-time adventure. I had always loved books and stories and made up complicated plots in my mind but this was better. This was so much better. I knew already that I was addicted.
I allowed my mind to return to the fantasy. He was kneeling in front of me. I sat on the bed again, legs parted, imagining his eyes drinking me in. Then his hands sliding up my thighs. I held my breath and closed my eyes. I touched myself at the same time that the man in fantasy touched me. Slowly circling fingers around my sensitive spot, spreading the wetness, rubbing and teasing. I began to roll my hips forward against my fingers, my breath becoming shallow as the intensity began to build.
He was rubbing up and down the slit between my lips before returning to the magic spot. Rubbing up and down, driving me insane with delight. Each time he slid his finger the length of my vagina it pushed a little harder, sliding a little deeper into the folds.
I altered my position a little and used my other hand to rub the hard magic spot. Now I had two hands working down there. The finger was still pushing deeper between my labia, feeling the wetness. Even when I had put tampons in it had been a quick, unpleasant task to insert them but this wasn't remotely the same. That had been a chore, this was anything but. With a sudden determination I slide the finger deeper. It was my middle finger and it entered me up to the second knuckle. I could feel the silky smoothness of my vaginal walls, surrounding my finger. My other hand was rubbing faster now. The fantasy was forgotten. I wanted simply to feel that incredible release.
I slid my finger in and out, feeling the delicious sensations on my lips as it parted them and the nerves came alive, sending jolts of wonderful pleasure through my body. My eyes were closed but I could picture myself looking so wanton, so wicked, so bad, so unlike me. Right at that point I had the next great revelation of my growing sexual awareness.
My finger sliding in and out was like a man's penis. I knew the theory of sex, I had seen the diagrams in biology books, but this was the essence of sex in practice. My finger was like a man's penis entering me, entering my vagina making me feel incredible. The thought made me wilder and more urgent. My hands worked faster, I began my soft little sighs of pleasure each time my finger went into me. I began to push it deeper until it was almost all the way in. I felt the tip of my finger encounter resistance and I knew what it was, my hymen. Each thrust of my finger pushed against it. One day, I thought to myself, a man will push his penis through it and make me a real woman. I was beginning the slow ascent to my orgasm now. Having experienced the first one I knew the signs, feeling myself begin to lose control of my body. My hands were working rapidly over the centre of my body. My back was arched, my breasts, pushed out, nipples hard and erect.
I slid a second finger in this time, feeling the delightful sensation of my vaginal lips stretching to accommodate it. Together the two fingers thrust deep into the slit of my vagina. I could feel the moment building, each thrust taking me closer, each teasing of the hard sensitive spot making me wilder, breathing hard, grinding my hips against my hands, knowing the moment was close.
It began, with less warning this time, in my belly, surprising me with its force, my whole body twitching as it washed over me. It came in strong pulsing bursts of pleasure that brought involuntary gasps of ecstasy from my throat and caused my vagina to tighten hard around my fingers. I pushed them as deep as they would go. My legs quivered and I felt for a moment that I might faint, bursts of light exploding behind my closed eyelids. This orgasm was even more powerful than my first had been a few days earlier. This time it seemed to spread throughout my whole groin. I felt suddenly much wetter down there, feeling the wetness running over my hand and onto the sheet I was sitting on. The waves subsided much more slowly than they had the first time. Even after half a minute I could feel the walls of my vagina pulsing around my fingers. I sat for several minutes in that position, fingers inside me, recovering, breathing hard, my mind blank. This time there was no guilt or shame or embarrassment. Instead I felt relief, contentment and a lazy, dreamy exhaustion.
I allowed my fingers to slide out. I used the little pink panties to wipe some of the wetness away and got a plain white pair of undies from my dresser drawer. I slid them on and looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. I had a sense now that this private secret life of mine was going to become one of the highlights of each week. If it was a sin, I'd happily go to hell to have such pleasure here on earth.
I lay on my bed, already feeling sleepy. I knew my old world of study, sports, church was about to change drastically. I wondered sleepily how anyone got anything else done when they could be doing this as often as possible. I would be at school as usual tomorrow but I knew it would be difficult not to dream of new fantasies and relive them tomorrow night.
My final thought was a simple but profound one. If my fingers could feel so good, just how mind-blowing would a man's penis actually feel? I slept deeply until the alarm woke me the next morning.
The next several weeks went by quickly. Almost every night I modified my fantasy. Sometimes the man was blond, sometimes dark-haired, always tall and strong but not a body-builder type. Just the thought of being in bed, indulging in my own world of sex and romance got me excited. Rather than going to bed when I was tired, I started to look forward to it. I had continued reading the novel I had started, savouring each sexual situation the hero found himself in, the slave girl in his cabin, the rich lady in her outdoor bath-house, the prostitute in the harbour-side brothel, the native girl on the beach. I had incorporated elements of each into my own private novel that I wrote in my head. I had also done some other reading at the library, about male and female anatomy. I now knew exactly what my clitoris was and was beginning to develop a very intimate relationship with it. My reading on the male body still left me a little confused. I looked at drawings of naked men in a medical book but I knew that a textbook drawing and an excited, erect man with sex on his mind would be two different things.
It left some of the detail of my fantasies a little vague. I knew my hero would have this hard 'thing' that he would slide into my vagina, just as my fingers did almost every night. But I was confused about the size and even the shape. I didn't quite understand how it would all work out in practice. Mostly I wanted to know what it would feel like to have something inside me. My two little fingers felt very big when I put them in and he would be bigger than that, surely. Despite that, each night brought me new thrills. I learned gradually the best ways to bring myself to orgasm. I experimented with different positions, sitting, laying on my back, on my stomach, on my side and standing. I didn't orgasm every time but each night I went to sleep happy and satisfied. It was part of my life now and I didn't think I would ever be able to stop.
The rest of my life proceeded pretty much as it always had. I just had this new, secret part now; the steamy, spicy part. I started wishing however that I had more of an opportunity to meet some boys, real ones. I wanted them to see me. I wanted to feel desired.
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