I hope you guys enjoy this story. Yes, it really is true.
This is the story of the best sexual experience in my life. I was twenty when I met Johan, and I still think of him with fondness. It's been a long time, so I may not have all of the details correctly, but it is a true story. This does not mean, by the way, I have not had any good sex since! I have had some very good sex since then, but many factors combined together caused my experience with Johan to stand out in my mind as the best yet. I was still just blossoming into my burgeoning sexuality, I was young and naïve, he was wonderful, and all of it was new to me.
I was home from college for the summer, and out of desperation to get the car for a few hours I had signed up for classes at the local community college. My parents didn't let me go anywhere unless I had what they considered a valid reason, so I signed up for classes every summer just to get away. All of my friends and aunties and uncles thought I was such a studious little bug, when in reality I just wanted a little freedom.
So four days a week I would drop my mom off at 7:30 am at her workplace, and then go off to class from 8:30 am to 10:30 am. Then I would have the car for a few hours, and be able to go to the library, or visit friends, really, whatever, rather than being cooped up at home. At 5 pm I would pick her up again, drop her off at home, and then go to my evening class.
The evening class was from 6 pm to 7:30 pm, but I had told my parents I stayed afterwards to do some studying with my classmates. In reality it wasn't too different -- I stayed with my friends and hung out with them instead of studying, but usually near the college. I was never a bad kid, which made their restrictions all the more chafing.
I was taking Advanced Placement Biology, as I recall, and it was an excellent class, with a great teacher, and a lot of fascinating course study. There were lots of nice people, a lot of older students, which made for a very serious class. One of the people my age was Johan, whose interest in me was clear, right from the beginning.
I had only had one boyfriend to this point. I was a relatively late bloomer, and had only begun having sex the previous September. My boyfriend had also been very new to the whole thing. I found myself very aware of men, in every way, and had become very curious about my budding sexuality. I had been raised by extremely strict, religious parents, and taught to find my own sexuality abnormal and to find normal sexual relations abhorrent. (Yes, parents still raise kids like this these days.) So the things I was feeling were good but made me feel guilty, too.
Johan practically reeked of sex. He was a nice, sweet guy, but there was something about the way he moved his body that set flames in my body. I didn't know how to term it back then, but these days I would say there were sparks between us and real chemistry.
When Johan first approached me, I told him I had a boyfriend. He very kindly backed off immediately, leaving me even more interested in him, even though I was dreadfully shy and even embarrassed that I found him so attractive.
So some days went by. I started hanging out with Johan, as he was completely non-pressuring and very nice. We went out for dinner once or twice, but a lot of times we would simply drive somewhere, or sit and talk. This went on for a little while, until the sexual tension between us was palpable. One day we came back from a drive somewhere, and we were sitting in the college parking lot, in the evening. I recall it was somewhere past 8 pm, and I didn't have to leave for home until 9:30 or 10 pm.
The pent-up feelings between us had grown to the point where even talking was awkward, and as I sat there I felt my breath coming short. My skin had been well tanned by the summer sun and was now a rich coppery brown. My hair was curly and shorter then than I wear it now, so I had it loose, falling around my shoulders and in front of my large, dark brown eyes. I had dressed very carefully, as I did almost every day, without admitting to myself that I was dressing for him, to look attractive to him. If I recall correctly, I was wearing khaki colored jeans (I almost never wore blue jeans back then), not tight but snug against my hips and ass, and a loose short-sleeved black blouse, that had a deep V-cut in the front, and sandals on my feet, as I always wear.
Anyway, that day, while we sat in the car together, the silences grew longer and longer until all I could think about was touching him. He wore a loose fitting tee shirt with blue jeans that fit tight against his body. I had never looked down at a man's cock while he was wearing jeans before, but I found myself wondering if he was hard, if I looked down, would I even see it? The car was in park and turned off, and both of our seatbelts were unbuckled. The sun was setting in the evening sky.
Finally he interrupted my reverie by saying to me, "What are you thinking?" Without even realizing what I was about to say, I opened my mouth and said, "I'm thinking I would really like to kiss you." I blushed scarlet, and looked at him, embarrassed, but all he said was, "I would love to be kissed by you."
I still shiver when I think of the soft voice he said those words in, and his dark, dark eyes, slightly amused, watching me. I leaned across the gearshift and let my lips meet his.
I'd never been kissed quite like this, that was for certain. Johan kissed tenderly and sweetly, his soft mouth meeting mine, his tongue gently brushing against my teeth. I didn't hesitate even another second. Briefly breaking the kiss, I put my hands on his shoulders and, turning around fully as I moved, I seated myself in his lap. My back was now against the driver's side door, and I tucked my legs up across the passenger seat, my sandals dropping unheeded to the floor.
I slid my arms around his neck and kissed him again. I was so turned on I couldn't resist. I rubbed my cheek against his shadow, inhaled his clean fresh scent, and leaned against him.
His arms went around me, and one hand slid directly up my belly and gently cupped my breast, right through my shirt. My whole body shuddered, and he kissed me even deeper.
Soon he had slid his hand into my shirt and pulled the cup of my bra down. He rubbed his thumb over my nipple, which instantly sprang into hardness. Removing his mouth from mine, he pulled my shirt out of the way -- down or up, I can't remember which -- and covered my nipple with his mouth.
I moaned and arched my back into him. My jeans felt uncomfortably tight around my hips. I let my fingers run through his hair, and when he nipped me a little, I pulled his hair. He looked up at me and kissed me again.
I think we kissed and fondled each other for more than an hour that night, never taking off any clothes, just moving them around and out of the way. I had my hands inside his shirt, and remember touching him, and marveling at the muscles I felt, and the light dusting of hair. I remember even scratching him a bit.
We agreed to meet, but how? I told him my situation with the car and classes, and he asked me to come over his house after class tomorrow morning. I agreed, and he gave me his address. It was downtown in the next town over, which wasn't far at all. He walked me to my car, and kissed me once more, and ran his hand gently between my legs, leaving me faint and weak and wanting more.
I returned home, not late at all, and came in quietly. My parents went to bed very early, but they were very light sleepers, so they awoke just to say, "Are you home?" I said I was, and went downstairs to work on the computer.
I stayed up for some time, then went to bed, thinking of Johan. All night I had trouble sleeping. I tried to masturbate, but masturbation only got me worked up more as I hadn't learned how to come from self-stimulation. (This is common with a lot of girls raised as I had been ... they are too shy to really explore or learn.) I wondered -- what was I doing? I was going to his house! I only knew him from class. What if he was a crazy guy? What if he was mean to me?
I also thought about my boyfriend and felt guilty. What would he say? But none of this served to dissuade me or even remotely affect the arousal I felt.
The next morning I arose, showered, dressed, and got ready. I tore my closet apart deciding what to wear, and in the end settled on one of my prettiest summer dresses -- a simple little number that reached the knees and had spaghetti straps on top, with pretty pink flowers on it. To placate my mom, I tossed a light sweater-like thing over the top of it. Mom didn't approve of spaghetti straps or bare shoulders. I still got a grunt and a disapproving look for my bare legs, but my dresses were all still decently long. Underneath I wore a pink bra and matching pink panties. I didn't really own any sexy underthings, but I hoped he would like what I was wearing.
I dropped my mother off and then drove off to the class, anxiously looking forward to seeing Johan. I fidgeted my way through class, and soon as it was over, tossed my covering into the car and headed out. (I had kept the sweater on during class because of the AC.)
It took me about 25 minutes to get from school to the town he lived in. It wasn't physically that far, but traffic was busy. I pulled up in front of his driveway and nearly drove away -- the house was a bit run-down, and there were some guys loitering across the street, watching me already. I was sure they all knew what I was here for.
Still, I saw his Camaro parked in the drive, so I got out of the car. The guys across the street didn't say anything, but I saw them grinning, and all of their eyes were on me. I carried my purse up, with the keys on it, and rang the doorbell.
Before I lost any more courage, he sauntered down the stairs -- I could see him through the small glass window - and opened the door. "Come in," he said. He was dressed the same way again, jeans and a different shirt, but he looked really good to me. I saw him look me up and down admiringly, and I felt good, too.
He put his arms around me and hugged me tight, and invited me into his house.
When I think back I am a little bashful to admit how little I remember of his house. Bashful because I hardly looked around. I don't even remember if we exchanged any further words. It's the one and only time of my life that as soon as I reached the top of the stairs my arms wound around his neck and his around my waist and our lips met. His tongue was in my mouth and my body was pressing urgently against him, and we stumbled across the floor in each other's arms, kissing each other urgently. I was surprised at the need in my body.
I was the first to pull at his shirt. We were reluctant to part the kiss even long enough for me to get it over his head, but we managed. I dropped it on the floor and then ran my mouth and nails across his skin, admiring the texture, running my fingers through the hair lightly covering it. He reached for the bottom of my dress and pulled it over my head. I don't think he even noticed my bra, for in a second he had deftly unhooked it and pulled that away too, and he pulled me back to him.
Somehow we had ended up in the bedroom, and we fell back on the bed, myself underneath, him on top. His hands were everywhere. I undid his belt buckle, and reached into his pants.
What I gripped in Johan's pants was to date the biggest cock I have ever held. I never measured it (though I wish I had) but it was huge, long, and very hard. I think he saw my eyes widen, for he smiled at me sweetly.
I remember the warm feel of it in my hand to this day, and I remember how it filled my hand. He pumped against me a little and my eyes widened again at the sheer length of it. I whispered to him, "I want to see it."
"You can see anything you want to," he whispered back, and lifted himself off me. Standing in front of me, he undid his pants the rest of the way, and slowly slid them down his legs. Underneath he was wearing boxers, which he also slid down, revealing that truly impressive cock I had been touching just a few seconds ago.
He was cut, and it jutted straight out from his body. My mouth formed a small round circle. I was too shy to say what I was thinking, but I'm sure he read it in my eyes. I held my arms out to him.
In a moment he was back in my arms, kissing me again. He winced as my panties brushed against his cock, and in a heartbeat I had them off too, and we were lying in each other's arms, naked. I felt his finger slide between my legs and then roughly enter me. I was very wet but very tight, and he slid one in with ease, but he grunted as he pushed a second one in. I squirmed against his hand. "I'm afraid," I whispered in his ear.
"What are you afraid of?" he said, pumping his fingers gently against me.
"I'm afraid you're going to hurt me. I've never seen one so big." To his credit he didn't show even a hint of any reaction other than a gentle smile. "I'll be careful," he reassured me, and withdrew his fingers.
I was nervous but excited as he spread my legs open and lay between them. I felt him pressing against me, and then -- and then!
How can I describe that deliciously full feeling to you? Women may understand, but still, you'd have to be full like this first.
His cock spread my lips open, then penetrated me, then went on and on, it seemed. I gripped his shoulders and shut my eyes, feeling it enter into me s-l-o-w-l-y.
It didn't quite hurt, but for a few moments it was uncomfortable. Then he finally sank into me all the way, his hips pressed against mine, my arousal flared up again and I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.
I swear he made me feel like a virgin again, he was so large in me. He perhaps was trying to be gentle, but I scratched at the back of his neck, and he sort of growled in my ear, if I recall correctly, and began to really pump in and out of me, with vigor and with passion.
We gasped and moaned and our sweaty bodies rubbed against each other. He fucked me, building in speed, and I gripped his shoulders and let him take me anyway he wanted. To my surprise and shock I felt an orgasm building -- I had never, ever come during sex before this. I said something incoherent to him, and he chuckled softly in my ear, shifted his hips ever so slightly, and renewed his vigor -- this time fucking directly against my clit. I screamed and dug my nails into him as I came in his arms.
I spent the rest of the day with him, and was running late already when I showered, blow-dried my hair, and ran to pick up my mother. I resolved to tell her that I had been at the library in case she had called the house (this was before everyone had a cellphone), but she was grumpy from work and never even asked.
I met Johan several times over the next few weeks. I don't remember exactly how many, but I do remember several times in his house, and even a couple of times in his car. We discovered he actually could not fuck me on my hands and knees because the angle of penetration caused him to hurt me ... he was that big. And if I wasn't fully wet he had a hard time sliding that whole cannon into me. But he was patient, and loving, and took his time to turn me on until I was practically begging for him to fuck me.
When the summer ended, so did our affair. I still think back to him often. Not that I want to see him again, I'm very happy these days, but if he ever happens across this, I wanted him to know that was one of the best summers of my life. I haven't changed his name in this story. Thanks, Johan.