Taralee's First Time Ch. 03

So he did. And it was first-time wonderful.

For the first time we romped in the warm grass having sex minus the hassles of prophylactics of any kind ... skin to skin at last! For both of us the sensation was sensuous, sexy, loving, languid, lasting, insanely erotic and beautifully blissful. No one could see us in the glade at the bottom of that hill unless they were skilled Peeping Toms, and somehow being outdoors naked and into each other (literally) naked, was the most exquisite lovemaking either of us ever experienced. My heart still leaps, just thinking about it today.

The last day of school came at last. Hot as Hades, as D.C. can be in early June. The seniors were collecting signatures on their yearbooks and the realization came like a bolt from the blue: my junior year was done and next fall I'd be a senior, on tenterhooks waiting for the hoped-for, longed-for — but so frightening — acceptance letter from "the college of my choice" ... or not. My grades had stayed resolutely lousy (I'd studied, yes, but George had been one hell of a distraction) and I'd be lucky to get into my "safety school," not the liberal arts college I'd had my heart set on.

To celebrate, the seniors and seniors-to-be arranged a trip to the beach. Rehoboth was on the Delaware coast, so we drove in a convoy of cars and vans across the old Chesapeake Bay Bridge and across the flatlands to the shore. A lazy Atlantic swell splashed onto the strand and as soon as we'd parked the van we dropped our towels and raced across the burning sand and into the warm, salty waves.

I had Pierre's daring leopard-skin swimsuit under my cutoff jeans and shapeless t-shirt. The moment I shucked them I saw his eyes widen and the front of his red trunks bulge. A couple of guys in my class who'd never got past my absence of makeup and virginal white school blouses did double-takes and as I ran I heard a couple of wolf-whistles. My nipples responded to them, and the caresses of the stretchy leopard-print fabric, by jutting out hungrily. The suit fit like a second skin and the boys could see the outline of my bush between the high cutaway thighs, and I suddenly felt as if I were running across the sand nude. I could feel my blush spread from my face to my neck and down the plunging neckline between my bouncing breasts.

My embarrassment eased when we got to the water. Pierre and I joined a long line of happy high schoolers holding hands as we ran until we were waist deep and dove in, splashing each other and laughing insanely.

It was heaven. After a few minutes the crowd spread out and we found ourselves a few yards from a group of girls squealing noisily ... we were alone in the crowd. Amid the melee Pierre grabbed me, lifted me in the buoyant salt water, and kissed me. Saltily. Our tongues met. My hand slid down his tight belly and into his swimsuit as he grabbed the cheeks of my ass — oh, that sleek, stretchy nylon felt soooo sexy as his hands glided over my curves in the warm waves.

I reached down, loosened his trunks and set his hard cock free. I wrapped my legs around him and pulled the crotch of my suit to one side and impaled myself on his gorgeous penis and let the buoyant rhythm of the waves slide him in and out, in and out, in and out. We had a lazy, long-lasting fuck, lolling in the waves as the other kids had noisy water fights around us. Neither of us climaxed, but goodness it felt wonderful, we were like two sea creatures gasping, kissing, making love in the bosom of the ocean.

A couple of days later I picked a huge fight with Pierre.

I hadn't meant to, but my emotions were swirling. Ken had gone away to the Cape and who knows when I'd see him again, my period had just started, and I was packing for Vermont. Pierre was insecure, angry at a bit of harmless flirting I'd done with another boy, Tony, in the van on the way back from the beach, worrying about what would happen this summer between us — and between Danny and me — and desperately afraid he'd lose me forever when he want away to college in September.

I blew up. Though I was the one who secretly wanted security and to know that Pierre would always be there, I lit into him angrily, telling he needed to live his own life and not depend on me and I couldn't be his touchstone and if he was so goddam insecure he should just get the hell out of my life and stand on his own two fucking feet.

Pale with shock, he backed toward the door, reached behind him and let himself out. I was still yelling, tears running down my cheeks, my face red with fury, anger choking my voice.

"Get out! Now! Just get out!"

I slammed the door on him. And collapsed, wracked with regret so bitter it tasted like iron in my throat. When Mom got home from work she found me pounding my fists on the floor and sobbing, "No! No! No!"

God, what had I done?

Gently, she sat down beside me and gradually wormed the story out of me. She rocked me soothingly in her arms till the hysteria ebbed, and in her warm embrace I realized that she was still the lodestone of my life, my rudder through the treacherous shoals of teenagehood, the person I loved most in the world. How lucky I was!

To be continued...