Jeanne and I Grow Up in Hawaii

Slowly, an idea dawned on me. It was an idea that seemed so ridiculous that I was tempted to dismiss it. Still, she was dressed in a way that for her was very unusual when we were together.

"You don't want to play for . . . money . . . do you?" I asked.

She smiled a sly smile and shook her head. "I didn't bring any."

I doubted that since she always had some 'mad money' hidden on her whenever she went out, but I let it pass. And I decided to join in the verbal play that seemed to be developing. I watched as she prepared to deal, acutely aware that she was reading my body language as well and she recognized the nervousness that was rapidly passing over me.

"If you don't have money, what could you offer if you lost the hand?"

She was pleased that I was finally getting the idea. "Uuuuummmmm, I dunno. I guess we could find something . . . "

Chapter 4 – the card game

I looked at the cards in her hand. "Do you have anything of value to bet?" I asked.

"Not yet," she answered. "But I may have something valuable later on."

I hesitated, and falteringly spoke. "Then let's bet for something that is worthless, something that has no value at all." I looked at her and she was watching me intently, waiting for my offer.

"I'll bet . . . my . . ." it was hard to get the words out. If it had been anyone else sitting across from me, the words probably never would have passed my lips. But it was Jeanne sitting across the blanket. I cleared my throat. "I'll bet my . . . shirt . . . against your . . . . blouse . . ."

I heard a quick intake of breath, and I was afraid to look up at her eyes. Would she slap me? Would she get back in the car and drive home. Would she tell me how rude and uncouth I was to even suggest such a thing? Would she burst into tears at the very suggestion coming from someone who she thought was her friend? I held my breath, afraid to move, afraid to look up.

With my peripheral vision, I saw her trembling hand begin to deal the cards. And I heard her say, "It's a bet!"

Still afraid to look at her, I turned my cards over. My hand was a bust, nothing. She had a pair of deuces. She had won.

I stole a glance at her. She was sitting on her knees with a smug look on her face waiting for me to pay my bet. Noticing my hesitation, she said: "Take it off! A bet's a bet!" It was no big deal, so I shrugged off the shirt. I still had a tee shirt on.

Satisfied, Jean allowed her gaze to linger on my shoulders and the muscles in my arms. She picked up the cards and handed them to me as she placed the next bet. "I bet my blouse against your tee-shirt. The stakes were higher, but not by much. I had a pair of jacks, she had two pair. She had won again. I was disappointed, but a glance at her showed her waiting expectantly. I pulled off my tee shirt and again I heard an intake of breath from her.

"You have so much hair on your chest!" she exclaimed. And I realized she hadn't seen me bare-chested since I was fifteen.

"Can I feel the hair on your chest?" she asked, almost the way an innocent child will ask a simple question. I nodded, and she moved close to me and tentatively reached out her hand.

"It's so course," she exclaimed, experiencing the texture of the hair. Then she raised her hand and ran her fingers through the hair on my head. ". . . not soft and silky like it is here!" Then suddenly she was embarrassed withdrawing her hand and returning to her place across the blanket. She picked up the cards, shuffled and dealt, beginning to get nervous.

"I bet my shoes and stockings against your blouse." She nodded turning the cards over, we both had two kings.

"How do we handle this?" I asked. "Is your Spade higher than my heart? Or do we call it a draw?"

"I don't think it's a draw," she responded. "I think we both lost." And her hands moved to where her blouse was tied, opening the knot. Then a couple of buttons and a shrug of her shoulders and there she was, wearing only her bra. I was staring again, and after a moment, she cleared her throat and pointed to my shoes. My gaze on her bra-covered chest must have been so intense that I have no recollection of removing my shoes and socks.

I think she pretended not to notice my gawking at her chest. Handing me the cards, I shuffled. It took enormous effort on my part to come back to reality enough to hear her say, "My bra against your pants." How much further would this go, I wondered, and I dealt the next hand.

I forced my eyes to see her cards. She had two pair. I turned my cards over. I held four queens.

In awe, I looked at her. Would she do it? Yes, she would. Her bra had a front clasp, and she effortlessly opened it and peeled it off, and we were both sitting across from each other bare-chested.

Her breasts were not what I expected. When she wore a bra and sweater, they were these perfectly proportioned, well-shaped mounds with just the hint of a nipple showing through sometimes. Without the bra, her breasts took on a different shape, narrower where they met her body but seeming to protrude further, elongated, maybe? They were certainly NOT cone shaped. Her nipples were situated exactly at the end of her breasts pointing directly at me. If course, I was not an expert in breasts, by any means. I had seen some pictures in a few 'girlie' magazines, and gotten a glimpse or two when a girl's blouse had gapped open or when a carelessly unbuttoned top had flopped open. And then there was the time I was walking home and a woman had left her shades open.

I was staring and she began to squirm and looked down at her bare breasts, unconsciously lifting a hand to cover them. As if by way of apology, she stammered, "they're not shaped the same as most girls. I think they'll fill out more in time." Keeping herself covered, she looked up at me fearfully. "Are they okay?"

I remembered an Internet story about a girl who was self conscious about her breasts. It had said that every woman in the world is self conscious about something, wishing she had a little more here, a little less there . . . The writer had said that the greatest gift a man can give a virgin partner is to totally accept her as she is.

"I think you have the most beautiful breasts I had ever seen!" I whispered. I reached out and took her hand, drawing it downward and uncovering her breasts again exposing it to my view.

She took a quick glance at them and began, "But they're narrow, and . . ."

"They're beautiful! They're beautiful just the way they are!" I interrupted. I could see the weight and concern drain from her as she accepted my words.

It was totally awesome sitting across from Jeanne. I noticed she had some peach fuzz on her breastbone.

"You ran your hand through the hair on my chest. Will you return the favor?"

"But I don't have any . . ." she looked down and saw the few strands of almost invisible silky hair on her chest and blushed deeply. Then with fear in her eyes, she looked up at me. "Oh . . ." She hesitated. "I . . . well . . . fair is fair. Yes, I guess you can," she stammered.

Now it was my turn to scoot across the blanket to her side. She knelt looking straight ahead as I raised my hand to her neck and slowly slid my fingers downward between her breasts, barely touching the hair that was so fine it couldn't even be felt. I didn't even graze her breasts, but still I could feel the shiver run through her as my fingers ran down her sternum. Within moments, she began to tremble and she grasped my hand in hers. She was breathing shallowly.

"It's my turn to deal!"

I returned to my side of the blanket and she dealt. I won the next two hands winning her shoes, and her shorts. She won my pants and I hesitatingly shuffled the cards that would determine who would lose his or her underpants. As I shuffled, her eyes remained locked on the bulge in my boxers as if she were mesmerized. I dealt, and I had two pair while she had a single pair. Again, she blushed, but with only minimal hesitation, she rose on her knees and slid her panties down her thighs. Then, rocking back on her bottom, she raised her legs and slipped her panties off of her feet. Then she returned to her kneeling position, her hands on her thighs, eyes downcast, quite frankly displaying herself to me. Her nudity had generated the obvious response in me, and any attempt to hide what felt like a massive bulge in my boxers would have been a gross exercise in futility.

I couldn't help but admire the beauty and perfection before me. Her neat, triangular bush, her slightly elongated breasts and her beautiful nipples . . . it was hard to get beyond the basics. She took a deep breath and picked up the cards. "My deal."

"How can we continue? You don't have any more clothes to bet," I asked.

"You wouldn't deprive me of the opportunity to get you naked, would you?" she asked.

How can one answer a question like that? "No, but . . ." I floundered.

"If I win, you take off your pants," she began. Then in almost a whisper, still with downcast eyes, she continued. "If you win, you get to play with my titties."

It was an offer I couldn't refuse. Her hands were trembling she dealt the cards. Both of us were hesitant to turn over our cards. Finally, she flipped her cards into view. She had a pair of fours. I had a pair of deuces. My trembling fingers moved to the waistband of my boxers and pushed them downward. I knelt to the side and slipped them off.

She was still staring at my painful erection, now in plain view. Somehow, the embarrassment of the situation made it wilt, and she watched with fascination as it shrank, despite my every thought and fantasy trying to keep it up.

We sat there for a long time, both afraid to move, both afraid to say anything, but neither willing to take our eyes off of the other.

Finally, she picked up the cards, but didn't shuffle them.

"What now?" I asked, my voice coming out in a croak. I was also aware that my erection was starting to return.

"How about the loser has to do whatever the winner asks?" she suggested.

I reached out and took her hand, capturing both her hand and the cards. We both knew it was time for the game to end.

"Do we need the cards for that?" I asked.

*

Chapter 5 – the card game ends

She was trembling again and her eyes met mine. She shook her head and put the cards aside. Then lying down on the blanket, she pulled me to her until I was above her, and we kissed. "Not if you promise to make love to me."

"You really want to have sex with me?" I asked, still a little unsure of her.

"No!" she answered, a cloud passing over her face. "I don't want to have sex with you! I want the two of us to make love!" Her insistence on the word love touched me deeper than I could imagine.

I held her close and kissed her deeply. Finally I had to pull back. "I can't. I . . . . I . . . don't have . . . protection."

Jeanne smiled at me. It was a hundred watt smile, and she put her arms around my neck and pulled me to her into another deep kiss. Feeling her naked breasts pressed against my chest encouraged my erection to become so hard, it felt like it was going to burst. Finally, I had to pull away again. I started to repeat myself. "Jeanne, you have no idea what you're doing to me! I really want you, but I don't . . ." Jeanne put a finger over my lips, quieting me. Without a word, she looked to the side, found her shorts and extracted a small, square box from her pocket. Gently, she pressed the box into my hand.

"Yes, you do," she whispered. And that was the end of the discussion.

I stared at the box, dumbfounded. Not sure what to do next. She observed my vacillation and hesitatingly asked, "Do YOU want to make love with me?"

I broke out of my reverie. "More than anything in the world!" I exclaimed, and kissed her again. The feeling of her breast pressed against my chest was overpowering. I looked down at her breasts swelling and contracting with every breath she took.

"May I touch them . . .?" She nodded, and my hand covered her breast and gradually enfolded itself around that magnificent attribute. I looked up again. " . . . And kiss them!"

"Of course!" she responded. "Will you think I'm too forward if I touch you, too?" she asked.

"Noooooo!" I responded. "I've fantasized about this for years. I just never thought it would really happen." I gently squeezed her breast, catching her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

"Mmmmmmm, that's nice," she murmured and her soft hand began to caress my chest, feeling my muscles. She tried to run her fingers through the hair on my chest, and laughed joyfully. "Your hairy chest is soooooooo sexy, I can't believe it!" Her eyes met mine. "It's a real turn-on for me!"

I bent down to kiss her nipple and heard her gasp. She gave a sharp intake of breath when I took that bud into my mouth and began sucking gently, and her hand went to the back of my head, pulling me to her bosom.

I continued sucking, eventually drawing almost her entire breast into my mouth, and receiving an approving moan from her as I did. I'm not sure what I expected. Milk? Some other kind of fluid? None of these were there, but there was an incredible satisfaction from the simple act of sucking on her. And her moans and whimpers made it obvious that she was pleased, too.

I came up for a breath of air and looked up at her. She was watching me as I suckled on her. I smiled at her. "If your breasts were a different shape, I wouldn't be able to get as much of them into my mouth." She was surprised by my frankness. ". . . And that would be a pity!" A big smile grew on her face and her hand moved from my head to support her own breast, lifting it toward my lips. I accepted her invitation and returned to nursing on her.

But after a while, I have no idea how long, she moved her hand downward to my hips. Gently she started to work her hand around in front of me. I released her nipple and we looked into each other's eyes. She hesitated as we made eye contact.

"May I?" she whispered, nervously, as if she were afraid I would refuse. I nodded and rolled a little to the side to make it easier to reach her target.

Very tentatively, even timidly, she touched me. And I let my hand slip down to touch, and cup her mound. But I didn't pursue my explorations. This was her moment. Our eyes dropped and we both watched as her fingertips slipped over me, exploring each inch of me. It didn't take training in body language for us to read each other! Eventually, her velvety soft fingers wrapped around me. "You're so big!" she whispered. "Will it work with us?"

I nodded with a confidence that I didn't really feel. I knew from the locker room that I wasn't as large as some boys, although I certainly wasn't small either. But at that moment, quite frankly, even if I was too big for her, I didn't want to stop.

"I know it will hurt the first time," she whispered to me. "But it will be all right, because it's you. It'll be okay if you hurt me. But please be gentle with me . . . I'm still a virgin"

I wasn't surprised she was a virgin. After all I had grown up with her and I probably knew most of her real secrets. But one admission requires another.

"I hope I'll be all right," I confided. "I'm a virgin, too!" Her hundred-watt smile became a thousand watt smile.

"I know," she confided. "Thank you for telling me. I'm so happy it will be the first time for both of us!"

She took a deep breath. "And now . . .", she hesitated, ". . . it's time . . .!"

I had fantasized about this moment for years. I had secretively read library books, hoping to learn what I would need to know when this moment arrived. Somehow, the books never really tell the whole story. I'd even read porn stories on the Internet hoping to gain understanding. Surprisingly, I felt that there only seem to be a few writers on the net that really tell it like it is.

She kissed me sweetly, then pushed me on my back and applied the condom. Then she lay back down and she pulled me on top of her, never releasing her grip on me, and spread her thighs to give me ample room between them. She continued guiding my movements until we both felt me make contact with her labia major and gently begin to move between them.

I paused. Even though I was a virgin and a teenager and horny as hell at that moment, the 'politically correct' indoctrination was still in my mind. "Jeanne, I want you. I love you. But are you sure you want me to continue? Have you really thought this through?"

"I've planned this day for so long," she said. "I've dreamt about it and fantasized about it so much, that there's no way I'm going to let you stop now!" She said, firmly. But she was still afraid to be the aggressor. She put her arms around my shoulders and drew my face so close to hers I couldn't focus. "Please, don't keep me waiting any longer!"

I didn't. Tentatively, I moved into her feeling my crown separate her lips, then move between them. She was moist, and offered no resistance. Her lips tightened as I realized I was firmly 'on target'. Not sure how to proceed, I remembered reading in a book once that sometimes it's easier on the girl to give one quick thrust and quickly break through her virginity, so that's what I did. She gave a cry and everything about her tightened around me. I was afraid I'd hurt her and tried to pull out, but she anticipated my action and clutched me with both her arms and legs to prevent my retreat.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"More!" she said, pulling me into her. I tried to press into her, but it didn't work. But I found that if I backed off an inch before pressing in, I picked up her natural lubrication, which eased my way. She grunted with each thrust, but she wouldn't let me stop either.

I felt my pelvis pressing against hers. And our pubic hair meshed. And my testicles came to rest against her bottom. She gripped me and held me tightly. It didn't feel like I was too big for her, rather it felt like I fit inside her like she was a perfectly fitting, living glove that spasmed, alternately clutching me and releasing me.

"Are you all right? Did I hurt you?" I asked again.

I felt her relax beneath me, and her thousand-watt smile became a million dollar smile. "I'm perfect!" she cooed. "And before you ask again, the answer is NO! I do NOT want you to stop!" She closed her eyes and nuzzled my face the way a cat does and murmured, "You got my hymen, now let's find out what the rest of it is all about!" Then she took my ear lobe between her teeth and sucked on it for a moment. "I've given you my heart. And my maidenhead. No let me give you the rest of me!" "Make a woman of me!" she purred.

I withdrew and drove into her again, and she gave a moan of approval.

Feeling her moist warmth around me had me so irrationally hot, and I started shoving in and out vigorously. She groaned in time with each thrust, but gasped out, "Oh, that's nice! But slow down a bit so I can catch up!" And barely audibly, she added, "Please!"

I paused, pressed as deep into her as I could, and again I remembered an Internet story where the woman told her partner, "Girls cum too if the boy gives them time and doesn't do it without her." (1)

Jeanne hugged me tight and whispered. "Slow down, just a little, so you don't cum before I do."

I felt stupid and self-conscious. Aren't boys supposed to be in charge? My hormones wanted to ignore everything she was saying. But still, that Internet story . . .

So I slowed down, doing my best to control my eagerness. I slowly pressed into her as far as I could go and I felt her shudder and pull me closer to her! She was holding me so tight, I wasn't sure I could move, but my hips were still working. Remembering another story, I began very gentle thrusting into her, and felt her relax beneath me. I could feel her response as she relaxed, so I began concentrating on every movement and sound she made, observing her every reaction. (2)