My Secret Diary

What else can he do? If he hasn't done more with a girl, I thought, he's not going to put his hand in my slacks, but I wouldn't have objected, if he had had so much experience that he wanted to whip them and my panties down to my knees. And do what?! I wanted to rub my wet pussy. If he wasn't going to, ...?

I'm just trying to envisage the thoughts that I must have subconsciously had. I pushed him back towards the piano bench. When he sat down, I straddled one of his thighs, and my breasts were level with his mouth. I rocked my hips, rubbing my pussy on his thigh, hoping that I wasn't going to make a wet spot on my slacks, or on his. Yeah, I really thought that at the time.

I must have told my diary in detail. Yes, I think I'm using about the same words.

I looked down at his fingers, that were doing good things with my nipples, liking my breasts like never before. Why had I always thought that only cheerleaders had breasts that guys wanted? Another later thought. If he liked mine, they were perfect. Of course not, but adequate - very adequate, when he began to lick one, then sucking it.

I held his head and moaned, and rubbed my wet pussy on him. His fault, if we got wet spots on our slacks, I thought. Probably thought that only after we did.

The recording stopped again. He was sucking my other breast. He raised his head and murmured:

"We shouldn't have played so fast."

"We need a longer piece to play together," I reply, then wondering about my response.

"Very much longer," he agrees.

I lean down and kiss him - tongues - but only for a few moments. Reluctantly, I stand up and see the wet spot on his slacks. His eyes follow mine, and he murmurs:

"That good?"

"Very, but not 'that good'."

"Wish it had been for you. At least, it's not where I would have made one."

"Sorry about that. Wish you would have."

We exchange wry smiles and pack away our instruments, kissing at the door. That night, I wished I had three or four hands to play with my pussy and also my breasts. After that I always used a panty liner.

For the next couple of days together, we rehearsed more. I was having my period and think I indirectly suggested that. But suggesting that suggested that when it was over we could then do more. Third base? Would he notice that he could easily get his hand in my slacks?

But first, we had to play for the director again. He liked it, giving us few more tips, but telling us not to over-train. When he left us, half way through a practice session, we grinned at each other and agreed that we wouldn't, doing what we liked to do more, making him come again. This time, he only moaned, enjoying it. We got good at that.

It was only a couple of weeks till Easter break. As I told my diary, I was debating with myself if I really wanted to go all the way. Oh, I wanted to, but should I - morals and all that?

Of course, he was then always holding and sucking my breasts. How did I get him to explore in my slacks? Oh, one day I wore a bra and blouse, tucked in the elastic waistband, and after we had been kissing, when he rewound the tape, I made a show of tucking my blouse in again. Well, I had planned that a little, but not that I would shove a hand inside to pull my blouse down.

The Eve in every woman! And I was still as innocent as she had been. When I told my diary that night, I was blushing again: that I had unconsciously, but so blatantly shown him that he could get a hand in my pants! Had I also been suggesting that I wanted to keep my blouse tucked in, that his hands should go somewhere else?

I embraced him again, so that he couldn't hold my breasts. If his hands wanted to feel my skin, they had at least to pull the back of my blouse up. His fingers explored just inside the waistband. Did I draw in my stomach to make it looser? I know that I did later - unnecessarily. I suddenly wished that I had tucked my blouse inside my panties, but then remembered that I had thought to wear low-cut ones. "Eve!" Ones that Mom didn't know I had, like she didn't know that I had a couple of bras from Victoria's Secret. Venturing to buy them had been another step to becoming a woman, at least for me and my diary.

His fingers explored, and I nodded, sucking his tongue. When they extended down a little further, I hummed, maybe just an aroused hum, nodding, but I was thinking: please, further! One of my hands slid down and held his ass. I hadn't done that before. It was an unconscious reflex. He hadn't held mine before either. One of his hand slid down on my slacks. Was I going to have to tell him? How? He knew that I had wanted him to hold my bare breasts. I squeezed his ass and hummed again and murmured "better." His cock surged against me, and we held each other's hips closer. When his other fingers rubbed inside my slacks, I nodded again and repeated: "better."

His cock surged again, and he nodded with a hum, and his fingers slid down past the hem of my blouse. "Um-hmm!" I responded, and his fingers slid back and forth on my skin, discovering the elastic of my panties. I squeezed his ass again, nodding with another hum, thinking: like my breasts. No, I had murmured that!

He started, but then his fingers didn't hesitate, only checking that I wasn't wearing a thong and then sliding inside my panties. Wet pussy! His hand cupped down around my bare ass, holding it like his other one was on my slacks. We began to rock our hips together, like we now always did to make him come. His other hand slid up and then down inside my slacks and panties. Wetter pussy!

Oh, we made him come! He grunted, luckily when we were both playing a climax together in our recording. Most appropriate, his climaxing when the music did, me moaning with him, wishing that I could. He squeezed my ass, leaning down slightly, so that his fingers could creep closer to my pussy. I murmured: "I want to too, want you to." He nodded with a hum, and the music finished. He drew his hands out of my slacks. So sweet; he tucked my blouse back in. "I'm all wet," I murmured.

Somehow, we got our things together and left the room. The moment I was back in my room, I locked the door and stripped off my clothes and relived the experience, hoping his fingers would do what mine were. That ruined my homework before dinner. Doing it again after dinner, trying to think that I could concentrate better then, wasn't so successful.

At least, when I did again, I slept well, until I started to dream. After he had come the first time, I had gotten up the nerve to look at a couple of websites. I just had to see a cock. Blushing, I saw several, shocked at seeing what they were doing - doing in shaven pussies and outside them. Oh, it was arousing, but I was embarrassed to watch, and embarrassed that I had dared to, and embarrassed that I found it arousing.

Was it his cock in my dream? That big, right in front of my face?! Like in a couple of those videos, girls doing something with it, that I had never imagined? My dream faded. In the morning, I wasn't sure I had really dreamt that, that I had been in the dream, but the cock sure had been. Was his that big? I wanted him to touch me, had almost told him so; I wanted to hold it.

He did first, sliding a hand around inside my panties, when I drew my hips back. A boy's - man's! - fingers on my pussy! Did he know what would felt good? What, where I wanted to feel them? Had he also looked at videos? Would he be able to make me come before we finished playing on the tape?

Maybe it wasn't as good as I had hoped, as good as it sometimes was, when I did it, but it was so arousing that he was. Oh, it was very good! I told him. We agreed that we couldn't risk doing anything more, and rehearsed, badly. As we were packing up our instruments, I murmured that I wanted to do it to him. He wanted me to, but we agreed that I could just hold him through his pants, since he could never get it back in them as fast as he could get his hands out of mine.

Just a few more days before Easter break. We had to play through our piece once, but then listened to the recording. We didn't listen. I told him not to do anything - a small sacrifice. He had thought to wear loose training pants with no fly. As soon as the recording started, I had my hand on his crotch. His cock knew what was going to happen, my hand finding it slanting off to one side in his underpants, and then standing up straight in my hand.

Oooh, maybe it was as big as the one in my dream - the ones in the videos. It filled my hand; would it fit in my pussy?! I did what I had seen a girl do in a video - as best I could with it in his shorts and loose training pants. I knew what would happen when it started to twitch and surge in my hand. He moaned, his hips rocked, and then he came, then holding my hand still.

He fondled my breast, and we kissed. We were standing behind the door, in case anyone surprised us. We still hadn't finished playing on the recording. I let go of his cock and quickly found the elastic of his training pants, shoving my hand inside them. Oooh! His shorts were all wet - that much?! - where his cock was holding them away from his body.

Before the music stops, my hand is inside his wet shorts. He lets me, humming. My fingers find the head of his cock, all slippery. I am touching a man's cock! I want to hold it again, like I had before, but the music stops, and he pulls my hand out of his pants. My fingers pull loose skin up around the head of his cock. One like that, I think, recalling images from the videos.

He draws my hand up to his mouth and licks my moist fingers. Oooh! He wants to taste it, has he tasted it before, when he did it to himself? I guess that I look very surprised. He remarks:

"Tastes strange, but when you do it ... That was real good."

"Never tasted myself."

The music stops, and he drops my hand, murmuring:

"Tell me if you liked it," and moves to stop the recorder.

Of course, I liked it, what I had done, but understand that he is asking for a comment about our playing. I grin - he isn't looking - and reply:

"I think we need to do it again."

"Me or you?" he asks.

"Think you could do it better."

He is reversing the tape and grins at me, replying:

"Yeah, maybe. I think you played very well; I was a little too early a couple of times."

We grin and he restarts the recording. He joins me again, behind the closed door. I'm already holding out the front of my slacks, sort of like the way I pulled up my sweater, just an unconscious reflex to invite him to do something. Do something? I wanted him to rub my pussy!

He grins, and his hand immediately slips in and then slips into my panties. "I'm all wet," I murmur, very superfluously. When I put my hand inside his pants and underpants, he just snorts, as my fingers reach down and find his soft cock. It isn't for long, and then I can rub his skin up and down on it.

Oh, I think we didn't both do it like that that time, think it was the last time before Easter. Yeah, just he made me come that time, taking turns, like we did the next time. But then before Easter, we did that: making him come and then both coming. Shit! Were we horny, risking doing that?!

Even though I was still undecided about really doing it, I was considering what it could be like - a cock in my pussy. I didn't use those words when telling my diary: rather something like: "how it would feel with him in me." Till then, I was getting off - as best I could - mainly by rubbing myself. Oh, I sometimes had a finger in me, liking to feel it being squeezed, when my other hand was making it good. But if we were going to do it, or if we didn't, but whenever, shouldn't I be ready, know it would fit? It didn't seem like, from what I knew from holding him.

I didn't need to embarrass myself again by looking at videos; that time I had seen a couple with girls doing something by themselves. I experimented with two fingers. They fit, but sure weren't as big as his cock, but felt good. After that, I always used two fingers. Use something else, like in the videos, my highlighter, one of those oval ones? It couldn't be a problem, not bigger than two fingers, but I could put it in further than my fingers reached. How long was his cock, could it fit all the way in me? The handle of my toothbrush could, right up to the bristles.

The highlighter also fit, of course, but when I put the thicker end in, enjoying twisting it and rubbing myself, I almost lost it when my pussy began to squeeze, wanting to draw it in. That was a nice new recognition, however, that my aroused pussy would squeeze his cock like that, but it wasn't as big as his cock. Had I admitted to myself then, that I wanted to do it with him?

Easter vacation at home, more thoughts about whether we should really do it. If not at the end of our senior year at prep school together, start all over? We weren't going on to the same college. What were other girls in our class doing? At school, at home with their boyfriends? We had to do it! And I had to know if his cock would fit.

Three fingers did fit, very tightly, and when I held them with my other hand, seemed about as big as his cock, but not as long. Something else. A look in Mom's bathroom cabinet made me think that everything there was made to make women think about cocks: lipsticks - for beginners - tubes of crème, slender bottles, roll-on deodorant, especially her roll-on deodorant; it had a round cap and even sloping ridge around the bottle. Was his cock that big? I couldn't borrow anything to experiment.

Oh, the metal cap to protect the mouthpiece of my clarinet. It seemed just right, smaller than the deodorant, but too short. But it fit, after I had aroused myself a lot, but only as far as my fingers could reach. Three of them fit in it; must be about right. When I was practicing at home, I suddenly recalled what I had seen in a couple of videos. Was my mouthpiece in my mouth like what those girls had been doing. Of course, the tip of it that was in my mouth was much smaller, but I was tonguing the reed like those girls had been licking. Not really, of course, but I couldn't help but think about it.

Back together, we rehearsed, soon as proficient together as before, despite the time we spent in each others slacks, and he, with his head under my sweater, and I was certain that I wanted to do it.

After I had held his cock, one evening I got the cap and rolled up some pages from the back of an old notebook and taped them in it, with a couple of strips of tape over the top of it and down on the paper. I sure didn't want to risk losing it in my pussy. Oooh! It fit! Was his cock going to be that big, and all the way in my pussy?! Doing it would feel like that?! The paper was all wet, soaked, when I finally pulled it out. I tried not to think about that and his cock when I was playing, that I was tonguing something like his cock.

The next week, after we had like that, he murmurs: "Cosi fan tutte."

"I haven't, we haven't" I murmur, recalling the translation of the Italian title of Mozart's opera: "Thus do all women," and that the full title continues: "or the school for lovers."

"'We haven't'," he murmurs.

"Yet," I find myself replying.

"'Yet'; you want to?"

"If you do?"

"If you do?"

We kiss, just a little one to seal our agreement. I murmur:

"Where? Not here."

"No. I think I know where, if the sun shines."

"If we can't be caught."

"Have a bike?"

"Can borrow one. Outdoors, 'if the sun shines'?"

I was wetting my pantyliner again. He nods, replying:

Sunday, if the sun shines."

I nod, counting the days to my next period - not the coming weekend, nor the next one - and we kiss again.

The following Sunday the sun does not shine. My diary is full of my thoughts about what we have done, what we are doing, and what we want to do. But the weather is good the next week. Of course, we have rehearsed again and done as much as we can dare to do in rehearsal room.

Saturday, we meet, grinning when he gestures at the clear sky. I tell him that I can borrow a bike, and that I have a stadium blanket, a gift from my uncle. He smiles and says that he'll take a sheet from his bed, suggesting that we both bring a bottle of water. Suddenly, I start and say that he knows ... He interrupts me and says that he has thought of that too. Relieved, I smile, and we agree to meet after breakfast - "if the sun shines."

It does, and my panties are already moist when we meet with our bikes. We ride out of town, stopping at a forested area. He helps me hide my bike with his behind bushes, and then leads me along an overgrown path. When I ask him where we are going, how he knows where we are going, he tells me that the first violinist the year before had told him about it, that it was a secret of their first chair, that his predecessor had told him about it.

Wet panties. We arrive at the far side of the woods, near a field of grain, but nowhere to spread my blanket and his sheet. He flattens down some of the grain, telling me that it's winter rye, and spreads out my blanket. I like that it won't get dirty, just lying on the stems of the grain, and liking that he brought his sheet to cover the scratchy blanket.

We look at each other. He murmurs:

"We don't have to."

"After all we have done?" I find myself saying and start to pull up my polo shirt.

We watch each other take off our clothes, finally together our underpants. His cock, seeing it finally, sticking out at me, like my nipples are at him. As I am about to embrace him, he stops me and reaches down, taking something from the pocket of his slacks, showing me a handful of small foil packets.

Of course, I know that they are rubbers, not that I had ever seen any before.

"How many?" I ask."

"Enough, I hope."

Oh, I want to see his cock, to look at it! Before he can embrace me, I drop to my knees. It's so beautiful, manly! How many times have I held it? And his balls. I've never held them, but now! So nice and round - being gentle, of course - moving them in his sack. I lean forward and rub my cheek on his cock. When it twitches, we both hum. Oh, I love it! Pushing it to the side until it slips past my mouth, and then pushing it the other way, until it slips back. I could kiss it - his cock, MY cock. He murmurs in a surprised tone:

"You want to do that?"

"What?"

"With your mouth?"

I hadn't thought about that, been thinking about that. But I knew what he meant, and I had sort of decided that I would do anything he wanted to do, even that, but first I wanted to see him come, to see all that stuff shoot out that had made my hand smell so funny. I shake my head and murmur:

"I want to see you come."

He drops down, and we lie down. When I put my head on his shoulder, he puts his arm around me, and I turn my head down on his chest. Oh, it's going to be so nice finally to be able to watch my hand moving on his cock. After the first couple of times, he had told me that he was lucky that he wasn't circumcised, that I could move his skin like that. Now I could see it, see the way I could slide it up around the lovely round head of his cock.

I do, enjoying the freedom of moving my hand without the constraint of his underpants, playing at holding it straight up and then letting it tilt forward, again, feeling it twitch, letting go of it for a moment to watch it twitch. Then I grasp it again, staring at the little slit in the head of his cock. Oooh, a clear drop oozes out of it. Did that happen before? I hadn't noticed in his pants. And he is holding my breast, squeezing it when his hips twitch, like they did when I had been doing it in his pants.

Oh, it was so good: all naked together, me about to make him come! What was it going to be like? How far would it shoot? His hips twitch again, and I know he is about to. He murmurs that I should watch out, and then ...!