Our Private Eden

"This isn't some Adam and Eve re-enactment where soon as I bite it, God comes looking us up, right?"

She giggled as I bit into it and sweet juices from it flooded into my mouth. Its juices were a perfect blend between sweet and tart.

"Oh wow," I said. "That's like... dessert."

She took another bite and closed her eyes, savoring its taste but also indulging a sweet reverie.

"I remember these as a little girl. All these trees were full of them. You could shake a branch and you would have to dodge the apples falling down on you. PawPaw would bring me out here. He had this old pocketknife and he'd cut off small pieces and give them to me, and I thought they tasted like candy. We'd bring home a bushel basket when we'd visit PawPaw during the growing season, late spring to midsummer. The closer we got to fall, the sweeter they'd get."

Holly was at peace. This was a part of her, of her past. It was a place where memories brought her comfort, not challenge. As we strolled through the quiet, broken only by chirping birds and the breeze, she seemed to embrace the gentle ghosts of her father and her father's father. She saw the trunk of a tree that had been cut and sat on it. She handed the apple back to me, stretched her arms and drank in the sunny serenity of the afternoon.

"In Sunday School when I was in the little girl, first or maybe second grade, this is how I used to picture the Garden of Eden, so it's kind of amazing that you mentioned that. This is my secret happy place, nothing here but sweet feelings. It's my own private Eden," she said.

"Then why'd you show me your secret place?"

"I don't fully understand that myself. You're the only guy other than my daddy and granddaddy who's ever been here with me. I'm sure it'll come to me eventually. But right now, I'm just happy."

I sat silently beside Holly on the soft grass. It seemed wrong to intrude so sublime a moment for her. So we just... were. I felt her contentment in this unspoiled moment and place of peace.

After a time, Holly stood, helped me up from my perch on the ground and grasped my arm with both of her hands and we started our walk back to the Mustang. She leaned slightly into me as we walked through the lush clover and fescue. When we reached the passenger side door, she turned to me, draped her arms around my neck and leaned looked me in the eyes, intently, longingly.

Slowly, intently, our lips connected, at first brushing against each other, then grasping playfully at each other's lips. Our tongues frolicked together before our mouths joined in a nearly suffocating kiss. My hands trailed down the back of her dress to squeeze the perfect twin hemispheres of her bottom. As I did, Holly pressed her body against mine. Faster than I imagined possible, my dick had sprung to nearly full rigidity and, unrestrained by an undergarment, pressed conspicuously against my thin, loose-fitting cotton poplin shorts.

Holly felt it and, without breaking our kiss, unbuttoned my beltless shorts and tugged the zipper down until my hard, fat tick sprung free. She caressed it as my shorts dropped to my feet, then broke our kiss.

She stepped back, grabbed the hem of her sundress and pulled it over her head and tossed it into the car in one move. She wore nothing underneath.

"Here. Now. Love me, Corey."

Holly's hunger showed in her clear, brown eyes. Her nipples stood proud, upturned and puffy, centered on dark pink areolae that crowned her firm, ample breasts. Her hips flared gracefully from either side of her taut, toned torso. Her triangle of hair, slightly lighter than her scalp, looked like spun gold pointing to her cleft below and the dewy pink folds beneath, already visible.

I pulled off my t-shirt and draped it over the fender and hood on the Mustang's passenger side. Now both of us naked, my hands grasped her gently by her waist as I softly boosted her bottom a few inches onto the edge of the Mustang covered by my shirt to protect her bare bottom from the searing, sun-heated sheet metal covered in navy blue enamel.

She placed her hands on the hood behind her, thrusting her tits defiantly to the cloudless sky. My mouth covered first one, swirling and tormenting its swollen nub with my tongue and teeth before moving to the other. My right hand, meanwhile slid down her belly through her soft bush until it reached the hood of her clit and the wet folds beyond it. The contact alone made her hips buck.

My index and forefinger dipped deeply into her, then withdrew. Now slick with her arousal, each finger slid back and forth along either side of her clit. Her haunches ground her pussy harder against my hand, desperate for more contact, more sensation.

"More, Corey. Don't stop," she said, her voice husky with lust.

My two fingers slid downward, invading her squishy vagina. As they moved in and out, I pressed upward, in the direction of her pubic bone, against her G-spot. It unlocked a side of Holly I had not seen; indeed, a response she was unaware she possessed.

"Oh God, Corey! I feel like I'm about to explode," she said. I continued for perhaps a dozen more thrusts, increasing the pace, before she stiffened, made a loud guttural sound and liquid gushed from her pussy. It was warm and slightly milky, judging from a few drops that splashed onto the car hood. It had a scent slightly different from the clear, viscous lubrication she could copiously produce. It wasn't piss, either. Her feminine ejaculate coated my hand and forearm and her inner thighs. Some of it sprayed onto my belly and my twitching cock.

It would be years before I learned meaningful information about the phenomenon of female "squirting." It was what we both figured it to be, a natural sexual function for some women under specific circumstances. All I was certain of at the time is it gave Holly a special sort of pleasure like she had never known and I was glad it did.

But unlike her other orgasms, it didn't leave her momentarily too sensitive for continued clitoral contact. In fact, it put her into overdrive. She leaned forward, grasped my penis and positioned it at the mouth of her vagina.

"Fill me with cum, baby. Your turn to squirt."

Sir. Hollywood entered her tight, warm wetness to the hilt in one thrust. Holly leaned backward, her propping herself slightly upward on her elbows. There was no gentle buildup. Like Holly, I was out of control, from the start, thrusting furiously -- more raw animal mating than deliberate lovemaking, but exactly what the moment demanded.

After a whole day of edging, I knew I couldn't last long. Which was fortunate, because for Holly, it didn't take long.

I leaned over Holly, suckling her right breast while my left hand twirled her other nipple and kneaded her tit. She responded by locking her calves behind my ass and keeping my full eight inches pounding deeply inside her.

When I relinquished her nipple with my left hand and moved it down to add pressure to her mound, it started the chain reaction that would bring us both to loud, wailing and uninhibited open-air climaxes.

Her legs began to quake and her undulating hips began to jerk. Her back bowed and locked upward as her pelvic muscles began clenching. And at that moment, Holly's head dropped backward, and she bellowed, "Coreeeeeeey!"

My cock to begin spurting load after load of thick, white semen into the recesses of Holly's womanhood as I let loose a primal growl. Holly filled my mouth with her tongue as I filled her pussy.

When our orgasms' last tremors subsided, we remained coupled and drained. Literally.

Holly kept feathering her fingers through my hair as my head rested on her breast. I don't know how long we remained that way, but I noticed the shadows lengthening.

"Honey, I hate to intrude on this beautiful moment, but what time does your shift start at Conway's?"

"Supposed to be 5, but I'm not going in today. I'm too well to work," she said with a giggle. "Soon as we get to a pay phone I'll call Darlene -- that's Darnell's daughter -- and tell her I can't make it tonight. They'll be fine. Y'all aren't working today so it'll be a lighter crowd than Thursday or Friday."

"OK with me, beautiful, but I don't think we can stay out here all night, much as I hate to leave," I said.

"Me too. But time to take me home, big boy."

My shrunken cock slipped out of her and a flood of our combined cum spilled out with it, leaving a huge stain on my Jayhawks shirt as well as a streak that ran down the blue front right fender. Holly saw it and giggled.

"Now that's one cool racing stripe."

At a gas station about seven miles down the road, Holly spotted a drive-up pay phone. I found a quarter in the ash tray and she called Darlene. "Yeah, I been spewing all afternoon," I could hear her say, then covering her mouth to keep from laughing. "Sorry. Tell Darnell I'll owe him a shift."

"Well, I didn't lie," she said as she returned to the car and navigated us back to the Big Spring Motel. She told me to get whatever I needed to stay for a few days -- toiletries, sleepwear, undies both clean and dirty.

The sun was setting as my V-8 roared up the sometimes steep, winding inclines to the Raymer Lodge. I pulled it around back and pulled up the convertible top against the possibility of rain overnight.

Holly and I showered together, soaping each other in our most intimate spots. Thirty minutes and another orgasm each, we emerged, toweled each other off and, without bothering to wear anything, walked out onto the porch again where we huddled against each other on the swing and watched as the sky faded from blue to azure to deep purple to blackness, broken only by the moon and the Milky Way.

"Corey, you've things to me that I had never done before, never heard of before -- didn't even know were possible before," she said. "I doubt that's stuff you pick up from looking at Playboy or reading dirty books."

That's true. I explained that while I was no sexual athlete and not even promiscuous or that experienced, most of my advanced knowledge came from a weekend college road trip I took with several guys in my frat one spring to Chicago to watch the Cubs play their season opener at Wrigley Field.

The Friday afternoon game of the weekend series was rained out, so we went to a bar nearby. There, I met a woman I only remember as Candace. She was the divorced wife of a bank executive who spent very little time at home and showed no interest in her when he did. We struck up a conversation and I learned she was in her mid-thirties.

She had done quite well in the divorce settlement and part of what she got from her ex was his box seats at Wrigley. She invited me and a couple of my frat brothers to watch the Saturday game with her in those box seats right behind home plate. But there was a catch. She was unabashedly looking for some fresh, young dick to ride for the next couple of days and I was the lucky guy.

She drove me to her home in a well-to-do suburb on Chicago's north side not far from the Northwestern University campus. There, on Friday and Saturday night, she taught me the tricks of how to please a lady not just with my cock but with my face and fingers as well.

"What I did this afternoon is what she called finding the G-spot. It's a place about an inch or so on the inside against the forward surface. She showed me how you could give a woman a different sort of pleasure by working your fingers in a sort of 'come here' motion," I said, making the beckoning motion with my hand. "But she never told me anything about spurting and she didn't do anything like what you did."

Holly nodded in amazement. She leaned into me, her head on my shoulder.

"Damn. I don't know whether to be jealous of her or send her a thank-you card."

She would go on to tell me that she had lost her virginity (sort of) to a guy in her junior year at Southeast Missouri State in the river city of Cape Girardeau. He had pushed his way partly inside of her but then withdrew when she commanded him to put on his condom and blew his load as he was trying to roll it down his cock.

Her sexual experiences were limited, she said. The few she had were guys who would mount her, blow a nut after a few thrusts and then either fall asleep or continue to party, leaving her frustrated and unfulfilled. She said she found relief, more times than not, with her own hands, a cucumber or a vibrator she had secretly bought once in an adult bookstore in St. Louis.

I asked her why she didn't ask me to wear protection earlier.

"When I was in junior high, I had a case of measles with a pretty high fever. When I hit puberty, my periods were hit-and-miss, so I went to the family doctor and he told me that I may have problems from the measles. He sent me to a specialist in Poplar Bluff. The specialist gave me this exam and stuck this cold, metal scope up in me and poked around. When it was done, he said that I probably couldn't have children," she said.

She fell silent for a moment. A tear trickled onto my shoulder.

"That was hard for a girl of 13 years old to deal with. I felt like I would never really be a woman, or feel like one," she said, swallowing hard and fighting not to cry. "Sometimes I still feel that way. And I've never felt more like a woman than I have the past 24 hours with you. But it still makes me sad that I won't be able to hold my own baby."

I wrapped her gently in my arms and kissed her forehead.

"You're the most beautiful and complete woman I've ever known, and I don't want to be apart from you. And whether you ever give birth or not doesn't change that, Holly," I whispered to her.

She held onto me and sobbed quietly for a while.

We would doze off together in that swing. After a time, I would gather her up, gently, my arms under her chest and her knees. She mustered enough awareness to sling her arms around my neck. And like that, I would carry her through her great room, down her hallway and place her gently in her bed. After locking all the doors and dousing all the lights, I would climb into bed next to Holly, lying on my side so I could see her as I dozed off, and I covered us both. Just before I flickered off to sleep, I felt Holly scoot into me, grab my free hand and pull my arm around her.

Thus ended my first day with Holly. More accurately, the first day of my life with Holly.

To be continued...