Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 01

"This is good; I wouldn't know what else to tell you without her help. He is going to want to get on top of you. She thinks that you should let him the first time, rather than show too much initiative; young guys don't want to think that the girl has more experience. You probably won't have an orgasm. You could encourage him to keep on, but then he'll still think you have more experience and probably not believe that he can again. He can, I can, but save that till another time, also suggesting that you be on top.

"She is chuckling with a nod. She really likes it that way; I do too! She - you - can move a lot more different ways than a guy, his just going in and out.

"Anything else you want to know? We think that is the essentials, hope so. Happy Birthday again, and don't do anything without a rubber."

I grinned with a nod and moaned softly. With one hand, I was already trying to follow his girlfriend's instructions. They had both signed the page, both with a couple of Xs. Sweet, their both sending kisses. Kisses from my brother? I wanted to kiss him for his having answered all my questions. Kiss her too? She deserved one just as much, maybe even more, for her helping answer questions that he couldn't, like what my fingers were trying to do.

I didn't have an orgasm that night, nor the next couple. I could get my finger all the way in, so I must have popped my cherry as a kid, maybe doing splits, not knowing why it hurt a little the first time I really plopped down on the floor with my legs outstretched. All the better; I didn't have to worry about that. His girlfriend hadn't told me where I should tell "him" to rub, but I quickly found out. A couple of nights later, with both hands - Wow! - she had been right that I would know when I had an orgasm. I had! And I knew why he had recognized that she had, that time she showed him. Her body must have convulsed like mine did.

Wow! If having sex with a boy was going to be that good, but she had warned me that it probably wouldn't be the first time. Maybe he wasn't really a boyfriend, but if he wanted to? He would, if I let him, didn't discourage him. It had seemed like his hand wanted to touch my breast. Why hadn't I let it? Waiting for answers to my questions? Now I had them, and I was eighteen. If he didn't get to see my new bra, he was going to be able to feel it, and feel me in it, and me, his fingers. My fingers already had - when I didn't have both hands on my pussy. That felt so good. The sheer bra wasn't going to keep him from feeling my hard nipple, maybe even the goose bumps around it.

My fingers were, with both hands. I was going to have to try to do it again. It was like on a trip, the way back home, knowing where I was going seemed shorter. I did again, better than before? Maybe not, seemed unlikely, but now with the confidence that I could. Very pleased with myself, I rolled on my side to go to sleep, with one hand still between my thighs and the other one holding my breast. Before I fell asleep, I remembered her telling how big it would be, a handful. I had just had one finger in my pussy, and it had been tight around it. She had shown him with three fingers in hers. I fell asleep wondering.

In the morning, when I recalled what I had done, and then remembered about the fingers, I hummed with a grin; just another reason to do it again, with two fingers, and then with three. How big was a handful? I held three of the fingers of my other hand. If she said it would fit ...

In the meantime, I had, of course, written back with effusive thanks to them both for their birthday present. I knew he wouldn't reply immediately. I wrote again, sort of a progress report; I just had to tell them, probably in more detail than they wanted to read, but it was fun recalling and writing. That night, I got two fingers in. It was really tight, but when they were there, and thinking that it must be more like him being in me, it was real good. I reread my letter in the morning, blushing a little, but also chuckling at what I had written. They deserved to know that their advice was being good. With a grin, I added: "two fingers last night, first time."

Our movie date that weekend was really good. The other guy had also asked for a date, but the one I was beginning to think could be a boyfriend asked first. The movie wasn't good, but we both already knew that, it was just an excuse for our date, immediately holding hands in the back of the theater. After a while, he moved our hands off the armrest and down on my thigh - or did I draw his there? After a few moments, I let go of his hand and put mine on top of it, letting him hold my thigh. When he moved his fingers a little, sliding then down on the inside of my thigh, my thighs twitched, and I felt myself go all moist. What was his other hand doing in his lap? Was he also aroused, having to move it around - his "cock"? I had used the word! His fingers moved on the inside of my thigh, and it twitched again.

We managed to watch the film for a few more minutes, but then whispered that we didn't need to see the end of it. I had lost track of the plot anyway, and we knew that I should be home a reasonable time after the film ended. We left the theater and walked home, holding hands, walking faster than usual. In a dark nook, we unbuttoned our overcoats and embraced, our hands inside each other's coat, and kissed.

And how we kissed! And not just kissed, hugging our bodies together, our hips pressed together. When I felt his cock - used the word again - I hummed and shifted my hips sideways against it. He moaned, then drew his hips back for a moment, and then it was standing straight up, pressing against the bottom of my stomach. I was going to have to rinse my panties before Mom found them in the laundry bin. Did his or my hands first move down on the other's ass? They had, and it wasn't just pressed between us, it was throbbing, and his hips were rocking, rubbing it against me!

Suddenly, he murmured: "Oh shit!" and his hips rocked harder a couple of times. Then he murmured:

"That wasn't supposed to happen."

"Like that?" I whispered, holding his hips tighter against mine, remembering what Pete and his girlfriend had said about a boy's having an orgasm in his pants, so wet that it would show, if he were wearing chinos. He wasn't. He just nodded. I kissed him, just on his lips, and murmured - to my surprise:

"Wish I had too."

He chuckled once, nodding, and then I really surprised myself, murmuring:

"Maybe next time."

I had really said that, told him that I wanted to have an orgasm, have him help me have one! We walked the short way to my house, our coats buttoned again, holding hands. At the door, we kissed again, just a goodnight kiss. All we both said was: "Next time."

Mom was still up and seemed a little surprised that I was home a few minutes earlier than expected. When she asked about the movie, I said that it wasn't as good as we had expected. She smiled and replied:

"But I hope you still had a nice evening."

How did she mean that?! She had met him and liked him, but - for sure - she couldn't be thinking that we had a "nice evening" the way we had. I knew I was blushing a little as I replied:

"Yeah, of course."

She smiled again. Had she winked? With a more serious expression, she replied:

"That's nice; just don't do anything you shouldn't."

I nodded, really blushing, and said good night and went to my room. Did she think my giving myself an orgasm was something I shouldn't do? I did, too eager for one to think about trying to get three fingers in, despite recalling my impression of how big his cock had seemed, bigger than two of my fingers. The next morning, I did again, just thinking that two of his fingers would be bigger than two of mine and wondering if we would get that far on our next date. Not the following weekend, not like that, since I was going to have my period. I shouldn't have suggest "next time," now I was going to have to tell him about that.

Monday afternoon, Mom said there was a letter from Pete, again remarking that it was nice that we liked to correspond. If she knew why and about what?! It was again a letter that she could read, but also another sheet of onionskin, written on both sides. A glance at the bottom of the sides showed that both he and his girlfriend had written, her name was Barbara, just signed "Barbs." I read her side first:

"You didn't have to tell us all that, but it was fun to read, reminding me about how it was a couple of years ago. Congratulations! Wish I had had someone to ask. Very nice that you could ask Pete, and that he let me help. I couldn't ask my big brother, and don't think he had a girlfriend he could have asked, not when I need to know. Take care, and remember, not without a rubber; I was lucky a couple of times, just very lucky! Barbs"

No kisses? Pete wrote:

"Kind of funny, a lot funny, encouraging my little sister on how to make her first time good. What it's like for girls?! Never thought about that before. Guys all figure it out by themselves, pretty simple; not much else we can do. If - probably more when - you get that far, remember Barbs' advice about that. Maybe his is like mine, then you can rub it up and down all you like, but then watch out! All over the place or in his pants. I guess I'm wanting it to be good for him too. Love, Pete X X"

Kisses from him, at least. I wrote back with another progress report, enjoying telling in detail, and ended: "Thanks to you both, signing with my name and two Xs.

Monday at school, my friend immediately suggested a date Friday evening. I was going to have to disappoint him, if he was expecting to get his hand in my panties, like I wanted him too, but I could get my hand in his fly. Would that be something Mom thought I shouldn't do? Not as much as what I wanted him to do, what I wanted us to do. That, for sure! I had to admit to myself that I wasn't really in love with him, but rationalized that maybe that was better; we both wanted to do it, but we weren't going to be too upset when we went our ways. I hoped not.

Our date was another movie date, to a good, first-run movie. We went to it, and our hands were immediately back on my thigh, both of us humming softly when his fingers made my thighs twitch. When his other hand was in his lap again, I drew a deep breath and reached over and held it, his fingers obviously holding his cock. It sounded like he purred, and he slipped his hand from under mine. He wanted to let me hold it! Barbs had been right: a handful, well, including his pants and underpants, but still bigger than three of my fingers. He clutched my thigh, when it twitched in my hand, and my thighs twitched, and his fingers crept a little up my thigh.

Oh yes! They knew where I wanted to feeling them, but there was already something in my pussy. How much did he know about girls' periods? When his cock twitched again, I was afraid it couldn't wait till I could really hold it. What would it feel like, a stiff cock in my hand? But not in the movie, with people sitting next to us, hopefully too engrossed by the film to notice where our hands were.

When I took my hand, his left my thigh, and we got up, stooping to let the people behind us watch the film, excusing ourselves as we disturbed the people nearer the isle. If they imagined why we were leaving the theater, at least, they didn't know who we were. Outside the theater, he murmured that he knew a better place to go, leading me to bench in the park, out of the range of street lights.

We sat down. It was almost freezing, but I didn't feel the cold, when our hands were back where they had been. His cock wasn't as stiff as it had been, but then it was, and his fingers were further up my thigh, and then a little further. I had to tell him:

"I want you to, but not tonight, you know, girl's thing."

He nodded with a hum. I murmured:

"But I want to, for you," and squeezed his cock. He nodded again, and let go of my thigh and put his arm around my shoulders, drawing me around. I changed hands on his cock, my fingers almost all the way around it in his pants, and we kissed. His cock surged on my hand. I had to let go of it to find the tab of his zipper, luckily sitting on his right side. He nodded, thrusting his tongue in my mouth. I found it and zipped down. If he wanted to kiss like that, he was going to have to do most of it; I was too aroused by what my fingers were doing.

They slipped inside his fly, and then immediately discovered the opening of his boxer shorts, very easy, since his cock was holding it open. Just waiting, wanting my fingers to hold it, I thought, and they did: So stiff, and a handful, my fingers just reaching around it, and so hot! I was holding a stiff cock! I move my hand up and down. He winced, when it moved down. He was ... what was the word? I slid my hand up, my fingers discovering a little groove and then the ridge around the head of his cock.

Barbs had told me to ask him what I should do. He didn't mind that my fingers were exploring around the head of his cock. It felt so good, was so arousing to be holding it, and it twitched, especially when my finger rubbed on a funny little ridge of skin below his knob, making his cock twitch strongly, as he moaned deeply.

"There?" I murmured, rubbing again.

"Um-hmmm!" he responded, his cock twitching again.

It occurred to me that a cock would want to be squeezed, when it was in a pussy. My four fingers grasped his, and my thumb rubbed there. It must have felt very arousing for him: his cock surging and twitching, his hips twitching up, moving his cock in my fist. When he winced again, I got a new grip, further down on his cock, pulling his skin up, so that when his cock moved, the skin didn't tighten against my fingers. He moaned his approval, and let his hips rock up harder. Then we were both moaning. What was it going to be like, all that stuff that Barbs had told me to expect, also that

I shouldn't stop after the first time it spurted.

It did! He grunted, his hips thrusting again and again. She had warned me: all wet in his shorts and on my hand. He sighed and put his hand on his pants over mine, holding mine still. I held his cock, feeling it soften, and was very pleased with myself: I had done it. Okay, Pete had written that it was pretty simple for boys, but I had done it! I had made him have an orgasm, all wet like that, his warm - what was it called? - in his shorts and on my hand. What was it like? My thumb explored: thick, slippery. Next week, he was going to have to it to me, even if it wasn't that good.

His hand relaxed on mine, and I took it out of his flies. Why did I lick my hand? I shouldn't have; it didn't taste good; it tasted very ungood, very peculiar. Just his, or did they all taste like that? He took my hand and kissed it, didn't lick it, and murmured:

"That was so good! 'Next time'. I want to, too."

"Not more than I want to, want you to."

He kissed me, we kissed. He zipped up, and we walked home, and kissed again at the door, a lot better than we had the previous week, then again just promising: "Next time."

I was relieved just to find a note from Mom: "Goodnight, sleep tight." Had she anticipated that I would be embarrassed again? I was, blushing, as I went to my room. He still hadn't held my breast in my new bra. But I held it, just my breast, frustrated that I couldn't give myself an orgasm.

My letter to Pete was very direct. Without addressing him, it started:

"You could have told me not to lick my hand, at least, warned me that it tastes that peculiar. Does yours, does all men's?"

I went on to update my progress report, telling them that it had still been real good, and that he had promised that he wanted to make it good for me. I even joked that I might not wait to tell him how to do it better. Of course, I filled in my letter with more stuff, at the end remembering to tell what Mom had said and about her note and my blushing.

Barbara had been right, with increasing practice, I had no trouble having orgasms. If he didn't know what to do, I wasn't going to hesitate to tell him. Pete had written that boys all knew what to do for themselves; he couldn't be surprised that girls - that I - did too. And if he was? Someone had to tell him.

We had to skip the next weekend, his grandparents visiting. But the next one, his parents had to go to a company Christmas party. We both grinned and nodded, when he told me that. There was a school party that evening, but we didn't go, telling each other to try to find out as much about it as we could in advance. Dressed for the party - with my now not so new bra - we met and exchanged the information we had heard: the decoration, something about the program, that there would be dancing.

In his family's house, I was ready to ask him to unzip my party dress but didn't - not the strapless one. He took off his jacket and loosened his tie. When he asked if we wanted anything to drink, I just shook my head, with a nod at the sofa. We sat down, our hands on each other's thigh. We smiled, maybe a little subdued; we knew what we wanted to do, what we were going to do, but hesitated a moment. Just for a moment, and then we were in each others' arms, kissing. When his fingers were on my back, touching the top of the zipper, I nodded, had to sigh, as he pulled it down, and moaned, as I felt his hand slid onto my bare back. Why didn't it find the hooks of my bra?

He let me urge him to lie back on the sofa, my tongue in his mouth, being sucked. I wanted his leg up on the sofa, wanted to hold it between mine. That wasn't all I wanted to feel between my thighs, but not with my dress between us. His fingers then did find the hooks of my bra. He wasn't going to get to see my aroused nipples in its sheer cups. I nodded with a hum. It took him a couple of moments to unhook it, but I liked that as a sign that he didn't have any experience with bras.

It felt like my breasts surged, when my bra snapped free, and I felt his hands roaming up and down my bare back. I was half naked, at least my back. I wanted him to see them. I raised my shoulders, drawing my shoulders together, hoping my dress would slip off them. It didn't, but his hands hesitated only moment before they pushed the sides of my open dress down on my arms. I felt that they were free of my dress and bra, and saw his eyes glance down. He could see my aroused nipples. Why hadn't I ever fantasized about his sucking them? I wanted him to, but not with my dress still on, nor with his clothes on.

"Not here," I murmured. He nodded.

"In your room," I suggested, a little surprised with myself. In his room, his bedroom, his bed?!

When he nodded, I rose back further, aroused and delighted that the top of my dress and my bra slid down my arms, really half naked now! If he didn't think to suck my aroused nipples, I was going to tell him to.

When I got off the sofa, my dress was slipping down, the front flopped down, I caught my bra as it slipped off my arms, and gave him a promising smile. God, it felt good to know that he was able to see me that way!

Somehow, we got to his room. He was stripping off his tie and shirt, and loosening the trousers of his dark suit. I was having to keep from tripping on the hem of my dress. In his room, I let it drop and stepped out of it, kicking off my pumps, standing proudly to let him see me almost naked. He moaned. Then I remembered that I was wearing pantyhose. As I started to remove them, I wondered if I dared to catch the elastic of my panties and take them off too, in one fell swoop. His trousers had dropped, his hands also at the elastic of his boxer shorts. And his cock looked like it wanted to spring out, pressing open the left side of its fly. We smiled. His smile looked a little forced questioning. We nodded and pushed them down. He had to pull the elastic forward to get it over his cock.