Two Brown Pigskin Journals

My name is Jenny.

Everyone in my story is a consenting adult, over the age of 18. My story is also rather long, so please feel free to skip ahead to the good bits.

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By the third day of our honeymoon I knew I'd made a big mistake when I married Ian.

But first, some background.

I was born and grew up in Hereford in the English Midlands. In 1970, when I was 19, I went to work for the British government as a purchasing clerk.

I wanted to be fashionable and modern in the Era of Free Love -- at least when it came to clothing and make-up. But then it came to The Big Thing -- sex -- I couldn't be bothered. I was a virgin, not because of any commitment to abstinence but because I was lazy. I came from a good home and knew if I went to my GP for a prescription for the pill the doctor would tell my Mother. And she'd kill me.

My social life revolved around pubs. Different groups of patrons frequented different pubs: hunting-shooting people went to one pub, folks interested in rock music to another. My friend Cathy and I were interested in fashion, hair styles, and cosmetics and there was no pub for that -- so frequented different pubs. We wore miniskirts, slinky Biba-inspired blouses, and teased our hair. We displayed a lot of our creamy white English flesh, and often went braless. Our perky young boobs would attract the young men, much to our amusement. They'd buy us drinks and stare at our tits when chatting to us. We thought them foolish -- captivated by two small mounds of our soft flesh.

I would, when the man was keen and I found him attractive, go on a date. This normally consisted of a pub meal (or, if he was stingy, fish and chips) and a movie. We'd sit at the back of the Odeon and my date would kiss me and fumble around with my breasts and occasionally my crotch. This was all done strictly above my clothing, and I'd stop my date short if he attempted to venture further. On one occasion my date clumsily removed his erect penis from his trousers and (I think) wanted me to do something with it. I didn't touch the thing, despite my date pleading that I do so, and it soon shriveled and receded back into his pants.

After six months of pub crawls and fumbling young men, mutual friends introduced me to Ian.

Ian was different.

He was mature -- six years older than me. He was muscular and self-assured. He smelled clean. His hair was black, long, and wavy. He had long bushy sideburns, a black mustache, hairy forearms. He was a licensed electrician -- and when he took me to dinner it was to a restaurant, not a pub. He had a car, so the fumbling took place in relative privacy, rather than back row of the cinema.

Ian was more persistent than the younger men about getting beneath my clothing, but I remained steadfast.

We dated for about a month, seeing each other two times or so each week. And then he stopped calling.

After a week or so I called him to see if he was alright. He said that he thought we should date other people. I told him that was fine but expressed my disappointment that he hadn't simply called to let me know.

Post Ian I didn't fancy returning to more fumbling. I thought it was time for me to think about sex, but if I shagged any of the young men In Hereford word would quickly spread that I was a slag. Everyone would want to ride Jenny, the new bicycle.

I hatched a plan to lose my virginity further afield.

The first part of my plan was to register with a different GP. At my first visit to the new practice the middle-aged doctor -- who smelled like cigarettes -- gave me a perfunctory exam (heart, lungs, temperature). I told him I wanted to be sexually active and asked for a prescription for the pill. He wrote one out and asked if I had any questions about sex. I told him I knew a little about the mechanics of intercourse from our sex education class at school. The girls were taught that our virginity was a blessing, and that we shouldn't give it to some guy no matter how much he begged. Once given there was no getting it back.

The doctor timidly explained how Part A fit into Part B. It was clearly painful for him to discuss such matters, particularly with a young lady not wearing a bra, so I assured him I was already knowledgeable of the correct procedures. (I lied.)

The second part of my plan involved Giles.

Giles lived in London. I spoke with him several times a week as part of my Governmental purchasing duties. He sold laboratory tools and chemicals. He was single, almost 30, and had his own small flat in Kensington. He frequently chatted me up, frequently inviting me to London for the weekend. He was pleasantly surprised when one day he asked, and I accepted. I explained, however, that I would like to bring my friend Cathy.

"The more the merrier," Giles replied.

I told my mother that I'd be spending the three-day Summer Bank Holiday with Cathy and her family. Cathy told her mother she'd be staying with me and my family.

On Saturday morning I packed a few clothes and my nighty in my backpack and met Cathy in town. We located the A419 heading south and began to hitchhike. As two miniskirted young ladies on the side of the road we had no problem stopping vehicles and eventually made our way the 140 miles to London. We knew nothing of the potential dangers of hitchhiking: we didn't read the papers or listen to news. The folks who picked us up were older truckers, and I think (as I look back) they were being protective of us.

The trip took all day. We met Giles at (where else?) a pub at about 7:30pm. As is often the case, he didn't look at all like what I expected. On the phone his voice was low and mellow, with an assured calmness. I expected a strong, quiet man with a dark complexion. But Giles was tall and gangly. He had a large forehead because his brown hair (which he combed straight back) was receding. He wore large eyeglasses (as was the fashion), a bright-colored Paisley shirt, and tight pants. And he was nice.

After a few pints we headed to Giles' flat, picking up our meals at the chippie along the way. Giles, a gentleman, paid for our drinks and meals.

He lived in an old building, up three flights. The stairway smelled like boiling mutton with an undertone of mold.

Giles' flat was small but tidy. There was a settee in the lounge, along with a coffee table, a small TV, and a single plastic chair. The small bathroom opened off the lounge, as did Giles' bedroom. He had a single bed -- neatly made up with a duvet -- and a dresser.

We enjoyed our fish and chips -- eaten out of the paper wrapping -- and discussed our sightseeing plans for Sunday. Giles brought out a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream. Neither Cathy nor I had ever heard of Irish Cream, and we each enjoyed several glasses.

My plan was to offer up Cathy as Giles' bedmate tonight. While not hugely experienced, Cathy was not a virgin. She'd also had her share of fumbling men, but on a few occasions -- mostly fogged by a few pints -- she'd let them slip off her pants and insert A into B. When Cathy got very drunk she grew licentious -- whereas when I got very drunk I simply fell asleep. (Both were potentially perilous.)

Cathy was to be my Quality Inspector. I didn't want to lose my virginity to someone who didn't have a clue. Cathy was enthusiastic to accept this mission.

Giles, of course, knew nothing about this. He was simply happy that a young lady would be sleeping with him in his single bed and didn't want to spoil things by asking questions. He'd pulled one girl tonight, and if he didn't make any mistakes he probably pulled a second for tomorrow.

I went into the small bathroom first and did my ablutions. I changed into my nightie -- essentially a long t-shirt -- and sat on the couch. Giles fetched me a blanket and some pillows while Cathy did her ablutions. She put on a similar long t-shirt, went into the small bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. Giles did his ablutions last, and he walked out of the bathroom proudly naked.

I could see his skin was pale and almost hairless. He had nice pecs, a flat abdomen, strong arms, and what I assumed was a decent sized penis nestled in curly brown pubes. His cock was not erect, but I knew this would happen soon. As he walked into his room I saw he had a nice, firm bum.

Giles shut off the ceiling light in his bedroom and I shut off the light in the lounge. I was happy that he only closed his bedroom door half-way. With no curtains on his windows the flat was illuminated by the streetlights. I could see him ask Cathy to stand, and he gently pulled her nightshirt over her head and stood there admiring her nice body. I have nice boobs, but Cathy's are larger with areola like puffy pink pillows. She's a natural blonde with pale wavy pubes.

They hugged and kissed and then got under the duvet: my view now largely blocked by the door. I found the ensuing moans and grunts quite interesting and wondered if Giles would be able to make me moan like that when it was my turn -- assuming, of course, he passed Cathy's inspection.

The noises grew louder, and then stopped. I fell asleep, only to be awoken a few hours later by the moans starting up again.

The next morning naked Cathy walked out of the bedroom and gave me the thumbs up. She was followed by naked Giles. His white skin was reddened by the exertion and I could see fresh scratches on his back. They went together into the bathroom. There was only a small bathtub, but he'd added a hose contraption so you could take a shower. They did so together, and then dried each other. Giles gave Cathy a kimono-like thing that was hanging on the back of the door, and he wrapped his towel around his waist. He walked over, sat on the chair, and said he'd enjoyed his evening with Cathy very much, and hoped he could spend tonight with me.

I enigmatically said, "We'll see."

"Would you like toast?" he asked.

And the man in the towel made toast for the three of us, with Fortnum & Mason marmalade he said he'd received as a gift from his aunt.

Once dressed, and after the mandatory fussing with hair and applying fresh make-up, we spent the day sightseeing in London -- Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament from the outside, Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus. We were more interested in Carnaby Street and Soho -- but, being Sunday, most of the stores were closed. The few that were opened had darkened windows. Giles explained they were sex shops, so we gave them wide berth.

We had spag bol for dinner at a small Italian restaurant near the flat, washed down with Chianti. Giles paid the check once again, over our weak protests.

Once back in the apartment Giles brought out a bottle of Polish vodka and a carton of orange juice and we drank screwdrivers.

As it grew late, Giles looked at me and asked, "You ready?"

I asked him, "Are you?"

"Oh yes, more than ready."

Cathy chuckled, and told Giles, "Do your best." Thankfully she didn't say, "I give you the girl, now give me the woman." (I read that in a Mills & Boon bodice ripper, I think.)

Cathy came out of the bathroom wearing only white underpants and she sat on the couch. Fortified by screwdrivers, I came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my boobs and barely covering my pussy. I went to Giles bed -- still unmade from the night before -- and lay down on the right side. Soon afterwards Giles strode in, naked. He flicked off the ceiling light and made no effort to even partially close his bedroom door.

He crawled up the left side of the bed and raised himself up on both elbows so hie face was above mine, and we began to kiss. They were warm, passionate kisses, and I could feel his tongue gradually start to explore my mouth. I reciprocated.

He then asked me, with his mellow voice and assured calmness, "Ready?"

"I need to tell you something first," I replied.

"Sure."

"I'm a virgin. You'll be my first."

"Cathy told me. I'll be gentle."

"That's great, Giles. I'm ready."

"I'm honored to be your first," he said.

He gently opened my towel, exposing me from head to toe. I felt a strange, pleasant sensation. He lifted his head further up to look at what he'd found inside the wrapper. He was unhurried -- as if he was examining all the goodies on a buffet and planning what he wanted to eat.

Giles started to kiss me again, moving the fingernails of his right hand slowly down the side of my neck and on to my shoulders. Then slowly down my arm and over to the ribs on my side. He paused and waited some time before gently cupping my left breast.

"Oh, Jenny, so nice," he whispered.

He discovered that while my nipples are small, they are hard-wired to my clitoris. He rolled my nipple gently with his fingers, and I began to moan. He then lay on his left side, facing me. He gently encouraged me to lie on my right side, facing him. We resumed kissing.

His right hand moved slowly from my boob down my abdomen to the outside of my left leg. He carefully pulled my leg so that it was on top of his. And then, from below, his fingers were on my inner thigh, then on the side of my vulva, then the other side, then lightly moving over the hair of my pussy.

He paused, took my left hand and gently moved it down to his penis. It surprised me -- it was rock hard. It twitched slightly when I touched it.

He said "the head is sensitive, be gentle there. You can stroke the shaft." I did.

A little later his hand returned to my pussy. This time the gentle movements over the public hair became fingers moving into my vulva.

"You're so wet," he said. I moaned.

As he had done with my nipple, he found my clit and gently moved it between his fingers. I moaned even louder. I thought I heard Cathy, in the other room, chuckling.

Next thing I knew he was back on all fours and turned me gently onto my back. But rather than getting on top of me, I was surprised that he slid down the bed. And even more surprised when he spread my legs and put his face into my pussy. I could feel his warm tongue moving slowly from my vagina up my vulva to my clit. He repeated this -- but I wasn't counting. It felt great, and I didn't want it to stop.

He then raised his head and crawled on top of me, until we were face to face. He kissed me, and I tasted -- for the first time -- the unique transferred taste of pussy.

He whispered. "Ready?"

"Yes, oh yes," I said, "now."

"It might hurt. The pain won't last."

"Fuck me," I commanded.

And he did.

There was no pain. I suspect if I had a hymen it had long since vanished as they sometimes do. I could feel his hard penis move slowly into my vagina, filling it with his warmness. It just kept going -- but then it stopped -- and he gradually pulled it almost entirely out.

By this point his hands were beside me, holding him up. I could look down, through my boobs, and see his dick gradually disappearing into my pussy, and reappearing. Even in the semi-darkness I could see it glistening with my wetness.

"Look," I said. He'd been looking at my face and lowered his head so he could share my view of our coupling Parts A and B.

"You feel great, Jenny. So tight."

"Oh, Giles, you feel SO good," I whispered.

He varied the pace from time to time. Sometimes he only did short movements at the entrance to my vagina. I could feel the edge of the head of his penis. Other times he did long, slow, deep pushes. As his breathing grew more excited, he would slow down, often stopping completely. Then he'd start moving again, sometimes by first grinding in a circle against my pubic mound. I moaned, of course.

My arms were around him. I moved my hands down to his firm butt, my nails gently digging into his skin, encouraging him to thrust more. Deeper.

He then started, purposefully, to increase the pace. I looked down again and saw his dick moving in and out ever more rapidly. His eyes were closed.

"Cum inside you?" he asked, clearly breathing heavily.

I knew what this meant but had no idea what was best. My brief hesitation meant my answer no longer mattered. I could feel him pulsing inside me, throbbing, as he exclaimed "Yes, Gawd, YES!" He pushed his dick into me, as far as it would go, and held it there.

Cathy heard this and started to applaud. Heck, folks in the next building would have heard Giles. I was pleased I could bring so much pleasure to this kind man.

He then lowered himself down on me, still supporting most of his weight with his elbows and knees. He was still in me, but as the blood left his penis it fell out. He made no effort to get off me.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked.

"Oh yes, very much. Why did I wait so long?"

"You waited for me."

He then rolled off, and we resumed looking at each other side-by-side. As I turned I felt his cum sliding out of my pussy onto the towel, still open on the bed beneath me.

"There are other positions," he said. "I need to rest my dick a little, but we can try another if you like."

"Yes, very much."

We kissed.

"Would you like some water?" I asked.

"Yes, please. And there's some brandy in the cupboard."

I left him in bed and walked into the living room. Cathy was lying uncovered on the settee, with one of her hands inside her panties, in her pussy, moving rapidly. As I approached she also started to moan: it must have been contagious. Her moans grew louder, the movement of her hand faster. And then both stopped.

"Would you like some water or brandy?" I asked Cathy.

I could see her body gently pulsing and shaking. No reply.

I found a small tray in the kitchen and six glasses. I poured three of brandy, three of water.

By this time Giles, still naked, was sitting in the chair in the lounge. I distributed the drinks and sat next to Cathy. Her face was still flushed, but she'd regained most of her composure.

"Was it all you expected?" Cathy asked me.

"All, and more," I replied.

As I spoke I noticed more of his white, sticky cum oozing onto the settee.

"How much of this is up there?" I asked, putting my finger in the cum. It was sticky.

"Lots, I hope," Giles said, and Cathy laughed.

We chatted a little more, until Giles looked down at his dick -- which was starting to swell.

"Willy is getting ready for Round 2," he said, as he began to gently play with it.

He took me by the hand and said, "Come on, girl" as he led me to his bed.

I looked over my shoulder to Cathy and said, "See you in the morning."

"Have fun, kids" she replied. "Play nicely."

Once in the bedroom Giles gave me a big hug, his now erect dick folding up so that it didn't stick into my abdomen. Clever design feature.

"What would you like to try? With you on top, or sitting on me, or doggie fucking, or with us standing?"

"I have no idea, Giles. Your choice."

"Well," he said, "last time I did all the work. Let's switch so you're in charge."

I didn't have time to answer before he was flat on the bed, with his head at the foot and his dick standing up like a flagpole. I wondered why he hadn't put his head on the pillow.

"Okay, he said, straddle me so my dick is beneath you."

I did as I was told. He reached down and put a couple of his fingers in the slit of my vulva, and then on his dick.

"You're still nice and wet. Now slowly lower yourself onto my dick. I'll move it so that it slides in."

I did as I was told. There was no resistance, and his dick again filled my entire vagina.

"Now move," he said, "Slide back and forth, up and down, or both. Anything that feels good. All good for me."

I looked down at him and saw him smiling. I started to lower my face down to kiss him.

"No, no," he said. "I'd like to see your pussy and watch your tits bounce while you fuck me."

I remained upright and started sliding at first, then bouncing. I enjoyed the feeling of my boobs -- not ample, but certainly adequate -- coming along for the ride. He was obviously enjoying the show. And now I could see why Giles put his head on the foot of the bed: I looked forward through the bedroom door: Cathy was sitting on the chair, smiling at me, as she played with her pussy. I smiled back.