tagFirst TimeSaving Maggie

Saving Maggie


I’m still not sure how or why we ended up together. I do know that I acquired Maggie the way one acquires a lost dog, tail down and eyes desperately searching for a new master. We ended up at the same party together, and if we would have taken the time to find out, she was probably the friend of a friend of a friend. Some distant social relation that only happenstance could bring me together with.

I saw her standing in the corner, looking out of place and nervous. She held her drink with both hands and looked away every time I caught her watching. She was young. I found out later that it was her first year in college, and she was desperately trying to fit into the older crowd she was standing with. No, that’s not right. She was standing alone, but close enough to the others to almost appear with them.

I had nothing better to do, and in all honestly I was quite intrigued by this girl. I walked over and introduced myself. Her name was Maggie and mine was Logan. I did all the wonderful posturing one does at such occasions. I told my best stories and put extra emphasis on the funny parts. The most I could get from her was a little polite giggle. She was just too much out of place to enjoy herself.

The night wore on and she had several more drinks. I only had a couple, because I intended to be able to drive. Finally I gave up trying to loosen her to her surroundings and said my good-by’s. When I did, she looked at me square on for the first time, and I realized that her eyes were that very rare shade of gray that only women seem to have.

“Thank you for coming to talk to me,” she said. “You’re the only one that did all night.”

My heart melted. I remembered what it felt like so long ago to be that young and awkward. “Maggie, why'd you come here if you didn’t know anybody?”

“I came with a guy I met on campus. I thought he really liked me, but he left with another girl. It’s okay though, I think they knew each other from a while back.”

“How’re you getting home? Do you have a ride?”

“I’m going to call a cab, I guess. I didn’t want anyone to see me come with a guy, then leave with a cab, so I was waiting for the party to die down. I know it’s stupid, but I just don’t want to look like a tramp.”

With that I took another look over her, the entire package, and it started to make more sense. She was wearing borrowed clothes that didn’t seem to quite fit her right and her hair was teased in a manor that I would be willing to bet she didn’t normally wear it. She had a clean, scrubbed, look about her, but she had tried to hide it with makeup that she was not deft at applying. It all started to make more sense to me. She was asked out by an older guy and had accepted. Then she had borrowed the clothes from an older, slightly larger friend and come on this date. With all the work she had put into this night, she must be devastated. Calling a cab was just the final insult to this fragile girl. I didn’t want to have that on my conscience all night; I have enough trouble sleeping as it is.

“Maggie, I’m just leaving myself. I’ll be happy to give you a ride if you like, but I have an early morning, so we would have to leave now.”

Her face seemed to brighten, and I could tell she had been hoping I would offer. I gave my first true smile that evening, and escorted her out to my car. She lived an hour out of the way, and I wasn’t looking forward to the drive. As soon as she sat down, the alcohol, and the stress of the night began to weigh on her and I could tell she was getting sleepy. Somewhere along the way, we stopped talking, and she drifted off. We got to Watson, the town she lived in, and I went to shake her awake. There was no response.

I pulled of the road, into an abandoned parking lot, and tried to wake her again. Nothing. I took her pulse, and it was strong, I could not stir her. That’s when the cold feeling began to start at the base of my neck. Slowly, and with great care, I opened her mouth and smelled. There was the faintest whiff of old peaches.

Rohypnol. The date rape drug. Someone at the party had mixed her a roofie, and slipped it to her without either of us noticing. My stomach felt queasy to think how close she had come to being raped and she didn’t even know it.

There was only one thing I could do. I didn’t know where she lived, so I had to take her home with me. My adrenalin flowed, and the last vestiges of the beers I had wore off fast. I was thirty-two and she was eighteen and under the influence of an illegal drug. Not to mention one that had a very bad reputation. No one would believe me if I said I was just taking her to my house to sleep it off. Still, I had no other choice.

I drove very slowly, and very carefully.

Somewhere on the way home, I stopped at an intersection. The street light was on her, and the blouse that she had on was a bit too big for her. Her small breast, covered by the thin mesh of her bra, was visible. I could see the little bump where her nipple pushed against the fabric, and I knew that it was hard. I felt a sickening stirring in my pants. Only a monster would take advantage of a girl in this state, especially one this fragile. I closed her shirt, careful not to touch her skin, careful to ignore the images in my head.

We finally arrived at my house. I began to feel better, or at least less nervous. If I had been pulled over with a drugged girl in my car, innocent or not, it would have ruined my career. I came around to her side, and opened her door. I lifted her out, and began the walk to the house. Half way there, still carrying her, I felt some of the muscles in her back tighten. I knew what was going to happen in just enough time to move her head away from me before she vomited. It was good that she had gotten it out of her system, but now her clothes were a mess. I would have to clean her up. It was the only decent thing to do.

I stopped in the laundry room and took off her shirt and skirt. I dropped them directly into the washer and continued on to the bedroom. I laid her on the bed, and got a wet towel to wipe her face. It was then that I noticed her bra would need to come off as well. I cleaned her face with the towel, and removed the bra. Her breasts were small, but very perky. The nipples instantly hardened at the touch of cold air, and I felt the rise of my cock again. I leaned to pull the covers over her, but stopped for a moment. The little gray panties she was wearing were damp between her legs. The wet spot was growing and the panties were pulled slightly to one side. I could see one of her lips, and it was swollen. It was also shaved. I stood there, half leaned over, hand clutching a blanket, knowing that it would be so simple. I wouldn’t even need to take off her panties, just move them another inch to the side. She was wet and swollen and would except me easily. She groaned and moved a bit and the loose drawers shifted just a bit more, and her whole sex was mine to see. It was glistening wet and just beginning to open on its own.

I resisted the temptation. I pulled the cover over her and took a very cold shower. It didn’t do any good, so in the end I had to jerk myself off. There was no way for me to not think of her while I did.

After, I felt better. The built up tension was gone, and my cock was soft again. I took a chair into the bed room so I could keep an eye on her. I didn’t want her to through up again in her sleep. It would be fatal if she did.

She slept restlessly. I had to re-cover her twice, and each time I saw her breasts. Each time I remembered how easy it would be, the look of her pussy, the smell, the warmth of her body. Each time I returned to the chair.

Morning came, and I was thankful. I laid out an old sweatshirt for her and went to make a cup of coffee for myself. She would wake up soon enough, and then I would have the task of convincing her that even though she woke up in my bed, naked, she had remained safe. I had not laid a hand on her.


I was in the middle of my second cup of coffee and reading the paper when I finally heard the door to the bed room open. She was wearing the shirt I had left for her, bare legs sticking out from the bottom of the shirt. It was too big for her and she clutched it to her chest, crossing her arms, as if to hide just a little more from whomever was waiting for her.

She was terrified, but still she came into the kitchen where I was waiting. It looked as if she might bolt at any minute.

“Good morning, Maggie. How’re you feeling?” I smiled and tried to look as non-threatening as I could. I left my hands above the table, on the news paper. She just stared at me for a while, and then she sat down, carefully, never taking her eyes off of me.

“Do you remember me,” I asked, in my softest voice.

“No”, she said. It was barely a whisper. “How did I get here? Where am I?”

“My name’s Logan,” I said patiently. “We met at the party last night. Your date left you, and I offered to take you home. I didn’t know it at the time, but someone had slipped you a drugged drink. You passed out before you could tell me where you live, so I brought you here.

“You vomited on your clothes, so I took them off and washed them for you. They’re in the laundry room drying. Other than that I didn’t touch you last night.”

She was quite a while longer, then: “You didn’t, I mean we didn’t…”

“No. I left your panties on, and slept in the arm chair so I could keep an eye on you. I swear, nothing happened.” I smiled again, and she looked down.


“I’ll take you home when you’re ready, but why don’t you have a cup of coffee first.”

“Thanks,” she said again, in that same small voice.

I waited a moment and when I saw she wasn’t going to take her eyes off the table, I got up and made the coffee myself. When I handed it too her she gripped it with two hands, just like the drink last night, and said “thanks”, one more time in that quite way.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I said. “When I get out, I’ll take you home if you like.” She nodded and I put my hand on her shoulder as I left the room. I didn’t really need another shower, but I wanted to give her a chance to wake up and pull herself together. Giving her some time alone was the kindest thing I could think to do for her.

Out of the shower, I put on jeans and a polo shirt, standard fair for a Sunday morning. I found her still in the kitchen, still holding the coffee. It would have looked like she hadn’t moved, except she was crying softly, silently.

I sat next to her, and touched her hand. She flinched, and I moved a bit away. “What’s wrong,” I said.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” she said. “I’ll call a cab, it’s all right. I’ll get my clothes and go.” She sniffled and wiped her red eyes, and kept on crying.

“I’m being nice to you because I want to. I like you Maggie, that’s why I offered to take you home last night. That’s why I brought you here when you passed out.”

“I must be so ugly,” she said.

“I don’t understand. You’re a pretty girl.”

“I’m not pretty. If I was pretty my date wouldn’t have left me.” She was really sobbing now. “If I was pretty you wouldn’t have left my panties on last night. I can tell you didn’t fuck me,” she said. The profanity sounded twice as bad coming out of her mouth. “I may not have had sex before, but I can feel it hours after I’ve had my finger in, and I would have known if you were in me. And I know I was ready last night, because my thighs were sticky this morning. I’m not even good enough for you when I’m naked and wet in your bed. You would rather jerk off than touch me.” The bitterness in her voice punctuated her every word.

I realized my mistake then. I didn’t have sex with her because it would have been rape. But she thought I didn’t do it because I thought she was ugly. It suddenly made sense why she was so self conscience. She didn’t think she was worthy for a man to sleep with, let alone love. The picture of her warm, naked body, ready for entry in my bed came back to my mind, and I knew that there was no way for me to explain how wrong she was about herself. There was no way for me to describe how sexy she was or how much of my will power it took not to touch her last night.

Instead, I did the only thing I could think to do. I did the thing I had wanted to do since I first saw her last night. Gently, I turned her head to face me, and I kissed her. It was a long, deep kiss, and she melted into me. When I pulled back, she said in a much huskier voice than before, “You don’t have to do this.” But I did have to do it, just not for the reason she thought. I kissed her again, then carried her to the bedroom for the second time in as many days. My right arm was under her knees and I could feel the goose bumps rising on her bare flesh. The thin sweat shirt I had loaned her revealed her nipples were as hard as rocks under the fabric. I could smell her sex, and I knew she was just as wet as the night before, but this time I would have her. This time she would be able to enjoy herself also.

I set her on the bed, and without a word, without taking the big, tear stained eyes away from me, she pulled the shirt over her head. Her breasts jiggled a bit with the motion, and her nipples had darkened from the night before. They were now a deeper rose color. I leaned in to kiss her again, and she was trembling under me. I was about to move away to see if she still wanted to, but she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me tighter against her. She pressed her hips into the erection I had beneath my jeans, and I winced at the feeling.

With one hand I began to take off my own clothes. She took the other into her own hands and guided it down to the place between her legs. I felt her warmth, and as soon as I touched her panties I could feel her juices flowing onto my fingers. I slipped one finger under the cloth, and rubbed her clit. I heard her give a little groan of pleasure and I massaged a little faster.

My belt buckle was stuck, and I needed both hands to get it off, so I separated from her for just a moment. In that time she removed her panties laid on her back, bending her knees and parting her legs. All her mysteries lay spread out before me. The milky white skin of her slender body was flush with blood as her heart rate rose from excitement.

Removing the last of my clothes, I was free to do the thing I had wanted to do so badly last night. I bent between her legs and took her whole swollen sex into my mouth. She gave a gasp of surprise, or maybe pleasure, I’m not sure and her juices flowed around my face. I used my tongue on her clit and her hips bucked under me. I felt the first contractions of her pussy signaling her orgasm and I buried my tongue deep within her.

The force of her orgasm surprised me when she came. I had to hold her hips to keep her from bucking against me too hard. When this first round had finished, I moved up to give her one last kiss, then guiding my cock with my hand, I thrust in her. She hadn’t been lying, she was still a virgin. She choked back a scream as she was penetrated for the first time. Her hands dug into my arms, and I began the slow, staccato rhythms of sex. It took her longer to come this second time, but I could tell she was about to. Her breath started to come in short broken bursts and she held tighter against me. Almost too tight for me to do the moving I needed to.

It was even harder this time. Her pussy clamped around me and she let out a deep moan. She looked embarrassed at the sound and uncaring at the same time. Finally, with her last major contraction, I came as well. The feel of her body was just too much for me to control. I tried to pull out, but she wouldn’t let me. I came deep inside her and felt it squirt out around me.

We both collapsed on the bed together in a tangle of limbs and covers. It took a while for her breathing to slow and come back to normal. When it did she covered us both and rested her head on my chest. I put an arm around her and we both fell into a sleep of exhaustion.

There were many more times for us, in the weeks before I had to leave the country on another job. She learned very quickly how to please herself and me. She was tireless and many times I left our encounters sore and feeling punch-drunk. It didn’t last, but that’s fine because neither of us thought it would. We parted before my next trip, and we promised to keep in touch. That was a long time ago, and even to this day I think of her every time I see a girl standing in a corner, or holding a glass with both hands. And each time I hope that wherever she is my thoughts find her safe and well.


This work is as all of my work, based on a girl that I have actually known and things I have done. I changed her name for her privacy as well as mine, and I’m sure my memory has embellished some of the details as it always does. I decided to write this story because I recently received a letter from her. It was brief, telling me how she was doing, and that she had just gotten her masters degree. She told me she still thinks of me, and included one single line of postscript. It said simply, “thank you for showing me I’m pretty.” When I read that it almost unmanned me.

I would love to hear from you about the story. Please write if you liked it, or even if you didn’t.

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