First Time, Long Time

The first time I saw you — really saw you — was when you walked into the party that one night long ago. “Born to be Wild” was playing loudly on the stereo and the living room was filled with a huge crowd of partygoers moving and shimmying to the music, their gyrating bodies and chugging arms and legs going every which way through the smokey tinge from the various bongs and joints.

I think it was the way you were dressed that really caught my eye: while everyone else had their moddest of Mod things on, with their crisply-ironed bells, freshly laundered, wide-collared, striped or paisley shirts, their wide belts, Beatle-boots — with the girls in the shortest of miniskirts and flashy stockings and heels — you walked in barefoot, wearing tight, skimpy jeans-shorts and a tie-dyed blouse with the bottom of it cinched up and knotted in front.

And that was it. Nothing flashy.

A few people looked over, as did I, but I kept staring while everyone else returned to talking and dancing and passing various joints around or simply making out.

You weren’t part of the In Crowd, and…I suddenly didn’t care. You were just so beautiful — in a natural, unassuming way — that I simply couldn’t take my eyes off you. You and your pretty eyes, your dimpled chin and upturned nose, your high cheeks and graceful neck and shoulders; and of course, your shapely arms and hands and legs. And with the way your firmly-toned tummy was exposed, I even found myself appreciating the pretty shape of your belly-button.

All bare, all perfectly visible — but especially your darling bare feet. I stared down at them, noticed how curved your arches were, how they bridged the balls and heels of your feet, saw the contour of your insteps; you looked poised for running or dancing on your toes, or simply shuffling about as you were just then, talking to the hosts of the party.

As for myself, I was sitting on the carpeted floor between the front of a couch and a coffee table, hemmed in by several of my friends who were yakking away like normal. Something about Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones, Steppenwolf and…the War.

Yes, that.

But there you were, nodding, smiling, thanking one of the hosts — Geoff — for the invitation, and finally turning and padding almost boyishly through the crowd towards the snack table.

No, not boyishly. You had a certain natural way of walking, almost like a gymnast or a dancer; light on your feet, with no wasted motion. You looked so comfortable, unassuming, and…not interested in putting on airs. I glanced away, glanced around at my friends with their John Lennon glasses, puffy sleeves, and leather-fringed coats, then looked down at the way I was dressed.

Who was I trying to be? I was dressed just like them all.

Then I turned again, watching as you took a soda, popped the top and dropped the tab in the opening, watched you sorting through the snacks, piling chips and cookies and a couple of green olives on a napkin.

You didn’t seem to be trying to be anyone but yourself.

Then someone, I forget who, asked me something about Mama Cass. I blinked, turned, said something, I forget what, then tried to compose myself. I was out of sorts for some reason. Things being spoken around and over me seemed to be in a foreign language suddenly. I thought maybe it was the weed. I hadn’t taken any pills, hadn’t had any wine or anything alcoholic, but I felt…lost.

I looked back and found you through the crowd again. You were standing, leaning up against the wall right there by the snack table, happily munching away, watching everyone, glancing around and smiling, looking as though you were a visitor from another world, here incognito, studying us. I hoped silently that you liked what you saw — apart from all the violence and the way things were going in the world — but…I found I really like what I was seeing.

–A cute-faced hippie girl with shaggy red hair and pale skin. And from where I was sitting, I could see most of your pale and pretty body — both from above the snack table, and below.

Such pretty legs. Pretty ankles. Pretty feet.

In comparison to everyone else, you were virtually nude standing there.

I blinked, looked away, took a sip of fruit punch from my cup. My throat felt tight, like a knot had formed in my belly and was stretching upwards, twisting everything else around and between it. My heart was racing a little and my face felt hot — too hot — and that heat was seeping downwards below my belly-button.

“Susie Q” was playing. People changed their dance-steps, joints were sucked deeply and passed around. And through that blur, all I did was stare at you, hardly blinking.

You seemed to glow, almost, like your simple unadorned beauty was creating a throbbing, mystical light around you that no one else but me seemed to notice. And yet you seemed totally unaware of it, of your own loveliness; your own appeal.

Suddenly I wished that I was like you, that I was that completely free from what other people thought or talked about or argued over. A hippie girl, a nature girl, happy and carefree.

But I was trapped. I felt it. Yes, I was against the Establishment, the War — all that — and should have felt free — freed from the ideals of my parents and the rest of society’s old guard, but…it seemed only for show in comparison to you.

I felt sick, queasy, hot all over. I got to my feet, stepped over a couple of my friends’ laps, got out past the easy chair and took a breath. A trembling feeling went down through me, made me feel short of breath. I forgot about you, wanted only to escape, to get away from all these people who seemed so comfortable in their revolt against the norms of our world — the way they were fighting against old ways of thinking — and made my way through the writhing, well-dressed bodies, the smoke. I saw the sliding glass doors to the back yard, knew there was a swimming pool out there, and pushed my way through to the door, slid it open, stepped out into the cool night air and shut out the loud music – that song by Iron Butterfly — and the voices and smoke and thoughts and fashion and attitudes.

I breathed deep, breathed out, but felt that shiver still making my insides quiver. I thought of you again, your subtle, natural beauty, your pretty legs and ankles and arms and hands and face. A nymph, like in Hylas and the Nymphs by Waterhouse: lovely and pale and innocent of the world.

I turned my back on the party and strolled towards the far end of the kidney-shaped pool, trying to gather myself. It seemed hopeless now: I could never be like you, though I wanted to; so unashamed, unapologetic and…adorable.

Yes, that was it: adorable. Sweet, pixie-faced, cute, and completely adorable.

Without really thinking of anything else but you, I found I’d run a hand down my front, down my belly, then a little lower. I felt the bulge of my crotch through my mini-skirt and panties. The trembling — all those hot, feverish sensations — were coming from there — right there, and just beneath — and I gasped softly.

I started wondering if you ever touched yourself there; if you, in your simple, natural ways, ever gave in and touched yourself and made yourself orgasm.

Just as I nearly had, just then.

And then I pictured you doing it, doing that to yourself. I saw you so clearly, laying there on your bed somewhere, without your cute top or short-shorts on, laying there naked, slipping one of your pretty, long fingers into yourself, pushing it in, easing it out, making it glisten with your own juices, plunging it deep, tapping yourself, feeling your clit like a little pink pebble sliding back and forth under the pad of your delicate finger, rubbing, making your legs lift, your knees bend and sway outwards and inwards around your working hand.

Standing there, stock still, in my new mini-skirt, gauzy blouse and new suede knee-boots, I orgasmed. I orgasmed while thinking about you, about you making yourself orgasm. It was as if we’d just done it to ourselves at the same time and–

–And then the music suddenly grew louder, then softened to a dull roar again. I glanced over, saw that you were just then sliding the glass door shut as I had, and then you, still holding your soda can and napkin full of treats, turned and began wandering around the opposite edge of the pool.

I yanked my hand away from myself, put both hands together behind my back and tried to look normal. I was only glad you hadn’t noticed me standing in the shadows cast by the light from beneath the pool’s surface; hadn’t seen me experiencing what I’d just experienced. I wished I could turn invisible or at least pretend I hadn’t noticed you. I wanted to turn away, head back towards the house maybe, maybe sneak through the doors and slip back in to that whole scene, but I couldn’t move.

I stood stunned, looking at you. It seemed impossible, but you seemed even more beautiful, even more captivating than you had inside, and I simply could not tear my eyes away from you.

“Oh! Didn’t see you there — Hi!” you said from across the pool, and I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of your voice. I looked up, looked over, feeling guilty for the things I’d been thinking, the ideas that had come to mind, and of course, having just had an orgasm simply from thinking of you.

–And…the fact that I might just have another, simply because you were right there and actually speaking to me!

“Hi,” I said. “Uh…groovy party, isn’t it?”

“Yeah — totally outta sight.” you returned, and though I was blushing, I still couldn’t keep from looking at you — all of you. I was just grateful you hadn’t noticed how I’d been eyeing you up like some sex-crazed degenerate — checking out every detail of your body and face, every curve and contour you had to offer — and simply smiled back at me.

Then, still holding your drink and snacks in both hands, you squatted down low, balanced on one foot, and sat right down on the edge of the pool; your other leg already dipping into the pool. When you were settled you brought your other leg out and around sank it into the water beside the first.

My eyes were there, gazing down through the rippling water at your beautiful, perfectly-shaped legs and your adorably-cute feet. You were staring down at them too, as you swished them back and forth beneath the water and when you looked up you were smiling, looking as though you’d never before felt anything as wonderful.

But then your face got serious.

“Hey, I’m not bummin’ your trip or anything, am I?” you asked. “I mean, you look like some heavy stuff’s going on in your head and maybe you wanna be alone. I grok, totally, so if you–”

“–No!” I said, way, way too loudly, and then took a breath. “No, not at all.” You were already half-way getting up, but you smiled, nodded, settled back down again.

“Cool, then,” you said with a smile. It was a warm, happy, carefree smile that I envied and wished to have for myself. “Hey, uh, I got some munchies here; wanna share? Got lots….”

I shook my head, feeling embarrassed — confused by the things I was feeling — but…my head didn’t shake; it nodded instead, and I was then making my way around the curve of the pool, around near the glass doors, and coming around. Slowly.

You were so adorable! I wanted more than anything to be near you, to accept your invitation. But as I approached you, I had other thoughts, other ideas. I smiled directly back into your smile, into your beautiful, big, round eyes, then looked at your nose, your cheeks, your forehead peeking from behind the bangs of your pretty hair, then finally at your mouth.

I wanted to kiss you, to kiss those soft, full lips of yours. There was only the slightest trace of lipstick — or none at all — and I knew there wouldn’t be a smear if someone kissed you. Me, a Mod, a pseudo-activist who’d gone on exactly one antiwar march, making out with a cute-faced hippie girl.

Free Love. The Sexual Revolution. It was happening around us now, and…I caught myself spacing out on loving you, took a breath, and couldn’t put off the next step any longer because I was suddenly standing right there beside you, looking down.

“You should take those primo boots off.” you told me, nibbling on a chip. “The water’s all hot and steamy and feels really groovy. Try it.”

I did. But I also suddenly saw myself naked with you, touching you everywhere, making you come, kissing you, reaching under your blouse and feeling you totally up — but…if nothing else, being barefoot and bare-legged like you was a good place to start.

I unzipped my boots, tugged them off, peeled my Mod-style stockings down and stuffed them in the boots. I struggled a little sitting down, but then…I was right there beside you and you were holding up your snack-filled napkin in the palm of your long-fingered hand.

I took an Oreo and nodded my thanks, but even as I did I shivered from how cold the concrete of the pool’s edge felt against my hot bottom, even through my clothes. It was a shock to realize how hot I was down there — everywhere — but there was an even hotter spot right up between my legs; puffy and swollen and seeping into the crotch of my panties. My clit tingled and stood out hard between my labia. It felt like my whole body was melting right down through the tensing hole of my cunt. I couldn’t move for a second. Time seemed to stop and hold its breath, and when I remembered where I was, and who I was, I settled down on the cold concrete and finally got my legs into the water.

“Far…out….” I said, and though I could hear the shakiness of my voice, there was nothing I could do about it. The only thing I could do was to let out a breath that had been held too long, bring the cookie up to my mouth and bite down on it.

It was sweet, familiar. I held on to the sensation of chewing, not wanting to think of anything else for the moment. And yet the closeness of you, your presence just a few inches away, was overwhelming my thoughts. If I’d wanted to, I could have simply turned, leaned over a bit, and kissed you.

And I wanted to. So very, very much.

The Mindbenders were playing “A Groovy Kind of Love” from a few years back, and I started to hum along without realizing it.

“I love this song.” you said. I nodded agreement. And then a moment later you added, “Hey, wanna dance?”

I simply stared, still holding the Oreo to my mouth. But then you were standing, your wet legs glistening in the light from the house and the pool, dripping wet — wet and slick and beautiful — and I found myself standing with you, looking into your sparkling, fun-loving eyes. And when you held your arms out as a person might when starting a slow dance, I stepped up closer, then closer, and we both suddenly laughed when we tried to decide who would lead.

You did, finally, and after I finished my cookie and you finished your chip, I started swaying with you, against you, our bodies not quite touching but gently brushing, hesitantly, both of us keeping our distance, reminding me of those first socials so long ago when I danced with a boy.

I took a nervous breath, felt almost faint being so close to you, but held on, held on, and held you tight. And then I was aware of your hand on my waist, put mine more firmly on your shoulder, and time seemed to come back, started going forward again. We pulled closer to each other and I could feel your body brushing me, felt your breasts slipping against mine through our clothes. I became conscious of the fact that I could feel your every contour, every shape through your shirt because…you weren’t wearing a bra.

And when I dared to pull my head back and look, you were grinning at me, still chewing the last of your potato chip, your eyes smiling, filled with playfulness and fun. I so wanted to kiss you that I couldn’t think of anything else for what seemed like ages.

We turned, whirled, trying not to step on each other’s toes as we danced, and while turning I happened to notice the other partygoers in the house also slow dancing together.

Funny: with all the civil unrest and the protests and happenings all over the world — the complete rejection of the norms and rules of the older generation — slow dancing was still something special.

Seconds melted into moments, nervous breaths into sighs. The Youngbloods were singing “Get Together” as I looked at you again, and this time when I had the urge to kiss you, I started to lean in, closer and closer, my lips pouting, reaching and forming for a kiss, my eyes half-closed.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I realized I was doing what a dude might be doing, thinking of you as a guy would. I’d always imagined and fantasized that my first kiss would be with some handsome boy; I’d pictured it, focused on it whenever I felt the need to touch myself — but…I was a chick. I hadn’t a cock, though I felt something down there stiffening, rising, getting so hard it was brushing the crotch of my panties.

But in another corner of my thoughts I imagined you yelling or pushing me away or slapping my face because I was a girl and girls didn’t do things like what I felt the need to do, but as I watched you through half-closed lids, you seemed to moving in to kiss me too. I held my breath, hesitating. It seemed unreal, a trick of the mind or my thoughts. I must have misread everything, but then you were brushing your warm lips against mine, surprising me, shocking me, but making me press my own mouth against yours in return.

Neither of us breathed, and then we both were — gasping deeply, excitement building and exploding like a dam bursting with thoughts and emotions all mixed together — and we stopped dancing and simply stood there beneath that cloudless night sky, holding each other close, my lips smearing up and down and side to side against yours.

Another song started, “These Eyes”, but I don’t know when it had, or when the last song had ended. Then another song, and another, but the kiss went on endlessly, breathlessly, my hand wandering down the sweeping contour of your tush. I squeezed, felt how firm your cheeks were, but you reached back, took my hand, and pulled it away.

Rejection. But then…not….

You pulled my hand down between us, turned it towards you, palm facing your crotch. Then you lifted my hand and slipped my fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts. You left it there, letting me decide what to do, and…then I did.

It was the first time I’d ever touched another person there. I felt the fringe of your bush, then reached down further until I could run my fingertips through the those soft curls. You moaned into my open mouth and our kiss turned into something else, something that turned my thoughts from vague ideas to a pointed goal.

I wanted to make it with you, completely and totally. Fear struck, not only because we were there in full sight of anyone who happened to glance out through the glass doors, but also because…we were both girls. College coeds, sure, but….

–But it was the age of Free Love, the Sexual Revolution, and…yes, two girls making it with each other wasn’t such a big thing anymore.

Except to my parents.

Even my friends. Though we all rejected the limitations and restrictions of the older generation, they were still there.

God, but I wanted you. I wanted all of you; every single inch, every single pore.

I slid my hand further down the front of your shorts, curled my finger through your curls, slipped it down and under, felt the hot, slick slit hidden between those delicate strands. You groaned, your head falling back and away from our kiss and you raised up on tiptoes, lifting yourself for me, higher, spreading your legs apart as you arched there against me.

I found and touched your clit, rubbed it. It was smaller than mine but just as hard, and then…I grabbed your hand and pushed it up under the front of my skirt, peeled my soggy panties aside, and let you touch me just as I was touching you.

“I’m — you’re — I’ve never…I mean….” I heard you murmuring, but then something warm was squirting down and out of you, wetting my probing fingers. Then there was another gush, and all at once we both stopped what we were doing, took our hands away and stepped back staring at each other in complete amazement, panting hard and fast.

“I-I wanna…get it on with you.” I heard myself say, but it was the truth and I didn’t regret saying it aloud.

At all.

And when you nodded, a thrill went right up through my entire body. It was almost as if I’d had an orgasm, but different. My nipples rise, my clit jutted. My belly tucked inwards on its own and the knot behind my navel seemed to radiate outwards; down to my toes, my fingers. I remembered to breathe and found myself smiling when I was able to open my eyes again.

“Maybe we can…find an empty room…upstairs?” you said, and I moved up close to you again, hugged you tight and kissed your pretty mouth. We kissed until neither of us could breathe, and then the kiss ended.

“Or…I have my Bug.” you whispered. “I have a place I stay at, out in the hills. It’s not much to look at, but….”

“Let’s go!” I said, and we went back in through the sliding glass doors, cringing at the volume of the music that hit us both in the face. You accepted a joint when someone offered you one, but we left. We gathered our things and left, saying our good-byes, smiling and excusing ourselves as we hurried through the gathering. And then we were in your VW heading into the hills.

I remember you saying something about watching the little farm for friends who’d gone off to Canada — house-sitting — and that you had a few goats, some potatoes growing. I couldn’t speak. I could hardly think, and just sat there in the other seat, watching the city lights passing by and being replaced by more widely spaced streetlights, then just the car’s headlights after we turned off the highway and drove up a bumpy dirt road.

Your little place turned out to be just that: a small, two-room cottage made decades ago from rough hewn lumber, patched in places with more old boards. But it was yours for as long as you wanted it and it was warm and cozy and the mountain breeze didn’t penetrate any part of it.

And as you made up a fire in the wood stove, the fact that we were truly alone hit me and I shivered inside; not from the chill, but from the excitement I was feeling.

Then you and I stood there in your little bedroom facing each other in silence, with just a sliver of moonlight coming in through a window to splash at our feet. Outside, the wind blew gently, a goat bleated and the old tree against the cottage creaked, but other than that it was silence, with just you and me standing there, knowing what was about to happen.

I thought I might faint dead away from the excitement, the thrill I was feeling, but the excitement also kept me standing, smiling, expecting.

And then I stepped closer to you, one step was all it took in that tiny space, and then we were hugging, kissing as we had back by the pool. I felt your tongue again, warm, wriggling, slithering against my lips, and I opened my mouth as I had before, letting you in.

But you let me in at the same time, and not only into your mouth; your world was opening, a world that was becoming my world. I didn’t have to wonder how it was to be the outsider, the girl around campus who others called “weird”, or “the nature girl”, or “that barefoot hippie girl”, or anything else. I felt like the outsider now, but at least you were with me.

And then you were moving, reaching down. I realized you were undoing the knot in the front of your top. We ended the kiss as if on cue, and then clothes were coming off, being discarded; unimportant things being thrown aside and left laying where they fell. And since you had much less on than I did, by the time I had my skirt and blouse and bra off and was working on tugging off my knee-boots, you were already standing there, bare-assed naked, grinning at me.

“Sit on the bed.” you whispered, and I backed up and sat. Then you were kneeling there yanking my boots off one at a time. I couldn’t believe you, couldn’t believe how wonderful and sweet you were to help me, but when you pulled my stockings off, you leaned down really low and kissed the top of my right foot.

Sitting there gawking, I felt the tingle from your soft lips fill my foot, race up my leg and turn into a tremor that rippled through me. Something deep inside let go and I came.

Just like that.

My mind went blank, devoid of anything but the tingles that were shooting up my leg now, and then I remember feeling your tongue wiping slowly up the top of my foot, almost to the ankle. You held my foot up in both your hands, holding it while you…while you made love to my foot…and when you were through your eyes opened dreamily as if from some far off place you’d just gone, and you smiled.

“I…I wanted to tell you before,” you said, still holding and now rubbing my foot. “But…when you took your boots off by the pool, I…thought you had the prettiest feet I ever saw. Freaky, right?”

There was something else that let go then, some border or barrier I hadn’t known existed, and I suddenly stood, stripped my panties off, tossed them aside and then reached down and took you under the arms and hauled you onto the bed with me. The old springs squeaked and the mattress sagged in the middle, but I didn’t care. I pulled you naked against me, smothered your face with kisses, and when you quickly started kissing me back, every other thought fled my mind.

Touching, stroking, exploring, caressing. I touched you as you touched me, down each other’s boobs, over taut, rising nipples, softly over waist and hip. I sighed and gasped directly into your sighing, gasping mouth, our lips smearing wetly, then more wetly as saliva flowed and mingled and drooled. It went on for minutes which seemed like hours, and then we stopped, gasping, gazing into one another’s eyes, amazed, turned-on beyond belief.

“I’ve never made it before…” you breathed against my wet face.

“With another girl?” I asked, trying to catch my breath.

“…with anyone….” you said, without any hint of deceit. “Have you?”

I shook my head, but then I wanted — needed — to kiss you again. But when I did I turned my head and kissed your nipple, the closest one to me, and you gasped and twisted over and arched yourself, shoving your chest up to me. I leaned over your shivering body and kissed your other nipple, then came back to re-kiss the first.

But then you were pushing and turning, getting your mouth closer to my chest, and a moment later, while I was still feasting on your nipple, you started sucking one of mine. We turned and arched, squirming around until we were laying in opposite directions, sucking each other’s nipples at the same time, gasping, breathing hard and excitedly as we did.

And then I moved down and was kissing your belly, trying hard to follow its inward and outward movement as your breathing got more and more excited. I felt your tongue enter my navel and did the same thing to you, and for a long time it was enough.

But not for too too long.

Moments went by, horniness building and growing and spreading. I could smell your pussy-scent because your bush was just by my forehead. I knew that scent, like my own, and the more I resisted the urge to scoot down further and bury my face in your bush, the hotter and more mindless I became. I couldn’t hold back much longer, but then you were the one who moved first, sliding down, your hand gently coaxing my uppermost leg to lift up and out of the way.

I spread myself wide and then wider, the way I’d sometimes imagined spreading for some guy, but then I felt your tongue flicking in against my pussy hairs, touching, dancing there, and when I lifted my head and found your beautiful red bush right there, right before my wide open eyes, I lost any sense of resistance. Dropping my chin, I reached my tongue out and touched the very same spot I’d touched earlier with my finger. I found the now familiar bump of your clit and started licking it, rubbing it, pushing against its stiffness, and feeling the resistance.

Rubbery, taut, delicate. You were so hard, so incredibly stiff, but then I felt your tongue on my clit and it was like an electrical circuit being closed.

I came at the same time I felt your pretty hips buck towards me. You squirmed, moaned, and the vibration of your moan vibrated my clit, making me come again. It was almost painful — like a cramp twisting just before it releases — and then you were pushing yourself against my face, curling your hips towards me, giving me access, spreading your leg up higher.

And then, because I knew I’d want it myself, I turned my head down even more, my chin on your fluffy pubic bone, and stuck my tongue as far as it would go down into your cunt.

You were so hot inside, so gooey and wet — like a melted liquid-cherry chocolate. You shuddered, groaned into my own pussy, and then lay still and stiff while the pleasure passed through you.

“God! Oh my God….”

At first I didn’t know which of us had said it. It was as though our voices were echoing upwards through each other’s body at the same time. But then something warm and wet and wonderful came squirting out of you as it had before. It splashed in my face, on my chin, all over my mouth. I pulled back, spread my lips around your hole and waited, and when you came again, you filled my mouth to overflowing.

I let your essence run sideways out of my mouth, tasting you, getting the flavor of what had just come out. It wasn’t what I’d thought, though I would have taken a mouthful of your pee and not complained; it seemed like a time where anything and everything was possible, desirable, available. But when I realized it was the same stuff that came out of me sometimes, the thought of it, the very intimacy and beauty of it made me come again.

Hard.

I squirted just as hard, unafraid now — now that I knew it wasn’t something that happened only to me at times like these — and relaxed into it, let it happen, and didn’t try to hold it back like I sometimes had. I shoved my tongue deeply into you, swallowed your next outburst and gave you the same. I felt you sucking up my juices — your firmly pursing mouth pressed between the swollen lips of my labia — heard you gasping through your nose, almost giggling as you breathed.

And then, because it was what I would’ve wanted, I gently poked a finger into your squirting hole, pushed it in deep and started plunging away.

I smiled between orgasms, my hand flying, my finger making wet squishing noises in your moist pussy-hole, my thumb rubbing your clit as I shoved into you. It’s what I would’ve wanted, and you…you were doing the same thing to me now, both of us laying like we had been, but now up on one elbow, doing just this one thing to each other.

I got to see your face, the expressions fading and flashing across it each time you achieved climax. You looked back at me constantly, your big eyes wide with surprise — the same surprise I felt from doing something so intimate, so incredible — and then your lids would sag and slip down, your brows would furrow and pinch up in the middle as pleasure took over.

And then you seemed to relent, to give in, and you stopped finger-fucking me and lay back flat, letting me take over, letting me have you with no interruptions or distractions. I rolled onto my knees, crouching over you, my hand still working feverishly between your beautiful squeezing thighs. I moved up further, kneeling at your shoulder, looking down, watching as the orgasms hit you, erupted through you. You were dewy with sweat now, your skin pale and shimmery in that stray moonbeam through the window, a light which now showed me your face, your hard nipples, your lifting and falling shoulders.

You saw me looking and grinned, then seemed self-conscious and covered your face with both hands as your next orgasm flooded through you. But when that passed, you took your hands away and steadied your eyes into mine, and when you came that next time it was as if you were having your orgasm within me, inside me, and I shivered, gasped, and came without even touching myself; my wetness spurting, wetting my tucked ankles and calves.

Still gasping, I leaned down to your beautifully heaving chest, took your nipples between my lips one at a time, slowly sucking them, using just the tip of my tongue on each. And as I continued to plunge your hot, liquid depths with my finger — adding a second to spread you more — I decided that this was all I wanted to do, all I ever wanted to do.

It went on like that until maybe an hour had gone by. I couldn’t get enough of you — your sounds, your taste, the way you squirmed and undulated against me — and it seemed you were in the same state as I was because I was coming too, just from making you come.

Eventually, things started to calm down, to slow, and when everything finally stopped I found I was straddling your right foot as you lay there on your back, panting, my cunt quivering around your big-toe, with myself leaning over, my lips against your upper thigh and with two fingers of my right hand still buried full length up inside your pussy.

We were both wasted, unable to do much more than breathe, and for a long moment I wondered, tried to think back to how we’d ended up this way.

Flashes of memory made me shiver where I sat. I could see it, picture it, and my insides squeezed around your toe, fluttering in response, making me come even after I’d thought everything was winding down. And I came again as I recalled–

…you and me giving each other head, coming our brains out, ecstasy flying, exploding every which way, both of us struggling, almost wrestling with each other to keep the other in a constant state of arousal and climax. And then your legs and how I’d been so drawn to them at the party as you padded in barefoot and beautiful with your shapely legs bare from ankle to upper thigh because of how short your shorts were. I’d thought of them again as you writhed on the bed, then pulled away from you, rolled on my side and started kissing and licking and sniffing my way down your thigh, down over your knee, smelling of your heat, your desire, and getting horny just from kissing you there.

And then…your shin, your calf, the smoothness of your legs, that slightly chlorine scent from the water of the swimming pool; you vainly trying to grab at my own ankle, to drag it closer to you so you could continue with our mutual loving — our leg 69 — until I pulled my legs out of reach, and you gave in and let me do what I wanted.

–Which was something I knew I’d wanted to do as soon as I’d laid eyes on you and was now able to because you were letting me, wanting me to do it.

I remembered…moving down, taking your exquisitely shaped feet in my hands, kissing your insteps like you’d kissed mine, nuzzling your darling toes — sucking them feverishly — hearing you gasp, feeling you jerk and shiver in response to what I was doing to you.

So sensitive, so delightfully responsive — just like any other part of you I’d made love to — and you made a sound, a grunting gasp. You moaned, made a nasally yummy sound, and shuddered with the intensity of your orgasm.

And then…prettiness, shapeliness, me pushing your toes upward, baring my teeth on the ball of your foot, the very same that had walked unshod in the grass, across floors — the same which had dipped and soaked in the warmth of that swimming pool back at the party house and had then worked the pedals of your car.

I bit down harder, smeared my lips sideways down under your arch. You squealed, giggled from the tickles, but then I was sucking your toes again and it was as if I were sucking your nipples — or your beautiful, hard clit.

And then, lost in this fantasy come true, I felt one of your sexy feet — the first one I’d enjoyed — pushing at me, caressing my shoulder. I’d turned my attention towards you and your inquisitive foot, thinking maybe you wanted to push me back or shove me away because you’d reached your limit. But instead you simply pressed the ball of your foot against my boob, pressed into and started to roll my boob around and round; pushing, massaging until you scrinched your toes downwards, moving them like fingers on a hand, gripping my breast, pulling, pushing till my nipple rose up hard and you felt it, turned your agile foot and caught it between your toes, pulling at it, pinching it, making me gasp, forcing my horniness to build until I couldn’t stand it any longer!

I saw myself…grabbing that wandering foot of yours, planting it heel-down on the mattress, straddling it, feeling your pretty toes under me, touching and wriggling against my dripping wet snatch, making me come so hard I drenched your foot with my essence.

And then you curled your smaller toes down, lifted the first one straight up, waiting while I rolled my hips back and forth, letting it swipe and smear between my molten lips, and when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I centered myself on it, sat down and was suddenly riding you, riding your foot, your big-toe plunging stiffly in my pussy, making myself orgasm and wetting you even more.

Orgasms. Moaning. Gasping with excitement as I came, until I looked and saw you squirming, rubbing your pussy, snapping me out of my dream, wanting to give you and not simply receive.

Leaning over, still rolling and pressing myself down against your foot, I did what you were doing with my own fingers.

And here I was now, drained and satisfied for the moment, leaning down over you, feeling your toe in me, your pussy still quivering and clenching around my aching fingers. You raised your head after a moment, the only motion in that stunned and silent stillness, and I looked up and found you already smiling that adorable smile of yours.

“…God, that was just the most.” you whispered, and I nodded, slid my fingers gently out of you and lifted my bottom off your foot. I crawled up and lay against your side, hugging you with an arm and a leg over you, your one hand caressing my sweaty back. We kissed again, gently now, softly and with none of the fever and hurry we’d both felt earlier. This was the afterglow I’d heard about; the after-time when passion and lust had been eased.

At least for a little while.

Then after a time, you took a breath and whispered: “If…if you need to get back home — I know it’s pretty late — but I can be ready to drive you back in…a little while, maybe…?”

In answer, I slipped my hand down and covered your bush, pressed the heel of my hand down until I could feel the bone beneath your muff and your warm flesh.

“What I need…is more of this.” I grinned, and then we both laughed; a girlish sort of giggling dripping with warmth and relief and contentment. But the laughter stopped when I dangled my fingers down over the bulge of your pussy and brushed your wet pussy-lips.

But it would be okay. I was a college girl now — we both were — and I didn’t really have to check in with mom and dad every hour. I’d already told them I’d be late coming home tonight — Friday night — and it turned out I was late: it was late Sunday evening as when I finally got back home.

But a quick call on the payphone down the hill on the following day — Saturday — and one on Sunday kept everyone from worrying and…it was okay. Everything was okay.

And…you and I were better than okay.

We still are….

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