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Archive-name: First/mycue.txt


Archive-title: My Cue

             It was mid-June and just after our last final exam.  We 

        finally finished our third year of high school.  At sixteen, 

        with summer simmering, and the adolescent hormones doing their 

        thing, it was clearly fated.

             We both went to the same parochial school.  Unlike most 

        modern schools, ours separated the boys and girls into different 

        classes with only a very few exceptions.  Other than the times 

        they passed our classroom on their way to gym, or when we could 

        hang out the windows to talk (or just watch as they walked by), 

        or the rare co-ed class, we almost never saw the girls.  But we 

        knew every one of them by name, and they us.  

             I was a quiet kind of guy -- good in school, getting the A's 

        with little attention or effort -- and as horny as any average 

        teenager.  I'd go from crush to crush, rarely having the nerve to 

        follow through.  I was still inexperienced with dating and naive 

        when it came to girls.  I didn't drive -- too young.  Only thing 

        in my favor was that I played drums in a band.  And we played 

        pretty steadily. Though I wasn't very outgoing, the band and my 

        grades gave me the image of a smart, talented, and maybe a little 

        wild, kid.

             That year had the girls in mini-skirts (sigh - remember 

        mini-skirts?).  Since our school was pretty strict, we also had a 

        dress code.  Skirts below the knee.  No sleeveless shirts.  No 

        jeans.  No T-shirts for the guys.  Ask any red-blooded kid what 

        they do when school pushes too far.  "Easy," they'll answer

        with a smirk, "Rules are made to be tested, stretched and 


             She sat in my math class.  Tall, about five nine.  Blond, 

        with long straight hair.  Athletic and captain of the girl's 

        junior varsity b-ball team.  Now some say that she was no beauty, 

        what with her braces, the fading scar from a long-ago fish-hook 

        on her left cheek, and the flatter-than-flat chest, but to me -- 

        well to me, she was better than Christie Brinkley, Cheryl Tiegs, 

        Cybil Shepherd, and Raquel Welch all rolled into one.  

             The day of the final she walked into class wearing a skirt 

        that was no longer than Hulk Hogan's WWF championship belt (so 

        much for the dress code!).  It ended about a foot above her knee 

        and hugged her taut, endless thighs.  Her white knee socks looked 

        like they were painted on her calf.  Her blouse was white and you 

        could make out the faint outline of her bra underneath if you 

        tried.  Her hair fell loose around her neck and shoulders.

             The windows were open and the warm spring breezes blew the 

        smell of the shore in.  The pounding of the pile drivers putting 

        the foundation of the new boardwalk building hammered in the

        distance. She took the desk in front of me to my left, just in my 

        line of view to Mr. B., our pudgy, balding Trig teacher.  Every 

        time I looked up, there she was.  That skirt, short as it was 

        standing up, was even shorter when she sat down.  It would ride 

        up, at times showing the edge of her panties on her firm bottom.  

        She'd pull at it, give it a tug, but a minute later, it was 

        hiking up again.

             I rooted for the skirt and definitely had trouble 

        concentrating on the exam that day.

             When the exam let out, I slowly walked over to the bike rack 

        at the far end of the lot.  As I ambled along I heard someone 

        calling my name.  I turned and, sure enough, it was her.  As she 

        caught up to me she said: "My Mom can't pick me up today so I'm 

        walking home. Can I walk with you?"  I was glad for the company 

        and said so.  We picked up my bike and started the mile walk to 

        her house.

             We talked and joked, generally having a good time.  She put 

        me at ease, and I must have done the same to her.  When we came 

        to her house, she invited me in for a cool drink.  Her house 

        smelled very different than mine, sort of sweet and a little 

        musty.  The living room drapes were drawn and the house was cool 

        and dark.

             "Where's your Mom?", I asked, noting how quiet the house 


             "Still at work," she replied.  "She has a late meeting.  

        Won't be home 'til dinner time."  Her Mom worked at a local bank.

             We talked for a while in the kitchen and she offered to show 

        me the house.  The living room was furnished with deeply padded 

        furniture - a long couch, a wing chair, and a library reaching 

        from floor to ceiling in a small alcove off the main room.  The 

        long drapes and deep pile carpet made the room feel hushed, like 

        a library.  Her bedrooms was upstairs.  It was bright and cheery.  

        She put on a stack of records and we went to explore the rest of 

        the house.  The music echoed through the stairway as we walked 

        down, first to the main floor, then to the basement.

             The basement was a real surprise.  Smack in the middle was 

        the biggest, most beautiful pool table I'd ever seen, along with 

        all the paraphernalia.  It looked longer than a cadillac and 

        heavier than a tank.  It was carved ornately.  The felt was 

        perfect.  It was gorgeous.

             "Do you play?" she asked.

             "Not much.  With a table like this, you must be good."

             "I'm OK," she replied.  "Want to play?"

             We played a few games.  We kept getting in each other's way 

        as we set up our shots.  It didn't take long 'til the touch 

        barriers broke down and we were tickling and teasing each other.  

        She beat me every game, but we had such a good time, it didn't 


             Later we went upstairs to the living room and looked 

        through the books in the library.  We found an interesting one 

        and stretched out on the lush deep pile of the carpet.  We 

        snuggled close as we turned the pages, giving each other nudges 

        and tickles, playing games with our stockinged feet (our shoes 

        kicked off long before).  

             As we closed the book, I turned to her and she to me.  I 

        leaned close to her, smelling her unique scent, feeling her hair 

        with my face and touched my lips to hers.  She met my kiss 

        willingly, slid the book away and stretched out close to me.  We 

        intertwined our fingers and wove our legs together, my upper leg 

        between hers, her upper leg over me.  We pressed together and she 

        felt my hardness against her.

             We were shaking from the excitement.  We ran our hands over 

        each other, exploring all the curves and niches of our shoulders, 

        backs, bellies, and arms.  I felt her bottom and traced out the 

        curve of her panties.  Our lips and noses explored each other's 

        ears, hair, and neck.

             My fingertips traced swirls on her back.  Tenderly they 

        wandered over the roundness of her full hips, along the hot 

        softness of her thighs, under her skirt, back up to her hip, and 

        around to her bottom.  I pressed our bodies together tightly, 

        finding her ready mouth with long deep kisses.

             She nuzzled my ear, darting her tender moist tongue in and 

        out, in and out.  The shivers ran up and down my spine.  With a 

        giggle, she took my earlobe in her teeth, alternately nibbling 

        and sucking.

             I brought my hand down her soft belly, towards her 

        moistness, still outside her white brushed-cotton panties.  She 

        parted her thighs slightly, directing my hand to its goal.  I 

        felt her excitement in the warm wetness.  I traced the crease 

        where her thigh met her mound, the seams of her panties guiding 

        me, and she began to move with my touches.

             Her hand moved to the bulge of hardness gathered in my 

        pants.  Down the zipper flap, between my thighs, and back up 

        again her fingers pressed over and over.  I felt the intense heat 


             I began to undo her shirt, when she stopped me.  "Wait," she 

        said.  I'll be right back," and she gently undid our tangle and 

        bounded up the steps.  

             In a moment she was back with a thick down quilt and a 


             "Come with me," she said lovingly.  She took my hand and led 

        me towards the basement.  We walked down with our arms around 

        each other's waists, stopping every few steps for a hug, a kiss, 

        or an intimate touch.

             She laid the blanket and pillow on the pool table.  I turned 

        her to face me and with her rear against the edge of the pool 

        table, we pressed together, our arms eager with anticipation.

             We pressed our groins into each other and moved in slow 

        circles, reawakening upstair's passion.  She buried her face 

        where my shoulder and neck meet, darting her tongue, kissing 

        every exposed inch, working her way around my collarbone to the 

        other shoulder.  I gently pulled her blouse from her skirt and 

        reached under it, feeling her peach-soft belly skin.  I began 

        massaging her tight belly, working around her sides to her back.  

        I felt her bra catch and traced along the straps to the sides, 

        and then to the cup.  Her ever-so-small breasts were springy 

        under the lacy cups.  As I placed my palms over them I felt her 

        nipples pressing through.  

             She unbuttoned my shirt, slowly, one button at a time, 

        finally pulling it from my pants.  "Nice chest", she said 

        quietly, giggling as she kissed my navel.

             I stood her up and with a caress, unbuttoned her blouse.  

        Her strong shoulders glowed with the excitement.  Her belly was 

        firm, with the broadness of her hips enticing me, disappearing 

        into her skirt.  Her bra hugged her tightly, her pert raisins

        straining to escape.  I drew her close to my bare, hairless, 

        chest and felt the lace against me.  Her ears were hot next to my 

        neck, our chests rising and falling in unison.  

             As we held each other, I unhooked her bra. We separated for 

        the barest moment as she removed it, and there was nothing 

        between us.  For a moment I held her close, savoring the 

        sensation, then I bent to her right breast taking her nipple 

        between my lips.  I touched the tip with the tip of my tongue, 

        just barely touching it, and then not.  I ran my tongue side to 

        side, and I could feel her shake with the motion.  She held me 

        even more tightly, pressing my face into her.  I sucked her erect 

        nipple into my mouth and with a sweet rhythm, gently pulled on 

        her breast.  

             Her hands reached to my zipper, feeling my turgid penis 

        behind it.  By now, my hardness was full, straining, aching.  She 

        opened my belt, pulled on the zipper and my erect penis shot out.  

        She encircled it with her long, slender fingers, her other hand 

        working into my pants and between my legs.  A growl escaped from 

        deep in my throat with the anticipation.  She loosened her hand, 

        and then she tightened it.  Slowly she moved it up and down my 

        shaft, her other hand taking one testicle and then the other.  

        She massaged the soft flesh under my ball-sack.

             "Oh, so close," I muttered.  "Stop, or you'll have quite a 

        mess on your hands," I warned as a drop of clear honey worked 

        it's way from the tip of my engorged glans.  Gently she released 

        me, taking the honey with her.  She touched her finger to her 

        outstretched tongue.

             "Oh, I'll get you for beating me at pool,"  said I as I 

        turned her around and reached for her skirt zipper.  It slid open 

        smoothly and she let it drop around her ankles and stepped out of 


             I stepped out of my pants, my penis restrained against the 

        elastic of my underwear.  I sloughed off my shirt and pitched it 

        over the score-marker wire.

             As we rejoined, of one mind we reached for each other's 

        underwear.  As I lowered her white brushed cotton panties to 

        below her knees I caressed her hips and her thigh crease with the 

        backs of my fingers.  She kissed me lightly as she worked mine 

        down my legs.  We kicked them off under the table.

             Our stockinged feet were all that kept us from the cold tile 

        of that basement floor.  The room was slightly chilled and as we 

        came together, skin touching skin in all the right places, we 

        felt each other's warmth.  I wondered if my shivers were due to 

        the temperature or the situation.

             She spread her thighs slightly and I put my rod where my 

        fantasies had longed it to be.  She had just a tuft of fine blond 

        hair. It was flower soft as I rubbed against it when she helped 

        position me in her crease.  Still standing, I felt her lovely 

        juices lubricate my way.  I pressed forward and felt the tip of 

        my love muscle touch her rear's cheeks.  She closed her thighs on 

        me and I worked my pelvic bone against her mons.  Her juices 

        covered me, my shaft against her hooded clitoris, and I pressed 

        in and out with her around me.  At first we moved together.  As 

        our tension built, she began to move in jerks, spasms, with my 

        sometimes measured, sometimes sudden thrusts.  Still not inside 

        her, our pleasure was indescribable.

             I had to stop. I was so aroused, I was ready to come.  I 

        claimed my tool back, buried my longing mouth against her 

        beckoning lips, and put my finger on the button.  While our 

        tongues darted and played, she tried to concentrate on my tense 

        back while I did my best to distract her.

             I was succeeding.  I gathered juice on my fingertips and 

        lightly worked the folds back from her love bud.  I touched it 

        gently and circled it, teasing it, sensing her reactions to my 

        ministrations.  Her breathing quickened.  I matched her rhythm 

        with my own.  Suddenly I thrust two fingers deep inside her.  She 

        let out a gasp and took a deep breath.  I worked the back of her 

        clit, the soft spongy ball in the top ridge of her love canal 

        with a deep tapping beat.  Her breathing grew shallower and 

        became a panting.  Her nails dug into my back and shoulders.  

        I slowed my rhythm and she moaned.  Her heart beat strongly 

        against my chest.  I withdrew my fingers and quickly drove them 

        back into her.  Oh, another gasp.  Slowly I withdrew them, 

        tracing them up her slit to her belly and then up to my waiting 


             Her taste was as honey to a starving man, almost more than

        one could bear.  To this day her scent remains with me - forever 

        the memory of sex.

        ( more to come... )



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