Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
I can still see her—see the scene unfolding—in my mind, even years later. The very thought of that night brings warmth, comfort, and tingles to my entire body. It was so unexpected and yet so very beautiful.
I was a senior in high school, with girl-friends aplenty but not a girlfriend. Fact is, I was friend-zoned. Constantly. I was close to so many beautiful young women and yet all of them had deemed me “too much of a friend,” “like a brother,” and not someone with whom dating was going to happen. I always felt more comfortable around the girls at school so I’d earned a place among many beautiful, caring, loving ladies—but despite many attempts to turn one into my girlfriend, it seems it was not meant to be. I was just too much of a risk of losing, apparently. Moreover, I was a high school senior who had never been kissed, and certainly nothing remotely more than that.
The fantastic energy it built within me was, at times, seemingly all consuming. Tight shirts or smooth legs plaguing my brain after a long day, I’d find myself at home, alone, waiting for family to return from work, lying in my bed slowly, deliberately stroking, fantasizing and desperately trying to release some of the pent-up sexual energy within me. I’d lie in bed, trying to last as long as I could to enjoy the bliss and the thoughts and the feelings, sometimes simply imagining being held in someone’s arms, kissed, lightly touched. And when I’d finally reach climax it’d be explosive, sometimes reaching as far as my neck, showing just how much of a release I was needing from day after day of tension being surrounded by beautiful and sensual, sexy people so close and yet so very, very far.
My sister—my best friend for so many years from moving place to place thanks to dad’s job—had gone off to college. I faced my senior year alone, spending long hours in front of the computer screen working my hardest to turn out the best I could at everything in hopes of a scholarship. My senior year proved to be grueling and tiresome, day after day, and often night after night.
But although so much time was spent working on assignments, weekends when my sister would come home brought me such joy. Just having her around was comforting and made everything that much better. Then, one weekend, she brought home her roommate. Sasha was from a small town in northern Washington, so going home for the weekend was, of course, out of the question. My parents opened our home, and their arms, to her and happily invited her in when my sister came home to visit and enjoy some respite from the dorms and daily life of the University.
Sasha was captivating—curvy, busty, long beautiful hair past her shoulder blades.
“Kelly talks about you all the time,” she told me when we first met. “She misses her best friend.” Jeez—even a best friend to my sister! Not an annoying little brother, but a best friend…just like every other girl had placed on me. It seemed to be just who I was—a good guy, a best friend, a risk of everything being ruined should things move beyond friendship.
Sasha treated me a bit differently, though. I’d be watching TV and she’d sneak in a quick shoulder rub. She’d peek in on me at the computer working away and tell me not to work too hard. She’d joke with me and treat me like, again, not her roommate’s “annoying little brother,” but as someone who had helped shape her roommate—her best friend in college—into who she was. She approached me with gratitude and a comforting kindness I didn’t feel from those I spent my own time with. She was different. She had a nurturing, loving, honest and kind way about her that made her more beautiful than just her exquisite looks.
Sasha joined my sister in coming home a few times during that first semester. And while I always enjoyed having my best friend home, I started, more and more, looking forward to having Sasha visit even more. She was, of course, beyond unobtainable—her being a college student and me still a lowly high schooler, albeit a senior. Still, when she would come in the door with Kelly and hug me tight and warm and close, I felt a twinge of yearning deep within me along with the simply gladness that she had tagged along.
One evening, I dragged my heels not wanting to work on yet another assignment—a book to read and a report to write—and held out for as long as I could. I was at my desk reading when a knock came to my door. I turned and was greeted by a sight beyond my most wonderful of fantasies. Sasha stood in my doorway in a white bikini, ready to hop in the Jacuzzi out back with my sister. Her skin was almost the color of the white bathing suit—porcelain, soft and silken—even from a short distance away. Her curves were beautiful. She was not a stick but shaped like a true, honest-to-goodness woman; her hips, her torso, her thighs and legs simply magnificent with feminine loveliness. Her breasts, full, and hauntingly stunning, were held by the bikini top like two loving hands supporting them against her—and oh how I wish they were my own. Her cleavage Antalya Escort was gorgeous, her collarbone I wished I could kiss, and yet I laughed, inside, at the thought, as I had ever kissed a woman’s lips, let alone collarbone nor anywhere else on her body, I’d barely know what to do so as to not look, feel, or be a complete fool in her arms. Ah, but she took my breath away as she stood there.
“Wanna come join us in the Jacuzzi, sweetie?” Sasha asked. Assignments be damned, now it was sheer embarrassment and self-consciousness at my body’s reaction to her that kept me firmly planted at my desk.
“No, thanks Sasha. I’m slammed with work here,” I responded, feeling like I was choking out the words in a jumbled mess of teenage angst and emotion.
“Aww! All right, babe. Don’t work too hard, okay?” She winked and turned, and the 2nd half of the beautiful fantasy unfolding in my head was shown to me as she walked away, making me catch my breath as I watched her curves dance as she faded out of view.
It was after midnight and, reading done, I typed away summarizing the book at hand. The desk lamp nearby was the only light, making the rest of the bedroom appear illuminated as if by candlelight. Words blurred and crossed as I fought exhaustion, typing away, wanting to finish sooner than later and finally catch some sleep before the weekend ended and it was back to the grind.
“Psst,” came from the doorway. I turned. There stood Sasha in boxers and an oversized T-shirt, obviously bra-less. I choked at her sight. Even in sleep clothes, she was as beautiful as she was standing there hours before in that white bikini which was still etched on my brain.
“I thought I was the only one awake,” I whispered.
“You were—but I woke and heard you still typing. Are you still doing homework? Jeez—and I thought I had it bad in college!” She smiled—such a beautiful, warm smile. “Got a moment?” she asked.
I sighed and yawned. “Of course,” I said. She smiled and walked in, sitting on the edge of my bed behind me.
“I’m one of those who believes firmly in the ‘C’s get degrees’ mentality. I never worked—or work—as hard as you do on all of this,” she said, a sense of pride illuminating her words.
“Thanks, Sasha. I just…I need to get scholarships and all of that to get into college next year. I need to put in my very best.” My eyes felt so heavy and fatigued from hours of homework.
“You’ll do just fine, sweetie,” she said. “Kelly talks about you all the time. She’s so proud of you. She wishes she’d done half of all you put in. You inspire her so much. I think you inspire me, too.”
I’d never had a girl—let alone a woman—say such wonderful things to me. I couldn’t help but blush.
“Thanks,” I said.
Sasha scooted over and patted the bed. “C’mere,” she said. “You need a break.”
The thoughts which swiftly entered my head were enough to jump-start every nerve in my body, including those down below, causing me to swell. Sit on the bed next to this angelic woman? I didn’t care if she wanted to give me a pep talk on the fruitlessness of all-nighters, just the idea of being next to her on my bed was enough to light every part of me on fire.
I got up and sat next to her, nervous as Hell. She seemed to be able to sense this and immediately placed her hands on my shoulders. “YOU,” she said firmly, “need to relax, buddy!” She began rubbing my neck and shoulders. I breathed deeply. Her touch sent shivers throughout my body, seeming to all join forces at my growing reaction.
“How is it possible you don’t have a girlfriend?” she asked as her fingertips now made their way through my hair.
I laughed, quietly. “I’m the Mayor of Friendzone. Everyone thinks of me as too good of a friend. A brother. Too much of a risk of a friendship being ruined.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” she smirked and then, quoting, Emma Stone in word and tone directly from Zombieland, replied, “Those bitches! No, I will not stand for this!” She patted my back and had me turn around to face her. The desk lamp made her hair glow like golden strands upon her head. Although oversized cotton was far from leather, I couldn’t help but hear the voice of Richard Thompson singing 1952 Vincent Black Lightning in my head, “Red hair and black leather—my favorite color scheme.” She reached out and held my hand.
“Have you…ever…?” she asked with a shy smile.
“Not so much as a kiss, Sasha.” She smiled, closed her eyes, and shook her head in disbelief. Then, slowly, she leaned in, tilting her head to one side, and brushed her lips against mine, initiating my very first kiss. My lips buzzed with excited flames. My body reacted with excitement and nervousness as she pulled away slightly to see me, smiled, then closed her eyes and joined my lips again. She parted her lips and gave my top lip a gentle, friendly lick. I wasn’t sure what to do but responded in kind, parting my lips, instinctively, and kissed her back, my tongue lightly dancing with Antalya Escort Bayan hers. She felt so soft, her beauty personified in that kiss alone. It was nothing like I ever dreamed; it was better.
Sasha pulled away and smiled. “They don’t know what they’re missing, sweetie.” Then she scooted back toward my pillows. “Well c’mere silly!” she said, and I nervously followed, perplexed, curious what she was thinking. She made herself comfortable against the pillows at the head of the bed. I lay next to her, my heart pounding in my chest, nearly into my throat. She smiled with such love and kindness and then did the absolute unexpected. She reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head, exposing her breasts. Playfully, she bit her bottom lip at my reaction of surprise and amazement. I’d, of course, seen breasts before but only in movies, and they never had looked anything like this. They seemed…real. They hung heavily from her body, areolas light—not dark like I’d always seen—giving way to beautiful pink nipples, not hard as they always seem to be on the screen but soft and smooth.
“Another first?” she asked, referring to what must have been a look of shock, surprise, and utter confusion as to what I was supposed to do next. “Here,” she said, and she took my hand. She gently placed my hand upon her right breast, closest to me. The feeling was incredible—so amazingly soft and warm. She let out a small, nervous laugh as I gave a gentle squeeze and, not even thinking, ran my thumb over her nipple—as it seemed to be what I was supposed to do. Suddenly, her nipple stiffened, the skin of her areola tightening into a wondrous, rippled landscape. She breathed in deeply as I explored. It was so dreamlike, seeing her in front of me, breasts exposed, my hand roaming along her skin, seeing and feeling her body react to my inexperienced touch.
“You okay?’ she asked with a smile, again a reaction to what must have been a horrified or nervous or completely uncertain look on my face. I nodded, probably too quickly and eagerly, like an excited schoolboy, but my excitement and wonder was too intense to contain. She gave a chuckle under her breath, then laid back more. “Lie down, sweetie,” she said. Her voice was so calming, loving. I felt so incredibly nervous and yet totally at ease at the same confusing time. I adjusted my body and laid down, placing my head upon my pillow. “I want you to try something,” she said, and she lifted her breast with her hand, guiding it toward my mouth. I reacted with shock. “Ssssh—it’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” she said. “Open,” she instructed. I swallowed hard and did as she asked, opening my mouth. She gently slid her breast between my lips, laying her nipple upon my tongue. “There,” she sighed. “Now just suck…you’ll know what to do, I promise.” The feeling was overwhelming—and not just the sensation of her hardened nipple between my lips. I felt scared, unsure, and yet comforted and even nurtured. And she was right—somehow I knew exactly what I needed to do. I placed my hand back on her breast and gently, slowly, began to suckle at her nipple, as if what I’d known years and years ago as a nursing baby was something I’d never forgotten.
Sasha sighed deeply. She took my other hand, lacing her fingers with mine, and placed them on her tummy. With her other hand she stroked my hair, soothing it back. “Ssssh, that’s it baby. Perfect,” she complimented. I continued hungrily but calmly. It seemed so familiar while being so foreign—how could this action, abandoned for almost 2 decades, seem so natural? Why did it not seem peculiar to be nursing this beautiful woman’s breast like a baby and yet be far from that age and mentality? How could my motions toward her not feel wrong as a young man touched, licked, and sucked at her nipple? All I knew is how loved I felt, nurtured, and safe; all feelings she seemed to share as small sighs and moans were interrupted from time to time with gentle, reassuring “Ssssh, there you are, baby,” and other such instructions.
I didn’t mean to, and felt immediately embarrassed as I brushed against her leg and my erection was made aware. She simply smiled and gave a gentle, reassuring laugh. She knew it was there, she knew it was impossible for me to hide. She kissed the top of my head and let me know it was perfectly okay—she expected it. She slowly reached for me and I began to back away in horror, releasing myself from her breast, stuttering, “I…I…uh…”
What horrified me was something I did not expect at all. I was soaked. Sure, I knew about—even enjoyed—precum, which often appeared as I slowly stroked on those lazy afternoons of fantasizing. But this was much, much more. I was covered in it inside my pants, and not knowing that it was my body’s natural reaction toward the stimulus I was experiencing and not something wrong or to be, at all, ashamed of. I, at the time, was sure she would find this reaction of my body repulsive and just as embarrassing for her as it was for me.
I was Escort Antalya wrong. As she reached down and felt me, felt that wetness I was covered in, she smiled even bigger, bit her bottom lip, and responded with complete…gratitude. It was as if I—my body—was naturally presenting her a gift, a show of appreciation. She reached down and, for a moment, wrapped her fingers around my hardened shaft. She was very careful. She knew, instinctively, that my brain and body were on complete overload—too much and I was, surely, done for. It was certainly true—a first time in this situation was not to last long at all and, knowing this, she was particularly careful to not push me over the edge.
She took my hand from her belly and began moving it, down, down, bringing me further, closer, to a radiant, unbelievable warmth coming from between her legs. She pulled aside her boxers and laid my hand against her warmth. A tuft of warm, soft hair greeted my wrist, and as she pressed my finger, her lips parted and my fingertip was greeted with an unreal wetness. I was overcome with emotion—I’d never thought I’d ever had—hell, that I’d ever be able—to have that effect on a woman, save for my dreams and fantasies. But here I was, caressed against a beautiful woman, her body having given in to my own touch, exploration, tenderness, even awkwardness, and reacted just as I had—wet, warm, and inviting as much as I was erect, throbbing, covered in precum and ready for whatever might follow.
Sasha sat up. “I want to give you something, sweetie,” she said, and she reached down, sliding down her boxers so that her bottom half was completely nude. “Would you like to know what I feel like?” I was so dazed by all of it, it didn’t occur to me that she meant beyond how I had already discovered how she felt. She reached over and slid down my lounge pants—comfy clothes for studying—and exposed my erection, throbbing and ready to explode any moment. She gently laid my pants aside. “Lie back, baby,” she said gently, and I did as asked. Sasha lifted her leg over my torso and strattled me. I was dreaming—I had to be. This was a fantasy—had only been a fantasy—for so long. I never, ever, thought my first true experience would be anything like this.
Sasha smiled with such love as she reached between her legs and gently grasped my hardness, guiding it toward her. The head suddenly felt that warm wetness we’d brought on together. My heart leapt into my throat. Sasha looked down into my eyes and, slowly, guided me in. I’m sure both of us would have loved to savor each inch as I disappeared into her body but she knew—this was not to last long at all.
And yet, I somehow made it completely inside her. It felt as if I was surrounded by warmth. She was smooth, silky, gripping me from every side. Being inside her—inside a real woman—was more beautiful than I could have ever dreamed. It was the most perfect feeling I had ever experienced. She gave a short, quick thrust to show me what the full action of making love to her would be like, but my brain and body were too overcome by it all. I began to pulsate, boiling over, ready to explode. I went to release myself from within her when she pressed into me.
“It’s okay, sweetie…I’m protected. Go ahead, inside me,” and those loving words were all I could bear. My body contorted, my face surely a ridiculous show, as the most mind-numbing, all-consuming orgasm overtook me and I released pulse after pulse of cum inside of Sasha. She gasped, her breath quickening suddenly, too. I’m not sure if my reaction had brought on her own orgasm—I’m afraid I’d never know. Regardless, she collapsed upon me, holding me, her cheek against my chest as I slid out from inside her, covered in her and in me, and remained erect for some time as my body remained in complete ecstacy.
We stayed like that for only a minute or so, before she sat up again, brushing her hand along my cheek, and simply asked, “Are you okay?” I was breathless, speechless, but somehow conveyed that I was—or at least I thought so. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be okay ever again, or more than okay for the rest of my life, thanks to her.
Sasha leaned down and kissed me again, saying, “Thank you,” as she gave me another loving grin. She lifted herself from me, her shirt falling again over her breasts like the curtain at the end of a show. She reached for her boxers and put them on. “Get some rest, baby,” she said, as she made her way toward the door.
My heart was pounding, my head swirling with thoughts incomprehensible. I felt exposed and even embarrassed to still be lying there, bottom half exposed, erection still at full. I didn’t know what to think, do, or say. So, Sasha gave the last word.
“Goodnight,” and she turned the corner into the hallway.
At the end of that first semester, Sasha dropped school and went home. She wrote my sister emails from time to time but that came to an abrupt end and she—nor I—ever knew where she went or what became of her. Even social media was no help as I tried to find her through Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, somehow to stay in touch…and yet that memory of her saying goodnight was the last I ever saw or heard from her, as they had upped and left to head back to the college before my alarm sounded the next morning.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32