It's funny how things happen. I guess I was a bit of a late bloomer. I didn't even get kissed until I was 17, but after that ice-breaker I quickly made up for lost time. A number of dates, a few “girlfriends” and less than two months later I was lost in a girl's pussy for the first time. Five minutes later, the second. Ten minutes after that, the third. Not much longer I was ready for the fourth, and I'd have done it too except she complained about being “sore.”Ann spoiled me for life. It was the one and only time she said no, and truth was, it was more a request than denial. Had I said something as sensitive as, “I don't mind if you don't enjoy it, I just want to fuck you.” She'd have spread ‛em again! The girl was that much in love. At least she thought so.
Soon after that we graduated from high school together. That summer was a teen boy's wet dream come true. It was the last time I wasn't working or at least attending school fulltime. It felt like a glorious neverending repetition of sleeping ‛til noon, a dip in the pool followed by roasting in the hot sun, shower then out for a quick bite, a movie, miniature golf or mabye a ball game before parking for hours of unprotected, wanton sexual revelry.Of course everything ends and I left her behind a world away as I went off to college fifty miles down the highway. It took about a week to figure out that wasn't going to work. The distance that seemed such an insurmountable obstacle was quickly overcome. She was at school more and more, and I came home much more frequently than I ever imagined I would. I rarely, if ever, went a full week without seeing her. How could I?
What she lacked in ability was more than compensated by readiness and willingness. She'd start at the drop of a hat, dropping trou being strictly unnecessary. She rarely wore panties with skirts and dresses, and more than once she was greeted by being bent over a sofa, table or desk, I'd jerk aside the crotch of her then fashionably short shorts and with all the foreplay of a little spit on my dick push inside her while she was still buttoned up. She responded every time.The girl had absolutely no talent for giving head, and she didn't get much chance to learn on me. Her pussy was still so tight, wet, warm and inviting, I had little patience for her chewing on my dick. When I wanted a little variety she was ready to oblige that too. She'd gladly finger herself to orgasm while getting fucked in the ass.
Still not enough? Well she loved indulging my passion for eating pussy and enjoyed letting me be “naughty” too. She absolutely got off on watching me jerk my own cock. Not until “J.” much later in life would I enjoy that pleasure again. Lots of women will tolerate it, but I've only found two truly into it.But wait, there's more. This was LONG before it became the acceptable fad it is today, she craved another woman. Well actually, other women, although the woman of her dreams was the one pictured in this post! My girlfriend had a figure very much like Ula, although she probably was a bit smaller chested. She had Lindsey's fair, freckled skin and auburn hair. A very, very pretty girl who liked pretty girls. There's nothing quite like girl-watching with your girlfriend.
Ann eagerly looked forward to new issues of Playboy and Penthouse, as well as wearing out the pages in by-gone favorites. She had a collection that rivaled any guy's.Going to stores where the adult magazines were kept behind the counter, she'd tease the clerks by asking for copies, flipping to the pictures, appearing to mindlessly play with her hair or chew on a finger while trying to decide if she'd buy them or not. On such occasions she'd rarely have on a bra, and if the guy was lucky, she'd be wearing my favorite sweater--a heavy knit that draped across her breasts and was so loosely knotted it could be seen right through.
She flaunted her sexuality, but it never seemed cheap or trashy but rather classy or somehow even innocent. I guess it's because she never tried. She just who she was.
So it was hard to tell who enjoyed the magazines more. As I'd drive us back to my room, or if we had the cash a motel for some extra time and privacy, she'd flip through the pictures again. She wouldn't touch herself, but I could tell she was getting worked up as her breathing quickened and shallowed, she'd linger on pages glassy-eyed and body glowing with sexual flush. When she found THE picture, she'd let out a soft moan.Alone we'd make out while tearing at one another's clothes, but that was only a momentary pastime in our race to the bed. Naked, she'd dive in on her stomach, legs spread, right hand rubbing her button propped on her left elbow she'd begin leafing through the slick pages all over again. I'd climb on, get between her legs, wipe a bit of unnecessary saliva from my hand onto my dick, lay on her and slide in. And there'd we be with the girls in the mag. She'd masturbate on my cock, and I'd jerk off inside her as we each fantasized about fucking the lovely models.
This post about Ann and Ursula Buchfellner is another retread from my pre-purge blog.
I really didn't have a dog in the fight. Uhhh, horse in the race? No, that doesn't work either. Anyway, I didn't really care about which gal won in the latest poll, but since Tina Louise is battling with the young'uns, I'll get behind her. (Hmmm, nice picture, that.)
Remember to vote over at Entransed.
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