Michaels Sexual Awakenings (chapter 4 of 7) b/b b/g strippoker
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Subject: Michaels Sexual Awakenings (chapter 4 of 7) b/b b/g strippoker
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Michaels Sexual Awakenings (chapter 4 of 7) b/b b/g strippoker
Author: 'M' (Michael W )
chapter 4
Despite my escapades at the ages of 13 and 14, the ninth grade passed
pretty much uneventfully. Wet dreams became a thing of the past, primarily
I suppose because of daily masturbation. My fantasies shifted from one girl
classmate to the next. Although at times I wondered what my (male) buddies
were like under their clothes, this did not pre-occupy me the way girls
did, and I yearned to repeat the experiences, such as the one in the tent
(see chapter 1).
The most erotic recollection I have of the ninth grade was the swimming
classes taken as part of physical education. Kids today can't believe when
my generation talks about the nude swimming in SCHOOL. This was the way
it was done in those days. Of course the classes were segregated, but for 3
weeks, every ninth grade boy in the school district had swimming.
Apparently for the purposes of hygiene, suits were not provided nor
allowed. I can remember waiting, packed into a narrow hallway leading from
the locker room to the pool, as many as thirty boys, naked, close, ...
everyone trying not to brush against each other in the tight quarters for
fear of ... you know, Jeez, what if I get hard. One could almost feel the
sexual tension in that hall, I am sure we were all thinking the same and
trying to think about baseball, or homework or what ever as we stared at
the naked butts in front of us and felt the breath of naked boys behind us.
On occasion a lad would start to rise, and awkwardly attempt to turn in
such a way as to hide it. Surprisingly, no one ever said a word when this
happened, we would cast our eyes other directions, affording the poor soul
the privacy he desired. I guess we were all worried we might be the next.
Eventually, the door would open and we all would hurriedly dash into the
water, diving in even as our instructors told us to wait. I retrospect, I
think hygiene was only part of the reasons swimming was taught this way. I
believe this was meant as it happened - to accustom us young men to seeing
nudity in a non-sexual setting, to satisfy curiosities or something. Of
course, we all plotted as to how we could sneak out of our regular classes
and steal into the pool undetected to spy when it was the girls turn. A few
boys would claim they accomplished this but I doubt that it was ever really
done. And one could conjure up the image of the girls, naked and pressed
together in a similar hallway as what we used. Ahh ... but for one chance
to look in there.
But that was it for the ninth grade. Still shy, time would rush by and soon
I was a fifteen year old sophomore, and starting high school. Through high
school I would gradually overcome my shyness. Sports fame, which had eluded
me in junior high would find me at age 15. It was at this age that I
blossomed in my other main sport: ice hockey. I was ... well I was a
terrific ice hockey player. I played wing, and as a tenth grader, I was one
of two from that class that made the varsity hockey team. I was perhaps the
fastest skater on the team already and would be the fastest by far by my
senior season. The nickname "Flash" would become attached to myself by my
friends and teammates. No, it wasn't because I liked to expose myself -).
This new-found fame afforded me the attentions of several girls, some of
whom would openly flirt with me, and I was starting to get invited to the
parties that the "hip" kids went to. Though I never really "dated" in the
tenth grade, I frequently ran around town with a small group of kids, boys
and girls, and from time to time would find myself alone with some young
lovely, especially Robin. Robin was a flaming redhead, with cute red
freckles (which she hated). Her voice was the deepest of any girl I had
ever known, sounding much like a boy whose voice was in the process of
change. She was slightly tall for a girl, and since I was little on the
short side, she had me by about an inch. Ah, she truly was beautiful, and I
worshiped her. Better still, she seemed interested in me. She laughed at
all of my (pathetic) jokes and as I would steal glances at her during the
school day I would see her quickly casting her eyes away from me. I thinkwe
both had a crush on each other, me shy, her shy and ... after all a girl
just didn't make the first move in those days. I longed to ask her out, but
my low self esteem had me convinced she would say no and I would be
devastated. So I "hung" around her and she around me for quite some time
before thinks finally got cooking.
The first time was ... gosh, how shall I put it. Erie? The spring of my
sophomore year a group of us started hanging out late at night. After our
parents were asleep, we would sneak out of our houses, and meet at a local
cemetery. None of us old enough to drive, we would bike or walk separately,
and congregate there as a meeting place. For me, this was only about six
blocks. Some of the kids, including Robin had to get there from a mile away
or further. The police were pretty strict about curfews in those days
(unlike today) and so there was an extra element of risk. (Yeah, you're
right, It WOULD have been worse to have gotten caught by our parents).
I had played in this graveyard many nights, since seventh grade. There
would be games of kick the can, tag, etc. But as a group of mixed gender
adolescents gathered this spring the games ... ah, the games.
They started out innocently enough. Hide and Seek, Tag. Then there was a
little football. TACKLE football. CO-ED tackle football. Though the games
never got rough, we gave the ball to the girls as often as we could, and
would all pull her down in a gang, innocently "copping" a feel where we
could. The girls seemed to love it, squealing when we "accidentally"
touched, radiantly asking for more ... and more. I was hard half the tie
during those games, I suppose we all were. And Robin liked this game as
much as any, and when I would tackle her and out bodies were pressed
together, and I would look in her eyes ... was it my imagination, or was
she looking at me as longingly as my eyes searched her?
This became a Friday and Saturday night ritual as the weather warmed. And I
became more and more enchanted with this red-headed girl with the sexy
voice. When tired of football, we would lay about, moist from the effort, a
musky adolescent odor in the still night air. When I would go home those
nights I would remember the smell. And I would imagine Robin, laying in
bed, moist from the efforts. I would picture myself laying next to her,
smelling her ... touching her. I tried to envision what lay underneath her
clothes ... her damp panties. What color was her pubic hair, was it red? He
supple breasts against me as I felt her bush, warm, wet, inviting. Or of
her in the shower, the drops of water dancing on her inviting breasts. And
of course as I lay at night with these images my hand would do the work of
my imagination, leaving me with some relief, but more anticipation.
One night, after a round of football, the talk became randy. A deck of
cards was produced and strip poker was suggested. The girls all feigned
reluctance but they wanted to as much as we did. The game was a blur, I
could hardly keep my eyes off of Robin. There were six in the party that
night but my eyes were glued on Robin. She seemed fixated on me as well, or
maybe it was just because I was looking at her so much. I was hard before a
hand was dealt. I don't know how the long the game took. I don't remember
who was out first or second. When the other boys were stripped, they would
quickly lay on their stomaches, so as to hide their enormous erections. The
girls would jeer them about this but they brushed it off. The girls did
much the same thing as they were eliminated. Somehow the game got down to
just me and Robin left. She had her bra and panties, I was down to my
jockey shorts, which barely covered my you know what.
My penis rebelled against the fabric, trying to push its way out to Robin.
The elastic waistband was about a half inch from my belly, the tip of my
penis straining to get out, moist at the tip. I took deep breaths and sat
straight up, Indian style, rather than hiding it as the others did. It
seemed that all five were staring at my crotch, I didn't care. Somehow I
wanted to expose myself to Robin, to say "hear I am, take me" and this was
my way of doing it.
I lost the last hand. And with all eyes on me I reached down, and slowly,
sensuously, pulled down, and off my underpants. I though I detected a
shiver of excitement in Robin, and I felt pride through my blushing as I
sat there, exposed, for all to see. My member bobbed appreciatingly under
the gaze of the three girls and the boys laughed at my brazenness.
"Okay, that's enough. Let's get dressed and play again" one of the guys
suggested, finally. Silently I pulled up my jockeys. I almost "came" from
the touch of the cotton when it pressed back into my member under Robin's
watchful eyes. But the hour was late and the second game never commenced.
Not that night -).
When the nights festivities were done, we prepared to go our separate ways.
Robin and I were the last to start out. She had walked (about a mile) to
get there, and though she had done this before, tonight she expressed a
strange fear, and would I walk her home. YES!
I held her hand all the way. We talked about the night, the game. We
stopped at a small park that was along the way and found a secluded spot to
sit and rest.
With my arm around her we sat quietly, absorbing the moonlight and the
shadows that danced before us. She laid her head on my shoulder. I was in
heaven. I touched her neck with my hand, I smelled her. Ummmmmmmmm
She looked up at me ... and Michael ... sweet shy little Michael, got his
first kiss. Her soft lips and mine played sweet melody. It was almost too
much. I rolled against her on the bench, her body under mine, my hardness
against her, separated only by two layers of clothing. She felt it too. Her
breath was becoming labored, as was mine. The butterflies were there in the
pit of my stomach. Finally she broke off the kiss. I pressed my cheek
against hers and we straightened up. Her hand rested on my thigh.
"You have a beautiful penis", she whispered softly. I was a little taken
aback, but flattered.
"Thank you," it sounded so silly coming out of my throat. "I was a little
embarrassed. I was hoping to see you though ". Shit! Did I say that? What
an idiot.
"Maybe you still can ... but not tonight. It's getting cold" she replied.
It was more than I could hope for. I held her closer and now rested my hand
on her leg. Gingerly, I slid it up to her thigh.
She sighed, and tensed momentarily. Then she relaxed again, as if to say
"I'm ready for the next move". I inched my hand up another inch.
Almost immediately I felt her hand crawl further, to the inside of my own
thigh. I debated going further. She did say I could see her another time,
don't blow it tonight. Aw, but my body continued to betray me. I think I
almost shuddered, thinking about where her hand and mine were.
As if reading my mind, her hand resumed. She gently placed it directly on
my crotch, lightly touching my erection through my pants. Now it was my
turn to sigh. Next, she took her other hand and moved my hand from inside
her thigh to the center of her own crotch, inviting me further.
I needed no additional encouragement and began lightly stroking the front
of her slacks. A little bit at a time I applied more more and more pressure
until I felt her legs clamp my fist tightly. Even as she did this her own
hand was now kneading my throbbing dick through the light material. It was
fantastic. We both picked up the pace, and out breathing was starting to
become labored. Now my jeans were unsnapped, and I felt her soft hand
probing for my zipper. Matching her move I struggled with the button on her
slacks, but she stopped me with her free hand. For a moment I thought I had
misread her but she continued to touch me in that same glorious fashion. I
didn't press the issue. I relaxed my hand and sat as still as I could, but
my body was rocking with the motion of her hands. At last she had the
zipper down and again her hand went exploring, this time feeling me through
just my underwear. I knew I was real close ...
"Robin..." I whispered. I don't know what I was going to say and it didn't
matter, ignoring my stammering and accelerating the action below my waist.
In moments I heard myself gasp, as the warm wet goo filled my jockey
shorts. Panting like a dog I sat there, her hand still in my crotch, but
now resting, catching my breath. She was excited too as her own breathing
told me. Shortly, we both relaxed. I tried once more to open her own pants,
looking to return the favor, but again she softly admonished me, "No, not
tonight. But maybe next time".
This was perhaps the highlight of my youth. My first kiss, and my first
sexual effort on a more or less equal basis with a member of the opposite
sex. I felt so much like a man that night, as we sat arm in arm for another
thirty minutes, her head on my shoulder, her hand in my soaked crotch.
After a while we continued our journey, and I walked her to her back door.
Again she kissed me, even more passionately than the first time, it
seemed.
I practically skipped on home that night, and had one of the last wet
dreams of my youth reliving that event. And the promise of more to come.
And the next weekend would keep that promise. And I would see my first
naked girl. But you'll have to read chapter 5 to hear about that.
--
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