“Why, Jimbo,” she came back. “I don’t know what to say. You really like my pussy?”
I had always known Cynth as a bit wild, and here she was naked on her bed. But hearing her actually speak the words, “My Pussy,” for some reason damn near sent me over the edge. I had never even heard a girl say that word before, much less smile at me as she did.
Cynth cleared her throat and scooted a bit. “I think you better get your shot while you can. You look like you’re going to pass out there, Jimbo.”
It took a few moments to get the camera positioned. I wanted to get it just right, with an angle off to the side and looking down. I took my time, I did. And it was almost with a sigh of regret that I snapped the shutter. The last picture was taken, the roll spent. Instantly, I flipped the rewind switch and turned the crank to roll up the film, wanting to make sure it would be safe. Then, with that important detail accomplished, I looked up to find that she was still positioned exactly as she was posed when I had snapped the picture.
“That was the last shot,” I said. “I got it.” I’ll get these over to the darkroom, and when my dad goes to lunch, I’ll develop the negatives.” I sensed something about her in the way she looked back at me. Don’t worry, Cynth, you’ll get the negatives.” I had to stand back and take her in. “God, you are beautiful.”
She sat up a bit, her chin almost on her chest. “I’m not worried about the negatives. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. But I want you to come here.”
“What?” I said as a reflex, though I’d heard her all too well. I believe I remember touching my finger to my chest. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” she came back. “It’s your turn to do what I say. You take those shorts off. You’re not going to leave me like this. God, you’ve lit a fire in me, and you’re not going to get out of here until I’ve had my look, too.”
I stepped up, still with the camera in one hand. She sat up and snatched my shorts and underwear down in one pull. I was so stiff; it just seemed to stand away. But I stood there, letting her look, once again feeling I was in some kind of hazy dream. And then I saw her raise her hand and felt her touch me.
“Get on the bed and kiss me,” she said. “I’ve done just what you wanted all afternoon, and now you’re going to do what I say.” She didn’t even wait for me to comply, but grabbed my hand and pulled me down.
I remember her pulling my shirt off, but I don’t remember taking off my shoes. I do remember being on top of her, naked, her skin wet with sweat against mine. I remember her lips, her breasts, those nipples, how I craved them and exactly how each one felt in my mouth. And those lips of hers, down low, I touched them. She let me slide my fingers in, all the while kissing me and stroking me. And I remember my excitement taking over, so quickly, and my coming, losing control, even as I was trying to enter her. But it didn’t seem to matter. Moments later, still panting and my face on fire, she kissed me and then held me to her. I was shaking, absolutely shaking, when Cynth moved and rolled me over, leaning over me on one elbow and looking down at me. That smile, she wasn’t the least bit upset, in fact she looked pleased even sweetly flattered.
“Slower,” she said. “Go slower, Jimbo. Let the excitement build.”
I’d just come a few moments ago. I’m sure it was still between her legs. I know I was wet, and yet, not really even softening; and here she was, so beautiful, that green fire in her eyes and telling me to, “Go slower.” Slower! As if such a thing was even possible? God, she was so beautiful. The telltale stirrings of another erection were already beginning to rise.
She kissed me, long and slow, her lips moving across mine to the point I couldn’t think of anything else. Then she leaned back and looked into my eyes. “Now you do the same for me. Kiss me. Kiss me like I just kissed you.”
The way she leaned over me, the stiff tips of her nipples were teasing me, grazing lightly across my chest whenever she moved. I flashed my eyes down. I just had to see, and in seeing her breasts, with those incredible, pink nipples tickling my skin, I felt the flush come over me as wildly as it had before.
She laughed, just a little softly disarming sound of amusement with my all to apparent pleasure. “I can see we’re going to have to take this in steps. Just lay back and do what I tell you.”
She moved her elbow out and lay down with her head in the crook of my arm, snuggling in until the full front of her body was pressed against me. I could feel her pussy on my hip, and yes, the wetness, my wetness was there.
“Now kiss me,” she said. “It’s your turn to do just as I say.”
I kissed her, just leaning my head forward until our lips touched. She wouldn’t let me press hard, somehow managing to help me control my passion through the subtleties of her touch. Littlebylittle, we moved into a rhythm, the build up of it, the tension, the slow way she opened her lips and moved her tongue; she was inviting me and yet holding me at bay with the alluring promise of passion to come. Through her taste on my tongue, the smell of her breath, and the pounding pulse of the heat coursing through our young bodies, we kept ourselves pressed together, and I became as hard as I had ever known. Deep down every fiber of me was charged, stiff and standing erect. And she knew, that girl knew. Her eyes were closed, as were mine, and her hand came over to touch me, lightly, gently; but still I shivered with her initial contact with my erection as if a bolt had passed through my body.
“Good,” she whispered, momentarily drawing away her lips. “Be still. It’s my turn. Lay back. Let me touch you.”
She was so gentle, yet so insistent, just grazing and glancing along the tip of my swollen penis with the tips of her fingers, then brushing her way down and up again, moving along the sides and the curve of my arching shaft using her palm and even the softness of the back of her hand. All the while she kept me sane through the touch of our lips, knowing when and how to draw my consciousness back and forth between the touch of her fingers on my erection, and the play of her lips with mine. It was maddening, yet so absolutely fulfilling. Caught up in it, like a dream that just goes on and on, I brought my own hand over and cupped her left breast, tracing my thumb across her nipple, thrilled to find she was every bit as stiff as I.
Cynth pulled back from our kiss, letting her tongue linger for a moment, then opening her eyes. “That’s right, Jim,” she breathed. “Touch me. Touch me as I touch you.”
She pursed her fingers together, just tracing them ever so lightly around the very edge of my swollen crown. And I did the same, taking her nipple gently but firmly between the press of my fingertips and caressing it just around the edges at the tip. In response she arched her back, pushing her mound even more tightly against me, and at that letting slip with a soft, little moan. Driven by that sound, I was so completely focused on her, her body, the nipple in my fingers, the crush of her pussy so tight against my leg. It was the unconscious heat in that moan which caused an instinctual shift in the object of my desire. I wanted her, but mostly I wanted Cynth to enjoy me. And now I did kiss her. I kissed her exactly as she had kissed me, dragging my lips over hers, teasing her with my tongue and letting her taste my breath as she breathed me in.
Even today in my memory’s imagination I can see us, feel us, smell us. Every sense was so alive. We were on her bed, on Cynth’s bed, lying, pressed together, amid the folds and creases of those rumpled and sweatsoaked sheets. The ceiling fan overhead was circling lazily above, as at times, with us unaware, the curtain’s lacy edges fluttered with the breath of a breeze. Our sweat so sticky sweet, yet slick between the press of our bodies, the heat all around, pouring out with each gasp for breath and with each kiss renewed. I released the touch of her nipple and let my hand trace down, down along her stomach, down past her naval to where her skin shivered to my touch and where her softest curls were snuggled against my hip.
Cynth moved back, peeling herself away. She was wet, so wet, wet with so much more than sweat. A new aroma came into my awareness, the rich and salty musk of my come, which had stayed pressed between her legs all the while we fondled and kissed. Instinctually, following the heat, I let my fingers slide down and in between her legs.
This was all so different than any of the wild encounters I had previously known in the back seats of cars or in a borrowed bedroom during a party. The fumbling, the fright, it had been replaced with what she was teaching me about the appreciation of slow and careful attention to every detail. Cynth had opened her legs to me. How she had posed up on the dresser and shifted her hips towards me so I could see what she held between her legs had been a promise, and this was the essence of that promise fulfilled. Cynth was letting me touch her as I had never touched any girl before.
Taking my time, enjoying it, enjoying her enjoying me, I’d drew my fingers lightly around the edges to either side of her vagina, along where her opened lips grazed her thighs, sliding between the sweated creases where her curls touched her legs. Then slowly, haltingly, as much for my pleasure as hers, I’d run my fingertips, like the glance of a feather, up the very center where her folds were soaking wet. Up and then down, I, as much as she reveling in the shivers caused by so gently sliding just the very tips of my fingers over the stiffness below the silky hood enfolding her clitoris.
All the while she kept her own fingers to my erection, hypnotically stroking me, then momentarily gripping, and sometimes letting her hand fall completely down to cup and caress my balls. The passion, it became something which had grown between us, a physical expression of what Cynth had been thinking as she’d openly exposed her body to both me and my camera, and of how I had hungered to have her while feasting upon her body with my eyes.
I finally slipped my finger within her vagina and began to probe her as deeply as I could. Curling my finger up to rub and press against the most intimate recesses of her pubic bone seemed to drive her wild. I could feel Cynth’s pleasure of it with each new clench of her muscles and ensuing gush of wetness. She was so wet up inside, so hot, and tight, tight around my finger. Testing her, I began sliding in and out, stroking her back and forth, imagining it wasn’t my finger but my erection, the one she held in her hand. And I knew it when we’d both gone to far and again we were nearing a frenzy. We couldn’t seem to touch, to kiss, to probe, to squeeze, to stroke one another deeply enough.
Drenched in sweat, I remember being sodden from head to toe, and I do remember her taste, her smell. The aroma of Cynthia that afternoon will always be with me. It was passion and love, fire and water, caressing and groping for anything more; we just seemed to tumble and tumble until the covers were completely torn from the bed. Cynthia cried out, coming first, shaking and shivering with me following and losing my control, too. It was all so intense, just bursting out of me in deep, long and deliciously drenching gouts which shook me down to my very core.
Her face, I can see her clearly every time I wake from the memory, whether it’s day or night. Cynth’s eyes were wild, her cheeks and throat flushed a crimson red. With her free hand she held my finger within her, not daring to risk my letting her go. Her legs spread, insistently she clasped the flat of my hand, pressing it to her pussy, grinding her clitoris against my palm. And with her other hand she gripped me, cupping the head of my erection and gathering in every warm jet and pulse. Inside her I could feel her own innermost throbs, the muscles of Cynth’s vagina contracting and gripping with every pulse of her orgasm. And too, I know she could feel me, through every long, deep and delicious rise and fall. I know I fed off of her, coming and coming, caught up in an explosive chain reaction of release unlike anything I had ever known.
It took us both a while to even begin to get our breathing back. Remembering it, even now, always gives me a flush and causes an uncontrollable smile to edge my lips. Over the years, while riding in a plane, just daydreaming or feigning attention during some boring meeting, I wonder how many people have witnessed that glazed look in my eyes, that tracing of a grin, never having a clue as to what scene is actually playing in my mind? Again and again, until it’s become a cherished secret, I’ve fallen upon the memory of what we did with each other, touching each other as we did. And all the while the memory is made even that much more sweeter in knowing it was something we had caused within in each other, and that surely Cynthia has to remember it as vividly and as often as I.
Shaken, drenched, her bed in ruins, all we found was a brief respite. Such is youth. Even after an orgasm such as what we had just experienced, all I could find in my mind was the desire to be inside her. I’m sure she felt the same as I. No sooner had we begun to kiss, lightly at first, but with a quickly mounting passion, than we again found our hands upon each other’s body. It’s a dream, a haze of vignettes forming my complete recollection, but I had become hard again, not as quickly as before, but with a decidedly equal strength and vigor. I was on top of her. Cynth had opened her legs, drawing in her feet and raising up her knees in anticipation.
Before, after I had first come, she had told me to go slowly. But we were beyond any of that now. It was so natural, yet so wildly astounding to feel myself slide within. The knowledge of it, the awareness, the irrevocable change to my life in that one simple move was a moment of moments. I was over her, my back arched, my elbows locked. We both had our eyes wide open. Looking into to her I pressed myself down, not pumping wildly, but holding myself within. And she smiled. She smiled that Cynth smile, and reached her arms up around my shoulders, clasping her fingers behind my neck, and with her pussy she gave me the most delicious and wonderful squeeze.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, Jim.”
That was everything to me, that simple and beautiful expression of acquiescence, “Yes, Jim.” If I hadn’t loved her before I certainly did right then. There was Cynth, the girl next door; she was looking up at me, smiling, her eyes full of that fire. I could see her face, her throat, her body, her breasts, the nipples I had been fondling just moments ago. How a day like this could come about I would never know, but nothing would ever, ever be the same.
No more words were necessary. I let go with my elbows, settling down atop her, with Cynth kissing me even before I could kiss her. It must have been the spending of the previous passion, but I found the clarity to make love to her for what seemed the longest time. We stayed together, her thighs around my hips, her breasts against my chest, the both of us moving in concerted unison so that we could best experience the intimacy shared in every penetrating stroke of my erection. Finally though, I pressed in and held myself, just feeling her and knowing she too, was feeling me. I was so deep and she was so warm and wet. Then I withdrew, only to enjoy the sensation when I reentered her, and began boldly stroking, working up our passion until her legs and feet were stretched up and out.
She was there, her voice wild and frantic. “I’m coming. Jim!” Her body tensed, her fingers so tight against my shoulders.
Hearing my own name, her eyes, her body, I cascaded down into a fit of pleasure, which just flooded out of me and into her. I’m sure I cried out, too. It had to be. But everything after that was and will always remain a wildly dizzying haze. I’m sure if I had been older my heart would never have survived. I just came and came, shuddering in wave after wave. Then, little by little, I seemed to come out of it. I was lying atop her, and Cynth’s arms were still wrapped around my back. When I moved, she nuzzled her face into my neck obviously not wanting to let me go. Finally though, she released her hold on me and let me slide off to her side.
After that, as young and as impassioned as we were, we found a quiet time of soft and innocent sensuality as Cynthia lay naked in my arms, her body against mine, and her lips pressed against my neck.
It was she who heard the car door slam. I know it was her because she sat bolt upright. “Jimmy!” She stared right at me. “You’ve got to go!”
Like a fire drill I was up, not even sure when I had my shorts on if they were inside out. I gathered up my shirt and stuffed it in the camera bag. In a panic I heard her mom’s voice downstairs.
“Cynthia, I’m home, honey!”
Cynth was getting dressed, too, pulling on a dress she’d grabbed from a dresser drawer. “You can go out the window,” she said. “Take your camera bag. I’ll get the tripod to you tomorrow.”
I think I jumped over the bed, because with the thump of my feet, her mother’s voice called out: “Everything all right up there?”
“Yeah, Mom!” Cynthia called out. “I was just taking a nap. I dropped something. Be down in a sec!”
I stepped out onto the roof wearing only my pair of shorts, my shoes in one hand, my camera bag in the other.
“There’s a lattice work around the back,” she said pointing. “Just be careful going over and climb down.” She held a finger to her lips. “Don’t make too much noise.”
It struck me. I suddenly wondered how many times she had sent her boyfriend packing like this. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I made it, and two days later while my dad was out to lunch, I lived that thrill all over again as I saw those images appear in the darkroom tray, one by one. Hanging the prints up to dry, and walking along and reliving it all step by step had my heart to pounding almost as it had up in her room.
There she was in that yellow dress with the blue flowers up on her porch. I could look at each print in order and see the progression, which had led us up to her bed. She was laying near the flowerbed, smiling up at me, having unbuttoned that extra button, and the tops of her breasts were open to the camera’s view. And in her room, wearing that blue nightie, brushing her hair before the mirror. I was right, the photograph of Cynth framed in the window, the light had washed in behind her body exposing the tuft between her legs and causing her little nightie to all but disappear. But it was the one of Cynth naked and sitting on her dresser, which captivated me. I’d been so nervous at the time it had been impossible to truly appreciate the view. She was looking off, her hair on her shoulders and her arms behind her back. She had her knees held together, framing the pubic hair exposed between her legs, at the point where her thighs came together. And there was something so intrinsically feminine about Cynth’s breasts with those firm nipples, even if the image I was looking at was in black and white. Her left breast was seen from the front, and yet also, reflected back in the mirror. Again letting my eyes follow the plump curves along the base and side brought to mind the feel of her breast when we had been on her bed and I had, at last, I held her cupped in my hand.
The shot of Cynth on the bed, lying there naked was a key to releasing the memory of how we had made love. I could see so many images, which weren’t captured in the photograph, but were captured in my mind. How she had opened her legs so wide for me when I had asked her to, how she had pulled my shorts down and first touched me, how she had kissed me and how I had kissed her, and how it had felt to be buried so deeply inside her, all of these memories were there, but only for me to see.