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Stimulating Stories About First Time Sex
A Compilation of Literate Erotica
Latter Day Dalliance
by Harry Merkin
These
short stories are
works of fiction. Names,
characters, places and
incidents either are the
product of the author’s
vivid imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual
human beings, living or
dead, business
enterprises, events or
locales is entirely
coincidental.
"Harry, you have to enroll in Literature of the American West."
"Erik,
this is my senior year. Why would I want to to take a Lit class with
tons of reading and who knows how many papers to write?"
"Harry, I'll answer with just two words, pussy galore."
"Like in the 007 movie?"
"No.
No. No. Just imagine being one of three guys in a room full of
freshman and sophomore girls; really wholesome, fresh-off-the-farm,
gorgeous girls."
"Are you serious?"
"They will fill my wet dreams all semester long and I hope to fuck several of them."
"Show me the syllabus and the reading list."
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"Harry, I liked what you said in class today. You really understand this book."
"Bess, for me, all literature begins with Homer and I look for some of his themes and plots to be present in every great book."
"Gosh, you're right. Could I ask you about this week's book?"
"Sure, but I'm starving and was about to run and get a hamburger."
"Harry,
you know that's not good for you. I started the slow cooker in my room this
morning and I bet the stew is ready. I'd be happy to share it with you."
"You're
right. I really should stop eating fast food, but you know, it is fast
and it is convenient. My cooking skills are minimal, so my
options are limited to hard cooked eggs or preparing the fish I catch.
You don't mind sharing?"
"Of course not, don't be silly. Follow me."
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"This is so delicious. How often do you do this?"
"Actually, this is my first time."
"No way. This can't be the first time you use the slow cooker."
"Oh, I thought you were asking me if this was the first time I ask a boy to come to my room."
"Bess, I would never ask you something that personal."
"I'm sorry, its just that I'm feeling self-conscious about this. I half expect my parents to open the door at any moment."
"Are you expecting them?"
"No."
"Do they live nearby?"
"No ... I had a very strict, religious upbringing. My family would not approve of this."
"Was I making you uncomfortable?"
"Gosh no. I like you and I like talking to you."
"I like being with you too. You are funny and articulate ... please don't blush, that was a sincere compliment."
"I blushed because I've been having impure thoughts. My dad would call them wicked thoughts."
"What do you mean?"
"While watching you eat, I've been wondering how your lips would feel if we were kissing."
"Really, now you'll make me uncomfortable. I thought I was eating like a pig. I've been accused of that on several occasions."
"No, Harry, I have spent many hours watching pigs and you were definitely not eating like a pig."
"For hours? Really? Are pigs that interesting or entertaining?"
"Oh
yes. They
are very intelligent. They are amazing animals. They have been my best
confidants. They are such good listeners. They grunt and sigh and squeal
at just the right moments. They understand. They really understand. You
can see into their souls by looking into their eyes."
"Wow, I've just thought of them as potential ham and bacon. Please tell me more about them."
"I don't want to bore you."
"Bess, I have the feeling you are a very good storyteller. Please tell me about pigs and why you like them so much."
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We progressed from the porcine to the personal to the very personal over the next three hours. Her manner was familiar, affectionate,
and I reciprocated. She touched my hands and arms to emphasize a point.
I could not help but hold her hands as she told me of the favorite pets
she had lost. She mouthed, "Thank you," when I wiped away her tears as
she told me of her beloved dog born two days before her own birth. She
brought a paper napkin up to my mouth and deftly wiped off some gravy as
though I were her baby brother. She came from a large and happy family
and missed them. She sensed in a most acute manner being physically
disconnected from that closeness.
She longed for the slow and lingering touches that connected them and
bound them and embraced them and, above all, defined them. I felt like
an intruder in her world, and said so at the times when her narrative
slowed or stopped as she became wistful.
Bess seduced me with her vivid
description of her home and family and farm. She wove a bucolic idyll
with deceptively simple words to introduce me to her simple world.
"Before you leave, Harry, could we try something?"
"Are you still having wicked thoughts?"
"Maybe."
"Nothing
we do tonight could possibly be wicked. I want to spend more time with
you. I want for us to be friends, close friends. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that possibility."
"Me neither. Please kiss me."
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(almost two hours later)
"I don't want you to leave."
"Bess, you have no idea how much I want to spend the rest of the night with you, but I don't want to take advantage of you."
"Let's just sleep together. No sex. No fooling around. I want to know if you snore."
"And what if I snore?"
"Then
I'll poke you in the ribs to make you stop and cross you off the list.
My mom has often told us she wishes she had slept with my dad before
they were married. She would not have tied the knot if she had known
about his loud-as-a-locomotive snoring."
"I sure hope I don't snore."
"Me too. I like how you kiss. I'll turn off the lights so we can undress."
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(Saturday morning)
"Isn't it too warm for long underwear?"
"Oh my God, I thought you were still asleep."
"Do you want me to close my eyes?"
"No, it's too late. Now you know my secret."
"I've never seen a girl wear industrial underwear."
"I'm a Mormon, Harry."
"What does religion have to do with your underwear?"
"This is holy underwear for Mormons. It protects me."
"My underwear sometimes has holes in it but I wouldn't say it offers any protection."
"Mine is h-o-l-y, yours might be h-o-l-e-y."
"Oh. Okay. Are those truncated long johns comfortable?"
"They are more embarrassing than comfortable, but I'm used to them. I often wish I could wear something pretty instead."
"Don't get mad, but now I'm the one having a wicked thought. I would like to see you wear normal, even sexy, underwear."
"Why?"
"Can you guess why?"
"Yes, but I want to hear you say it."
"You
are beautiful. I'm attracted to your mind, your body, and especially
your lips. Seeing you dressed like a lumberjack going to the outhouse kills any thoughts
of romance."
"You get an 'A' for those three sentences. For you, yes, I'll wear pretty underwear." (she moved quickly away from the window)
"Why did you jump away from the window?"
"I didn't want to be struck by lightning."
We
laughed and I peeled back the sheet and got out of bed. She eyed me
intently, especially my bulging crotch. I told her about "morning wood."
I went to her, took her hand,
kissed it,
and asked if I could have this dance. Her, "Yes," came with a huge
smile. She
began to hum a waltz and moved with the grace of a ballerina while
we orbited around her room. We narrowed
our embrace when she stopped humming. We kissed and our tongues resumed
the moves she had learned last night. My penis, barely restrained by my
underwear, filled the narrow space between her labia and I slowly moved
it up and down by flexing my knees. As her guttural sounds intensified,
I broke our
embrace, knelt, and kissed her gently above the waistband. She did not
resist when I pulled down her underpants by an inch and again gave her a
line of kisses. I then brought them down by less than an inch and after
three kisses, she said, "You're taking too long, Harry, just pull them
down all the way!" She stepped out of her underpants and I now kissed
her upper thighs; the
left, then the right. I placed my lips on her labia and inserted my
tongue. I flicked it in and out through the length of that tasty valley,
especially
around the nubbin. I then sucked and licked around the opening to her
vagina. She soon convulsed and shot warm fluid into my mouth and on my
chin. She fell back onto the chair, recovered, and eventually tousled
my hair playfully. She said, "I've been struck by lightning." (caught
her breath) "I'm on fire." (laughed and cried) "I have never felt so
much
pleasure." I carried her to the bed. She finished undressing, and helped
me remove my underwear. She explored my body and then we cuddled for a
long time.
"I like your sort of electricity. I'm still tingly all over."
"Me too, Bess. I think I need a cold shower."
"Me too. I am still warm and wet between my legs."
"May I lick you clean?"
"You may do anything you want. Your tongue is amazing."
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(Saturday late morning)
"Let's go have breakfast and if you agree, I'll buy you a couple pairs of nice unmentionables."
"We should first put on some clothes."
"You're so practical."
"Farm girls tend to be practical. Especially the good ones."
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(late Saturday evening)
"Harry, do you want me to model a bra and panty set?"
"Could you model the three of them?"
"You
are so wicked; so delightfully wicked. Because I won't be wearing my usual
protection, did you bring the other protection we talked about?"
"Why don't you feel in my pant's pocket for some foil packets?"
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The End
Harry Merkin (a nom de guerre)
is a dick-brain who is more
articulate than an arthropod
and has many ways with words.
He tries desperately not to
write like Edward
Bulwer-Lytton, but often
fails.
NOTES
A. This short story is a fabrication.
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