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Without even playing baseball but doing a lot of scoring, Kathleen matures five, young men with hands on sexual education.
Chapter 1 – Kathleen
Such a long time ago, I was trying to remember the first time I was with a woman sexually. I remembered four women, before I remembered my beloved version of Maureen O’Hara, the redheaded, voluptuous Kathleen. How I could forget her for even a second is beyond belief? Kathleen was unforgettable.
What made the first experience all so much more exciting was when I imagined her as my personal, private version of Maureen O’Hara. Back then, my first celebrity crush, that is, until I lost my mind over Sophia Loren, I loved Maureen O’Hara. I had such a crush on her, especially when she played Mary Kate Danaher opposite John Wayne in the Quiet Man. It’s funny, when she made that movie back in ’52, she was about the same age as Kathleen in ’68. Even though she reminded me a lot of Maureen O’Hara, Kathleen was a much younger and prettier version of her, and with a much better body.
The reason why I didn’t immediately remember her was because it was so long ago. Having just turned eighteen-years-old, a lifetime ago, it was when I was young, supercharged with testosterone, and at the time when, just before experiencing so many women, I was suddenly having so much sex. Yet, she was my first one. Maybe because she was older than me, nearly twice my age, which is why I didn’t think of her right away. Still, being that she was the best of the best and better than all the rest, I wouldn’t think that I’d forget my first love, but I did, albeit briefly.
“Kathleen. Where are you? Twinkle, twinkle, little star, I wonder where you are. Wherever you are, I love you.”
It was the late 60’s, when we met. A time of non-stop sex, plenty of drugs, and Rock ‘n’ Roll with group after group emerging from England, The Beetles, The Animals, The Kinks, The Who, and the Rolling Stones, and later Cream, Jethro Tull, Led Zeppelin, the Grateful Dead, and Pink Floyd, life was different then than it is today. Compared to instant access to the Internet, being bombarded with CNN special reports, and sexual enhancement drug commercials, life back then was simpler. A time of innocence, immediately lost after the Kennedy assassinations and continuing down a slippery slope with Viet Nam, we all watched the world unfold live on the news. The whole world watch the Beetles disembarking a plane from England to America. The whole world watched the race riots in Detroit and in the south. “The whole world is watching!” They yelled during the Viet Nam demonstrations.
Back then, into physical fitness because of my fitness guru, Jack LaLanne, and boxing, because of my idol, Muhammad Ali, I never took drugs. My only drug of choice was Colt 45 malt beer for a quick, cheap high. A prisoner to the demon, my alcohol consumption started back then. Forty years of drinking, no doubt, have blurred the memories that I should have today but don’t always have, ergo the reason why I didn’t immediately remember Kathleen, but I sure do remember her now.
I remember her tits. Big, round, and firm C cup breasts with big pink puffy, erect nipples, she had beautiful breasts. As if a cork pulled from a bottle, she had the kind of nipples that popped out of my mouth with a noise, when I finished sucking them. They were Playboy Playmate breasts and they were the first tits I had ever seen, touched, felt, and sucked.
“Do you like my tits, Freddie?” I remember her asking me.
Do I like her tits? Are you kidding me? I couldn’t believe she even asked me that. Duh? Do I like your tits? Ask me if I like getting drunk. Ask me if I like peeling rubber in my Dad’s 409 ’62 Chevy Impala, while racing a ’67 Mustang GTA. Ask me if I like any woman’s tits, especially one who is sitting in front of me topless, as she was then.
“Yes. I love your tits. You have beautiful tits, Kathleen,” I said taking her question, as my invitation to stare at her tits.
It took all the control I had not to call her Maureen, after my fantasy woman, Maureen O’Hara. Probably because she was so much older than me, she wasn’t shy like the other girls my age that I dated. God forbid I turned on the dome light at the drive-in movie in my feeble attempt to see what my hand was feeling, the shy girl would button her blouse and ask me to take her home.
“Sorry, I just dropped some popcorn and wanted to see where it landed. I didn’t want the butter to stain my Dad’s upholstery. I wasn’t trying to look at your bra, really, honest.”
“Pervert. You just wanted to see my bra. Take me home.”
“Okay, okay, I just wanted to see your bra is all. I admit it. What’s wrong with that?”
“Take me home. Now!”
At 32-years-old, Kathleen was old enough to be my really big sister or my aunt. She was different than any female that I had ever been with, not that I had been with many other women, since she was my first intimate, sexual relationship. Yet, when comparing her to all the other women who followed şişli escort her, they all paled in comparison to her. She wasn’t a girl, of course, she was a woman and, as a woman, she knew what she wanted and she wasn’t shy about getting it and taking it. Right now, she wanted me and I wanted her.
“Do you want to touch them?” She looked down at her breasts and cupped them, while running her fingers slowly across her nipples, before looking up at me.
“Do I want to touch them?”
“Yes, do you want to touch my tits?”
Do I want to touch your tits? Is that a rhetorical question? No, I’d rather just stand here and drool, while staring at them. Fuck yeah, of course I want to touch your tits. Are you kidding me? She didn’t have to ask me twice, which, she did, actually. My hands were all over her full C cup breasts.
“Easy,” she said with a laugh. “They’re attached to me.”
Her tits were the first tits that I not only saw up close but also were the first tits that I felt outside of a bra. They were so big and firm and felt so wonderful in my big hands. Her nipples were the first nipples that I fingered and sucked. She had hard, big nipples and I loved twirling my tongue around them, while nibbling on them, as I caressed her other tit with my other hand, while fingering her nipple.
“You’re staring at my pussy as if it’s the first one you’ve seen,” she said with a laugh.
Well, yeah…duh. Except for the pictures in men’s magazines and catching my mother and sister naked from a distance a few times, I’ve never seen a pussy this close and for this long.
“It is the first pussy I’ve ever seen,” staring at all that she was showing.
“Would you like a better look?”
“Yes,” I said.
She slouched down in her chair, while looking down at herself and spreading her legs wider. Then, pulling her pussy lips up and open with her fingers, she revealed all of her glistening internal loveliness to me, before looking up at me and smiling.
Good God. Am I dreaming? Devoid of modesty, so brazenly bold, she wasn’t like any woman I had ever known.
I remembered my friend Stephen telling me how he walked in on his older sister, when she just stepped out of the shower. Slow to cover herself, she was naked and he saw her tits and her bushy, brown pussy. Nearly every night, unless someone else had a better story to tell, we’d ask him to tell us the story again of how he walked in on his naked, older sister, so that we could masturbate over imagining seeing his sister naked, too. Every time he told us what happened and, every night, the story got better with Stephen’s embellishment of the details before, during, and after. Every time he told us the story and sometimes when he didn’t, we were just so horny that we’d masturbate to the new version of him seeing his older sister naked, while at home in the privacy of our small bathrooms or lying in the dark confines of our beds with the covers pulled over our naked bodies.
Kathleen’s pussy was the first pussy I had been invited to see. She had a bushy, red pussy. She was the first woman, who allowed me to touch her pussy, lick her pussy, and stick my cock in her pussy.
“Would you like to touch my pussy?”
Admittedly, I really liked this game of her asking me sexual questions that had obvious answers. If they tested me like this in school, I would have received a full, four year scholarship to Harvard University or to MIT, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
“Yes,” I said, now remembering being so nervous about how to touch her.
I reached my hand forward and she took it by the wrist and showed me where and how to touch her. She was so slippery wet and she gasped and closed her eyes, as soon as I fingered her. Then, after a few minutes, her eyes popped open like two, blue, bejeweled exclamation points.
“Would you like to taste me?”
I remember being afraid. I had never been that close to a pussy before and now she wanted me to taste her and to lick her pussy. Way better than the story that Stephen told us all about his naked sister, just then, I imagined telling my friends every sexy, sexual detail of what happened today, between Kathleen and I. With her asking me if I wanted to see and touch her tits, and to see, touch, and taste her pussy, I couldn’t wait to hear what she’d ask me next.
“I don’t believe you. You’re such a liar,” I imagined my friend Stephen’s voice in my mind, after telling him what happened with Kathleen today.
I had no choice but to taste her. It was my duty as a horny teenager to oblige a woman offering me sex. I had to lick her pussy. If I chickened out and didn’t lick her pussy, my friends would all be disappointed. I owed it to my friends to lick her pussy. It was my responsibility, as a horny, testosterone driven teenager, and my rite of passage that would take me from an innocent, young adult to a man.
Surely, if the shoe was on the other foot and they were offered to lick a pussy, they’d do it şişli escort bayan for me, so that they could tell me all about what a pussy tasted, felt, and smelled like later. Back then, a time before X-rated Internet videos, we all vicariously lived through the sexual experiences of our friends, so that we could go home and masturbate over what one or the other said to us later. Yet, it wasn’t one of my friends being offered to lick Kathleen’s pussy. It was me. I was the one chosen to carry the torch of erotic enlightenment and sexual development.
Without doubt, I’d be the first of my small group of friends, who ever licked a pussy. A sexually sophisticated man of the world, after having licked a pussy, I’d be a sexual God to my friends. They’d call me the pussy licker or the pussy eater. I’d be a legend and a hero, that is, until the day, when they’d licked their first pussy, after which we could talk about eating pussy like mature and worldly gentlemen over a beer, while watching the Red Sox lose another ballgame at Fenway Park.
I got on my knees and slowly, gradually, and gently moved my face near her full, red, furry covered opening. Glad that she didn’t smell like tuna or canned cat food, after all the jokes my friends made about not ever wanting to smell a pussy, never mind lick a pussy, she had a feint musky, albeit not unpleasant odor. Just as I gingerly stuck out my tongue, as if her pussy was soft gelatin, she grabbed a handful of my hair, pulled my face to her pussy and mashed it there, while she slowly turned and twisted my head.
“Lick me, Freddie. Lap up my pussy juices,” she said slouching further down in her chair, while opening her legs wider to accommodate my broad shoulders. “Stick your tongue in my hole, before licking the entire length of my pussy and before moving your tongue to my clit,” she said pulling up on her pussy with her fingers to open it more and to give her a better view of me licking her.
Still frightened by my first pussy licking experience, I pulled my face back enough to see what I was licking. I didn’t even know what the Hell a clit was. Putting her hands on each side of my head, she pulled me to her again. Unable to breathe, thinking that I was going to suffocate, but what a way to go, I was scared. I was nervous. I was excited. Then, I saw it.
That little shriveled thing must be her clit. To be honest, I thought she was deformed. I thought she had a little penis, but that wrinkled thing was her clit. Her clit was the first one I ever had one in my mouth. I wondered if I’d be considered gay sucking this miniature look-a-like penis. I wondered if all women had miniature penises or if just Kathleen had this unique deformity. I didn’t know. I had no idea. All I knew was, licking her pussy was as horrible as I thought it would be.
She let go of my head and I moved away and stood, while pulling out my handkerchief from my back pocket to wipe her from my face and blow my nose, all the while still staring at her exposed, wet pussy. As if I had just been slimed, I was covered with her pussy juice. Just as sexually excited as I was, she was as wet as I was hard. The scent and wetness of her was up my nose and, as if adorned by some ritual, sexual, sticky perfume her wetness covered my face.
“Show me your cock,” she said staring at the bulge in my pants. “I want to see that hard prick that makes that big bulge in your jeans,” she said, as if she was Edie Adams telling me to ‘take it off, take it all off.’
Damn! Much like my first dominatrix, later in life, she was so forceful and I liked how she took sexual control of me by ordering me to do, what I really wanted to do anyway. Sometimes, more fun to play the submissive role than the dominating one, it was a turn on having her demand what I had to do to satisfy her. All she needed was a whip and black, thigh high boots to play the role of my sexy mistress. Still, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and all that I was seeing, feeling, tasting, and smelling. With the sound of her feminine voice reverberating in my head, how can someone so sexy and so beautiful be such a slut? I couldn’t believe it, when she said it again.
“C’mon, show me your cock,” she said. “I want to see your prick. Please? Pretty please? Don’t be so shy, Freddie. Show me your prick. Let me see your cock.”
“Okay,” I said.
She didn’t have to ask me again for me to unzip my pants, even though she had asked me numerous times to show her my cock. I unzipped myself, reached my hand inside, pulled out my cock, and showed it to her. Actually, just the head of my cock was exposed to her, but I remember being so excited showing her my prick. Other than my mother and my sister, she was the first woman to see my cock.
Prior to her, when making out with a date in the park, or in my Dad’s car, or at the movies, I literally had to physically force a girl’s hand to my lap for her to touch my erect cock through my pants. Never did any girl touch my cock through my pants voluntarily escort şişli and never did any girl, who I forced her hand to touch my cock, leave her hand there. Never did any of the girls I dated ask or want to see my cock. All the girls I dated were nice girls, virgins, so they all said. Girls didn’t touch a man through his pants and ask to see his prick, back then, that is, unless they were whores or engaged to you.
She was the first woman to ask to see my cock, the first woman who saw my cock, the first woman to touch and stroke my cock, and the first woman to suck my cock. I remember she was sitting on her kitchen chair naked and I was standing in front of her. I was so excited. I was so nervous. I was so very hard and, when I put my cock back in my pants, she leaned forward, unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans and pulled them down to my ankles, along with my briefs. Nearly hitting her in her nose, my stiff prick bounced to life in front of her face. Only my doctor, a man, had seen my cock up close but, at the time, I wasn’t erect, when my doctor was examining me. I was flaccidly embarrassed. Now, obviously by my erection, I was excited.
In all the fantasies that I had, while jerking off in my bathroom and bedroom, this was so much better. Never could I have imagined anything such as this or such as her. She asked to see my prick. She wanted to see my cock. She pulled my pants down and was staring at dick with great interest. I couldn’t make a better woman than her or a better scenario than this, if I created it myself.
Her mouth was so close to my cock that I wished she’d take me in her mouth, while not believing that she would. Even though I was naive, it still took all the control I had not to wrap my hand around the back of her head, pull her forward, stick my erection in her mouth, and fuck her face. Only, that would be wrong. Even though she was naked and I was so exposed, I still figured she was a nice, wholesome woman. I was so naive. I thought I was the perverted one. What did I know?
“Do you mind?”
As if she asked me the question from a great distance, I remember her asking me that, while taking my prick in her hand, stroking me, and looking up at me with her big, blue eyes. Only, preoccupied with seeing her holding and stroking my prick, I thought I was stepping on her foot or was standing too close to her and invading her sense of space. I didn’t know she was asking me if she could take me in her mouth. For a woman who was so sexually aggressive, she was so polite.
She wanted to blow me. Kathleen wanted to suck my cock. Are you kidding me? The thought of a woman asking me to suck my cock, wanting to suck my cock, and sucking my cock was so foreign to me. The only time that I could wrap my brain around having my cock sucked was in my dreams or when I was fantasizing about getting a blowjob, while watching one of my Dad’s hidden porn movies, while masturbating.
Being with her naked was surreal, yet being with her naked was the really happening. Stuff like this never happens to me. I hadn’t even received a hand job from a girl, yet, and Kathleen wanted to blow me. Still a virgin, I was yet to have intercourse and, after seeing a naked woman, feeling her tits, and licking her pussy, here I was about have my cock sucked and get my first blowjob. Something I figured wouldn’t happen, until I was a Marine in the service or married and on my Honeymoon was about to happen right here and right now.
I’ll always remember that first feeling, when she took my stiff prick in her warm, wet mouth. I’ll never forget the sensation of her lips wrapped tightly around my long, thick member, as her tongue slowly swirled around the head of my hard cock. I’ll never forget the sight of her looking up at me with her big, blue eyes, while my hard, hairy cock was buried in her beautiful, full mouth. No one has ever made love to my prick in the way that Kathleen had. I remember her hand slowly and firmly stroking me at the base of my prick, while her other hand gently cupped and lightly massaged my balls. So much better than I thought a blowjob would feel, her blowjob was like nothing I ever could have imagined.
I remember reaching down to cup her tits and finger her nipples, while she worked her oral magic on my cock. As soon as I touched, felt, and fondled her breasts, as soon as I fingered her nipples, while my cock was buried in her mouth, my sexual excitement increased exponentially. Playing with her breasts, while fingering her nipples, was so much more exciting, especially with her looking up at me with her baby blues and seeing my cock in her mouth. So willing and so wanting, the sight of my stiff prick in her mouth, along with the cock sucking sounds she made resonated in my mind for years.
For years later, the imagined sound and sight of seeing her and watching her, with my cock buried in her mouth, is what I thought of, whenever horny and alone with my bad self and with my cock in my hand. With the memory of this first blowjob indelibly imbedded in my brain, I spent years masturbating over my very own personal version of Maureen O’Hara, albeit better than that, Kathleen, sucking my cock. After this, after being blown by Kathleen, never could I watch another Maureen O’Hara movie without getting an erection, without thinking of Maureen O’Hara blowing me, and without thinking of Kathleen.
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