Richard Sharon - Diary of a Lover

For lack of any part of life to really touch, I began trying to take an interest in school activities. It was a lost cause; I was beyond it, and I could never go back. I just couldn't generate any interest in football rallies or proms, or wondering if so-and-so "put out." I suppose I was regarded as an oddball. I had few friends, outside of Herb, Ed, Gary, and a few other guys who were musicians. They seemed to fit better into the school social structure than I did. Ed even served on a student committee.

Girls always looked at me differently from the other boys, and I knew they were curious about me, probably because I dressed like a man Instead of a kid. At the beginning of the semester a couple of new students even stopped me to ask directions, thinking that I was a member of the faculty.

It wasn't that I was unfriendly; I would always wave and smile at people. But still, when I passed a group of girls in the hall (teen-age girls always seem to travel in groups) I would get the unmistakable feeling that they were talking about me, making comments after I had passed, and it wasn't paranoia.

Finally I decided, what the hell, I would try it with the schoolgirls. One girl in particular attracted me. Her name was Faye, and she sat next to me in Spanish class. Out of desperation I asked her what she was doing on Wednesday night. She said her parents didn't let her out on weeknights, but she was free on Friday, so we made a date.

I should have known when she said she couldn't go out weeknights that it was bad news, but she was terrifically cute, about five feet tall and beautifully built. My X-ray mind had surveyed her naked body through her plaid skirt and cashmere sweater. She had short, black hair, framing a delicate face, and thick, sensual lips that looked like they would be exquisite to kiss, or to have suck me.

I took her to the Jazz House, a famous West Coast jazz emporium (I was to play there the following year). They had a section for minors in which no alcoholic beverages were served and they gouged you four bits for a Coke, with a minimum of two Cokes per person per set. I really impressed the hell out of her. First, I had my own car. Second, I took her to a real grown-up place, and, most important, I knew the doorman and he knew me. When I waved hello to the owner, one of two brothers, I thought Faye would go into orbit.

"Hiya, kid," he yelled over the crowd.

"Hiya, George," I yelled back.

Faye squeezed my arm and shivered with excitement.

When we left the club she asked me if we were going to park somewhere. The question surprised me.

"If you want to, we will," I answered, throwing it back to her.

"Well," she said, "it's okay, I guess, if we park a little while, but I don't pet or anything."

I held back a smile.

"Pet?" I knew very well what it meant.

"Yes, you know, touching around and stuff like that. I went with Steve Shapiro for six months. We were going steady, so I let him pet a little, but I'd never think of doing it on the first date."

Poor bastard, I thought. He takes her out for six months and all he gets is a feel of cashmere-covered tit, and he was probably happy to get that.

I decided then that I was going to seduce Faye. I had never really seduced a girl before and, remembering Betty, wasn't sure that I could. Every time I had made love it was done with mutual consent. Screwing a girl who goes in thinking she's just going to get kissed a little was entirely different. I drove to the Marina Greens, a large area facing the Bay that was used by kids as a make-out spot, and parked. The fog had come in and there wasn't much we could see, just the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge sticking through the grayish murk, with their red lights rotating slowly.

I killed the engine and looked at Faye, sitting across the seat. Her expression, a kind of weak smile, left no doubt that she was apprehensive with me and was probably having second thoughts about asking me if I wanted to park.

After some wild urging, she snuggled hi my arms. I decided to cool it awhile and let her get comfortable. Meanwhile my cock had grown hard, and had caught the wrong way in my pants. It was killing me, but I didn't want to squirm around and get her uptight again. We lay there and talked, but as we talked I caressed her back and stroked her hair almost absently. I felt the back of her bra through her sweater. It had a wide strap, a good indication that she was carrying a fairly heavy load up front.

After about fifteen minutes I had her somnolent, so I figured that I had better do something before she fell asleep on me.

Teen-age girls are used to being kissed directly on the lips by fumbling, eager boys. The way we were laying, my lips were on her forehead, so I began to kiss it and her hair. I could feel the small bumps where expensive medication had smoothed out the pimples. Stroking her back, I kissed her cheeks and nose. She was still relaxed and her eyes were closed, a good sign. I slipped a forefinger under her chin and lifted her face to mine. Her eyes stayed closed, and I wondered if I had hypnotized her. I kissed her lips lightly and slowly, as I had kissed her cheeks, not really kissing. Then she parted her lips and began to kiss me back, trying to use the "Hollywood special," as I had done, seemingly centuries before. I pulled back my head slightly so that she couldn't do it, took just her lower lip between mine, and sucked in on it gently. She shivered slightly and her arms, still around me, began to caress my back. I moved one hand to her cheek, and stroked her face and hair as I kissed her. Frenching, or soul kissing, was a big thing to schoolgirls, almost the equivalent of letting a guy feel your tits, so I didn't attempt it directly.

I kept at her lips, gently, softly, slowly. And as her breath came harder and her passion stirred, it was she who increased the pressure of the kiss, she who held me more tightly, moving her hands on my back. Our lips were open and I put my tongue into her mouth slowly, touching hers for just a second, as if by accident, then withdrawing it, then again, and again, each tune a little longer. She was breathing quite hard,.so I ran my, tongue around the inside of her upper Up and she moaned softly into my mouth for the first time.

My cock was still caught in the crotch of my pants, and I thought it was going to be cut in half at any second, but I dared not move. Teen-age virgins are paranoid about their breasts being touched, so I avoided moving my hands around to the front, for fear of instantly ruining the whole thing. I remembered from Betty how abruptly a girl consumed with passion and a throbbing clitoris could stop, if she really wanted to. My object was to get Faye past the point of no return, to get her so hot she wouldn't-have the will to stop, no matter what I did, and I didn't want to fuck it up by touching her breast.

I shifted myself slightly, bringing my right leg up next to hers, which was on the edge of the seat. We had slid down until we were lying almost flat. Shifting weight again, I rolled my right leg under hers; so that it was now between her legs and she was lying almost full on top of me. Then I concentrated on kissing her again, sucking her tongue into my mouth, in and out. She was holding me tightly and panting hotly.

I raised my right leg slowly until I could feel light contact with her crotch through her skirt. She didn't seem to notice. After all, there's no rule that says you have to use your hands when you're going after a girl's cunt. Inexperienced girls, while they may be very wary of wandering hands, can be turned on by a leg or a knee, or even an elbow, and not know afterward how it happened. I raised my leg once more and fitted it tightly into her crotch. I stroked her back, her arms, and the back of her head with more pressure, pushing her body closer into mine. Then, ever so slightly at first, I began to raise and lower my right leg, almost imperceptibly, increasing and decreasing the pressure on her cunt.