R Finch - No longer virgin

"Well, I like you, too," Wendy giggled, did indeed like him. She often thought of him as a stork, the way he stood around self-consciously when she was with Alan at the locker, the two of them giggling and hugging each other. And his appearance no doubt inclined others to think of him in the same way, but at least he was a stork Wendy felt that she could talk to. "Are you doing anything special for lunch?"

He merely looked at her, uncomprehending. Finally, he asked, "What about Alan?"

She managed a laugh, was surprised at how little effort it took. "What about him?"

"Well, you're his girl."

"Don't worry yourself about that," Wendy smiled, thought of what Alan and Lucinda were doing at right this moment, cringed inside, outwardly was calm.

"Where did you want to go for lunch?" George asked.

Wendy could tell he was really nervous, that he might actually bolt from her any second. She didn't want to scare him off, but neither could she afford to waste any time.

"Somewhere we can be alone," she suggested quietly, was not really sure how to handle it from this point on.

"Well – uh – I don't know…"

It had to be today, Wendy knew, right now. She glanced both ways down the hall, made certain it was empty. She boldly took George's hand in her own, met with no resistance, guided it to her firm breast. She felt the rubbery point of her nipple under her blouse harden slightly. She smiled at George again. He was shaking.

"Do you know anywhere quiet?" she asked him.

"In the school?" he stammered incredulously.

"Why not?"

He jumped slightly, looked around edgily. "T-There's no one in the Auto Shop classroom tight now," he whispered.

"That doesn't sound very comfortable."

"Uh, Larry Drewitt's '57 Chevy is sitting in there. It's been there for weeks. They're doing something to the engine."

"That sounds better," she smiled.

"Wendy, I don't know…" George said nervously from the dusty back seat of the old Chevrolet. Wendy sat almost on top of him, wedged between him and the door, her back against the arm rest, her slender legs thrown over his lap. He had only to glance down, and he would see all the way up her bare, brown thighs. He didn't, though.

"Oh, George, don't be such a deadhead," she whispered. She wrapped her lithe arms around his neck, giggled at the way his eyes widened slightly. She kissed him on the mouth, with her moist tongue traced across his lips. He didn't respond, sat woodenly, stared at her.

"Loosen up, George," she giggled again, kept kissing him.

He warmed finally, met her darting tongue with his own, entwined with it. He began sucking at her soft mouth, held her awkwardly with his arms around her slim waist. He seemed to be catching on.

Wendy pulled away a bit, took his face gently in her small hands, kissed at him wetly. She managed to kick her shoes off.

George surprised her, lay back, partially on his side, pulled her down with him. Wendy pressed close beside him, her pert bottom jutting just over the edge of the seat, tanged her bare legs with his. Her skirt was pushed up over the full part of her smooth thighs, revealed the delicate lace trim of her panties, just barely the shaded hollow above.

He moved one hand cautiously up the front of her blouse, started working her buttons loose. He managed to get his hand inside, groped for her. He cupped one heavy breast, found a taut nipple, pulled at it. He seemed to be in a state of shock.

Wendy moved against him with a little sigh, held him to her, breathed hotly in his ear while he fondled her. She couldn't believe how excited he'd become, would have bet he'd never touched a girl before. It began to affect her also, his fervid excitement, somehow, contagiously, was arousing her more than she would have thought possible with anyone except Alan.

George worked two more of her buttons loose, pulled her blouse open. Her breasts jiggled into view, caused him to suck in his breath sharply. He kissed them feverishly, sucked on her swollen nipples. The dark tips puckered at his touch, stiffened upright. He moved his hand to the inside of her warm thigh, squeezed her, traced up between her parted legs. He poked a trembling finger under her underwear, through the mesh of her matted pubic hair, found her lush cunt easily, pushed his finger up into her, parting the slick muscles. Wendy squirmed against him with a small groan, spread her thighs wider, pushed her slim hips toward him slightly. He eased his finger out of her, inched it in again, moving slowly in the warm lubrication. She caught her breath. Held it. Exhaled.

Wendy watched the throbbing bulge in George's pants for some time before she finally reached for it, put her hand on it. She squeezed, felt it jerk like she knew it would. She boldly pulled down his zipper, reached into his pants.

"It'll make a mess," George croaked.

"Don't you have a handkerchief or something?" she asked, watched his face. With some effort at his underwear she found his cock and took it in her slender hand. His sudden change of expression startled her. She giggled, pulled at him.

"Yes," he said finally, fumbled in his pocket with his free hand. He produced a handkerchief, gave it to her.

Wendy took it, at the same time managed to work his hardness out of his pants. She stared. It stared back at her, stood hard as stone. Purplish red veins ran the length of it, pulsed. The tip was swollen, gorged with blood. It twitched in her hand.

Wendy swallowed silently, considered for a moment putting it into her mouth, actually wanted to, was not that bold. She began to masturbate him instead, with a circled thumb and forefinger, her other hand ready with the handkerchief. She watched closely, did riot want to miss anything, waited for the eruption she knew must follow.

She moved her hand ever quickly, increased it even when a small drop of clear fluid appeared on the bulbous tip, signaling probably, she realized, the nearness of his ejaculation. She was aware at the same time of the frantic activity of George's fingers in the slippery opening between her parted thighs, felt her own relief drawing closer, felt the pressure within her loins build. It was obvious George didn't know where Wendy's clitoris was, if he knew at all what it was, but his fervid in and out, finger-simulated intercourse movement put him in contact with it, pulling at it, often enough to make her squirm. He was going crazy down there.

Wendy thrust her hips forward, pumped with a short, jerky, almost twisting motion against his action. He had one finger deep inside her, stabbing at her wildly, cupped and squeezed her plump pubic mound wetly with the rest of his hand. Wendy was ready to explode.

George exploded instead, suddenly splattering her skirt and panties with erratic streams of thick liquid before she could cover him with the handkerchief. He made funny little noises in his throat, clutched between her legs.

Wendy's bare thighs tightened, clenched, then the sharp, keenly anticipated spasms of pleasure she knew so well burst within her, suffused her pelvic region with warmth. She clung to George, ground against him with a broken, shuddering heave, cried out.

Neither one of them moved.

Wendy stirred finally, glanced down at herself.

"My God, George, what a mess! What'll we do? I can't walk through the halls like this!"

She looked up, noticed for the first time that fifteen or more boys stared through the car windows, gawked at them in stunned disbelief. Auto Shop class had resumed.

Mr. Rainier, the instructor, was aghast. He cursed bitterly, kicked and shoved wildly at his boys, tried in vain to pull them from the unholy spectacle. "Get the fuck away from that car! Goddamnit! Why me? Goddamnit! Why me?"

George Davison reacted immediately.

"She made me do it!" he blurted, his eyes like a crazed animal. "I didn't want to! I swear to God! She made me do it!"