Ron Taylor: Naughty aunt Susan

Lilly was the first lover I ever had. We've been friends since fifth grade, when her family moved here, and we've shared everything. My body started growing before hers did and I used to flaunt it at her, twitching my butt and pulling my sweaters tightly over the pair of delicate cupcakes I had then, and it really pissed her off. We'd fight and call each other dirty bastards, and then we'd make up with little kisses and pets of endearment.

Well, one day, when we were friends again, she lured me into her garage and pulled up her dress. She dropped her panties and showed me, with a bold sneer of superiority, the little downy hairs that were sprouting around her pussy. She even invited me to touch them.

I suppose we were eleven then, just finishing up sixth grade. I was already wearing a training bra, but Lilly's tits were mostly big smears of pink nipple. But she had cunt hair, and I didn't. That hackled me, and when I touched her, I was kinda rough. I slid my fingers along the tight line of her slit till she started breathing hard and heavy, and then I pushed inside it, poking around to see just what was there.

Lilly gave a holler and she closed her legs on me. My hand was trapped in her crotch and she rocked back and forth, huffing and panting. Her hair swayed from side to side and she closed her eyes, while little warbling noises oozed from her lips. Something else was oozing, down where my hand was. It was wet and warm, seeping out of her pussy, dampening my fingers, and I didn't know enough to realize that she was having a hell of an orgasm.

It excited me. I used my hand more forcefully, making her cry out again, making her shudder from head to toes, and I put my other hand on her chest, massaging the growing nipples through her dress and undershirt. She went all white in the face and she moaned and my own head got giddy and light, till I thought I was going to pass out on the spot from wondrous excitement. There was a warmth between my own legs, and I squeezed that warm tingle with my thighs.

When Lilly let me go, her face was flushed and moist. And nothing would do her but she must have a look at my pussy and see if she could do the same thing to me with her hands that I'd done to her.

We were sitting on a pile of soft carpet remnants, and they tickled my bare ass when Lilly pulled down my drawers. But they didn't tickle half so much as the fluttering pressures of her delicate fingertips across my half-formed cunt. One stroke and I was wet, two strokes and my little pussy-lips were swollen like a battered nose. We giggled nervously, and then she inserted a fingertip.

The parting my cuntal flanges was so overwhelming and so intense in its back and forth pull on my clitty that I creamed on the spot, and her fingers were aromatic and spicy with my juices.

That was in 1970, and thank God, word was getting around that masturbation wasn't harmful to growing girls. Lilly and I found that out, after we'd been doing it to one another for a couple of months, and from then on we didn't feel quite so guilty. By the time school started again in the fall and we entered the seventh grade hand in hand, we'd progressed to a little cautious mouth-to-snatch play.

In junior high we discovered boys, and we started feeling guilty again. For the next year or two we kept on fooling around, but now we had a justification. If we spent hours kissing and necking, touching and sucking titties, fingering or eating pussies, it was all okay – we were just practicing up for the days when we'd be going out with boys. Sometimes Lilly took the male role and sometimes I did. We'd go through little playlets of seduction. She'd be the dreamy date, picking me up at my house, taking me out, and slowly, by sensuous erotic degrees, she'd warm me up with kissing and petting till my body itched to be stripped bare.

And of course she'd oblige me. I was wearing something bigger than a training bra now, and her fingers burned as they touched its well-filled cups. She'd tease me then, stroking, fondling, cupping, till my nipples scorched the nylon and thrust out imploringly, and then I'd beg her to take off my bra and suck away the aching hunger in me.

Lilly would do just that, but only when I was so hot I couldn't stand to live inside my burning body and had peeled the bra from my tits by myself. Suck me, bite me, dribble me with spit and then lick it into my flesh – Lilly knew more ways of making love to a pair of titties than anyone I've ever known!

I grooved on what she did to me, but most of all I liked it when she'd lie upon me and grind her pussy against mine till both our cunts throbbed in unison and we gasped and moaned our come delight into one another's mouths. And when the shivering of our bodies subsided enough, we'd switch roles. This time I'd be the boy, and I'd give her hell.

We weren't lesbians, of course. Just healthily bisexual. Bi has become really in the last few years, but we've always known there was nothing wrong with it.

We lost our cherries the same night. When we started our sophomore year, the school held a mixer-dance, and Lilly and I shook hands and put on our cuntiest dresses – no undies to interfere with bobbling titties or wiggly butts – and we went with blood in our eyes. We ended up with blood in our crotches and joy in our hearts. I found a farm boy from out in the county, big and blond, and I lured him outside. When he got me into the bushes, he became a raging animal, and before I knew it I was on my back, my skirt up to my waist, and his cock jiggling where my cherry used to be. It hurt, but only a little. Lilly had to use a bit more persuasion, but she finally managed to get done in before the night was out. We had a good cry together afterwards and entered life as women.

Anyway, Lilly and I are best friends, you know, so I can say truthfully that she's not the most gorgeous girl in the world. She's a few pounds underweight, and her boobs never really grew. Her face is cute, in a squirrelly way, and she has pretty hair. Too much, though. She's been on a women's lib kick for months, and she's refused to shave here legs or her underarms, and I heard one guy tell another one that screwing her was like screwing a monkey. "But a freaked-out monkey," he added quickly, and I knew what he meant.

Ever since she'd started reading about women's rights, she'd gotten more aggressively lesbian. She still fucked guys, sure, but only if she really felt like it. But get the two of us alone in a room and those hot hands were all over me, feeling and investigating and scratching anyplace I might itch. Sometimes I dug it, sometimes I didn't. Right now, I dug it, in a big way.

She pounced on me and laid me back on the bed, curling her legs around me tightly. Her hands yanked at the tail of my shirt and pulled it up so that my nipples were exposed for some patented Lilly-style sucking. I felt the tips erecting into her hungry mouth and I fondled her head while she nursed me, my bare thighs lifting so that it rubbed her super-hairy crotch. She used to trim her beaver, the way I do, but not lately. The hair was thick and long and it tickled me as much, I'm sure, as the rubbing of my thigh tickled her in reply. I started to giggle.

She looked up then. "What's so funny?" she wandered.

"You are, monkey," I snickered in reply. It was our private joke. Lilly sat up quickly, scooting forward so that her thick bush bumped me in the face.

"How funny is this?" she asked, nudging me with it.

"Mmmfff-mmmffffff!" I muttered back as my tongue began to delve among her hairs, seeking the gate that lurked inside her jungle. My hands clutched the lean cheeks of her ass, digging into the flesh, and I started to tickle her asshole while I licked pussy.

Lilly liked that. She always did. She began to rock and bounce on my face, puffing and humming, so I began to work the tip of my middle finger on her asshole.