Anonumous: The prodigal virgin

For several minutes-she kissed each nipple and licked each tiny tip, too, with growing gusto and pleasure. “Oh!” she cried chokingly, showing him for an instant a rosy and intent face, “You’d be surprised, Stanley, dear, how very nice it is to pet you this way. And I’m going to do for you the same thing you did to my nose and my chin…”

Her voice died away, muffled by the flesh and hair of his chest. He shivered, to the gentle, and then to the feverish, suction which her dainty lips applied to each of his nipples. “My little precious!” he sighed tenderly. “That is absolutely delightful, and all your own, as I’ve told you. And since it feels so good I’m beginning to envy the women who have babies and nurse them.”

“I’m afraid it must be really very naughty,” Marion sighed, raising a flushed face reluctantly, “since it makes us both feel so-agitated. And Grandmother always said that we should be suspicious of things that we found very enjoyable, for the devil baits his traps with tempting sensations.”

“We’ve got a good many of the grandmotherly shackles still to break, haven’t we?” he smiled.

“Oh, I know she’s old fashioned, but she is a dear,” his companion conceded. “But until now I’ve had only her. Now I’ve got you and Mildred and I can’t tell you how happy it makes me! Don’t you think Mildred is a darling-in all ways, of course-but I mean for letting us, even coaxing us, to have such lovely ‘spoonings’ together?”

“She’s all of that!” he said fervently. “She’s a broadminded and clever old sweet, and she loves us both with all her heart.”

“But I just cannot understand,” observed Marion, as she pressed the narrow band of his bathing-suit into a mere wisp and laid her flushed cheek on his white, hard stomach, “how you can seem so indifferent or even amused when she lets everybody in sight kiss her whenever they meet-that Gerard Crandall and Charley Barlow and, oh, all the grown men and the boys too.”

“She’s very kissable,” said Stanley, unruffled. “And it’s a great treat for them to feel those lips of hers melt against theirs in that way she has of making a kiss a real event. It’s the custom of the country also, my sweet.”

“Oh, I know,” murmured Marion with just a touch of what she failed to recognize as jealousy in her tone. “I’ve seen how you lay your lips on those of Sylvia Crandall and Suzanne Barlow and all these other girls on a sudden impulse when something you have said or done has amused or pleased you. But, well, anyhow, you don’t go out with any of them and kiss and kiss and kiss the way you do with me, do you?”

“Not even with Mildred,” he laughed.

He took her head of dusky gold in his broad palms and, after rubbing his almost naked belly with her unresisting but reddening soft cheeks, he suddenly lowered the lovely head until one of the girl’s cheeks lay right on his enlarged and stiffened sex.

For an instant the maiden failed to recognize the nature of the contact. Then the warmth of velvet cheek and of swollen virility communicated through the thin black silk. He saw her lovely eyes widen and her face glow scarlet. Her white neck stiffened into revolt and he allowed her to raise her abashed head.

“Oh, my God, Stanley, how could you do a thing like that!” she gasped tremulously.

Her eyes started wildly into his and he saw that the maiden was shivering. It was clear that an episode which would have passed as a suggestive and welcome joke in the midst of the young colonists on the beach, and which would have aroused uproarious laughter and perhaps would have brought him a slap on the cheek and then a kiss from some young wife thus affronted, had torn this virgin’s spirit tremendously. “What?” he queried, with disingenuous innocence. “Oh, you mean the laying of your cheek where ‘little girls mustn’t touch!’ It was nothing to get so stirred up about. Just a momentary hard pillow for my small sister. Don’t you recognize the fact, dear, that this puritan and ‘chaste’ upbringing you’ve had has just succeeded in making you squeamish about bodies, including your own adorable body?”

Still wide-eyed, Marion pondered this for a minute. “Perhaps-“ she faltered, “you may be right, Stanley, to some extent. I see what you mean, at least. Since we’re all human beings together, why make ogres out of each other? Is it something like that? Yet certainly, for the sake of the race, we must maintain certain reserves, and you wouldn’t want girls of your own household to be entirely blase and hardened, would you?”

And Marion looked grieved. “I don’t think I’ve been as squeamish about bodies as you accuse me of being. I’m not conscious of having harbored bad thoughts about them or being unduly obsessed by them. Though, of course-“

She flushed again at her effort at a frank self-disclosure. “Of course,” she continued, “I’ve been affected by our ‘petting.’ That couldn’t be avoided, could it? But I think I was clear minded, at first anyway, in merely a keen admiration for your strong body.”

With a soft laugh, he caught her up for a quick hug and a kiss.

“You are the cutest thing, Maro!” he said. “But you’ll be the death of me yet! Listen, Mildred thinks you should pick yourself a nice, wealthy, attractive husband, and there will be plenty of aspirants. But consider this thought in case any man should strike your fancy strongly enough so that you accept his suit: You’ll be condemning him to an unpleasant destiny because I’ll certainly kick him all about the place and out the front door!”

“But good heavens!” gasped Marion, wide of eye once more. “I don’t want to get married! I haven’t the slightest notion of it!”

“You’d better not!” he growled with a smile in his brown eyes. “At least not until the real prince comes along, one whom I can wholly approve and think worthy of you.”

She paid no attention in her ardent desire to disclaim utterly her sister’s benevolent plans. “I’d far rather be just a sister to you and Mildred,” she said. “And maybe a friend to your very best friends.”

“A worse fate-for you and for us-could readily be imagined,” he smiled.

“Yet,” suggested Marion, calming a little and continuing a gentle massage of his belly as she lay in his arms, “yet, after all, it’s sort of tyrannical for you to assume to forbid me, in case I wished. It’s as if you were to announce possession of me, as if I were a conquered people or a newly discovered land.”

“Looked at like that,” he admitted, “it sounds detestable of me.”

“Oh, not detestable!” cried Marion softly.

With one bare arm she hugged his neck while her other hand trailed downward along the isthmus of dark hair which led from the grove on his chest. The hand nipped and pulled gently. It slipped beneath the fabric to follow that fascinating band of hair down over the navel. “Not detestable!” she disclaimed again. “Do you know; Stanley, I wasn’t the least bit peeved, really. I rather liked you so bossy.”

He held his breath, maintaining an utter silence lest he should disturb her little reverie. For in that reverie the girl did not observe at all that the primitive construction of his suit made the present location of her caressing fingers on his abdomen rather perilous.

In her interest in that trail of soft hair, she pursued it well below the indentation of his navel. And suddenly her fingers paused in brief bewilderment. Then she cried out chokingly in deepest shame. She snatched away her hand. She buried her rosy face in his neck.

For the isthmus of hair had ended suddenly in a regular thicket. And, pressed downward into that thicket by the confinement of the strained fabric, lay a bald, smooth, warm, hard something which her fingertips had momentarily touched-touched and then gropingly taken just the merest bit of its substance into a clasp which delighted him beyond words.