("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2007. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Maggie by Calboy (address withheld) *** A teen age boy discovers friendship and love that lasts for a lifetime. (mf-teens, youths, inc, rom) *** Although it has been over sixty years since it happened, I will never forget the time I lost my virginity to a second cousin on a farm in the middle of Nebraska. It happened at a family reunion. I was just thirteen years old at the time and my cousin was two weeks shy of her twelfth birthday. My family lived in southern California, but Dad had grown up on a farm in Nebraska where his parents and several of their siblings still lived. The war had made travel difficult and expensive, and everyone seemed to think that time was ripe for a grand reunion in the late summer of 1946. My dad had been itching for a road trip, and the reunion gave him an excuse to travel. After Japan surrendered and the war ended the previous summer, gasoline was no longer rationed or in short supply and new cars were on the market. Dad bought the first post- war Studebaker Land Cruiser to arrive at the local dealership for the trip, and we hit the road on the Thursday before Labor Day. It was great for me to be alone with Mom and Dad without my older sister, Sally. She was sixteen and had teased me ever since I was old enough to understand what teasing was, and it was nice not to have her constant verbal – and physical – jabs to deal with. My folks wanted her to come, too, but she had a job that summer that would turn into a part-time, after school job in the fall, and she didn't want to quit. Since we were going to be gone less than a week, though, they reluctantly let Sally stay behind. As I said, that was fine with me. While I was keen on the road trip, I had my doubts about the reunion. I was a shy kid and I didn't really know any of the people who would be there, although I had met some of them when they came to see us before the war. Most of those who had made the trip west were my Dad's aunts and uncles who were much older than me and had probably made little impression on the pre- schooler I was at the time. I expected that the average age of people at the family reunion would be about ninety and that I would be bored out of my mind for the three days we would be at the farm. The journey to Nebraska ended way too soon, long before I wanted it to, and Saturday morning found us driving up the long dirt road leading from the highway to the farm buildings. I was dreading getting out of the car when it finally stopped. You can imagine my surprise, therefore, when I saw a bunch of kids – kids about my age – running around the big old farmhouse. I had never occurred to me that any of the old folks who had visited us out west might have produced kids, but they did. There must have been twenty or so of them romping around in the big yard. This wasn't quite what I thought it would be, and I was more than a little frightened by the fact that they all seemed to know each other, so I shyly clung to Mom's hand seeking her protection while the older relatives were greeting Mom and Dad like long, lost relatives – which, of course, they were. I successfully blended in with the adults for a while, but as we were getting our suitcases out of the trunk of the car, a girl approached me and invited me to play "statue" with the other kids on the big shady, grassy area beside the main farmhouse. I declined, citing the need to unload, but she persisted and my parents said it was okay to go play. I gave them a dirty look as the girl grabbed my hand and dragged me across the gravel driveway to the big lawn. "My name is Margaret, but everyone calls me Maggie," she told me as we walked. "What's your name?" "My name is Robert, but everyone calls me Bobby," I responded, immediately regretting that I hadn't opted for the more grown-up "Bob". "Hey, guys. This is Bobby. He just got here." Maggie chirped as we approached the other kids. "Hi, Bobby. Where're you from?" asked one of the older boys who I guessed was about fifteen. Everyone was looking at me and smiling and I think I was probably blushing from embarrassment. "Southern California, near LA," I managed to croak out as I wished I was someplace else. Nobody seemed to notice or mind my discomfort, though, and the questions came thick and fast. Did I know any movie stars? Had I ever been in the movies? Is it true that it never rained in southern California? I soon became more comfortable answering their questions and not long after that I joined their game of "statue" which soon changed to "mother, may I?" which became something else after that that I no longer remember. The thing was, these kids were really nice. No teasing, no fighting, and I was having a really good time with them, especially with Maggie. No matter what we were playing or where I was, she was always nearby. It seemed like she was making sure that I was accepted by the other kids, most of whom knew each other, and that I was having a good time. I was really grateful for what she was doing, and there seemed to be some sort of a bond forming between us. After an hour of playing, we were called into the big kitchen for lunch. We all trooped in and sat around a huge round table with a lazy-Susan laden with food in the middle. I had never seen a kitchen this big, and said so to Maggie who had managed to snag the chair to my left. She told me a bit about the old house while we ate lunch. It has been built by my great grandfather in the late 1800 and the kitchen had to be big because that is where the family and all the farmhands ate. The rest of the house was big, too because my great grandparents had nine kids, so there were lots of bedrooms to begin with -- and some were added later along with bathrooms when the women began to complain about the outhouses. I have no idea now how big that main farmhouse was, but it seemed enormous to me at the time. Maggie was the granddaughter of one of my Dad's uncles who still lived in another house (one of four or five – I can't recall) that had built a few miles away on the big farm. Maggie's family lived in Omaha, a three hour drive to the east of the farm (there were no Interstate highways in 1946) so her family like ours, was staying at the farm. Other relative who lived in the other houses on the farm or nearby joined the reunion festivities during the day and went home at night. The adults got to sleep in the bedrooms in the main farmhouse, but all the kids were put in the bunkhouse which was used for transient crews during planting and harvesting seasons but which was vacant that Labor Day weekend. The bunkhouse had two wings joined by a big lounge in the middle where there were lots of sofas and big, overstuffed chairs and a couple of 10 inch TV sets which were big screens at the time. Each wing had a huge sleeping room lined with double deck iron bunk beds, and a big bathroom with showers at one end, toilets and a trough urinal along one wall and a row of basins along the other. The girls were given the north wing, and the boys were given the south wing. The bunkhouse was clean and functional as I remember it, but it sure wasn't fancy; the barracks I encountered at Fort Ord when I was drafted eight years later reminded me a lot of that old bunkhouse. Anyway, after lunch I lugged my sleeping bag and suitcase into the bunkhouse and staked out a lower bunk for myself. I didn't spend a lot of time getting my sleeping bag unrolled or unpacking. I really liked my newfound relatives, and, as quickly as I could, I dashed back out to be with my new friends, and especially to be with Maggie. We played and talked and hung out like kids do all afternoon, and at around six, we heard the dinner gong ring. The whole bunch of us ate dinner outdoors on long, sawhorse tables set up under a huge old elm tree in the yard next to the kitchen. As I recall, we had fried chicken, corn on the cob, potato salad and a bunch of other food I wasn't interested in when I was thirteen. Maggie and I agreed ahead of time to sit together, and we secretly held hands under the tablecloth. I felt like we were major conspirators, really getting away with something, but I think most of the adults knew what was going on. In any case, my heart raced at Maggie's gentle touch. I was in heaven! After dinner, the kids all helped with cleanup, and then everyone trooped into the huge parlor to watch some old home movies taken when my dad and his siblings and cousins were young kids. The screen was set up in front of the fireplace and the furniture had been arranged theater style so that people could sit and watch. Most of the chairs and sofa seats were taken by adults, and the kids were left to find spots on the floor or around the walls. Maggie and I found a wall spot in a little tiny alcove, like a small by window. I should tell you a bit about Maggie. She was about five feet tall, maybe three inches shorter than I was then. She had brown eyes and long, chestnut colored hair which she was wearing in braids that day. When we arrived at the farm on Saturday morning she was dressed like girls dressed then -- pedal pushers, a sleeveless, button-up blouse which was unbuttoned and tied at the waist, and tennis shoes without socks. Before dinner she had changed into a peasant blouse, a long full skirt and sandals. I don't really know if she was good looking by popular standards, but she looked like an angel to me. When we got ready to watch the home movies, we grabbed a couple of throw pillows off one of the sofas to sit on, scrunched ourselves down, and got comfortable. All the adults thought the movies were great. They were whooping, guffawing and pointing, totally engrossed in the show. I thought it was boring. The photography was crappy and I couldn't tell who any of the people moving jerkily on the screen were. So I turned my attention to Maggie who seemed neither bored nor enraptured by the action on the screen; she was just sitting calmly watching the screen with a slight smile on her face. In the darkened room I saw my chance to make a move on Maggie, and I surreptitiously snuck my right arm up and around her shoulder. To my surprise, she didn't snuggle into my armpit as I really thought she would. Instead, she picked up my hand, swung it over my head and plopped it down between us. I was completely embarrassed by this obvious rejection of my affections, and then totally nonplussed by her next move: she stood up in a kind of crouch, moved my hand to the middle of her cushion, lifted the back of her skirt and sat down, mashing my forearm between the cushion and her butt, and squeezing my hand between her inner thighs. It took me a few moments to realize what was happening, where my hand was and what it was touching. During those few moments, Maggie grabbed my right forearm with both of her hands and snuggled into my right shoulder. It dawned on me then that my affections weren't being rejected at all. Indeed, they were being encouraged in a very emphatic way. I responded by wiggling my hand a bit between her thighs and I was rewarded by a squeeze as she flexed her thigh muscles in response. This went on for a bit before I got bold enough to extend my thumb for further exploration. I found the softest skin I had ever imagined and then encountered cloth I knew had to be panties. I pressed gently there and Maggie responded by scooting her butt further down on the cushion to intensify the pressure. I wiggled my thumb around a bit without having the least clue of what I might be doing. Maggie seemed to like it though; she was squirming and sighing and squeezing my arm rhythmically. Not knowing what else to do (and being limited in what I could do by our physical arrangement), I kept up the massage. Moments later, Maggie arose with a sigh of frustration, grabbed my hand, turned it palm up, and pried up my middle finger. She then reached up under her skirt for a moment and sat back down on my hand as before – only this time, I had a finger extended instead of a thumb, and it was pointed in the proper direction. As I flexed my finger I suddenly realized what she had been doing under her skirt: she had pulled the crotch of her panties to one side giving my roving finger access to her slightly fuzzy pussy. Again, I was totally clueless about what to do with this discovery, but I sure as heck wasn't going to let an opportunity like this slip by without doing something. My heart was pounding so fiercely that I thought I would faint as I slowly began to explore between Maggie's legs with my finger. I remember being amazed at how soft and spongy the whole area was, and at how warm and damp it felt. While I was woefully inexperienced regarding sex when I was thirteen, I wasn't totally ignorant of a girl's anatomy. After all, I had an older sister. We shared a bedroom, played "doctor" and bathed together regularly until Mom decided we shouldn't be naked in front of each other – I think I was about nine at the time. I was still too young to understand the significance of what I was looking at, but the memory of what I saw stayed with me. I still remember closely examining Sally's crotch while she was lying naked, knees up and feet spread, on her bed when she was about ten. The few examinations Sally allowed, though, were pretty much visual ones; I don't recall that I ever did much poking or prodding. I think I found her vagina a bit frightening. I got close enough, though, to commit the smell of her pussy to memory, which can still give me a huge erection when I bring it to mind. So while I had a pretty good idea of what a pussy looked like, what one felt like was new to me, and I decided to explore Maggie's pussy to the extent that she would let me. After probing the creases adjacent to each thigh, my finger discovered a crease in the middle that was significantly warmer and wetter than the rest of the area, and I knew this had to be where I so desperately wanted my finger to be. I wiggled my finger a bit to open up the crease. Maggie giggled softly and wiggled her pelvis in response, showing no signs of wanting me to stop. Son onward I went, running my finger down her slit, back up, and then thrusting it a bit further into the dampness. At some point I brushed across her clitoris, and she gripped my arm tighter and whispered a soft "Ohhhh" in my ear. "Cool," I thought. "Let's do that again." Once more I circled her wet opening and brushed her little bump with my fingertip and once again she clutched at me and sighed. On the next circuit she pressed forward to intensify and prolong the contact. I took the hint and began an earnest massage at the top of her slit. Her squirming became more pronounced as the massage progressed. After what must have been no more than a minute of this, she suddenly stiffened and crushed my open hand between her spasming thigh muscles. Just moments after that she released my hand, reached down to pull it from under her and kissed me softly in the ear as she whispered, "Thanks." I, meanwhile, was totally confused. In my inexperience, I had no idea that girls could have orgasms (I knew that guys could from my own pleasant experience), and I thought I had caused her to have a seizure or something, and then, suddenly she was all okay and businesslike pulling my hand out, and then she was kissing and thanking me! What the heck was going on? As I said, I was totally confused. But I didn't have much time to stay that way. The film broke in the projector, all the lights went on and the party was pretty much over. Since it was still kind of early, all the kids went back outside to play in the semi-darkness of the yard illuminated by only three rather feeble electric lights attached to the trees next to the gravel driveway. I was really hoping that Maggie and I could sneak off and resume our groping activities in the darkness somewhere, but it didn't happen. The girls grouped together for some girl talk and the guys started wrestling on the grass. Before too long, we were all pretty tired and, one by one, we trouped off to bed. I had to hide my hard on (which had stayed with me ever since Maggie had been sitting on my hand) while I got into my pajamas and brushed my teeth. After I got into my bunk and the lights were out, I wanted badly to jerk off, but I just couldn't do it in a room full of people. I thought of going into the bathroom, but that was even worse; even the toilets and showers were out in the open with no privacy possible. So I fell asleep in blue-ball agony to have pleasant dreams involving Maggie, enhanced, no doubt, by the hint of her scent that remained on my finger after I washed my hands before going to bed. There were a lot of activities planned for Sunday afternoon after our extended family literally overwhelmed the small local church. The pastor must have wet himself in glee as he counted the bountiful collection plate proceeds resulting from the overflow crowd. After a huge outdoor lunch, attended even by some of the non-family neighbors, we all gathered for an hour of family history presented by my grandpa and one of his sisters. It was sort of interesting, but I really wanted to be with Maggie. I had never felt that way about a girl before, and, while I might not have been truly in love with her, it sure felt that way at the time. During the next couple of hours, a member of each visiting family was asked to give a brief summary of where they were from, how they were related to the group and whatever personal information they wanted to share. Dad told everybody we were from California, and that he was one of my grandpa's grandsons and that we were all happy to be there and that my sister couldn't come with us, etc. A whole bunch of other dads told similar stories with only little details changes. All of these activities tended to keep family units together so Maggie spent most of Sunday with her parents and I with mine. I thought the afternoon would never end, but it finally did. When the crowd began to disperse and get ready for dinner, I looked around for Maggie who, as it turned out, was looking around for me. I spotted her when I was walking around some farm machinery about halfway between the main farmhouse and the barn, not too far from the bunkhouse. I approached her somewhat cautiously because I was still bewildered by what had happened the preceding evening. I didn't know if I had somehow hurt her, and I had no idea why she had thanked me. When she saw me walking toward her, she almost screamed with excitement and rushed up to me. "Bobby!" she exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you. C'mon! Let's go for a walk. There's a neat pond not too far from here." With that, she grabbed my hand and led me off behind the barn, over a little hill, through some woods and down into a little swale where there was, indeed, a neat little pond. I'm no expert on ponds, but this one was really pretty in the late afternoon light. We walked around to one end where the bulrushes gave way to a sandy little beach with a log just right for sitting. Maggie was chattering about the days events during our walk while I remained silent, not really knowing what to say. There were so many questions in my head, but I couldn't find the words to ask them. When we got to the log, Maggie sat down, looked up at me with a worried expression and asked, "Are you mad at me? You haven't said a word. Did I do something wrong?" "Oh, gosh, no!" I stammered. "I'm not mad at you. I think I love you." That slipped out before I thought about what I was saying and I immediately blushed. Maggie noticed, reached up, grabbed my hand, pulled me down on the log beside her and kissed me full on the lips. No, it wasn't a big, sloppy, open mouth French kiss; it was just a sweet, soft, lips to lips, closed mouth kiss that seemed to last for hours. It left me lightheaded, but she tasted so good that I immediately wanted to do it again. So we did. And several times after that. After our kissing subsided, I screwed up my courage and asked her about our activities during the home movie show. "Ummm, Maggie? You know, I really liked what we were doing when we were sitting on the floor last night. I've never done stuff like that with a girl before, and it was really neat, and all, but I don't know what happened. Did I hurt you or something? You seemed like you were in pain, but then you thanked me. Were you okay? If I hurt you, I;m really sorry. I didn't mean to, honest." Once I got started talking I couldn't seem to stop. Maggie gave me the warmest, sweetest smile I'd ever seen and said, "No, you big old sweetheart. You didn't hurt me at all. In fact, what you did felt really, really good. One of my best friends found a book about sex and making babies in her mom's room. It even had pictures! It said that women can have climaxes if you rub a certain little spot for a while, I tried it and it really works! And climaxes make me feel really good! That's what you did last night: you rubbed me on my little spot and I got the best climax of my life." I was dumfounded by this new bit of information. "Well, I really didn't know what I was doing, but I'm glad it was nice for you. I didn't know that girls could do that." "Guys can, too. Did you know that? Have you ever tried that?" Maggie asked. I nodded in deep embarrassment, my face crimson. I had never acknowledged to anyone, not even my closest buddies, that I beat off, and here I was admitting it to a girl I had met just yesterday. Maggie got a faraway look in her eyes as if pondering something, and then suddenly seemed to snap back to reality as she spoke, "Look, you did it for me last night. Let me do it for you today. Okay?" The thought of being jerked off by Maggie was really appealing, but there were other thought as well. What if we got caught? A girl would have to see my penis and none ever had except Sally, and she didn't really count since she was my sister. I guess I thought about it for a long time because Maggie interrupted my though train and brought me back to the here and now. "Well, do you want me to?" she asked, and then added, "I'm pretty sure I can do it. I've seen pictures. C'mon, let me do it, please?" And then with a big smile "Pretty please?" I really couldn't resist her pleas (or her "please" and "pretty please"). "Okay." I sounded more reluctant that I really was. I was beginning to warm to the idea in spite of all the logical reasons not to that had entered my mind in the past few moments. "Where do you want to do it? It's kinda like out in the open here." Maggie looked around and then pointed to an area off to our left where the bulrushes grew a bit taller. "How about over there? I think there is a little space where we could sit or even lie down and nobody could see us. We can hear anybody coming down the path to the pond, anyway." That sounded okay to me, but I'm pretty sure I was thinking with my penis by that time. There was a little sandy clearing among the taller rushes and we settled in, trying not to disturb the surrounding cover any more than necessary. I lay on my back and Maggie kneeled at my waist. We looked at each other and began to giggle. We were both a little more than a bit nervous about what was about to happen. I finally tamped down the giggles and began to unbuckle my belt and unbutton my fly. Maggie watched as if in a trance. The moment of truth came when I reached inside the fly of my Lone Ranger boxer shorts and hauled out my pitifully small, although firmly erect, penis. Maggie gasped and leaned forward to look at it more closely. "That doesn't look like the one in the picture in the book!" she observed. "Well," I began defensively, "I'm circumcised, and, besides, I'm not fully grown yet." Maggie picked up on my hurt tone immediately. "No, NO. That's not what I meant. The pictures were of old, wrinkly penises, and yours looks so soft and smooth and so … beautiful! Can I touch it?" "You're going to have to touch it if you're going to jack me off," I wisecracked back at her. Without hesitation Maggie reached out and caressed my erect penis from top to bottom, including my scrotum, with her soft little fingertips. I absolutely shivered with anticipation. Her fingers stopped momentarily and she looked at my face. "How do I do it?" she asked. I scooted up on my elbows and nodded toward my erect little penis. "Grab it near the middle like a baseball bat and then move your hand up and down. The skin is loose and it will slide with your hand." She followed my instructions and soon got into a steady rhythm. "Am I doing it right?" she asked with a worried look. "You're doing fine," I responded as I lay back down and began to feel the waves of pleasure wash over me. "But when I come, stuff shoots out of the end of my penis so you'd better point it away from you unless you want to get ti all over you dress." "You mean like sperm?" she asked. "Yeah, I think so" I grunted, "and some other stuff, too, I think. And it's happening right now!" It didn't take me long to ejaculate when I was thirteen. Maggie held my penis off to the side away from and I spurted gobs of stuff mostly on the ground but some on my jeans. "Wow," she exclaimed. "That was really neat! Did you like it? Did it feel good?" "Yeah," I panted. I was out of breath even though Maggie had done all the work. "That was a lot better than I could ever do it." "Really?" she asked. She smiled broadly and looked radiant. "I wanna do it again sometime. And, by the way, I love you, too," she announced as she bent over and kissed me again. In spite of everything that had happened in the past 24 hours, it was still difficult for me to believe that my current situation was real. I mean the sweetest, most beautiful girl in the world had let me play with her pussy last night, and today she had jacked me off, told me she wanted to do it again, kissed me and had told me she loved me. It was hard for me to believe that I wasn't dreaming or something, and I put it to Maggie to test my sense of reality. "Maggie," I began seriously, "Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I've thought about having a girlfriend a lot, but I never thought it would be this wonderful. I feel like I'm dreaming, and I'm afraid I'm going to wake up and discover that you never even existed." "I know what you mean," she replied thoughtfully. "When I first saw you, I felt my heart start thumping. I was afraid to even talk to you when you got here because I thought you'd think I was just a pesty little kid. If you did, you hid it real well, because you were nice to me. I have never been happier in my life than I have since we met. I may be dreaming, too. If I am, I want to make the most of my dream. Come here. I want to kiss you again." I sat up, tucked my shrinking little pecker back in my jeans, and crawled over to where she sat cross-legged in the sand. It was awkward to hug and kiss her, but we managed. At one point, I lost my balance and sort of fell into her. We were still kissing at the time and I felt her lip slide up a bit and her teeth come into contact with my upper lip. Reflexively, my tongue went up there to see what was going on. Hers, apparently did, too, because our tongues were soon caressing each other. I had often thought about "French kissing" since I had first heard of the practice when I was eleven. These were thoughts that bordered on revulsion; I mean who would ever want to have somebody else spit in your mouth. Yuck! But it wasn't like that at all with Maggie. She tasted sweet if there was, indeed, any taste at all. And the feel of her tongue against mine! It was beyond belief for me. It was like holding hands squared, or even cubed. I had never experienced such intimate communion with another human being in my life. It wasn't like when we were giving each other climaxes; we were doing this together and I was enraptured. I was so enraptured, in fact, that we kept kissing until it was getting quite dark. I think we both realized that it was late at about the same time. As we ended a kiss we both sort of looked up at the sky. I said, "Uh, oh." And Maggie responded, "Yeah, we'd better get going. I think dinner's already over." We ran back up the path from the pond, through the darkening woods, over the hill, past the barn and back to where people were clearing up the mess from dinner. We were greeted by teasing comments and catcalls. "Here come the lovebirds!" was one of the milder ones. One of my great aunts smiled at us with an understanding wink and shooed us into the kitchen where our dinners had been saved for us. We ate in embarrassed silence while others washed dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. I suspect that our parents had become alarmed over our disappearance and even more alarmed by the implied message of our sudden reappearance and our rather vague excuses for not showing up at dinner time: "Oh, we were down by the pond, talking, and we lost track of the time." "Oh? What were you talking about?" "I dunno. Nothing in particular." I wouldn't have believed it either. In any case, Maggie's parents kept her close to them for the rest of the evening, and my parents kept me with them, too. So Maggie and I sat with our parents that evening through some ridiculous activity event that someone had thought would enliven the family gathering. I was so upset and disappointed that I don't recall exactly what it was. I wanted to be with Maggie and I'm sure that I sulked throughout the entire evening. I remember that Maggie and I made occasional eye contact during the evening and that she looked as miserable as I felt. The "festivities" ended at about ten and the kids were all shooed off to the bunkhouse. I suspect that most of the adults stayed for a round of Manhattans or Martinis or whatever was in style in 1946, but I trudged, slowly and dejectedly, toward the bunkhouse as I was told to do. As I approached the darkened building I sensed a presence close to my left arm. Before I could look, I felt eight fingers and two thumbs gripping my upper arm and a familiar voice was whispering in my ear, "Meet me in the lounge at eleven thirty. I love you." Before I could respond, I saw Maggie's braided pigtails disappearing into the darkness. I raised my left arm and was hugely grateful that I had gotten a radium dial, luminescent face wrist watch from my Grandma (on my Mom's side) for my birthday that year. It was ten past ten. By the time I got to bed it would be ten thirty, but then it would be a whole hour before I would be able to meet up with Maggie! I have always believed that time is flexible and that night proved it, without question, to me. After I had showered (Yes, I actually showered because I wanted to kill time and because I wanted to smell nice for Maggie), gotten into my pajamas, brushed my teeth and climbed into my sleeping bag it was only ten fifty. I had to wait another forty minutes before --- what? My heart thumped in anticipation. I kept peering at the glowing dial of my wristwatch wondering if I was reading it correctly. Ten fifty six, eleven thirteen, eleven twenty three. Finally, eleven twenty seven – I wanted to be there on time. I slid out of my sleeping bag and drifted off like I was going to the bathroom in case anyone was awake, but then silently reversed my course and tiptoed to the lounge. There were no lights on, but there was a bit of a moon shining in through one of the lounge windows. I looked around in the dim light to see if there was anyone else there and found no one. Glumly, I sat in one of the overstuffed chairs facing the hall from the girl's wing and looked again at my watch: eleven twenty nine. Okay, I was early. I could wait, maybe fifteen minutes, maybe a half hour, maybe all night! I wanted to see Maggie alone again! As it turned out, I had to wait less than a minute. Shortly after I sat down I saw an almost ghostly figure enter the room and hesitate, looking around. I looked for braided pigtails but saw only an aura of long dark hair. I stood for a better view, and the figure raced toward me, knocking me back into the chair. From smell more than sight, I knew it was Maggie. She was wearing a long nightgown and she had unbraided her waist length hair. As I tumbled into the chair, Maggie climbed on top of me and began kissing me all over my face. I hugged her close and kissed whatever part of her I could reach with my lips. Before long, our lips found each other and we were engaged in a long, probing kiss. At length, Maggie broke the kiss, pulled back and rearranged herself on my lap. She knelt over my lap with her knees on either side of my pelvis, and then pulled up the hem of her nightgown and spread it over us like a blanket. Leaning forward she whispered in my ear, "I want to see what it feel like for us to be together – down there." That said, she lifted the front of her nightie, reached under with her other hand, hauled out my seemingly permanently erect penis through my pajama bottoms, and sat down on it with her sopping wet little pussy. I gasped at the sensation but did nothing to impede where I hoped she might be going. Maggie sighed at the contact between my throbbing member and her warm, wet pussy. As for me, I could have died then and have been both happy and thankful. Nothing, nothing, I had experienced in my young life could have hoped to have matched this. I was in heaven, but there was more to come. Maggie began to slide her pelvis forward and backward in a regular but slowly accelerating rhythm. Reflecting back on it now, I'm sure she was making her clitoris come in contact with some part of my pulsating pecker, and from the sound and pace of her breathing, she was really enjoying it. I know I sure was enjoying the experience immensely. I was, in fact, on the verge of blowing my load if she kept it up. Fearing that I might suddenly come, I thought about all sorts of things that had nothing to do with what was going on down there. To a degree, I was successful. I focused on Maggie's scent and on how her back felt under my hugging fingers. I could still feel her warm wetness sliding against my cock, but it was under control. I was contentedly in a blissful erotic equilibrium until Maggie's pelvis slid a bit too far back, tilted a bit up, and caught the head of my stiffness on the pelvic bone underlying the softness of her vaginal labia. On her next trip forward, my entire penis slipped quietly up inside the entire length of her vaginal canal. I distinctly remember coming in contact with what I have since concluded was her cervix. I have no idea whether she planned to impale her young vagina on my adolescent penis or not. In either case, she stopped moving once I was fully inside her. We sat like that for long seconds, not moving and making no sound. I blinked first, as it were, and felt my cock throb inside her. Her vaginal muscles answered almost immediately with as rippling quiver along the length of my hardness. We both gasped at the sensation, and Maggie moved her mouth over mine and kissed me deeply. We stayed like that, penetrating at both ends for some time. I don't remember who moved first, but one of us initiated pelvic movement that felt absolutely incredible to me. If it was Maggie who started it, I'm sure that I responded without hesitation. In either case we were soon hammering our pelvises together in total bliss. I don't know whether Maggie actually climaxed during our mating – I know I sure did -- in spades! – but as I was shooting gobs of my stuff deep inside her, she grabbed my cheeks with both hands and gave me the most passionate kiss I had ever experienced. I knew, at that moment, that Maggie was the person I wanted to be with for the rest of my life. But that was the dream of a young adolescent. Reality returned to both of us as the dreaminess of a post- orgasmic high receded. We cuddled for maybe an hour and then returned to our bunkhouse wings for the rest of the night. I fell asleep remembering that two days ago I had dreaded the family reunion. Now I didn't want it to end. But end it did. The next morning we packed up the Studebaker, said our tearful goodbyes and headed back to California. Maggie and I had exchanged addresses with fervent promises to keep in touch. For the most part these promises were kept. We wrote to each other daily at first and then weekly through high school. We still stayed in contact, though less frequently while we were both in college – Maggie at the University of Nebraska and me at UC-Berkeley – but we wrote less frequently. Interestingly, however, we always ended our letters with "I will love you forever" before signing our names. I always wondered if I would ever see Maggie again. Nebraska was a long way from California, and the opportunities for our paths to cross were severely limited. I got a job with an engineering consulting firm in San Francisco after I graduated and Maggie began teaching kindergarten in Omaha the following year. It looked to me like we were slowly drifting apart. We had both dated throughout our school years and Maggie wrote after graduating that there was a guy who worked at her school that she liked a lot. Most of my dates had never managed to measure up to Maggie. So that was it – or so I thought until I got a postcard from Granddad – who was then eighty five – that another reunion was planned for the summer of 1955. It was to be held at the same place, on the ancestral farm in the middle of Nebraska. I wrote back that I would be there, and a day later I got a letter from Maggie begging me to come. Of course, I wrote her that I would. The reunion was boring as reunions usually are, but it was good to see the people I had met for the first time a decade earlier. Maggie was there, and at 20, she was more beautiful than ever. I guess I had turned out to be okay, too, because the guy from Maggie's school was never mentioned. We managed to sneak off from time to time during the long weekend, but we never did anything too serious. The teenage hormones – and recklessness -- had diminished by then, I suppose. We did kiss a lot and there was some groping going on. I had never explored Maggie's chest during our encounter nine years earlier, and that omission left much new ground to be explored. I think Maggie enjoyed my exploratory missions and subsequent discoveries as much as I did. We corresponded more frequently after the reunion and the following June, I returned to Nebraska to claim Maggie as my bride. I brought her back to California with me and she got a teaching job in the San Francisco east bay the next fall. Together we reared four children – two boys and two girls – and were blessed with five grandchildren and one grandchild – so far. We celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary just over a year ago, just in time. Maggie died suddenly last January from an unknown and unsuspected heart condition. She didn't suffer at all. But I do. I miss her so much... END ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 52