[FM] The Bittersweet Memoirs #1: The Exchange Student.

Like most people, I suppose, my life has been one long journey lined by love, failure, and heartache. I warn you now, these stories, whilst full of love, sex and excitement, will rarely end in a happily ever after.

This will be my attempt to immortalise those memories, before they fade. As a result, I cannot guarantee the accuracy of my retelling, as my recollection is already rusty.

The events of this story occur before [the story of jess](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/87zzio/my_sisters_best_friend_fm/), though earlier in the same year

Like all stories, this must have a beginning. So let us begin with the story of Laura, my first serious girlfriend.

Laura made her first appearance in my life in my last year of highschool, in the form of my elder sisters foreign exchange student, an exotic imported delicacy from faraway France.
Laura was two years older than me, the same age as my sister, and thirsted for an escape from her small, provincial town, where she lived with her mother and sisters in an old Chateau, where the stairs were bowed from the passage of feet and time, and the floors creaked in ancient, dusty voices as you walked.

Laura was about as typically southern French as anyone could be: Her skin was a smooth, glowing olive, her hair like spun dark chocolate, framing her face in elegant shadows. Her eyes, likewise, were wells of melted cacao, sagely but sad. 20 years old, Laura had never had much luck with the boys from her hometown, which held a meagre population of 223. She had hoped for more success in university, but found herself equally disappointed, and so she came into my life an unspoiled, innocent flower. She spoke excellent English, like most well educated French people do, and so decided to go on exchange, and experience some more of the world.

She was of average height, but superbly formed. Her sun-tanned skin flowed like honey over a narrow waist, contrasted by her generous, round curves, and a finely formed pair of decidedly averagely sized breasts. Her skin had the sort of clarity and silken smoothness that required no makeup, for she wore none, yet naturally appeared flawless. From the moment I saw her, on her arrival from the airport, I knew it’d be a struggle to ignore her. Unfortunately, at the time of her arrival I found myself already in a relationship, albeit one which had not progressed beyond frantic kissing and poorly coordinated groping.

I was 18, and like all 18 year old boys, I was incorrigible. I knew I had the potential to get myself, and her, into a lot of trouble if I didn’t keep my distance, however initially, this was far easier than you might think. Being in my final year of highschool, I was swamped by school work, and otherwise occupied by sporting commitments, which found me leaving home at 5 in the morning, attending school from 9-3, then training till 6pm, and returning home utterly exhausted, and promptly collapsing into a near comatose state. My lifestyle was not conducive to chasing girls, nor for that matter, maintaining a relationship.

As a result, my aforementioned miserably uneventful relationship found itself crumbling at the most inopportune moment, about a month after her arrival, just as she had begun to grow comfortable with her new surroundings, where she would be spending the next year of her life. Newly single, and still 18, my hormones found themselves unable to ignore the gorgeous invader of my territory, though I saw her very little whilst school was still in session. It wasn’t until I had completed my final exams that I had any time to return to the land of the living, and actually get to know Laura, who by this point had found herself very disappointed with her host family. She had no particular issue with my parents, but my sister had grown horrid to her, constantly arguing and berating her.
With all my newly found time, I began to interact more with the timid, shy spectre inhabiting my home, who flitted from room to room avoiding my sister. I often found myself sitting in a room alone with her, talking, learning about her home, learning a bit of French, and generally enjoying her presence. Her accent was deliciously sweet, and to this day I cannot hear a French accent without feeling its effects. Eventually, we grew more comfortable around each other, and I found myself admiring her more and more, and whereas I’d only passingly noted that she was attractive before, now it was all I could see. I would close my eyes and still she would be there, smiling and giggling shyly, her eyes sparkling as she took furtive glances at me from behind loose strands of hair.

After a few weeks of the holidays had passed, my parents decided it would make for a good bonding exercise between my sister, myself and Laura if we were to go on a vacation. And so they attempted to break the news to us. I was keen, having no ill-will towards either beaches, or Laura. My sister however despised both of these things, as only a young girl can, and steeled her will and firmly refused to go. And so my parents plan had failed form the outset, although in the end they press ganged her into the car, and away we all went on a vacation.

Despite the repeated admonitions and frantic protests of my coach, warning of my losses in performance so close to nationals, I decided that I had earnt myself a place in my own families vacation, having juggled school and sport long enough. I was long overdue for some relaxation, time to unwind and destress on the white sand beaches of coastal Australia.
Whilst I already lived a mere 20 minutes from a beach, my family had a longstanding tradition of taking a yearly trip to a particularly exceptional set of islands, where the water flowed clear and blue, azure highways for iridescent fish, elegantly leaping dolphins, shadowy stingrays and scantily clad swimmers. The sand was always fine, warm, and blindingly white, and the air clean and refreshing, even in the summer heat. I was looking forward to returning to our favourite spot, not having realised that for the first time, I’d be locked in a car with Laura beside me for 5 hours. Sprawled out sleeping across the backseat and resting her feet on me, there would be no avoiding her, and with the sweltering heat of the Australian sun beating on the car, there would be no escaping the clinging of her skin against mine as her sweating limbs glued themselves to mine in the tight backseat of our car, which she was determined to use as a bed to the best of her ability.

My mother, unable to secure time away from work, stayed home (to her great disappointment), whilst my sister, pressganged into joining us, sat in the front seat, as far away from Laura as she could manage, headphones in and dead to the world. My dad drove, not trusting me or my sister on a longer journey across country roads, which were often unsealed grave and packed dirt. Laura was wearing a polka dot dress, in a dark navy with small white dots, in a light, flowy fabric for the journey, a very suitable choice in the summer heat. I was wearing light shorts, and a standard tee, and found myself overheating more due to the feeling of her smooth, sculpted calves sitting on my lap, more than the oppressive heat of the sun beating against the windows of the car.

Laura had thoughtfully brought headphones along with her, which she shared with me (as we shared similar musical tastes), attached to her fancy new iPod Touch, the latest and greatest innovation in multimedia. However, as anyone who has attempted to share headphones knows, it necessitates a certain closeness, in order to reach both people ears. This lead to Laura rearranging herself so she was leaning against me, in the middle seat, her head on my shoulder. She had evidently grown comfortable with me, and I was in no mind to complain, regardless of the fact that the skin on my arm was binding itself to hers, and was growing unbearable hot quite quickly.

We spent the first hour of the trip enjoying the music, using the “notes” function on her phone to communicate, to avoid talking near my sister, who had a tendency to snarl and bark whenever she could hear our voices over her music. It felt secretive, and personal, moreso than our previous interactions, and aided by our physical closeness, seemed to bring us together in more ways than one. On that trip, I first began to consider the possibility of life with Laura as more than a friend, or even a “pseudo sister”, as the exchange agency had encouraged us to think of her, and began to imagine the incredibly improbably fantasy of dating her.
Our little secret messages turned into a playful sharing of secrets – her asking if I’d ever kissed a girl, me admitting I had. It was then that I learnt that she was utterly unexperienced in love, never having had a chance to explore her natural, human curiosity. The maximum extent of her romantic history extended to one kiss, at age 15. It was after that question that I began to consider the idea that Laura was entertaining the very same improbable fantasy as me – though I did not push the issue. I gently probed her with measured questions about her past, and more bluntly she probed at mine – I would ask something like “why didn’t you date the boy you kissed”, gauging what she sought out in a man, and she would ask questions like “have you ever felt a girls body”, in her clumsy English.
It was with these thoughts, and the subtle contact of her body against mine, that my body began to betray me, blood flooding where it had no right to go. I was 18, what can you expect?

Laura, to her credit, either did not notice, or did not react – either out of politeness or obliviousness, it made no matter to me. I was just glad to avoid the potential awkwardness which it could have caused. I had no wish for her to detach herself from my side, no wish for her to notice the outline of my hardening cock underneath the thin fabric of my shorts. And just as I was willing her to stay there forever, she informed me she was sleepy, and returned to her previous position, head on one side of the car, resting on a soft bag full of clothes, and her feet placed on my lap. This did not help with my predicament, not one little bit.

In order to save myself from my precarious situation, I decided that I may as well join her in resting, as it was early – we had left with the sun – and I was also quite tired, though I blame the heat for that more than the early rise. I put a hand on her hip, and lightly shook her, before gesturing at my head and her waist, indicating I was asking for permission to rest my head on her as I myself slept. It was simultaneously risky, as it could easily be rebuffed and caused tension that would last the rest of the car trip, but also allowed me to turn my hips (and thus my inconsiderate, unyielding boner) away from her delicately sculpted legs, as I turned onto my side, and laid down on her side, she shuffled forward and I placed my head somewhere midway up her body, with one arm behind her body to stabilise my head, the other resting on the seat behind her butt, not touching her.

As soon as her breathing pattern steadied and I was sure she was asleep, my mind continued to betray me, and filled itself with invasive, dangerous thoughts. Revisiting our illicit, secret conversation made in quickly deleted notes, I fell asleep imagining running my hand up her leg, and into her panties (which I had seen where black, with cream frills), feeling her pure, untouched wetness.

When I woke, my left hand was between her two thighs, mere centimetres from her little slice of paradise, locked in place by salty, sweaty glue. Immediately those forbidden thoughts resurfaced, as did our earlier confessional session, and I found myself unable to resist – I extended my thumb, and placed it right near her panties, feeling the heat radiate off of her as she slept sweetly. I gently, lightly, delicately ran my thumb down the skin beside edge of her panties, down along her thigh, and was delightfully rewarded with goosebumps that extended down that leg, enticing me to repeat the process with her other leg, which also erupted into goosebumps. I decided not to press my luck, and stopped teasing her body, but found myself unable to extract my hand, as it was quite stuck in its compromising position.

Stuck at an impasse, unable to remove my hand without waking her and alerting her to its previous position, and equally unable to take advantage of the situation whilst she was sleeping due to my own (admittedly weak) sense of propriety and morality, I replaced my thumb with the rest of my fingers, farther from her hot wetness, and attempted to go back to sleep.

When next I woke, the back of my thumb was pressed firmly against her panties, and felt positively steamy. I left it there, and went back to sleep, figuring that if it could move there by itself legitimately, she could hold no ill will against me for its positioning.

I woke for the last time to her bumping my legs with her feet, attempting to being me back to consciousness. My hands was back on the seat, so I could only assume it’d somehow become unclamped from between her thighs, and freed itself whilst we were still asleep, as she made no indication that she either knew it had been sitting against her panties for the past few hours.

We left the car, unpacked, and checked into our hotel, right on the water, where my father and sister got one room, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, my father entrusted me to stay with Laura in the other room. Ostensibly, the room had two single beds, pressed together, to form a double. Upon inspection, my father suggested we move the beds apart and all would be well, to which we both agreed.

It was only about 1pm, so we left the hotel room, myself and Laura, and went for a walk along the seaside. I don’t remember discussing it, we just both mutually decided to take the walk alone, so I knocked on the door to my dad/sisters room and informed them I was going to take Laura and walk around the enclosed waterway that was within hotel grounds, and off we went.

As we reached the path beside the water, Laura took my hand into hers, and I gladly accepted it, only glancing slightly in her direction, thinking she had done it automatically and any reaction would break the spell, returning her to reality. She then began returned to our previous conversation we’d shared via notes on the car ride over, discussing in more details how there were only 5 boys in her class in school, and they were quite outnumbered by girls, and had spent most of their time chasing the more popular, extroverted girls.

I expressed my heartfelt, sincere bewilderment that anyone would be able to focus on other girls whilst she was in the picture, which brought her to a bright pink blush as her face flushed with blood, and she look down at her feet sweetly and shyly as we walked. After a while, she looked back at me, a new expression set in her face, her eyes suddenly large and inviting, almost begging. She lead us over to a bench, and we sat down looking out onto the gentle waves, the breeze blowing her dress and hair, and doing its best to chill us whilst the sun threatened to fry us like eggs.

She turned her body to face me, her knees knocking against mine as we sat there on that bench, and in her delicious French accent, simply said “Would you kiss me”?.

It was not asked like a request, more like an insecure question. I started to see the loneliness that had grown in her during a lifetime in a small town, surrounded by the same people. I felt sorry for this lovely girl who had never had anyone hold her and tell her how perfect she was, and felt a wave of affection flow over me, as I squeezes her hand, her fingers still interlocked with mine, and raised my other hand up to her cheek.

I think she was surprised by the fact that I leant in and kissed her, expecting my answer to be in words, an spoken affirmation or compliment, as the first seconds of the kiss were her simply stiffening up and freezing, before she seemed to register what was happening, and began reciprocating. It was a simple kiss, our heads tilted to each side with our lips gently passing over each other, more passionate that lustful. It felt right to me.

After what must have been only 30 seconds, but felt like a paradigm shifting year, I attempted to withdraw my face from hers, and to my surprise, as I pulled back, she leaned into me, wanting more. I was doing better than I thought. But still, I steeled my will and disengaged, moving my hand from her cheek to her shoulder, the other still occupied being held by hers, and steadied her body, out of range of my lips, as I faced her and studied her face.

Fear crossed her face, followed by sadness, and under her breath she gasped “Even you stopped me, even you do not want to kiss me”, her rich, luxurious French accent turning each word to sweet, musical notes.

I was shocked that she interpreted my interruption of her kiss so strongly, and pulled her into a hug, and whispered into her ear “The only reason I stopped, is because if I continued, I’d never be able to pull myself away from you”.

She paused for a moment, barely breathing, considering the impact of what I had just told her. She leant back from my tender embrace, and looked up at my face, her eyes tinged slightly with tears.

“I think I’d like that”

That was all she said, and it was all the persuasion I needed. I ran my hand up from her shoulder, across her collar bone, up her neck, and to the nape of her neck, and brought her face to mine, and kissed her deeply, affectionately. I disengaged my other hand from its prison between her fingers, and placed it on her hip bones, drawing her body closer to mine, as I kissed her more hungrily. My tongue flicked her lips the first time I attempted to introduce it to the equation, and she quickly adapted her technique to accommodate for its presence, and so Laura experienced her first proper “French Kiss”, a term which required some explanation after we stopped and I informed her of my little joke.

I returned to kissing her, this time controlling her head more carefully with my hand on the back of her head, fingers intertwined with her hair, as I kiss from her lips to her cheek, down her jawline, and down her neck, lightly placing little wet marks on her lovely olive skin as I tasted the subtly salty flavour of sweat and excitement that emanated from her. Her breathing began to grow rasping, and she arched her head back, giving me better access to her neck. My other hand ascended from her hipbone to the base of her ribcage, feeling the bones beneath her skin through her dress. Her bone was slender, yet plentiful where it counted. I did not push my luck, nor my hand higher up her torso, ending with only the tip of my thumb under the edge of her bra, my fingers wrapped around her ribs, pulling her into me, trying to melt us into one being.

I cannot say how long I spent kissing from her neck, down to her collar bones, and all the way back up to her cheek and tips. Time had ceased to have meaning to me, until the sun was setting and we had not moved from the bench, where she had ended up with her legs placed over mine, along the bench, half sitting on my lap. Hungrily, we kissed, the intensity of our inexperienced lust surprising both of us every time we stopped to breathe before diving back in. We stopped to admire the sunset over the water, which painted the clouds in hues of blue, pink and red. That moment will forever remain imprinted in my memory, as the golden light bathed her face, and she nuzzled into me. I was content, moreso than I ever had been before.

As the sunlight died, we headed back to the apartments, where I knocked on dads’ door to inform him we were back, safe, unrobbed and unmurdered. He was watching TV, and my sister was in the shower, where she was likely removing the makeup she had spent two hours carefully applying this morning, long before the sun rose. I walked back with Laura into our room, and looked at the bedding arrangement, before making eye contact with Laura. Though unspoken, I knew we’d arrived at the same question:

Do we separate the beds?

Without breaking our silence, Laura walked over to the edge of one bed, sat down, and began removing her shoes, little tan ballet flats, and her socks, white with small frills. There were unbearably cute.

I came up to her and sat beside her, the springs only just creaking as they adjusted to my weight, and put my hand on her back, massaging as I moved from her lower back up to her shoulder, resting my hand with my thumb on the zipper. I played with the metal zipper to alert her to what I was thinking, at which point she turned her head to face me, leaned in to kiss me, and after pulling back, bit her lip and nodded. I grasped the zipper, and as slowly as possible pulled it down. She began to shuffle her shoulders, loosening the dress in an attempt to remove it, before I told her “no, wait”, sat back further into the bed, and spread the now loose flaps of her dress with both hands, and began to properly massage her back. I rubbed my fingers into her flesh, her muscles knotted from the cramped car trip, as she melted forward, her elbows on her knees and head in her hands. I worked my hands into her skin, once more trying to meld us into one being, working the tension from her body, as she began to emit small, contented moans and gasps. At length, working from the base of her back upwards, I eventually reached her shoulders, and finally parted her dress, and she sat up straighter, allowing me to pass it over her arms, freeing her of the now sweaty garment. She stepped off the bed, stood up, and allowed the dress to fall to the ground, before turning to face me.

The very moment that dress hit the ground, my growing erection turned into a solid rock. Her breasts, a solid C or perhaps edging on D, were elegantly supported by a matching bra to her panties, black with cream lace, with vertical lines on the cups. She made a shy smile as I soaked in the view, thinking I was either dreaming, hallucinating, or losing my mind.

I stood, and my hands automatically retook their old position, one on her hip bone, over the fabric of her panties, and the other just below the edge of her bra, clasped around her ribs. I leant in and kissed her, wet, warm and passionate, trying to convey my feelings for her, which had rapidly escalated that afternoon, floodgates of affection opening and unleashing themselves on her. I began to make circles with the thumb that had taken up residence below her bra, the tip of it finding its way below her underwire, just making contact with the base of the mountains that formed her beautiful breasts. Her body shuddered perceptibly as I ran my thumb over that sensitive, untouched skin, and she broke away from the kiss to gasp, before resuming in a redoubled assault, and her hands removed my shirt, necessarily removing my hands from her body in the process.

My shirt removed and unceremoniously discarded with her dress on the carpeted hotelroom floor, I turned by body till I stood before her, the bed behind her, grabbed her hips with both hands, and gently pushed her backwards, her knees buckling as her calves met the edge of the bed, her eyes intense and hungry as they sought contact with mine. Her hands were on my chest, which at that time was well built from years spent in gyms and on tracks every day, the subtle lines of a unimpressive but undeniable sixpack adorned my stomach, and as she ran her hands from my lightly hairy chest down over my body, I lifted her at the hips and adjusted her further back onto the bed, before crawling in after her, leaning down to kiss from her neck, collar bones, down her sternum, down to her bellybutton and along the edge of her panties.

She was gasping for air by the time I reached her panties with my tender kisses, each lovingly placed on her salty skin, as I looked up and made eye contact with her and she bucked up her hips, almost whacking me in the chin with her pelvis, which I took as very solid evidence she wished for me to remove her panties. I was situated ideally between her thighs, her legs from the knee down had disappeared into another dimension as she had spread her legs to welcome me. I did not indulge her eager request to remove her clothing yet, instead turning my head, moving even further downwards, and kissing down the insides of her thighs, first the left, then the right. I could feel the heat of her pussy emanating strongly as my face approached her panties, could see the wetness that had grown in her panties, could smell her arousal. I lowered my head, and kissed her over the panties, where her pubic mount started. I could feel the hair below, see faint imprints of it under the fabric.

I kissed again, further down, over the place I knew concealed the mythical “clit”, which I had heard so much about. I had some experience, my hands had found their way into a few pairs of pants over the years, but never before had I had a chance to do this. I kissed her again, a quick, almost comedic kiss, which caused her to giggle, before I sat up straighter, brought my hands forward, and ran them down the outside of her thighs, hooking my thumbs under her panties, then pulling them down as her knees buckled in, and her innocence was revealed to me, a tuft of dark hair formed a triangular patch over her mons, not trimmed too short, but with the edged cleaned up with a razor. For someone who had certainly not expected to end up with a face between her legs today, she had a very well kept pussy.

I placed my hands on her knees, and spread them again, diving bodily into her, my mouth kissing along her tanlines, where the faint imprint of the lace of her panties was still fresh on her pale, untanned skin, leaving a pink pattern. Her moans were sweet and unsure as I moved from left to right across that line, before reorienting myself above the triangle of hair that pointed to paradise. I planted soft, wet kissed above that patch of well groomed landscaping, then moved down, following the direction indicated by the triangle. My hands were cupping her butt, their backs pressed into the mattress and sheet, and I lifted her hips to meet my mouth, and she quickly picked up on what was happening, and pulled the spare pillow beside her into place under her round, shapely butt. Regardless, I did not remove my hands, simply let the pillow take the pressure off of them as they cupped her lovely cheeks.

I lowered my mouth the final hairs breadths down to her pussy, which glistened in the pale moonlight that entered through the shutters of the hotel windows, and kissed from the top of her pussy, above her clit, down the left side, her soft, smooth outer lips goosebumped and round, before returning up the right side, and extending my tongue out once I reach the top, burying it into her clit, but lightly, and her hips began to buckle. The sensation must have been overwhelmingly new and different for her, as I learnt later she did not even indulge herself before that night. I moved my tongue in undulating movements, left to right, right to left, varying pressure as it went over her sensitive little nub, before drawing circles with the tip of my tongue around it, occasionally flicking it from bottom to top with, and planting kisses on it.

Her bodies response was overwhelmingly positive, as she arched her back and pushed her hips into my face, and I lowered my tongue, giving her clit some much needed reprieve, and began to taste her wetness more properly. I ran my tongue down her labia, which was pink tinged with only the slightest edges of tan as it blended with her skin. She was sweet, musky and salty all at once, and altogether intoxicating. I found that I very much enjoyed the taste of pussy, and made a mental note to change my diet accordingly. I pressed my tongue against her wet, tight, virgin opening, and made slight circles with the tip on it, not trying to thrust it into her, only activate her nerves. It clearly worked, as she stifled what would have been a fairly audible moan through the thin hotel walls, and I was suddenly very appreciative of her discretion and thoughtfulness. Not that I particularly had an issue with my parents finding out about me and her, more due to the embarrassment of being overheard in a…. Compromising position.

Hungrily I devoured her, still being mindful not to put too much pressure on her with my tongue, not to overwhelm her body. I wanted to savour this moment, this delectable instant in which the stars had aligned and everything had been utterly perfect, culminating in the sweet joining of two eager, lustful, and even loving souls. I sucked, kissed, licked and teased at her pussy, from the low wetness of her perfect entry, to the sensitive clit that made her buck and writhe, and the soft, generous lips around her pussy that framed it so perfectly. She ran her hands through my hair, grabbing at my scalp and holding me in place, unwilling to allow me to leave, let alone breathe. I was in heaven, but rapidly becoming aware of a growing cramp in my neck, which disappointed me, as I had wanted to bring her to a climax.

I began to only lightly, lazily lick her clit, and introduced my fingers to the equation, working on in, and making circular, small motions before adding another finger to her oppressively tight pussy. She was incredibly fresh, and I remember thinking then that she must never have even put a finger in herself, and wondered what was going on in France that girls did not even explore themselves. With two fingers in her, I began pumping them gently in and out of her, curling them upwards every time I was pulling out, trying to stimulate the upper wall of her pussy. Still my tongue lazily lapped at her perfection, as I felt the folds of her pussy enveloping my fingers.

I disengaged with her moist, glistening perfection, extracting an almost betrayed gasp from her, and wandered up until my face was in line with hers. She seemed utterly unfazed by the face my mouth would undoubtedly taste of her as I went in to kiss her, and was undeterred by the new flavour of her pussy, which I had been happily suckling on like a bear with a honeycomb. I felt her hands move to my back, and down to my waistband of my shorts as the pulled them down, having already undone the button at some point (though I had not noticed) and I looked at her, with intensity in my eyes, and asked here whether I should go get a condom (which like all 18 year olds I had in my wallet).

She took my comment along two trains of thought in her head, the first being “no, I’m on the pill”, and the second being “he’s asking whether I want him to fuck me, and that’s a huge, resounding yes”

The resultant sentence was “yes, I’m on the pill”.

Needless to say I was confused, before she shook her head, and said, “No condom, I have the pill. But please, fuck me.”

It was strange hearing “fuck me” with her Frenchness and sweetness, almost incongruous with the image I had built of her, but I was not one to argue with those instructions. I knew she was telling the truth about the pill, I had actually overheard her talking with my mom about refilling the prescription she had for the pill, which she took to reduce period pain and control duration.

I lined myself up with her, already utterly rock hard, as only a man in the prime of his youth can be, and looked at her pretty face, her wide moonbeam eyes, and she nodded slightly, biting her lip, as I slowly made the plunge into her hot, incredibly tight pussy. She was wet, slippery and prepared with my entire (if limited by inexperience) arsenal of techniques, and the head of my generous, somewhat thick cock found its way into the guiding walls of her pussy. I am not particularly huge, only slightly longer and somewhat thicker than the average, but with her, I may as well have walked out of a computer from a porno. I was slow, gentle, even cautious and terrified of hurting her, and worked my way back and forth, inching ever forward in distances much smaller than inches, feeling her slick wetness coat my cock a little more every time.

My hips thrust into her in limited, controlled rocking motions, and my hands held her hips, controlling both of us so either bucked into the other too quickly, too deeply. Eventually, I was halfway inside her, feeling the tight, constricting walls stretch and struggle to accommodate me, as I leant down, still inside her, and kissed her, whispering sweet nothing into her ear, and gently began to extract myself and plunge back in, coating myself in more of her slick, sweet juices. Further and further I edged into her, her pussy lips gripping, clinging to the sides of my cock, strands of her lubrication remaining every time I rocked my hips back. The feeling was undeniably incredible, as we lost our mutual virginities, sweating in a fresh new hotel, having steamed past every obstacle in our way like a freight train of lust and desire as our bodies ground against each other, and I finally bottomed out in her, my full, not inconsiderate length buried inside her hot wetness. As we collided, slowly at first, we were both straining to remain quiet, but our breaths were ragged, heavy gasps, interrupted and rasping as we strained, her with the overwhelming sensations and me with the effort rocking my hips into her and working our bodies like one, although I will admit I was unprepared for how intense sex would be (not realising at the time that few partners I’d have in the future would equal her).

Slowly, I built the pace, pounding rather than plunging, our bodies slamming together in a hurricane of ecstasy and hot, wet lust. The bed creaked ever so slightly, and the headboards luckily where cushioned wood, integral with the walls and did not slam against it. She began to push her hips back into my thrusts, and our lovemaking took on a new spirit, both of us working our bodies in unison, a furious fight of affection and almost urgency.

Her legs wrapped around the small of my back, and I moved my hands to the gap made under her arms, leaning in, as I powered my waist and she bucked her hips again, and again until our bodies made wet slapping noises against each other in the silence of the night. We must have been locked like that half an hour, which I recognise now was unusually long, however I’ve always struggled in brining myself to orgasm, with or without assistance.

Eventually, sweaty, and panting, I extracted herself from her legs, which had glued themselves to my back, and turned her over, kissing her back as I set up her legs and arms in an ideal position to match our varying heights, and lined myself up to fuck her. I moved her hair to one side of her neck, so I could admire her face in the moonlight as I pounded myself into her slippery, wet tightness, which still seemed to threaten to push me out if I was not careful, however any of the earlier pain she felt had gone long, long ago to be replaced only by moans, and gasps and hunger.

I slammed my body against hers, and hers against mine with my hands on her hips, my muscles working hard to keep her momentum up with mine, feeling every tight fold of her pussy as my cock pushed part them. Enveloped in her hotness, I rocked and rolled my hips with hers, our pace steady but hard. Our panting and gasping breaths were loud, and I could see a corner of the blanket in her mouth as she suppressed her moans.

At length, I fucked her from behind, admiring the dimples of her back, and finally undoing her bra, which she promptly discarded, allowing me to reach around and tease her nipples, another totally new and overwhelming experience for her, however without being able to see them, to suck them, I was unsatisfied. I pulled out, and as she turned to look at me took her face into my hands, and slowly brought her up to kiss me, allowing her to twist her exquisite body to face mine, before I laid down and pulled her onto me, my hands working their way up from her waist to those perfect, perky breasts, with their pinkish brown areolas, probably only an inch and a half in diameter, and her nipples were pointy pencil erasers. I devoured her nipples, circling them with my tongue as the hardened and her back arched, her hips and my arms working in unison below. Her breasts were lovely, the skin pale, blue veins ever so slightly visible through translucent skin that had never seen the sun.

As she rode me, I felt the pressure at last begin to build, and regrettably disengaged with her lovely breasts, straightened, and whispered to her that I was about to cum. She paused in her gasping, mumbled out “mmhm”, and kept riding, and at that point two things happened. I am pretty sure I fell in love with her, and I am pretty sure I developed a fetish for finishing in women.

It wasn’t long after that that I exploded inside of her tight, formerly untouched pussy, and felt her lift herself off of me, and saw my cum leak out of her as she swung her body around to lay down next to my exhausted, ruined body. I think she felt much the same as she nestled into the crook of my shoulder and looked up at me with those big, gorgeous eyes, two dark chocolates swimming in milky white under the moonlight.

We slept very, very soundly that night and the next day, made no attempt to hide our affection. At breakfast we were civil, and polite, but before long she had kissed me in full view of my father, and my venomous sister.

Our relationship went well from there. That week-long holiday went much in the way of the first night, except we did not limit ourselves to the hotel.

I can fondly recall an especially wonderful occasion where we went out on a kayak, just me and her, and went out investigating a mangrove patch with many twist, turns and enclosed alcoves where I untied her bikini top and for the first time admired her lovely breasts in the full, brilliant light of the sun. From that point on, we often fucked with the light on, as I was unwilling to waste a single moment which could otherwise be used to admire and worship her body.

When our vacation was finally at an end, she spent the car ride back leaning against me, sharing the headphones, with my hand under her, a finger swirling around her insides slowly, unseen by all.

At home, she swiftly moved into my room, where we slept together from then on. It was a golden summer, 4 months of love and sex and affection, followed by a brutal betrayal.

I cannot say for certain this is what happened, but I cannot think of anyone else who would have done it.

You see, exchange students are not supposed to sleep with their hosts.

I can only suspect my sister, who was viciously unhappy with the relationship that had sprouted from nothing underneath her very nose. Whether it was due to jealousy, that I managed to befriend Laura (… and more), and she had not, or whether she simply did it out of spite, I cannot say.

I cannot even say for sure that she was the one who reported us.

(too long, continued in comment)

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/88m2dy/fm_the_bittersweet_memoirs_1_the_exchange_student