More than a few years ago, in college (isn’t that when all the good stuff happens? Maybe not…stories for another day), I struck up a bit of young lust with a cute co-ed we’ll call “Julie”. The thing to know about the two of us is that at the time, we had each been raised to be such good little rule-followers, so we were. Week in, week out, for almost two decades. Until we weren’t.
I’d taken a liking to Julie right away, she was smart, beautifully awkward and sassy, not to mention incredibly flirty. Something about the combination of sweetness throughout and a spiciness just under the surface that drove me wild. And those eyes, my goodness her eyes. We joked and flirted all through our short time working together on campus before the school year ended and it was time for us to go back to our respective corners of this all-too-large country for the summer. We kept in touch with phone calls and the messaging services we had, often long heart-fluttering chats about everything and nothing.
It didn’t take long before we hatched a plan for me to go hop on a plane and stay with her for a few days. Keep in mind, we weren’t even officially dating yet, just a couple of charged up, sexy (if I do say so) college kids. This was before smartphones or social media, and we hadn’t taken a photo together. For those long months, all I had was what I could recall from a handful of hours seeing her beautiful face, and a few stolen glances at peek-a-boo thong straps hugging her impossible ass. That summer, I often found time to myself to think on her sexiness.
I should describe myself and her to help set the scene: I’ve maintained a fairly athletic build, fit-ish and muscular without rippling, a sharp jawline, a little taller than average, light eyes and I’ve been told I’ve got a nice butt myself. Julie has naturally curly hair, deep brown eyes, and a sporty frame with gorgeous curves, but it was always the way she carried herself with a kind of confidence that drew me in like a tractor beam.
So, I got on a plane, palms sweating the whole way. Coming down the airport escalator to see her goofy grin, and that she’d gotten all dolled up, it hit like winning a year’s supply of sweet chocolate kisses. It wasn’t long until we held hands and felt hands wandering in all the PG rated ways that good kids do, caressing my shoulders in an extended hug, the small of her back beneath her crop top just above the waist of her skirt, her leaning in to sniff my cologne as she released a less than innocent “mmm”.
That first night was clear and pleasant, so we snuck out of our respective bedrooms to grab a blanket under the moon and stars. She met me in a braless pj camisole top and shorts, as I wore a tee and gym shorts. We talked and laughed (quietly) for close to an hour before the tension got to us. I worked up the courage to tell her I wanted to kiss her, and she was every bit as eager as I was. I gave her my very best, the kind of kiss that says “we’re not going to rush this, I’ve got all the time in the world unless your dad catches us.” It was a gentle blend of lips softly receiving one another and tongues patiently darting over lips to meet together in a dance, each move more fulfilling than the last. Without a word, she climbed on top of me – not a shred of clothing removed (that would be wrong), but our bodies knew what we wanted, and we were going to get it. With my hands invited to hold her by the ass (a true gentleman wouldn’t let his lady fall), she began the most subtle rocking with her hips. Each of us uncertain and more uncaring of the consequences, we settled in to enjoy the forbidden touch. Our bodies were fractions of an inch from intertwining, but it might as well have been miles. For that night though, it was enough. Our breathing quickened together, our stupid clothes soaked in sweat, eyes locked on one another’s and our bodies doing what was unquestionably sinful.
You should know that at this time, I’d never brought a woman to orgasm. Not out of selfishness, but out of lack of opportunity. Good boys like me wait til marriage for this kind of thing, and I guess at the time I truly fell for the notion that “no-practice makes perfect.” There we were, legs and hips locked in a way that was far past the boundaries that had been set for us, but we were ensconced in our chosen vice for as long as we could manage. Imagine my innocent surprise when a tuck of her hair, seemed to signal a shift, as Julie’s subtle grinds became just a bit more pronounced, a bit more rhythmic, and the words faded into private gasps but her focused eyes spoke volumes. Julie tripped into a rapture, fully present, and yet a dimension away, silently embattled to the core over the reality of her breathlessness. Barely a whimper escaped her throat, as she tried to keep the ecstasy a secret, perhaps even from herself. A lifetime of messages about the evil of sexual pleasure stood no chance against the hard proof of its colorful beauty she felt in that moment. As she slowly returned from her otherworldly expedition, I embraced her and our eyes made silent vows that we would continue to adventure together through this space we found, this dangerous but more-so beautiful wilderness…and I have never been one to break a promise.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/xtvv5g/mf_accidentally_over_the_moon