(a true story of two high school seniors – 18+ – written in the 3rd person and with some narrative embellishment. Enjoy.)
Daphne was shy, but smart. Lean, but lanky. Probably had potential to be a “looker”, but not quite socially-adept enough to figure it out. Her social and romantic prospects were not at all helped by her dad being one of the least-liked teachers at her high school.
Despite this (or because of it), Daphne was suffering the sexual frustration of a high school senior who had yet to kiss – heck, yet to even hold hands! – with a guy. Among her friend group – which, must be acknowledged, was not exactly “cheerleaders and druggies” – she was by far the least experienced, and in a play on her musicality, had been nicknamed the “virtuoso virgin”. Not that her friends were THAT experienced, either, but somehow, here she was, not having done anything, while even Emma (who looked like a mouse) had made out with someone, and Jenny (whose mom wouldn’t even let her wear tampons) had let a guy at church camp touch her boobs.
Restless in bed, she imagined what holding another person against her would feel like. She ran her hands down her lean frame, imagining them belonging to an unknown lover. Rubbing herself against her clenched fist, release eluded her, and in frustration, she lay awake contriving a plan to change things.
The plan, admittedly, was not “robust”. An upcoming dance, a bare-shoulder dress (quite sexual to her mind), a repeated manta of “It’s just a dance. I can go to a dance…”, and an attempt to work herself into a social situation she felt alien in.
The night of the dance, pulling on her dress, she hadn’t yet thought of how the thin straps would leave her bra straps showing. With her A-cups, wearing a bra was only a formality, a modesty, but nonetheless seemed like one she was obligated to. But a modesty that was unworkable, tonight, as she realized and shed the bra.
Her breasts rubbing the silky inside of the dress was stimulating, and as she went about fixing her hair and sundry other preparations, the constant feeing of their movement was hard to set aside. A naughty thought popped in her mind – the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else, so why…she thought…why did she…
Her panties, retrieved from under her dress, came to rest on the bathroom counter. Looking at herself in the mirror, the lack of any underwear was clearly nothing more than her own private secret, and the feel of the silky dress now moving against her bare body was electric. But an onset of panic, and back on they went. A twinge of disappointment in herself, and back off. “What would people think if they knew?”, and back on. “Who on earth WOULD know?!”, and back off. The last doffing landed them in a puddle of water, which she decided resolved the matter, and to her car she went, wearing only the dress and nothing but her secret underneath.
It was louder than she expected. And more people. And the guys in their dress clothes. She hadn’t thought of that – that they would look good, too. Walking into the school gym, she found a seat against the wall and watched. Watched the dancing, the fun, the couples, the couples, particularly – their closeness and the look of a suit pressing into a dress. As she watched, her eyes drifted towards a group of guys standing to the side, and inadvertently caught those of Aidan.
Aidan was also a bit of an odd duck. Not fitting any of the typical high-school social classifications, he was muscular, but not athletic; talented, but not exceptionally; smart, but not notable. Like Daphne, his dad taught at the school. He and Daphne were acquaintances, but not friends; polite, but not close. But this was all a lot to contemplate in the second their eyes met, and before she knew what moved her to this, she had stood, and him taking this as a well-timed invitation to the slow dance song which had just started playing, was asking, “Daphne, would you like to dance?”
A nervous head bob was all that she could summon; of course, it was all that was needed. Walking out towards the other couples, Aidan embraced Daphne and they started their slow, stilted, high-school-dance meander and avoidance-of-stepping-on-each-others-feet rouse. While unsaid, and unknown to each other, they (and perhaps all high-schoolers, ever) were really only motivated by the facile intimacy the dance routine gave.
Feeling Aidan’s body radiate warmth against her was exactly the intimacy she sought, though. The subtle smell of him, the feel of his suit jacket against her hands – those were nice, but his height – how had she never considered what it would feel to be so close to someone to have to look up to him?
As they pulled closer, his hand moved from her waist downward. “What a teenage troupe,” she thought, as his hand “accidentally” worked its way down to rest on her butt. Not that she minded – the feeling of his hand on her was not one she wanted to stop, and she pulled in closer to him to give him more opportunity.
Caressing her while ostensibly swaying to the dance music, they seemed to meander away from the center of the gym and towards a darker corner. Whether this was his or her doing seems not to matter. The result, though, was enough additional privacy that he must have felt emboldened, for now Daphne felt his hands on her butt…kneading? Crawling? Massaging? No, she came to understand, as she connected the dots with the feeling of cold air creeping up the back of her thighs – he was slowly working her dress upwards.
Not that this should cause any immediate panic. While she felt scandalous earlier at home in her bathroom, her nearly knee-length dress was nothing compared to the skin-tight tube-tops a number of her classmates were wearing.
Yet as the cold air inched up, she felt a bit scared, and meandered their pairing to place her back towards a corner where, at least as far as she could see in her peripheral vision, was only shared with a few other enamored couples.
Then, warmth – his hands, firmly and directly, on her bare ass. Her dress hiked up to nearly her waist, and she exposed to the dimly-lit room behind her. Whether anyone saw or what their reaction may be was not for her to know, though, as Aidan’s head was alongside hers, and besides, how odd it would be to look over her shoulder in this situation, anyways.
Perhaps in an effort to cause her dress to fall back downward, she pulled closer to Aidan, and with this encouragement, he pulled her in, too – close enough that she felt the hardness in front of his pants against her, eliciting a nervous gasp from her, and him believing this an invitation to cup her bare butt even more.
But just as quickly as the embrace escalated, it collapsed – the slow song ending and being replaced with an upbeat tune complete with brighter lights, and they both hurriedly re-situating themselves.
Not being sure who may have seen, and having a lump in her throat that would certainly preclude vigorous dancing, Daphne was somewhat relieved (although not yet understanding the implication) when Aidan said, “Do you want to go somewhere? I know a place…”, and she nodded her agreement.
Walking through the crowd of dancers, Aidan led them out of the gym and around a corner, then to a set of locked doors. From his pocket, a key. “Where did he get that…?,” she wondered, as he opened the door and through to a dark hallway of classrooms. The door closing behind them, the hallway was lit by the glowing “EXIT” sign at the far end of the hall, a trace of moonlight through the windows of the adjacent rooms, and the only noise was her fast breaths behind the low ebbing of the dance music.
Then, his lips on hers. A kiss! His tongue. Electric, she pulled close to him. The warmth of his mouth and the heat of his body. They kissed, pulled their bodies into each other, and felt the warmth of their intimate embrace.
His hands were pulling her hem up, without the subterfuge of the last time. He was grabbing her bare ass and kneading it as their tongues swirled.
Daphne was beside herself with exhilaration and arousal. This was unbelievably “wrong”, her having not really even known Aidan beforehand, and to have gone over so many intimate milestones so quickly…and in this dark hallway? Yet she also felt empowered – the idea that she wanted this and that her decision to come here wearing nothing under her dress was her own doing, her own achievement, her empowered path to her goal – now she was the *femme fatale*, not the *virtuoso virgin*.
So when his hand reached up to cup her breast, she gasped, but didn’t push him away. When he pulled the strap off her shoulder and she felt the cool air on her bare chest, she squirmed encouragement. When his mouth went to the nape of her neck, then her clavicle, then her nipple, she only moaned and embraced it.
Her head swirling, the sound of the zipper didn’t register. His mouth back on hers, and suddenly a burning warmth rubbing against her wetness. His penis! She had never before felt – never before SEEN! – a real one, never had time to explore, to appreciate the firmness and softness, to stroke one up and down, to understand. Yet, here was one rubbing between her legs, and her most immediate thought was that it felt much larger than she had imagined one would.
Then, Aidan lifted her, repositioning her, and she felt the pressure. The soft head, still not entirely understood by her, pressing inside as she was yanked out of her dreamy state by the reality and enormity of their doing. But before she could articulate this, or even form this thought in her mind, Aidan’s strong hands on her hips pulled her down onto his member, knocking the breath from her lungs.
Full. Uncomfortably full. Stretched around him, “full” was the only word in her mind. Yet he didn’t seem to be stopping – he kept pulling a little out and seemed to be putting twice as much back in. Again and again. Finally she felt him pressed tight against her, and it was all, and she thought that “full” didn’t begin to describe this. Stretched around him, she felt the hot firmness deep inside her, and just like that, he pulled it back out. Then back in, then back out, each time leaving her gasping at the intensity of this all. “Aidan! My god…” she exclaimed, while trying to reconcile what had just happened. “I’m not…I’m not a virgin any more…” as Aidan started rhythmically fucking her, as they stood in the dark hallway.
Daphne’s introspection was interrupted by a more primal emotion, though, as she felt herself start to rock her hips inward to meet Aidan’s. The orgasm that eluded her in bed seemed remarkably easier to find with her new lover inside her – pulling him tight, a meek “I’m cumming…” needn’t have even been said as her pussy spasmed around him, squeezing him tighter yet. The tightening and pulsating grip on his cock – not just physically sensory, but also the thought that he had caused it – sent him over the edge, as his waning thrusts coated his member in the cum he had released inside her.
Relaxing their grips on each other, they fell apart. Their situation suddenly seemed rather precarious, as Daphne felt a dribble running down the inside of her leg, and Aidan tried to catch his breath while listening to hear if the dance had yet ended. Looking into each other’s eyes – for the first time, really, since their fleeting, if not fated, pairing on the dance floor – they saw in each other a relief.
Daphne pulled the narrow strap of her dress back up to her shoulder and straightened her hem hastily. Not breaking eye contact, she leaned in and kissed him. Then, with the same wobbly-legged unsure walk that had brought her here, tonight, she walked towards the glow of the “Exit” sign.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/kd9j5n/mf_the_virtuoso_virgin_loses_it_at_the_high