by Ravin' Dave
(04/18/01)

I've heard it said that you can't go home again. I beg to differ.

I met my wife when I was 12 and she was 13. Kris and her family had just moved from Germany to our little town, and, as I was the only kid in school who didn't make fun of her accent, we became friends. Eventually, we began to "go steady," the kind of thing where your mom drives you to the school Valentine's Day dance in the station wagon. As spring of that year approached, and we had been together for about 6 months, our relationship became more and more physical. However, the occasions when we were able to see each other, usually at school, didn't allow for much serious petting...until little-league baseball season started.

The town was so small that we only had one park with 3 baseball fields, so practically the entire community converged on Eaton Park every Saturday. Even though she didn't understand baseball, Kris came faithfully to every game. Her disapproving mother, wheeling an old Pontiac Sunbird, would drop her off at the park, with the understanding that my mother would bring her home after Kris and I trekked the 2 miles back to my house after the game.

I'll never forget that first walk home.

We started off down a path that wound between the railroad tracks and Noonday Creek. About halfway, a side trail led to a small clearing. I took her to this spot and we sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, finally alone. We began to kiss, our young tongues searching every corner in a sort of delightful war. I was still wearing my tight baseball pants and could feel my penis getting erect. I opened my eyes in the middle of a kiss to see if her eyes were closed. They were, so I took advantage of the opportunity to straighten out my erection, but I'm sure it was still as obvious as a lighthouse. When that first torrid kiss ended, Kris turned around and straddled the tree and I did the same. She leaned back against me, and to my embarrassment, my erection brushed the small of her back.

I moved my hand under her shirt and felt her sweaty belly. She offered no reaction, no resistance, so I became bolder. I touched the bottom edge of her bra, on the pretense of simply rubbing her belly. I paused with my hand on the skin beneath her left breast, and pondered what to do next. Her blonde hair was tangled against my face, her eyes were closed, and her mouth relaxed in a dazed smile of contentment. Encouraged, I moved my hand until it lay over her breast. It was the first one I'd ever touched. She didn't move, so I promptly moved my free hand to her other breast.

"What if someone comes?" she asked.

"Only a few of us know about this place, and they're all still at the park," I assured her.

"Won't your mom wonder where we are?"

"We'll tell her we stayed to watch a little bit of my brother's game. He's playing at field number two, you know."

And there I sat, doing the one thing I'd dreamed about since I saw my first dirty magazine. This was what the older boys at school called "feeling off" a girl. But I wasn't sure if this was the real thing, because Kris was wearing a bra and I hadn't yet touched what lay underneath. I wanted more.

I began to massage her breasts, and she didn't seem to mind; her lazy, dazed smile remained. I decided it might be worth a try to get her bra off, so I gently moved her forward and reached under her shirt, searching for the clasp. I'd practiced with my sister's bras, but of course they were empty at the time and a cinch to open. I quickly found that a bra stretched tightly over flesh was a different matter.

"Ouch! That itches!" Kris said suddenly.

"Itches?" I asked.

"I mean 'scratches,'" she replied. "I will do it."

Her hands came around her back and twisted the clasp open. With agile ease, she pulled both arms into her shirt and pulled the bra straps over each arm, and then extricated the bra from a shirtsleeve. I was impressed. She tossed it onto the limb of a nearby dogwood. I put my arms around her and, not wanting to act like the excited, inexperienced virgin that I was, put my hands back on her belly. They lay there, nonchalant for several seconds, before I moved my hands to cup her breasts again.

Kris leaned back against me, her head relaxed against on my shoulder. Our bodies were close, and my erection pressed against the small of her back. I knew she could feel it, but I no longer cared. At last, I was really feeling off a girl!

I kneaded her breasts as her nipples hardened against my palms. But of course, not content with this small victory, I began to think about going even further. I let my left hand drift down over her belly, slid it over the zipper of her jeans and rubbed my middle finger over what I hoped was her pussy. I rubbed up and down, a bit harder each time. Kris reclined against me, unmoving, with that same easy smile on her lips. I tried to slide my hand into her jeans, but found them far too tight. I gave the button an exploratory tug. She did not object. I unsnapped her jeans and drew the zipper down. Peeking over her shoulder, I saw blue panties with a little butterfly on the waistband. I slid my hand down, moving beneath fabric, and almost died when I felt pubic hair. Someone else's pubic hair. Confident now, I kept going until I felt a fold in her skin. From the various men's magazines I'd seen, I felt I knew a little about the female anatomy. I rubbed around what I hoped was her clitoris.

After a few minutes, she smiled and said, "That's nice, thank you." She sat up and zipped and buttoned her jeans. She shifted position on the rough bark until she was facing me, and she eyed my erection, now more pronounced than ever. I'm sure I blushed. She reached out and touched the fabric of my baseball pants, tracing the outline of my penis with her finger, then covering me with her hand. She began to move her hand over me. Even through the nylon pants and cotton underwear, this felt wonderful. We kissed again, and I felt that surge of energy that only my own hand had produced thus far. I was going to come. My mind raced desperately as I struggled to keep the kiss going. Should I say something? Should I just come in my pants? Too embarrassed to do anything else, I just came in my underwear. When her hand moved back toward the tip of my penis and pressed firmly against me, I was sure she could feel the wet spot on my pants and the still pulsing shaft. I kept kissing her until the moment passed, then broke off the kiss with a long sigh.

"Thanks for that," I said. My face burned with embarrassment.

Kris looked at the wet spot on my pants and wrinkled her nose. Then she looked down at her fingers and wiped them on her jeans.

"Sure," she said. She blushed profusely. "We better get home. Your mom will be wondering where we are."

During the week that followed, I probably jerked off twenty times just thinking about this incident between us, and imagining what might happen on the next Saturday. I wanted to be more adept about opening her bra, so I snuck into my sister's underwear drawer and practiced. Each foray into my sister's room ended with a major erection that had to be assuaged.

On Saturday, the scenario was the same. After my baseball game ended, we began the walk home and I led her again to the clearing. My penis was fully erect in anticipation. We straddled the log, face to face, and began to kiss. I moved my hand under her shirt and felt a breast. I reached around and unfastened her bra, although not as casually as I had hoped. My hand crept under her loosened bra and fondled her breasts for a few minutes. To my amazement, she pulled away and, without comment, removed her shirt.

This was the first pair of breasts I'd ever seen live and up-close, and they were beautiful. Her nipples were hard peaks, and as I touched her left nipple with my fingertips, it drew up even tighter. I cupped her breast and lifted it as I leaned over to put my mouth on her. Kris moaned, her whole body tensed. I sucked on that nipple, then moved to the other one. I was in heaven.

When I lifted my head, she turned in my arms and leaned back against me. As before, I wrapped my arms around her and took a breast in each hand, but assumed this was an invitation to explore further. Kris had worn shorts this time, perhaps anticipating as I did this romantic encounter. I slid my hand down her belly and under the elastic waistbands of her shorts and panties. She stiffened for a second as my fingers moved into her pubic hair, then relaxed.

My fingers drifted further until I felt the folds of her body. She was wet and slippery and it seemed like she was all folds without opening, but eventually my middle finger found the right place and slipped inside. I moved my finger in and out, my palm massaging her clitoris for a few minutes, until she leaned forward and pulled my hand away.

"That felt good, but it was getting too intense," she said.

As she turned to face me and the beacon in my pants, I quickly raised my hand to my nose, to smell her. Her scent was slightly salty, an odor that I wanted to keep there forever. Kris placed her hand over my erection. For the entire week, I had fantasized about having her touch me, not through my pants, but skin to skin. As she began to rub up and down on my shaft, I reached for my belt buckle and began to unfasten my belt. She looked up at me, a bit surprised, but continued to rub. I opened the belt and lowered my zipper, then tucked my finger into my briefs and pulled them down to the bottom of the shaft. There was no way I would show my balls to her.

She looked down at my penis and put her hand around it, moving up and down. Quickly, too quickly, I felt that surge again, and went for a kiss. My brain was a jumble of panicked thoughts. Should I say anything? Should I stop? Could this get her pregnant? And then I came. All over her breasts and belly. With a gasp, she broke off the kiss and recoiled from me.

"Ugh!" she said. I watched sheepishly as my ejaculate trickled down her body.

"Sorry," I said. "I'll give you my T-shirt to clean it up." It was the least I could do.

Once cleaned and dressed, we headed home, but my mind was already racing towards the next Saturday.

And so the summer passed, although we never went any further than that. I tried to get Kris to take her pants off one Saturday, hoping to see and taste her pussy, but she wouldn't agree. And while she continued to give me handjobs, she would only do them from the side, so that I wouldn't make a mess on her. At the end of the summer my family and I moved into a new neighborhood, and although we tried to keep our relationship together, eventually it fell apart.

Nine years after the last time I'd seen Kris, I was managing a pet store about twenty miles from the house where I'd grown up. An old friend came into the store one day and we began chatting about old times. I thought nothing of this until Kris came in the next week. We talked for a while, and she purchased an ID tag for her dog's collar. Even though I was engaged, I deliberately memorized the digits of Kris' phone number as I engraved them on the tag, repeating them quietly to myself.

I waited a few days to call, and she seemed happy to hear from me. We agreed to have lunch. Lunch was followed by a hike by the river, where she told me she was engaged. The hike led to dinner, where I admitted that I was also engaged. And dinner led to a hotel room and a night of incredible sex. This, eventually, led to the end of our engagements and a new beginning for us. We married, moved to California and had three kids. But, eventually, we made our way back home to the little town where it all began.

After we had been there for a few months, we decided to leave the kids with their grandmother and sneak out for a quiet lunch together. It was Saturday afternoon, and the restaurant we chose was, by coincidence, near Eaton Park where I used to play ball as a kid. After finishing our meal and a few glasses of Sangria, I convinced Kris that we should go for a hike over at the park, just for old times' sake. We parked by the field where I'd spent much of that magic summer, and watched a game for a few minutes. Soon we headed off down the trail. The side path was still there, as was the clearing. The tree was still there too, ancient and weathered, and the weeds were higher than I remembered. But it was still our spot. I got an erection as we approached the clearing.

As we had when we were children, we straddled the log facing each other and began to kiss. I reached behind her back and moved my hands under her shirt, searching for the bra clasp.

"Aren't you supposed to feel them through the bra first?" Kris teased.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," I answered.

I massaged her breasts and she swiveled around so that she was leaning back against me. I eased her forward so I could maneuver under her shirt, and unfastened her bra. She took off her shirt and relaxed in my arms as I kneaded her breasts. Soon, I slid my fingers down to the crotch of her jeans. I rubbed her with increasing pressure, and reached for the button to open them. My hand began to explore beneath the fabric, and I stopped at her pubic hair.

"Your fur was soft as silk when we used to come here," I said.

"It has gotten coarser over the years, I guess," Kris acknowledged. "You know, I used to love it when we came here, but I hated it, too. I loved it because it was fun and I felt really close to you, like we had a special secret. But I hated it because I was always afraid we'd lose control and I'd end up pregnant. And I wondered if you told all your friends what a bad girl I was."

"I never told anyone except Angela," I lied, "and even then it was only because she was a virgin when we met. She wanted to know my entire sexual history before she'd give me any of the good stuff."

My finger slipped easily into her pussy, and I spread the wetness of her onto her labia. I began to fondle her, rubbing my fingers over her lips.

"That feels good, but I'd rather have your tongue on me," she said. Kris stood and removed her jeans and panties.

I took my shirt off and lay it across the log so she could sit on it. Kneeling in front of her, I kissed her inner thighs and marveled at the gleaming pink flesh of her pussy, illuminated beautifully by the sunlight. I rubbed my nose against her, breathing in that salty aroma that I'd only dreamt about seventeen years earlier, and began to lick, beginning at the bottom of her labia. I slowly worked my way up to the tender point where her labia joined. Her fingers tangled in my hair, telling me she was close, and I reached upward to pinch the taut peak of her nipple. This pushed her over the edge and her thighs tightened against me. I licked her as hard as I could until she pushed me away.

"Good one," she said, after she'd recovered for a moment. "Much better than seventeen years ago."

I threw my leg over the log and faced her. When she pulled my shorts down, my erection sprung out, heavy and full. She reached for me and began to pump her hand up and down the swollen shaft.

"Handjobs don't really thrill me anymore," I admitted.

"That's fine, because I'm not afraid of your sperm anymore." She leaned down and took me into her mouth.

"I always wanted you to do this when we were kids, but I was afraid to ask," I said. "And I also knew that if you even got your lips within an inch of my penis back then, I would have come as soon as I felt your breath on me."

Kris lifted her head and smiled. "And I was terrified that you would ask me to do that. It sounded so gross, I swore I'd never do it. But things change."

Her hand regained its rhythmic motion, just like it had so many years ago, but this time there was a warm, wet mouth as well. With one hand in front of her loving lips and the other caressing my balls, she sucked me to the brink of orgasm before I stopped her.

"You know, honey," I began, "my real fantasy was to bend you over this tree and give it to you from behind. Really hard."

"Are you sure? You can come in my mouth if you want."

"I'm sure," I grinned. "Bend over this log for me and make this kid's fantasy come true."

Kris leaned over the old fallen tree, resting her belly on the rough bark. As I crouched behind her, her hand reached for my cock, guiding my penetration. I watched as my penis moved into her, expanding her labia as I pumped. Our skin glowed under the sunlight, and I imagined myself as I would have been, with my baseball pants and cotton underwear tangled around my ankles.

Later, Kris and I walked hand-in-hand back to the park, mingling in the crowds and families that clambered around the bleachers.

"Want to stay and watch a bit of the game?" I asked.

"No, we better get home," she replied, smiling. "Your mom will be wondering where we are."

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