A few months after I'd discovered the female orgasm with Jill, I turned 17, and to my joy Rochelle and Jill came to stay at my house for a fortnight or so.
The time flew past, and I remember only a few highlights - sitting in an overstuffed armchair with Jill on my lap and her lovely long legs uncovered to her stockingtops, very much like the time of her/our first orgasm, listening to Sargent Pepper, when my older brother walked in. Boy was he surprised.
I can't remember the days, I lived for the nights -- the two girls (now aged almost 15) had twin beds in what was usually my bedroom. I was moved into the small spare room next door. After my mum went to bed, I'd silently slip into the girls room, at first on some pretext - to get a teeshirt from my drawer or something - but later I needed no pretext. Rochelle would be asleep, or more likely pretending, and listening, and (as I imagined later) perhaps rubbing herself as Jill and I lay together on the other single bed. We'd kiss and cuddle and I'd find my way to her pussy again and again.
I loved her pussy, it was the most amazing thing to me, the first pussy I'd touched. She'd hardly any hair, just a little fuzz, and she was always wet by the time I touched her, and she always welcomed my fingers by opening her legs just a little, just enough that I knew it was ok, and by now I knew I wasn't hurtingher. She told me she knew how to get a boy "worked up", and demonstrated by putting her knee between my thighs. But she never touched my dick, and wouldn't let me open my pants, but I could fingerfuck her for ages, and also rub my dick against her pussy through my clothes and her panties.
Mostly this was in the room she shared with Rochelle, who was obligingly staying asleep - or at least silent - through all our whispering and loveplay, even when Jill would start to gasp and buck against my hand as I fingerfucked her, ramming my two fingers as far up her pussy as I could, then pulling out almost all the way, in and out harder and faster until she'd shudder and whimper and hold me really tight with her head buried in my shoulder, then collapse in what seemed like a faint, lying very still while I kissed her cheeks and lips and gently stroked her pussy.
She claimed she'd fainted, and once while she was in this faint - I thought she might be pretending - I decided to explore the one place she'd never let me go to - her tits. I found out she hadn't any, just a little girl bra with some tissue stuffed inside. Evidently her lack of tits was an embarrassment for her, and maybe the reason she was willing instead to open the way to her pussy.
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What boy would complain he couldn't feel her tits if she'd let him at her cunt instead?
A couple of nights she came into my room, and I lay on top of her and thrust at her like we were really fucking, the head of my dick poking into her pussy, with her dress pulled up, but her panties and my trousers still on. We did this until I'd cum inside my own trousers, the first time I'd ever cum without wanking.
And all the time, I was thinking about Rochelle. In the daytime she never mentioned our nightly meetings, and we all pretended she'd been asleep, but later I started to fantasize what had been going on, and what I might have done about it.
Supposing Jill and I had gone to her bed to see if she was really asleep?
What if we'd found her touching herself? What if I'd gone to her first, perhaps to make sure she was sleeping, only to find she wasn't? I must have shot a gallon of cum at her image as I grew thru my teens, until my first Real Fuck, and my first Real SixtyNine, in '69, drove her from the front of my mind.
I never did see Rochelle or Jill again. Jill got pregnant and married young. Rochelle went to California and carved out the kind of life that only a gorgeous freespirited blonde can, with a succession of ever richer "boyfriends", and a career in windowdressing (according to her folks), but I suspect that she was really an upmarket hooker.
At least, she was in my fantasies.
(More tales of Real Sexual Encounters to follow, if anyone likes this stuff).
