Losing It

The weekend couldn’t come soon enough, of course. Monday dragged, Tuesday crawled and by Wednesday I was fit to be tied. Her mother had spoken to mine and it was agreed that we were ‘sensible young people’, which seems to me a contradiction in terms, and that Sarah’s folks would be happier if they knew she wasn’t alone. So would I. Sarah never told me what she thought about that week but there are absolutely no prizes for guessing which way was mind was working. Actually, by Thursday my mind had stopped functioning entirely and I was on full gonad autopilot. It was life, Captain, but not as we know it. Friday came at last, oh rapture! But there was still a whole day of school to get through. It was like swimming through treacle. The hours dragged by until the final bell rang to put an end to the torture.

I hurried home as fast as I could and showered, shaved – a relatively recent phenomenon – and jumped on the bike to speed off towards Sarah and waiting bliss. In theory. Wouldn’t you just know that would be the moment when the bike played up? The bastard thing would not start! I tried to kick it into submission but it wouldn’t co-operate. An hour later, covered in oil and sweat, it finally fired up. There was nothing for it but back into the shower. My little brother, cocky 18 year old brat, stood there pissing himself laughing. He had me sussed. ‘You wait!’ I thought. ‘Just wait ‘til it’s your turn.’ Once free of the house and with the bike running sweetly, I couldn’t stay mad. I can remember that short ride as clearly as anything. For once it was gloriously sunny and the air was warm. I rode along singing: and catching a variety of insect life with my teeth as a consequence.

Sarah had bought some stuff for a barbecue and we sat in the back garden eating burnt hamburgers and declared them ‘brilliant’. It was my first effort at cooking. There was a bottle of wine, thoughtfully provided by her father, whether he knew it or not. We watched the sun setting over the sea and all was very definitely right with the world. It grew chilly so we moved inside and watched some old film on the TV. Sarah snuggled up against me and I cupped her breast with my hand. It moved enticingly; she wasn’t wearing a bra!

I slid my hand down her flank and up again, under her sweater this time. She snuggled in closer and made a throaty purring noise that seemed to connect my ears with my balls and all points in between. My hand was suddenly full of warmth and softness; topped off to perfection by a hard little peak that nestled into my palm. We kissed; that is to say, I looked into her eyes and drowned. Her head came up, our lips met and everything else in the World receded beyond conscious thought. Her arm came around me and she pulled me down. We fell off the sofa.

Somehow her knee managed to land in my crotch and I saw stars. I was lying there doubled up as the nausea rushed through me in waves. Sarah was caught between sympathy and helpless laughter. Women can be so cruel. There is something about seeing a fellow smacked in the bollocks that reaches their dark side. Any man would wince in sympathy, but not a woman. Oh no. They find it funny. They find it so bloody hilarious in fact it’s almost more painful being laughed at than being knackered. OK. I suppose it was quite amusing, given the situation; but she didn’t have to go into hysterics. There were tears rolling down her cheeks as she spluttered and coughed and tried to make consoling noises. “Oh Mark, poor you. Oh I’m sorry” tends to sound better when not accompanied by peals of feminine laughter.

After a century or two, the pain eased sufficiently for me to sit up. She was still cackling like a deranged magpie. I gave her a look that would curdle milk. She ignored it and went off again, laughing fit to bust. It took her longer to recover than it did me. Whatever, the moment had gone and we both knew it. We went to our separate beds that night, me to nurse my injured pride and bruised balls and she to… giggle herself to sleep, I supposed.

Something woke me early the next morning. It was a hand around my cock. I went from deep slumber to wide-awake in no seconds flat. For the first time in my life, it wasn’t my hand gripping the Pride of the MacDonalds. There was something warm and silky pressed against my back. I rolled over, hardly daring to breathe. Her hand explored the topography of my erection. Her fingers sought and found all the sensitive places. She stroked around the head and rubbed the shaft. Her other hand found my sac and massaged it gently. I must have been groaning out loud. She started a slow pumping rhythm, running her hand up and down with a feather-light touch. I reached for her but she shook her head briefly. “ Let me,” she whispered. I was in no state to argue.

My hips rose in time with her gentle stroking. She leant over me and kissed me deeply, murmuring endearments. My balls were turning somersaults and I knew I just had to explode. The wish was father to the deed, for a few moments later, I was racked by a shuddering orgasm that had me thrashing and gasping as I sent spurt after spurt of milky white fluid arching into the air to puddle on my chest and stomach and dribble over her hand. She looked at me with big eyes. “Wow!” was all she said. Speech was well beyond me, I was totally out of it.

I regained consciousness a couple of eons later. She was smiling at me. “Had to make sure there was no permanent damage,” she said, with an impish grin. She answered my weak but delirious smile with another kiss then slid away and walked, naked, from the room. I was granted a brief glimpse of those outstanding breasts, with their turned-up nipples hard as rocks, and the cutest arse in Christendom before she vanished through the bedroom door with a provocative wiggle. Sleep claimed me again pretty soon and when I awoke for the second time, I still wasn’t entirely sure that it hadn’t all been a wet dream. If it was, it was the best ever!

That Saturday was the best of the summer so far. It was warm and still without a cloud in the sky. We packed up some sandwiches and jumped on the bike to head off to the beach. Quite a few of our friends were also down there so we spent the day messing about together on the sand and sunbathing. I think I was the happiest guy alive that day. The looks that Sarah was getting in that incredible bikini made me feel really proud – and it wasn’t just the boys who were casting envious glances her way. If anything, I was even more proud of the way that she overcame her natural shyness and joined in with the rest of the crowd. She was a revelation. The quiet, mousy girl had blossomed into a vivacious, happy bundle of sparkling energy. She positively glowed.

We rode home slowly in the early evening. I was weaving the bike in long, easy swoops up the lane to her house. She hugged me close as we rode and we were both singing for the joy that was in us. There is nothing like that first touch of love. We’d invited some friends over for another barbecue and this time I didn’t cremate all the burgers. Sitting around in the garden, listening to someone playing guitar while we all sang along, the evening passed in a bright blaze of happiness. The last friends departed and we stood together at the gate listening to the laughing voices recede into the darkness. We were alone at last.

Nothing was said as we moved into the house. I could feel my heart pounding hard enough to crack a rib. There was fear in her eyes mixed with something else. We both knew that this was the moment. It was so right somehow, the only possible end to a perfect day. Sarah took my hand. Her shyness returned and her head went down. She led me up the stairs, still not looking at me. I could hardly breathe. We paused on the landing and she looked up at last. There was a sort of challenge in her eyes now. I raised her hand to my lips and kissed it gently; putting every ounce of feeling I could muster into that simple gesture. She gave me a tremulous smile and she had a sort of misty look about her that reached right down into my heart and soul and churned me up.

We seemed to float into her bedroom. I mean, one minute we were on the landing and the next we were in her room. We came together in a clumsy rush and fell onto her bed. There was a brief ecstasy of fumbling and zips. She lifted her hips to help me. Predictably, I fell on my arse in the rush to shed my jeans. We both pretended not to notice. Sarah slipped under the sheets and I slid in beside her. For a long moment we just hugged each other so tightly it was if we were trying to meld into one form. Her skin had taken on a rosy hue, as if lit by an inner fire. We were both panting hard like it was the end of a marathon. I opened my mouth to say something but she shook her head, no words were needed.

I eased back from her and let the sheet slip away. Sarah tensed for a moment and then relaxed as she saw the look of absolute wonder on my face. My fingers trailed down her neck and onto her breast. Her arms wrapped around me and we kissed, oh so gently. Her breast was full and firm under my hand and I lightly rubbed her nipple with my thumb. It sprang to attention. She sighed softly. I moved down her body, kissing and nibbling until I captured that nipple with my lips. I sucked gently and rolled it slowly with my tongue. My hand encountered the soft tangle of her bush and her legs parted. She went rigid and gasped as my finger slid between her dewy lips. I searched the folds and vales, an explorer in unknown land on the brink of some amazing new discovery. All the while her nipple graced my mouth and she held me firmly, pressing my face against the sweet satin softness of her breasts.

I fumbled for a condom. “Let me,” she said. The foil finally co-operated. “Oh no! It’s too small!” I burst out laughing. “It unrolls,” I told her and between us we managed to get the bloody thing onto my rock hard cock. We moved together easily. I slipped into her without resistance. The surprise must have shown on my face. “Horse riding,” she said, smiling up at me. Of course, I misunderstood her and immediately started out like I was astride the favourite in a Selling Plate at Aintree. She wrapped me with her legs and adjusted my rhythm to a gentler, deeper thrusting.

It couldn’t last. I did my best, honestly, I did. I tried to think of anything but what was happening. I even tried doing calculus in my head. She started to buck against me. That did it. I’d been waiting for this for almost seventeen years. I couldn’t hold any longer. The pressure was building and building and Mother Nature’s safety valve fulfilled its prime function. Some kind of super-nova chose that moment to explode in my brain. My back arched and my hips went into overdrive. My whole existence was centred somewhere near the base of spine. I felt myself coming from sixteen miles back. It drew nearer and nearer and I got more and more frantic. Suddenly it was there and I poured myself into her in wave after scintillating wave until I was utterly spent. I think I yelled when I came, I hope it was “Sarah!”

When normal service was resumed, I saw she was looking at me. There was a look of total awe on her face and her eyes were wide. “Wow!” she said. I groaned. “ Fuck me!” Sarah giggled. “I just did,” she said, ”wasn’t that fantastic?” I could only dumbly nod my head. Words failed me, which was probably just as well, I’d have only put my foot in it. I lay down beside her and we cuddled for a while in silence, each wrapped in our own thoughts. After a bit she stirred and sat up. She looked down at me and I stared into her eyes. They spoke such great tenderness that it almost made me weep. “That was my first time, “ she said. “Me too, “I replied. She hit me with that devastating smile again. “I’m glad it was you, Mark,” she said. “It should be special when you lose it.”

Thanks to Sarah, it was.