It was dusk, nearly dark. A warm, late-September evening. Carol and I were sitting on
top of a picnic table near the reservoir; she in the center, her feet on the bench, and I
behind her with my legs on either side of her as I massaged her shoulders.
We didn’t know each other that well, but there had been a slow flirtation going on and we
had somehow decided to take a walk together and wound up here. She was small and dark—her
last name was Spanish-sounding—and her petite figure looked very girlish in what seemed
almost like a pre-teen’s white party dress, plus clunky sneakers and knee socks. She
certainly didn’t appear to be a particularly sexual person; in fact she seemed rather shy
and virginal, in manner as well as dress, and I believe she was, basically. When I made a
slightly off-color joke she smiled and blushed, looked down, and said, “Jeez.” And yet
there must have been some quality about her, some hint of submissiveness, because I just
knew somehow she would let me do whatever I wanted.
As I massaged her shoulders I was telling her how much I liked touching her and
apologizing with humorous insincerity for my inability to keep my hands to myself. She
accepted my apologies with laughing graciousness and did nothing to discourage me.
Even though it was fairly dark, there were other people not too far off so I pointed at
the silhouette of some trees near the shore and said I wanted to go over there. She
agreed and laughed a little nervously when I picked her up in my arms and began to carry
her over to them. The back of her dress was hanging down where her knees were hooked over
my arm, and I think we were both aware that the backs of her thighs were pressing against
me there.
I’m sure she hadn’t been planning to get sexually involved with me. When I put her on
her feet in the shelter of the trees and pulled her to me, she put her hands against my
shoulders as if to push me away and said, “Jonathan!” in a way that made me think her next
word would be either “No!” or Stop!”
But when I kissed her, she offered no resistance, opening her mouth to my insistent
tongue, her hands now holding tightly to my shoulders. This was even more of a turn-on
for me: ‘I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t resist.’
I wanted to see if it was true. I pressed her back against a tree and, without removing
my mouth from hers, began fondling her left breast through the stiff, ruffled fabric of
her dress. Again, no sound of protest, no hand plucking at my own.
I decided to push my luck and put both my arms around her waist again before easing my
hands down onto her behind, then bending my knees just enough—and she bent with me—to slip
my hands under her dress, up the backs of her thighs and onto her behind again, now
caressing it through the fabric of her cotton panties.
I couldn’t believe it. I knew she thought she shouldn’t be letting me do any of these
things, and yet she was doing nothing to stop me. And I certainly wasn’t planning to stop
unless she did.
Still probing her mouth with my tongue, I brought one hand around and slid it between her
legs, fondling her there. We were both breathing heavily by then, but she made no sound,
beyond the occasional small whimper.
Even when I pulled my mouth away from hers, dropped to my knees in front of her and
lifted her dress, she said nothing, did nothing.
When I began to kiss and nuzzle the mound between her legs.
When I reached up, letting her dress fall over my head, and pulled her panties down to
her ankles.
When I lifted first one foot, then the other, to remove her panties completely, and
spread her legs apart so that I could lick her there.
Her pussy was moist, and became more moist as I licked, but still she made no sound,
either of enjoyment or of protest, until finally I stopped and stood up, picking up her
panties as I did. I tucked them partly into my pocket before putting my arms around her
waist.
By now it was so dark that I could barely make out her face. She let me take her into an
embrace, putting her arms around me and resting her head on my shoulder. Then, finally,
she spoke. Her voice contained both surprise and relief as she said, “You know when to
stop.”
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