INNOCENT KISS
BY
CHERI CRYSTAL
INNOCENT KISS
© 2012 By Cheri Crystal. All rights reserved.
THIS ELECTRONIC ORIGINAL SHORT STORY CONTAINS EROTIC CONTENT AND ADULT THEMES. READERS MUST BE OVER 18 TO PURCHASE.
PUBLISH DATE: November 2012.
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUISINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.
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GRAPHIC DESIGN: CHERI CRYSTAL
FIND CHERI CRYSTAL ON THE WEB AT www.chericrystal.com or facebook.com/chericrystal
TO JO
LOVE YOU MOST
XXX
I vividly remember the first time I succumbed to orgasm in a public place. It was the winter of ’75, my junior year of high school and I freaked out during a geometry midterm. Anything less than a perfect score would mess up my grade point average and lower my class rank. As an overachiever who excelled at sports, I was also a conscientious student accustomed to high grades. Naturally I was prepared for the test, but unbidden thoughts of terminal lust and academic glory caused a mental block as thick as the Western Wall. Imagine a classroom brimming with nervous energy, mostly mine. I choked. And it was all Suzette Tucker’s fault! We were in all the same classes since seventh grade. She lived a few houses away and we usually walked to school together, when our friendship wasn’t at odds. We alternated between best friends and arch enemies. By midterm we just hated each other’s guts.
It hadn’t always been like this.
When we were around twelve, Love Story by Erich Segal was all the rage. Most of the girls I knew, and maybe some boys, if they owned up to it, had read the book. I had read it thirteen times myself, and I cried quietly every time so nobody heard. When the movie came out practically everyone from my school showed up for Saturday matinee. Suzette and I shared a soda, Good and Plenty and Charleston Chews. Once the movie started, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Ali McGraw, and Ryan O’Neal was kind of pretty in his own way. At the end it took nerves of steel not to sob in public and Suzette did a fine job of holding it in too.
That night, I begged my parents to let Suzette sleep over while they went out leaving me to babysit my rambunctious younger brothers, and nearly fainted when they said yes for a change. As soon as the little monsters were asleep, Suzette and I took out our copy of Love Story to read aloud. We argued over who would play Oliver and who would be Jennifer. We decided to take turns and soon found ourselves tangled up in each other’s arms, kissing like there was no tomorrow. Suzette was the first person I French kissed and I liked it. I liked it so much in fact, that when we took an intermission to get undressed, I had to force myself to turn away.
It drove me crazy when she would totally strip before putting something else on. But more than her lack of modesty, I never got over how my body betrayed me the first time she pressed her nubile breasts against mine. Here I thought I was the toughest thing since shoe leather, but despite wearing a sleep shirt, it was impossible to hide my pointy nipples or stop the drool I felt collecting at the corners of my mouth. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I was so wet below I obsessed she’d find out and blow my cool. Still, I wanted to feel her up naked so I could judge for myself if she was as soft as she looked. Lucky for me she slipped into her nightgown or I would have gushed lust down my thighs.
The love scene dictated that we get naked; it’s a good thing we kept our pajamas on while pretending we were making love. My kisses were forceful; maybe too forceful.
We hadn’t washed up yet and of course we kept the lights on so we could read our lines between acting it out. Her eyes remained closed when we kissed; I can still see the Maybelline mascara, eye-liner, eye shadow and cherry lip gloss she meticulously applied, but now somewhat smudged as our kisses deepened. I closed my eyes and was overwhelmed by her fragrant Cachet perfume. Suzette pulled away so we could move on to the next scene just when I was really getting into this one.
Nearing the tragic end of the book, I broke down into heart-wrenching sobs soaking through the yoke of Suzette’s granny gown. Horrible thoughts of ever losing Suzette like Ollie lost Jenny in the book made me cry until I could barely breathe. Suzette could have teased me mercilessly but she didn’t even snicker while I fell apart over fiction. I think I fell in love with her that day.
On Monday however, Suzette refused to walk with me to school; she wouldn’t even look my way. I tried to talk to her, but she latched onto two girls we both hated and proceeded to put me down. Things went downhill from that point onwards. I tried to ask her what was going on, but she didn’t even look my way, let alone answer my burning question.
Eventually, when I had stopped dying inside and had convinced myself I was better off without her, I got sick of her taunts. One day when she pushed too far, we’d ended up in a fist fight. The other kids thought it was over some boy. If they only knew, it would have been certain death. Girls kissing that way was nothing new, lots of us practiced on each other, but few went around bragging about it. I avoided her as much as I could, which was tough because it seemed like she was always in my face. I became a moody competitive bitch that year. My grades and athletic performance soared while my social life plummeted. Basketball was my only solace.
I shook my head at the memories. How different, and yet, how similar things were now.
The way Suzette flaunted her hot bod in the locker room was distracting enough. That hadn’t changed, but now, instead of caressing it, I was dying to kick her firm butt off her high horse by beating her best test score.
Still, no matter how much we fought there was no denying she grew prettier and tormented me more every year. Her knowing smirk in her otherwise captivating smile made it hard to take. I opened my test booklet but I couldn’t get her off my mind. Add teenage angst to a mega hormone surge and I was a total mess. Zeroing in on geometric theorems immediately following Suzette getting me all riled up during gym class was a nightmare.
“I’m psyched for the geometry test,” Suzette had boasted before pivoting on the ball of her bare foot to grab something out of her locker; her toenails were painted hot pink to match her panties when she finally put them on. With our adjacent gym lockers, I had no choice but to see every inch of her one way or another. Suzette had her rear to me while animatedly conversing with a few girls a few lockers down. She stood tall for a shrimp, confidently showing off her unblemished skin all rosy from a hot shower, sharing all her secrets except for what lay beneath the upside-down equilateral triangle of light brown curls at the apex of her thighs. While I didn’t find the need to flaunt my privates, she paraded around as if the locker room was a frigging nudist colony.
She moved like she was hot stuff and flung her hair right in my face. I spit out the strands that caught in my mouth.
“Cut it out, Tucker!”
“Cut what out, loser?” She faced me full frontal and placed her hands on her hips so that I had a close up view of her bared breasts.
“Quit flipping your dumb hair in my face.”
“Tough shit.”
“Chew harder,” I snapped.
Suzette turned to her captive audience and spouted, “Right now I’m in the top ten, six I believe.” She paused for emphasis. “But after math, I’ll be number five because Charly here doesn’t have a prayer of scoring above a ninety.” She was really asking for it, but I had to gear up for geometry. She wasn’t worth my spit
. Rather than start a fight, I haphazardly tucked my shirt into my pants and zipped the fly. But if I had any balls, I’d have twisted her neat little titties until she cried.
Suzette had been the first to own a Wonder Bra and now I wanted to use it to gag her mouth shut. Although her breasts were more than a handful, perky with a subtle bounce, she didn’t need a Wonder Bra or any bra at all. In my mind, her body was perfect. I used to love spending every waking moment being with her or thinking about her. When she gave up Cachet and switched to the latest craze, I found her Wild Musk cologne by Coty intoxicating.
At present, with us at odds, I couldn’t wait to go away to college. Hopefully, Suzette would choose a school in Siberia.
I slammed my mind, like my locker, shut. The bell rang and we scattered like field mice to our next class.
Ms. Rogers handed out the tests. The math room was quiet except for an occasional tap of a pencil, the hum of the heating system when it kicked in, and the teacher’s heels clicking on the tiled floor as she periodically paced the room. With all the crap on my mind I couldn’t make heads or tails of the first question. My leg started shaking. I began to sweat. I bit the eraser off my pencil and spit it out. Every muscle from my neck to my feet was stiffening. I was close to rigor mortis. But I couldn’t sit still; my restless bottom involuntarily shifted, teetering on the edge of my seat. I crossed my legs until I was close to cutting off the circulation. Juvenile reasoning at play, I deduced if my butt cheeks tightened at the same rate as my pussy clenched and I rhythmically sustained this motion long enough, then I could either squeeze the answer out of my ass, I stifled a chuckle, or I could come in my pants. Who needed geometric theorems when I possessed theorems and proofs of stress reduction in my groin?
Before I even realized what was happening, I was tensing and releasing, squeezing and rocking, in a stimulating rhythm that hardened my clitoris. As if I could use this neat little trick to concentrate on my test, the harder I got, the more I ground my crotch into the hard plastic. I placed the pencil point in the angle’s vertex inside a circle, and not realizing my own strength, I busted it. It’s a good thing we were instructed to have extra sharpened pencils just in case.
Did Ms. Rogers have a clue when she glanced down at the angry line through my otherwise blank paper as she strolled past? I tried not to care; the compulsion to come or die spurred me on.
I rocked in my chair, flexing and stretching, squeezing my muscles tight, tighter and tightest, I held it, started to count, but lost track, and released, and so on. The closer I was to letting go, the moister I got down there. Would I leave a wet spot right through my flared jeans? God, I hoped not.
When someone coughed, I ignored it, but when Suzette cleared her throat, I dared not even glance across the aisle. My need for orgasm-induced stress relief multiplied. I was superwoman. I could do anything I set my mind to. I had special powers; I imagined beating Suzette at everything, even a masturbation contest. I’d put her on the loser’s bench for turning against me. The pressure radiating from my belly to my crotch was building, building, building, until I actually came so hard it’s a wonder I didn’t have a seizure. I had the kind of shudder you get when you wait too long to pee; let them think I had to use the bathroom.
Infinitely calmer after a good come, I uncrossed my legs and furtively looked around. Only Suzette shot me a sneer before standing up to hand in her test first. Her long blonde hair swung behind her like a pendulum from one side of her narrow waist to the other. Her hair was straight, like her posture. Little Miss Perfect parted the even strands neatly in the middle. Ms. Rogers gave her a sickeningly sweet smile. That did it! I had to best Suzette on this test or suffer being at the mercy of her gloat.
On her way back to her seat to gather her books off the floor, Suzette glared my way before strolling triumphantly out of the room. Her eyes were an even deeper shade of blue as her dilated pupils bore into my skull. I looked away first and fixated all my attention on my test paper. My focus finally sharpened as did my uncluttered mind. Suddenly, I had all the right answers at my fingertips. I’m not one to brag ...much, but I ended up with a hundred on that test plus ten points for extra credit.
Our averages were close, but I beat Suzette by a tenth of a point. Life was sweet.
The day my guidance counselor informed me that I had received a full scholarship to Stanford University I couldn’t believe my luck about going across country to California. And to top it off, I’d earned a place on their high ranking women’s basketball team. I was so full of myself. My rejoicing was complete when Suzette chose New York University. Okay, it was not Siberia, but it was good enough for me.
Palo Alto, California, was heaven. Thanks to pesky dreams, I didn’t exactly forget about Suzette, but I took to Stanford as if the school was built with me in mind. Like most pre-med students I studied mostly science and math, strong in both subjects, and stayed on top of my game. Our team was undefeated; and I was cool with my teammates and classmates and held in high esteem by my coaches and teachers. Our games drew quite a crowd. Everything was going my way.
Strategically, I chose Sundays around supper time, when most students were either at the library or in the dining halls filling up on caffeine, carbs and fat, to hit the gym. Even if they were working out, most chose the state-of-the-art sports complex over a no-frills weight room. I was almost always assured I’d have the little gym all to myself. I planned to catch a quick workout before heading to the library to photocopy a few JAMA journal articles for my term paper and entered the weight room the minute I unloaded my books.
Expecting solitude, the last person on earth I thought I’d see was none other than my old high school flame, lit on my end alone, turned foe. But there she was, Suzette Tucker in all her splendor, seated like the Queen of Sheba at the arm press, working her pectoralis major. Suzette’s silhouette gave new meaning to the hourglass figure. I closed my eyes, blinked several times to make this nightmare – or was it a vision? – go away. But it refused to budge. She was really here. In the Gym. With me. She sported a Dorothy Hamill golden wedge haircut that barely reached the nape of her supple neck; her eyes appeared larger and bluer than I remembered. As she brought her elbows together on the pec press her breasts threatened to tumble out of her top. She taunted me with a smile—every tooth chemically whitened and perfectly aligned. At first, I didn’t know how to respond. It had been two years, we had both matured, but did she think I’d forget high school ever happened? I was not the type to hold a grudge. But I wasn’t a pushover either. I decided I didn’t care. I’d outstare her, out-exercise her, out-anything. But most of all, I’d get her out of my gym.
I strode past her and sat my ass on the leg press, directly opposite her; my legs splayed. I matched her endurance motion for motion. The air between us crackled louder than fireworks on the Fourth of July. When she lowered the pin to lift more weight, I did too. Our locked gazes were burning with fire. A fire too stimulating to ignore until every exposed surface of my flesh was covered in sweat. I soon soaked the cotton crotch of my panties as well. The fire that raged in my belly in high school was even less contained now.
Suzette held my attention as if I were pinned in a wrestling match. Her arms were ripped and her shoulders, swimmer’s shoulders, were broad, creamy flesh over hard, rippling, yet totally feminine biceps and triceps.
Suzette pumped effortlessly while achieving maximum benefit. Slow and steady epitomized her movements. Finely tuned musculature. Strong, like the control her form had over my pussy, now clenched so tight, I could come instantly. I’d have to be brain dead not to be affected by the force her actions had on her taut abs seen through a t-shirt tight enough make out the outline of her nipples; she was certainly not wearing a Wonder bra or any bra at all! Even her firm thighs were tempting when they tightened during exercise. It was like she was daring me to watch her. The keen scent of arousal wafting my way had me burning up with jungle fever. I was positively melting and wiped damp palms on my shorts; m
y hands itched to touch the culprit of my current state. I resisted the urge to use the pockets as a cover for where I was dying to go to relieve the pressure.
Before I knew it, underused and over-stimulated lust got the better of me. Working my outer thighs until lactic acid overload made me quit, I switched positions to work my inner thighs. She switched to leg pull ups, bringing her bent knees up to her waist, alternating sides, and back down again. With her forearms perpendicular to the arm rest, she grasped the handles. Her hands appeared soft, petite, like her, yet strong, capable. Her knuckles blanched; her biceps bulged; her abs rippled.
I continued pressing my knees together, which placed undue friction in the precise location of my clit, only to release the tension and begin again. My need was mounting. I pictured her pelvic floor tighter with each lift of her knees and wanted my hand inside to feel it. She held the key to my tortured soul. My intense need could only be met by her. Nobody fueled my demanding sexual drive the way she always had.
Suzette held her knees up to her abdomen for so long I thought she’d freeze that way. Then squeezing tighter still, she exhaled with super human control as she lowered her legs, excruciatingly slowly so that my clit surged above the threshold of no return. Watching this show she was clearly putting on for my benefit, I was bursting to replicate her movements. Who needed well-placed fingers or tongues at this rate? When I couldn’t stand another second, I squeezed my legs together with a strength that sent me over the edge and came in my seat. I didn’t bother to hide it. Her eyes went wild.
When the last crest of my climax had peaked and my limbs could move again, I lifted my butt off the chair, wet with come, and walked up to her. Seeing her again after all these years did something weird to my brain. On shaky ground I worked to conquer, I stood right in her face.
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