It’s 1971 when it happens. I’m in my senior year at a very conservative protestant girls’ school.
I’ve been a boarder for almost six years. Long enough to feel right at home with the archaic conventions and strictures of this “Gordonstoun for girls”. The system is that girls pair up and share dormitory bedrooms. In my third year I made friends with a girl called Erica, and sharing with her was good fun. But then her family moved away and recently she left the school.
Which means that for the last four weeks I’ve had the room we shared all to myself. It’s been a very interesting time, mostly because I have just begun exploring my body. I know I’m a late starter but I guess I’ve been naturally naive all my life.
Anyway, one night after lights out, for no particular reason that I can think of (except I had been looking closely at a lingerie catalogue), I took my little penlight torch and a mirror, pulled my nightie up, took my underpants off and examined myself. I looked at the fleshy, pouting lips between my thighs and wondered if they were normal. I looked at the growth of dark pubic hair framing my labia and wondered if all girls grew so much hair there. I experimented with a fingertip, inserting it between those fleshy lips and probing inside myself. It was wet to the touch. And warm. And, surprisingly, it felt nice.
Alone in my room on subsequent evenings I took to sleeping without underpants, cupping my fur-covered mound with my hand. And sometimes I repeated the experiment, slipping an inquisitive finger inside. I discovered it made me feel strangely excited, and when that happened I felt like I was full of hot, slippery wetness. I found that when I sniffed my fingers afterwards they smelled strange – but I liked it, it made me feel sexy. I even touched my tongue to my fingertip and tasted the salty moisture. Swiftly, instinctively, I was learning to masturbate. Soon I was doing it every night, working one finger, sometimes two, in and out of my pussy rhythmically, sometimes pressing the flat of my hand on the little nub of nerve endings hidden at the top of my slit – my clitoris.
Then she moved in. M, the skinny girl with the straight, fine blonde hair, the glasses and the sulky expression. Her family had just arrived from Hong Kong. She didn’t want to move in with me any more than I wanted her.
But now we’re stuck with each other. She’s a quiet little mouse, is M. Only speaks when I speak to her. And she’s shy, too. She won’t change her clothes in front of me, no, she hides behind her wardrobe door and contorts herself so I won’t Ankara escort see anything. She waits until everyone’s left the showers before she goes in. What a prude. What a mouse. I don’t care if she sees me undress; what’s the big deal? Sometimes I even change in front of her, daring her to look. I enjoy unhooking my bra and revealing my fine breasts, taking my time before slipping into my nightgown. Once I even take everything off, tossing my used panties carelessly on the floor, and spend a moment brushing my long dark hair in the mirror, giving her the opportunity to take a look at my generous pubic bush if she wants. But she keeps her head buried in her book resolutely and won’t look up.
But it’s a funny thing … Next morning, when I get up, those used panties of mine aren’t where I remember tossing them.
But the biggest problem having M in the room is the loss of privacy. Night after night I lie in bed after lights out wishing I could touch myself. My pussy is wet and waiting, I just know it is. But how can I do anything about it with the little blonde prude lying in the next bed wide awake and miserable? One night I can’t stand the frustration any longer. I yawn ostentatiously, roll onto my back and settle myself. Then, slowly, surreptitiously, silently, I ease my right hand under the covers … down across my tummy … down to my crotch. I press myself through the material of my nightdress, and I can tell I’m wet and warm. Again slowly and carefully, I open my legs and at the same time pull my nightie up, inch by agonising inch, bunching it at my waist. The first touch as my finger steals between my swollen lips is delicious – I almost gasp with pleasure!
But I have to be quiet. Quiet as the mouse in the next bed. I begin to slowly move my right hand between my legs. I use my left hand to lift the covers so that my working hand doesn’t make rustling noises. My cunt is lovely and syrupy – how I’d love to look at it in my hand mirror. I can imagine my lips swollen and open, the wet pink hole inside exposed. I become consumed by what I’m doing; my whole being is concentrated between my thighs, in my fingers and groin. I’ve never had an orgasm before, never even known what it is, but now I feel that I’m building to something. My wet fingers burrow with greater urgency …
Then I become aware I’m being watched! Out of the corner of my eye I can tell that M is watching me. I freeze. How embarrassing. But my pussy isn’t embarrassed, it’s excited and it wants more. I can feel that my hips want to push my pussy against my hand again. How unfair that Ankara escort bayan this prudish blonde is spoiling my pleasure. And then it occurs to me, I don’t need to stop touching myself. If she’s offended that’s her problem. It’s my body and I’ll do what I want.
So I resume stroking my wet, impatient cunt. But now I don’t bother hiding it. I open my legs wider, lift my knees, let my right wrist move rhythmically as my busy fingers plunge in and out. Somehow knowing M is watching makes me feel even more excited. Is she still watching? I can see she is, her eyes as big as saucers. Now a really wicked, sexy idea pops into my head: if she wants to watch, let her watch. I pull the covers off, kicking them aside. Even in the half darkness she can see my pale thighs, my frantic right hand, my bucking pelvis. I drop my left knee far enough for her to see my dark blaze of pubic hair. We can both clearly hear the sloppy wet kissing noises my body is making. God, I’m masturbating and she’s watching me! And I love it! Suddenly I stop, lift my hand to my face and sniff my fingers. The pussy smell is strong and pungent. I suck the moisture off my fingers as I roll over and look at M. Her eyes are almost out of her head. Her gaze moves from my face to my crotch and back again.
I sit up and face her. Very deliberately I lift a leg, slowly slide two fingers as deep into my cunt as I can, and then I offer them to M: “Smell me.” M’s mouth is open, I can see her white teeth and the white of her eyes. She can’t help herself; she inhales the powerful scent clinging to my wet fingers. “Do you like it?” She nods, mute.
I stand and remove my nightdress in one movement. I stand naked before her, touching my nipples as they grow hard in the night air. “Did you take my panties?” After a moment she nods. “Why? What did you do with them?” After another long moment she licks her lips to wet them … “I wanted to smell them.” “Did you like it?” She nods again.
I sit next to her on her narrow bed. “Take this off.” I mean her nightdress. She looks reluctant. “I said, take it off.” I help her remove the garment. Her body is skinnier than mine, less womanly – how can this child be eighteen? Her breasts are small, her nipples pale little buttons. I touch her ribs which are plainly visible. She wears white cottontail briefs, like my baby sister. My hands moves from her ribs to her breasts. I can cup them completely. Tentatively, with a sense of wonder, she touches my full breasts. Meanwhile I trace my fingers down across her belly, to the white cottontails … “Open your knees,” Escort Ankara I whisper. She does, and I trail my fingertips between her thighs to the soft place. The crotch of her panties is moist. I press gently. She gasps. I press harder, she reacts as though hurt. “Do you touch myself?” She shakes her head in denial. I pull the waistband of her underpants down until I expose the first curls of her soft, blonde pubic hair. “Are you wet, like me?” M nods.
My brain is confused by the array of emotions and sensations I’m experiencing. What am I doing with this girl? But all I know for sure, I feel incredibly aroused by what’s happening. I want to touch her pussy the way I caress my own. So I slide my hand inside her panties, over the spare covering of hair on her mound, between her thighs. I feel her pussy lips parting to meet my middle finger which I bury deep inside her. She gasps, her entire body jerks, as though from an electric shock. Her vagina is as wet as mine. It feels familiar but at the same time quite different. Impatiently I pull her panties off and push her knees apart to look at her. There’s enough moonlight in the room to see that her lips aren’t so prominent as mine. But I like the way she looks. “You’re pretty.” Spontaneously, acting on instinct, I bend over and plant a butterfly kiss on her teenage cunt. For a moment I breath in her girl smell, taste a salty muskiness not unlike my own, yet subtly different. M is watching me, agog at what I’m doing but obviously just as aroused as I am.
I gesture for her to move over and make room, then I climb in beside her, sliding my left arm around her shoulders and leaving my right hand free. I pull the covers up over both of us. “Kiss me?” She presses her trembling mouth to mine and I exchange my first sapphic kiss. Her tongue is like a caged bird. I probe her mouth with my tongue. And meanwhile my hand again moves between her thighs, which open obediently, and finds her wet, warm slit. I resume my exploration of her vagina, as excited as if I were fingering myself. But I can’t stave off my own needs indefinitely. I take her left hand and place it between my legs. “Touch me. Put my fingers in me. Please,” I whisper. Her hand is smaller than mine, her fingers narrower. She’s able to slip one then two and then three fingers inside me. The sensation of another girl’s fingers wriggling inside my own pussy drives me wild. No matter how my sexuality develops in the years ahead I know I will never give this secret pleasure up.
We lie together in the darkness – darkness perfumed by our combined intimate scent – exploring each other’s bodies, murmuring in each other’s ears, imagining we’ve invented this lewd pleasure.
Now, three decades later, the memory still has the power to make me weak with desire and longing.