Rite of Passage
- 3 years ago
- 13
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A Rite Of Passage free porn video
The following stems from a conversation I had with a young (early twenties) work colleague who is currently staying in ‘digs’ with a middle-aged divorcee/spinster (I’m not certain which) who has a penchant for late-night parties with a couple of similarly aged female friends. My colleague was complaining that they made a lot of noise at these parties and that they went on until the early hours. I asked whether he’d been invited to join and, being the naturally hesitant fellow that he is, he replied ‘no’ and ‘that they probably wouldn’t want him to’. Now, I’m not one to hand out advice without it being requested, but on this occasion, I thought it best to point out that he might be missing out on a trick here and that, actually, might pass his own rite-of-passage; I get the feeling that he’s none too experienced in this area. He’s not a London boy and was brought up in a semi-rural community thus the move for him has been pretty daunting. What I didn’t tell him was the story of my own transition between boy and manhood; hardly appropriate in the circumstances!
However, I will relate it to you, kind readers, to gain your own thoughts on the subject.
As background, I had a comfortable upbringing and enjoyed a happy family atmosphere. I was extremely fortunate to have studied at a very good school and thus had a super start in life. Subsequently, I went to university and have had a successful career since. I’m telling you this not because I want to brag, but because I want to show that there are no extenuating circumstances behind my life choices other than the decisions that I have made and those that have been made for me. As I say, I count myself as being very fortunate. My one major failing, it could be said, is my use of humour at inappropriate times; something I’ve never really been able to conquer.
One of the decisions made for me by my parents was that I should broaden my horizons and take responsibility for my own finances as early as possible. Thus, through a friend of my mother, I was given a ‘holiday job’ working at a local accounting office. I objected at the time because my holidays were pretty much the time that I liked to relax and, it has to be said, the work was incredibly dull! Nevertheless, I was always pleased with the pay cheque at the end of the work period and met some extremely charming people. It was 1977. I was 15 and it was the Easter break.
One of the women who worked in the office (it was predominantly women) was a deliciously attractive 30-year-old called Kate. My only experience with girls until this point was the occasional party at school (oh, I forgot to say, it was an all-boys school) thrown by the teachers and for which invitations were sent to the local girls’ school. These were generally a complete flop and far too strictly policed. The alternative was a group of bushes in the local park where the boys would stash the school collection of ‘specialist’ magazines for us to flick through when we had the opportunity. Thus, it was an education to be thrown into an office with a whole mix of women and no real adult-male guidance. Kate decided that she would take me under her wing and took a great interest in what were my likes and dislikes and what were my ambitions. Being just a boy, I didn’t take any of this as flirting (although, looking back, it was so obvious) and eagerly related to her my life story and vision. She was particularly interested in when was my birthday and was delighted when I told her it was in May; our birthdays were just two-days apart. I used to cycle to work but Kate said there was no need and that she’d pick me up on her way through. Second clue, this took her about 5-miles out of her way. The car journeys were always fun, and I remember her joking (so I thought) about ‘bunking off’ and going somewhere nice for the day. She started wearing skirts at about this time too and let them ride up as she drove. Clue number three, and still I was too stupid to cotton on! The holidays ended and I headed back to school, Kate promised that she would write and stuck to her word; receiving her letters was always a highlight. They were not too suggestive, but there were little hints here and there and she asked whether I would be back for my birthday – it was an exeat weekend and I said I would. The next letter gave the biggest hint thus far and only then did it dawn on my infantile mind that there was some other agenda in action here; academically, I could say I was pretty advanced, in other ways I was decidedly slow! She told me that her husband (did I forget to mention that she was married?) would be away and asked whether I would like to come around to celebrate both of our birthdays. Stupidly, I thought about it but then replied ‘of course’.
The day arrived and I cycled to her house. I’d not been there before and it was quite daunting to walk up to the front door. I had had the forethought to buy her a card and Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Rumours’ as a present. For all the youngsters reading, this was on vinyl. She had bought me a leather-bound copy of the Lord of the Rings, which I still cherish to this day. She poured some wine, very avant garde for the time and I remember not thinking much of it, and we sat on the sofa and listened to the record. Kate was slightly shorter than me, she had what would be called a slightly pear-shaped figure but in an erotic not derogatory way – more that her breasts were quite small whereas her hips were pronounced. She wore a cheesecloth skirt that I will never forget and a long-sleeved tee-shirt. We chatted away drinking the wine and listening to the music until, I think, she put her plan into action. Putting a hand on my thigh and looking me directly in the eye she said to me ‘shall I give you your proper birthday present?’ Luckily, I wasn’t so dense not to realise what she meant this time! My heart was pounding so much that it felt like it was coming out of my chest and, as we kissed, I thought I was going to faint as the stars literally circled around in my eyes. Kate was not pushy, she was kind, comforting and soft. But most of all, she was incredibly patient. She started by guiding my hands around her to show me what felt nice as apposed to the clumsy fumbling that I might have proffered without her instruction; firstly above her clothes but very swiftly under her tee shirt and skirt. She wore no bra and I remember finding this surprising given all the ‘literature’ I’d studied, but her breasts were pert and her nipples tight little buds that she showed me how to caress and pinch by just the right amount. Her little gasps were taken by me as a good indicator. Obviously, being a newly-turned 16-year old, I needed very little to stimulate my own reaction and I was acutely aware and embarrassed by the growing bulge in my jeans. Her hand moved to my lap and she felt the hard rod; she said two words that I knew she’d deliberately chosen for the occasion to relax me and give me confidence….. ‘thank you’! She pulled up her skirt and placed my hand on her inner thigh before guiding it up to between her legs. She wore simple cotton panties and left my hand resting on them but over her mound. This being the 1970s, it was rare for women to completely shave down there, if at all, and I could feel the matting through the material. But most of all, I remember the warmth. I stopped. I had no idea what I should be doing and Kate quite apparently picked up on my hesitance because she re-took my hand again and began guiding it to rub up and down her covered labia before leaving me to my own devices. Her small moans were telling me that I must be hitting the right button and I think by now we were both convinced that this was the right thing to do so she led me to the bedroom.
I found it very difficult to walk and was extremely self-conscious not only about the bulge but the small wet-patch that had appeared as a result of nothing more than me being a virile young man. If she noticed, she didn’t let on and when we reached her bedroom she started to take off her clothes and suggested it would be good for me to do likewise. I was both transfixed and horrified. Never before had I seen a real woman (I mean in the flesh) naked and never before had anyone seen my erection. Kate was empathetic throughout and indicated for me to get under the covers of, what was - it has to be remembered - her marital bed. We were now both fully naked and holding each other closely. Once again, she skilfully guided me around her body ensuring that I learned all the right spots to hit. She taught me how to find her clitoris without looking (not that I would have known if I’d seen it at that time) and showed me the best way to stimulate her by alternating between rubbing her nobbin and easing a finger into her vagina. I remember that the scent of her womanhood was intoxicating and I’m so glad that these were the circumstances by which I first came across it; it was heady and musky and made my erection harder. In response, she took hold of my shaft and began to work it up and down, slowly, gently and skilfully. I was in absolute heaven as we mutually masturbated each other but she soon made moves to guide me on top of her. Knowing that I was at last going to have full, adult sex for the first time could have been catastrophic but, I’m proud to say, I managed to hold it all in as she guided me to the entrance. As the head hit her labia she let go and made a tiny thrust of her hips. My instincts must have taken over at this point because the next thing I knew was that my shaft was completely engulfed by her warm, wet and welcoming vagina. I found it very difficult at that point to do anything more than to start my non-coordinated and clumsy thrusting. I remember that Kate wrapped her legs and arms around me in an attempt to control everything and it had some effect. We were locked in a kiss throughout and, whilst I didn’t last as long as I think we both would have liked, neither did I disgrace myself! Quite obviously though, I had not learned anything of the art of control and literally crushed her as I ejaculated inside her. We lay locked for some time and it took a while for my erection to subside so she treated me to some sensual pelvic-floor massage. ‘That was nice’ she said.
I eased myself from her and we lay together, each resting on our sides while we discussed what had happened. She made no objection to my continuing to touch and explore her body and we giggled and played around until she asked whether I’d like to do it again. I have constantly been amazed by the willingness of Percy to perform and he hasn’t let me down to this day. We made love, there is no other way of describing what had just happened, two further times that night and once again in the morning. It was the most delightful experience of my life to that point, and I thank Kate every day in my thoughts for being my teacher, confidante and lover for the next few months; I learned more from her about love, friendship and human anatomy than I had in a (short) lifetime form my Biology and RE masters.
But, in the words of my sadistic old Classics master, tempus rerum imperator (normally as he reached for his strap when I was late to class) and I stopped seeing Kate after the summer holidays of 1977. Time, availability and my arrogance had me believing that she ought to be at my beck-and-call. She disagreed. When I met a girl at my University entrance exams day we (Kate and I) agreed to put a stop to our relationship.
I later married the girl; I never forgot about Kate and I have regretted my stupidity since. I will write an account of that summer in a separate tome. I will amuse you with stories of my first marriage in another!
But back to the whole point of this article. Since I met Kate, I have always found the more mature woman to be far more attractive and experienced than the younger variants. That’s not to say that they should be older than me, just mature. So, at my time of life, that would cover anyone from – say – 40 upwards. I don’t think I could reconcile having a relationship with someone who is young enough to be my daughter, let alone grand-daughter (but neither do I condemn those that do with consenting girls who are of age) but I love the thrill of exploring a woman’s body and mapping out their life in lumps and bumps. I like women to be naturally curvy and have – as a friend on this site delightfully refers to them – wobbly bits! Mature women have experience, are generally less inhibited and have a great deal to teach and pass on. My advice to my young colleague stands; don’t give up an opportunity to learn from a talented and willing teacher. Go and party with your landlady and her friends – it might just be the turning point of your life. For me, it was definitely a rite of passage.
However, I will relate it to you, kind readers, to gain your own thoughts on the subject.
As background, I had a comfortable upbringing and enjoyed a happy family atmosphere. I was extremely fortunate to have studied at a very good school and thus had a super start in life. Subsequently, I went to university and have had a successful career since. I’m telling you this not because I want to brag, but because I want to show that there are no extenuating circumstances behind my life choices other than the decisions that I have made and those that have been made for me. As I say, I count myself as being very fortunate. My one major failing, it could be said, is my use of humour at inappropriate times; something I’ve never really been able to conquer.
One of the decisions made for me by my parents was that I should broaden my horizons and take responsibility for my own finances as early as possible. Thus, through a friend of my mother, I was given a ‘holiday job’ working at a local accounting office. I objected at the time because my holidays were pretty much the time that I liked to relax and, it has to be said, the work was incredibly dull! Nevertheless, I was always pleased with the pay cheque at the end of the work period and met some extremely charming people. It was 1977. I was 15 and it was the Easter break.
One of the women who worked in the office (it was predominantly women) was a deliciously attractive 30-year-old called Kate. My only experience with girls until this point was the occasional party at school (oh, I forgot to say, it was an all-boys school) thrown by the teachers and for which invitations were sent to the local girls’ school. These were generally a complete flop and far too strictly policed. The alternative was a group of bushes in the local park where the boys would stash the school collection of ‘specialist’ magazines for us to flick through when we had the opportunity. Thus, it was an education to be thrown into an office with a whole mix of women and no real adult-male guidance. Kate decided that she would take me under her wing and took a great interest in what were my likes and dislikes and what were my ambitions. Being just a boy, I didn’t take any of this as flirting (although, looking back, it was so obvious) and eagerly related to her my life story and vision. She was particularly interested in when was my birthday and was delighted when I told her it was in May; our birthdays were just two-days apart. I used to cycle to work but Kate said there was no need and that she’d pick me up on her way through. Second clue, this took her about 5-miles out of her way. The car journeys were always fun, and I remember her joking (so I thought) about ‘bunking off’ and going somewhere nice for the day. She started wearing skirts at about this time too and let them ride up as she drove. Clue number three, and still I was too stupid to cotton on! The holidays ended and I headed back to school, Kate promised that she would write and stuck to her word; receiving her letters was always a highlight. They were not too suggestive, but there were little hints here and there and she asked whether I would be back for my birthday – it was an exeat weekend and I said I would. The next letter gave the biggest hint thus far and only then did it dawn on my infantile mind that there was some other agenda in action here; academically, I could say I was pretty advanced, in other ways I was decidedly slow! She told me that her husband (did I forget to mention that she was married?) would be away and asked whether I would like to come around to celebrate both of our birthdays. Stupidly, I thought about it but then replied ‘of course’.
The day arrived and I cycled to her house. I’d not been there before and it was quite daunting to walk up to the front door. I had had the forethought to buy her a card and Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Rumours’ as a present. For all the youngsters reading, this was on vinyl. She had bought me a leather-bound copy of the Lord of the Rings, which I still cherish to this day. She poured some wine, very avant garde for the time and I remember not thinking much of it, and we sat on the sofa and listened to the record. Kate was slightly shorter than me, she had what would be called a slightly pear-shaped figure but in an erotic not derogatory way – more that her breasts were quite small whereas her hips were pronounced. She wore a cheesecloth skirt that I will never forget and a long-sleeved tee-shirt. We chatted away drinking the wine and listening to the music until, I think, she put her plan into action. Putting a hand on my thigh and looking me directly in the eye she said to me ‘shall I give you your proper birthday present?’ Luckily, I wasn’t so dense not to realise what she meant this time! My heart was pounding so much that it felt like it was coming out of my chest and, as we kissed, I thought I was going to faint as the stars literally circled around in my eyes. Kate was not pushy, she was kind, comforting and soft. But most of all, she was incredibly patient. She started by guiding my hands around her to show me what felt nice as apposed to the clumsy fumbling that I might have proffered without her instruction; firstly above her clothes but very swiftly under her tee shirt and skirt. She wore no bra and I remember finding this surprising given all the ‘literature’ I’d studied, but her breasts were pert and her nipples tight little buds that she showed me how to caress and pinch by just the right amount. Her little gasps were taken by me as a good indicator. Obviously, being a newly-turned 16-year old, I needed very little to stimulate my own reaction and I was acutely aware and embarrassed by the growing bulge in my jeans. Her hand moved to my lap and she felt the hard rod; she said two words that I knew she’d deliberately chosen for the occasion to relax me and give me confidence….. ‘thank you’! She pulled up her skirt and placed my hand on her inner thigh before guiding it up to between her legs. She wore simple cotton panties and left my hand resting on them but over her mound. This being the 1970s, it was rare for women to completely shave down there, if at all, and I could feel the matting through the material. But most of all, I remember the warmth. I stopped. I had no idea what I should be doing and Kate quite apparently picked up on my hesitance because she re-took my hand again and began guiding it to rub up and down her covered labia before leaving me to my own devices. Her small moans were telling me that I must be hitting the right button and I think by now we were both convinced that this was the right thing to do so she led me to the bedroom.
I found it very difficult to walk and was extremely self-conscious not only about the bulge but the small wet-patch that had appeared as a result of nothing more than me being a virile young man. If she noticed, she didn’t let on and when we reached her bedroom she started to take off her clothes and suggested it would be good for me to do likewise. I was both transfixed and horrified. Never before had I seen a real woman (I mean in the flesh) naked and never before had anyone seen my erection. Kate was empathetic throughout and indicated for me to get under the covers of, what was - it has to be remembered - her marital bed. We were now both fully naked and holding each other closely. Once again, she skilfully guided me around her body ensuring that I learned all the right spots to hit. She taught me how to find her clitoris without looking (not that I would have known if I’d seen it at that time) and showed me the best way to stimulate her by alternating between rubbing her nobbin and easing a finger into her vagina. I remember that the scent of her womanhood was intoxicating and I’m so glad that these were the circumstances by which I first came across it; it was heady and musky and made my erection harder. In response, she took hold of my shaft and began to work it up and down, slowly, gently and skilfully. I was in absolute heaven as we mutually masturbated each other but she soon made moves to guide me on top of her. Knowing that I was at last going to have full, adult sex for the first time could have been catastrophic but, I’m proud to say, I managed to hold it all in as she guided me to the entrance. As the head hit her labia she let go and made a tiny thrust of her hips. My instincts must have taken over at this point because the next thing I knew was that my shaft was completely engulfed by her warm, wet and welcoming vagina. I found it very difficult at that point to do anything more than to start my non-coordinated and clumsy thrusting. I remember that Kate wrapped her legs and arms around me in an attempt to control everything and it had some effect. We were locked in a kiss throughout and, whilst I didn’t last as long as I think we both would have liked, neither did I disgrace myself! Quite obviously though, I had not learned anything of the art of control and literally crushed her as I ejaculated inside her. We lay locked for some time and it took a while for my erection to subside so she treated me to some sensual pelvic-floor massage. ‘That was nice’ she said.
I eased myself from her and we lay together, each resting on our sides while we discussed what had happened. She made no objection to my continuing to touch and explore her body and we giggled and played around until she asked whether I’d like to do it again. I have constantly been amazed by the willingness of Percy to perform and he hasn’t let me down to this day. We made love, there is no other way of describing what had just happened, two further times that night and once again in the morning. It was the most delightful experience of my life to that point, and I thank Kate every day in my thoughts for being my teacher, confidante and lover for the next few months; I learned more from her about love, friendship and human anatomy than I had in a (short) lifetime form my Biology and RE masters.
But, in the words of my sadistic old Classics master, tempus rerum imperator (normally as he reached for his strap when I was late to class) and I stopped seeing Kate after the summer holidays of 1977. Time, availability and my arrogance had me believing that she ought to be at my beck-and-call. She disagreed. When I met a girl at my University entrance exams day we (Kate and I) agreed to put a stop to our relationship.
I later married the girl; I never forgot about Kate and I have regretted my stupidity since. I will write an account of that summer in a separate tome. I will amuse you with stories of my first marriage in another!
But back to the whole point of this article. Since I met Kate, I have always found the more mature woman to be far more attractive and experienced than the younger variants. That’s not to say that they should be older than me, just mature. So, at my time of life, that would cover anyone from – say – 40 upwards. I don’t think I could reconcile having a relationship with someone who is young enough to be my daughter, let alone grand-daughter (but neither do I condemn those that do with consenting girls who are of age) but I love the thrill of exploring a woman’s body and mapping out their life in lumps and bumps. I like women to be naturally curvy and have – as a friend on this site delightfully refers to them – wobbly bits! Mature women have experience, are generally less inhibited and have a great deal to teach and pass on. My advice to my young colleague stands; don’t give up an opportunity to learn from a talented and willing teacher. Go and party with your landlady and her friends – it might just be the turning point of your life. For me, it was definitely a rite of passage.
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