Excerpts From My Inexperience: My First Kiss (Added Bonus - Spunky Fingers) free porn video
This story only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.
One day, anybody who is lucky enough reaches a point when they can finally say they had their first kiss (a proper full-on grown-up-type snog). The first of my friends to have theirs was Jo. All my other friends followed on after that. It is safe to say I might possibly be a late starter – my first kiss was well over an entire decade later than Jo’s. I was thirty two. Thirty two! Thirty, sodding, fudging, bloomin’ two. Most women probably know the kind of thoughts that have gone round and round in my head all these years: how it makes you feel, what the implications about oneself and body and personality (or lack thereof) must be.
So it’s hardly surprising I’m a bit neurotic. Sorry, did I say bit neurotic? I don’t believe there are medical certifications for neuroticism on this level, but “complete mentalist” might just be getting there somehow.
But it finally arrived, that dreamed-of, longed-for day of amazement that perhaps I may actually experience something Normal people do. The nearest I had got before that was when I was eighteen, and a bloke I had listened to whining about his crap life for three months asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes, and then he said he had to go and sort something out with my girl mate. What he meant was, “I shall ask you to be my girlfriend, and then as soon as you say yes, I will go and immediately proposition your best mate (whom I know already has a boyfriend), so that you can come to her room to find out that really, I only like you because you are kind and stupid enough to listen to me whine like the complete Big Girl’s Blouse that I am, and I thought telling your mate I’d asked you out but wished it was her, and then trying to knob her over the desk was a great idea that would make you feel really good about yourself”. I would explain the phrase, “Big Girl’s Blouse” to those of you who never heard it before, but I fear I would be side-tracked into making a list of derogatory names for the git in question. And I doubt the word space could cover them, let alone the site guidelines allow most of them.
First kiss, first kiss… keep self on track… Sorry. It’s easy to go off at tangents when you’re me. Kissssssing…
At the tender (for “tender”, read “knocking on a bit now”) age of thirty two, then, I had spent 7 months messaging, texting and talking on the phone (okay, only three months on the phone, it makes me nervous) with a friend of friends, and we finally met when I went to my family home for a short holiday. Being a keen fisherwoman, but also being very ill at the time, we both decided an easy venue was a good idea, so we went to my most Favouritest Ever venue, and we spent the day messing about with hooks, scraps of mackerel, and the fearsome yet small harbour ragworms. He gave me a present he had made himself which I absolutely loved, and he used the entire day trying to make me laugh by doing stupid things. I later learned that doing stupid things actually came naturally to him, so I am less than impressed as I look back at it. But at the time, it was an actual delight to be treated like somebody another human might actually fancy.
At the very end of the day, after being unfortunately given the once-over by family (“This is my friend, please be nice” – nobody was under any illusions we might fancy each other, I never brought home anybody other than a normal friend), he gave me the tiniest little peck on the lips. I had shared more with him than anybody else in the entire world about how I hated to be touched and how scared I was about certain things. At the time, he wanted me to think he respected that.
I went to sleep smiling that night.
A few weeks later, I went to spend a little bit of time at his family home, and inevitably, both being fisherfolk, we went fishing. I had already taken him to my favourite fishing venue, and he took me to his. I could see why he loved it, and he held my hand as he showed me round. I thrilled to that. He was a very large man indeed. He wasn’t fat, although he had a bit of a tummy (but I like that – a man who likes his food makes me feel more comfortable because I really love mine, and being a greedy is no fun alone). He was six feet and four inches tall, and whilst I know some readers don’t like the science bit, I’m telling you because it may put the difference between us a bit plainer. I am five foot 1 and a quarter inches tall, and next to him, I felt like a tiny little doll, for all my width. Middle finger to wrist on my hand is about six inches long, and his enormous hand totally encased mine. There was something truly delightful (and very ridiculous) about short, fat little me toddling along slightly behind (because my legs are so little) this giant of a man, taking three little anxious steps to his every one lolloping stride. And it felt lovely, because he didn’t seem ashamed to be seen with me. I won’t tell you the things I know now, because bitterness speaks with an uglier voice than memories of a time that was so treasured as it happened.
There we were, two fisherfolk, looking to sea and watching the sun set as we stayed side by side, I sitting up the harbour’s top wall steps so that I was shoulder to shoulder with him as he stood on the lower deck. It was about this point when I began to get really nervous, stumbling over my words in my anxiety, telling him my Bestest Crap Fish Jokes (What’s the fastest fish in the world? A motorpike. Why did the ocean roar? You would too if you had crabs on your bottom), and I had to get up to do my fishing dance. I’m not ashamed of it. Love me, love my Fish Dance. I have a few rituals when I fish, as all good fisherfolk do. And this one, whilst normally performed when a fish has been caught, also warrants a performance when all has been quiet for a time, and there is no movement on the rods to show fish are nibbling at the bait.
There I was, at dusk, in my bright green Lucky Wellies, wearing my stupid bobble hat with the buttons sewn round it, the biggest fluorescent security jacket you have ever seen (I need the room to layer in winter, okay?) and the world’s baggiest trackies (again, for layering and covering up my wobbly bum and thighs, but that’s a secret – tell nobody!), doing my Fish Dance, singing my Fishing Song, throwing out bits of gingerbread into the sea in an attempt to get Neptune to send me a fishy, and all the while, this gorgeous man is just stood there watching me with a smile on his face. Not trying to hide round the corner so people don’t know I’m with him. Not running away screaming “Run awayyyy! Run awayyyyyy!”
In the end, poorliness won against the Fish Dance (stupid Neptune), and I had to stop. I stood there, shoulders slumped, breathing hard not just against the exertion (it’s a complicated business), but with the fear that he had just taken a step towards me, right into the not-my-comfort zone.
He held his arms out and said, “Come here for a cuddle”.
Whilst my heart is always screaming for my body to be touched and hugged and cuddled, my head is always telling me the exact opposite.
He stood there waiting, as I stood frozen in horror. My heart was yelling at me to stop being a pillock and get there as fast as possible. My head was screaming, “NOOOOOOO!” Not out loud, I hasten to add! Eyes wide, wellies green, I just stood there wide-eyed and tense.
He said it again, “Come here for a cuddle. It’s okay”.
I looked at the floor, staring like a crazy lass at everything I could that was floor-shaped and on the floor.
He waited.
I waited.
He waited some more.
I figured his arms must have been tired by that point and I really ought to do something about it.
“’K”, I mumbled.
I shifted my weight from welly to welly.
I wiggled side to side (I have a bad back and if I stand still too long, it aches, so I have my Wiggle, which helps).
I was now sideways on to him, so I took a little sidestep towards him.
Sidestep (a smaller one now).
I felt his arms envelop me as he pulled me in to his chest (blimey, how long were his arms?)
And there I was, head on his lower chest, arms suddenly on either side of him. I couldn’t believe I couldn’t get my hands all the way round him! But I was also enraptured by the fact that his arms, being so much longer than the imagined ones in my head, could not only meet in the middle all the way round me, but could even overlap themselves. One of my fears about being so round is that people couldn’t hug me like normal people do. You know when a person does that thing where they turn their back to you, and then make it look as if somebody else has wrapped their arms round them and are snogging and groping them? Well, certain parts of me get in the way of my doing that, and I can only get my hands under my armpits. And I am so self-conscious about my size that I never thought anybody could hug me like a normal person does. But… he could!
I found out later that at least one non-giant person can get his hands all the way round me, which was an even bigger relief, but that’s a different Excerpt.
Anywayyy, there I was, Lucky Welly Wearer, enveloped in a man’s arms for the first time. And all I could do was screw my eyes tight shut and press my cheek against his chest. I felt so warm and safe, and utterly terrified! He asked if I was okay, a sudden rumble of sound surprising and scaring me to the point where I jumped in fright. I hugged him tighter, bemused by the fact that whilst his arms crossed over round me, my arms were no where near touching round the back of him. I was never very good at dimensions.
That was the first time I discovered that you can hear somebody else’s heartbeat without a stethoscope. I had my ear against his heart (medically he had one, if not emotionally, but I digress…), and I couldn’t believe it – it was so fast!
I said, “Your heart beats well faster than mine does!”
He said, “That’s because I’m aroused.”
I said, “What?”
He explained to this complete simpleton that when people get aroused (he said it so scientifically!), it makes their heart beat faster.
I thought about that for a bit, shifting my weight because my back was hurting. I discovered that if I do my back Wiggle whilst cuddling a gargantuan giant, it makes him go “Mmmmm…”
After I had thought about that, I raised my head (I also discovered I could only see the underside of his chin if he was looking ahead), and asked, “Why are you aroused?”
“Because I like you.”
I went red and hid my face. I just stayed there, head tucked down, too scared to talk, listening to his heart beating.
Eventually, face still hidden, I asked, all muffly, “Do you really?”
He laughed, a deep, rumbling growly laugh, like the beginning of thunder directly overhead.
“Or course I do, stupid. Give me a kiss.”
I hid my head lower, almost tucked under my own arm. I couldn’t believe it! What was I meant to do? Yes, yes, I know you’re sat there reading this, thinking, “Just bloody kiss him, you idiot! Get over it.”
But the truth was, I didn’t know how to start, and I didn’t know what to do whilst we might be kissing either, and I did my crazy-eyed floor-staring trick again. It’s very hard to do the crazy-eyed floor-staring trick with half your head tucked under your own arm like a chubby Anne Boleyn whilst in the arms of a gargantuan giant, wishing you could sit down so your back would stop hurting but not wanting to move for fear of breaking this amazing but possibly painkiller-fuelled dream. But I managed it.
In the end, I don’t remember what happened, but the next thing I knew, my head was back as far as it would go, I was leaning backwards on his arm, and his mouth was on mine!
Oh. My. Days.
I half-stood, half-leaned there, supported only by his arm and clinging with my little fists to his floaty (that’s a fisherman’s special jacket, which usually holds itself upright because of the stink of rotting sand eel and squid, but his mother had washed it four times before I arrived to stay, so it wasn’t too bad), and frozen in fear.
I could feel his lips, fairly full and shapely, on mine. It felt warm and soft and… terrifying and lovely and… blimey, I thought, what do I do now? You know how some people say minutes passed in their head but it was less than a split second in actuality? Well, I kid you not, this was at least a minute, and I was just there, frozen. I couldn’t move. And he wouldn’t move. It was either pull away or do something.
Great Neptune! Do… do… do something, you idiot! I had heard a conversation in school between two friends. One had her first date coming up, and hadn’t ever kissed before, so she asked the more experienced friend for some advice. She said, “You lean in, rub your boobs against them, they like that. And you can moan a bit, they think you’re turned on. And then you put your lips together with his and… sort of… chew.”
He was in charge of the leaning. I couldn’t do anything about the boobs, it was the unspoken HERE THEY ARE kind of situation. I wasn’t going to moan, I was far too scared about what kind of sound “moaning” constituted. Was it meant to be an excited squeaky moan that sounds like you need oiling? No, too close to words like “needing lubrication” for my liking. What about a low big-cat-like growl? Knowing my luck I’d end up sounding like I’d burped, or worse, I actually would burp. Oh stuff it, my back was killing me and moaning in pain wasn’t going to be very sexy. And here we were, lips already together. Getting close to over a minute, now.
Chewing. I supposed that’s why people who snog loads get told off for “chewing each others’ faces off”. Maybe that’s what it meant. But what was I meant to chew? Do you just sort of pretend you have gum? I realised at the point that I desperately needed to swallow (no time for innuendoes right now, sorry, reader!) but didn’t know how to do it quietly, and I was mortified at how loud my breathing was.
I was thinking, what the hell is wrong with you, Mr Gargantuan Giant? I’m just here frozen doing nothing and you’re taking half my weight on your arm and I’m not responding! I’ll get there in a minute (okay, two, maybe three), and if I knew what to do I’d have jumped on you the minute I first met and tried to fuck you silly, but that’s not helping me right this second!
It was the tiniest movement in All The Land. I realised he had his mouth pressed against mine, but I didn’t have mine pressed against his. And so, very tiny, I gently and quickly pressed my lips against his too.
I felt him smile with his lips. Now that’s a weird sensation! Feeling somebody else smile against you? It was… *insert superlatives and positive adjectives here*. But being me, I started panicking, was I doing it wrong? How could that be wrong? I lost control a bit and all these million billion new senses took over.
All I remember is this: smooshing; soft; wet; safe; he might actually fancy me; crick in my neck; ooooo; oh my god is his tongue actually in my head; what happens if I do this; that’s a funny noise; can I do this forever; dear god lie me down and do that some more.
I decided there and then that I could kiss and cuddle forever (with breaks for chocolate and the toilet, obviously). He shifted his back against the harbour wall, taking me with him so I was leaning against him instead of back in his arms (I was grateful for that, as my back was seriously hurting at that point, but it was so lovely I didn’t want to say anything). I was embarrassed by the fact I had spit all over my mouth, and I wiped it. He told me he was a bit of slobbery kisser, which made me wipe my mouth more. I don’t know why he thought that was funny, but he did. I had my head down again, and he asked me if I liked kissing. I nodded into his floaty. A minute or so passed, and I dared to look up into his eyes.
“I like you,” I said, like a complete pillock. Damn my embarrassing mouth!
He smiled down at me and said, “I should hope so. You shouldn’t kiss people you don’t like, like that! You’re very good at kissing. Would you like to do it again?”
Head down (it’s habit, okay?), I nodded.
“Well, look up, then!”
I screwed my eyes tight shut and raised my head. It’s funny how everything just suddenly relaxed when he put his mouth on mine, but I was all smooshywooshyhappycuddly in his arms. I didn’t care if I was doing it wrong any more (okay, I cared a bit), it was just so nice doing it!
And then I got a shock. I was almost getting used to all these new sensations, with his tongue gently teasing mine, when all of a sudden, my mouth was fuller than it’s ever been, an odd sensation something like an enormous sausage with strange sides to it jumping up and down inside me. It was almost a violation but for the fact that it felt so deliciously and inexplicably gorgeous! I realised he had filled almost my entire mouth with as much of his tongue as he could and I was instinctively sucking on it! I learnt in that moment what he had meant when he once said he wanted to kiss me “deeply”.
Even just the thought of how it felt makes my little broken heart flutter. It was indescribably lovely!
I was lost in a haze of all these new feelings and emotions, feeling a warmth spreading between my legs as certain parts of me that had never been in this kind of situation woke up and decided they’d like a piece of the action. And I was not alone. When we were cuddling again, he said, “I’ve got a massive stiffy.”
I hid my face in my hands and mumbled that I was sorry.
“What are you sorry for? That’s a good thing! It’s meant to do that.
Even more embarrassed, I kept hiding, tucking myself into the crook of his arm, whilst wondering if I was in the right position, would I feel it sticking out?
“Would you like to feel it?”
Embarrassedly, I nodded at the floor. He took my hand, and gently laid it on his erection through his jeans. I just left my hand there, feeling a bulge, not daring to move.
“You can feel it more if you want.”
Still looking at the deck floor, I let my hand follow along the line of his erection. He gave a big sigh. It didn’t sound like an annoyed sigh, so I supposed that maybe he liked me to touch him like that. It felt hot and odd through his jeans. I didn’t know what to expect, or what it was meant to feel like. It was strangely soft, in that it did yield somewhat to my touch, but was firmer than when I felt his tummy or leg. I couldn’t quite understand how it lay sideways in his jeans (when you have no experience of such things, the imagination can be very blank at times).
“Do you want to feel it without my jeans?” I know now what he really meant was, “Please, please, please wank me”, but I have to give him credit for not scaring me.
I nodded, face burning red and unable to talk. He unzipped his jeans and (I couldn’t look!) placed my hand on his bare skin, on his hot hardness. I stood there thinking, “I have a massive erect willy in my hand and I have no idea what I’m meant to do with it!”
So I basically felt it. I could feel at the base a short mass of trimmed pubic hairs, neat, and at my waist height, this big, swollen cock waiting for… what? I didn’t have a clue! As I held it carefully in my little hand, I slid my fingers up and down it a little, being rewarded with some happy little sighs from above my head. I moved my palm over the very end of him and as I brought it back, I exclaimed, “It’s wet!” I felt wetness on my hand, it was odd.
“That’s pre-cum. He likes you.”
I stood there, frozen once more, with a wet erect penis in my hand and again, no idea what to do about it. So I carried on moving my hand up and down it rhythmically, again hearing those sighs. With one hand, he pulled my face up to his and kissed me long and gently as I kept wanking him slowly in the darkness, the sea following my rhythm as it flowed in and out.
“Would you do that a bit faster?”
So I did it faster.
I looked up at him. “Am I doing it right?”
“Mmmmm… fast as you can…”
Now, I used to work with Muppet-type puppets and at that time, my arm muscles were very strong and used to quick movements. And I wanked that lad as fast as I could, to the sound of him saying, “Oh god… oh god…” and breathing fast and shallow. It was about ten seconds of fast wanking, and I felt hot wetness suddenly explode all over my hand, not just a little bit like earlier. His legs gave out and he slumped down the wall, eyes closed and not talking. I stood there almost crying, lonely and away from him with hot cum dripping from my hand.
Nobody ever told me what to expect, and I never saw a cum-shot until I joined Lush and saw an animated gif on somebody’s profile page. It took him a couple of minutes to come round properly, as I stood there trying to hold back the tears thinking I must have hurt him. It turns out I hadn’t hurt him. In fact, he said, as he cleaned my hand off with his t-shirt for me, he’d never met anybody who could wank him faster than he could himself, and he hoped I’d do it again.
I was happy that he was happy, and most of all, that he kissed me lots and lots for it, and… But no. As always, there is only time for one Excerpt right now, and you must try to make your own Happy Ending.
And for the record, Neptune didn’t send me a fishy. The bastard.
This story only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.
One day, anybody who is lucky enough reaches a point when they can finally say they had their first kiss (a proper full-on grown-up-type snog). The first of my friends to have theirs was Jo. All my other friends followed on after that. It is safe to say I might possibly be a late starter – my first kiss was well over an entire decade later than Jo’s. I was thirty two. Thirty two! Thirty, sodding, fudging, bloomin’ two. Most women probably know the kind of thoughts that have gone round and round in my head all these years: how it makes you feel, what the implications about oneself and body and personality (or lack thereof) must be.
So it’s hardly surprising I’m a bit neurotic. Sorry, did I say bit neurotic? I don’t believe there are medical certifications for neuroticism on this level, but “complete mentalist” might just be getting there somehow.
But it finally arrived, that dreamed-of, longed-for day of amazement that perhaps I may actually experience something Normal people do. The nearest I had got before that was when I was eighteen, and a bloke I had listened to whining about his crap life for three months asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes, and then he said he had to go and sort something out with my girl mate. What he meant was, “I shall ask you to be my girlfriend, and then as soon as you say yes, I will go and immediately proposition your best mate (whom I know already has a boyfriend), so that you can come to her room to find out that really, I only like you because you are kind and stupid enough to listen to me whine like the complete Big Girl’s Blouse that I am, and I thought telling your mate I’d asked you out but wished it was her, and then trying to knob her over the desk was a great idea that would make you feel really good about yourself”. I would explain the phrase, “Big Girl’s Blouse” to those of you who never heard it before, but I fear I would be side-tracked into making a list of derogatory names for the git in question. And I doubt the word space could cover them, let alone the site guidelines allow most of them.
First kiss, first kiss… keep self on track… Sorry. It’s easy to go off at tangents when you’re me. Kissssssing…
At the tender (for “tender”, read “knocking on a bit now”) age of thirty two, then, I had spent 7 months messaging, texting and talking on the phone (okay, only three months on the phone, it makes me nervous) with a friend of friends, and we finally met when I went to my family home for a short holiday. Being a keen fisherwoman, but also being very ill at the time, we both decided an easy venue was a good idea, so we went to my most Favouritest Ever venue, and we spent the day messing about with hooks, scraps of mackerel, and the fearsome yet small harbour ragworms. He gave me a present he had made himself which I absolutely loved, and he used the entire day trying to make me laugh by doing stupid things. I later learned that doing stupid things actually came naturally to him, so I am less than impressed as I look back at it. But at the time, it was an actual delight to be treated like somebody another human might actually fancy.
At the very end of the day, after being unfortunately given the once-over by family (“This is my friend, please be nice” – nobody was under any illusions we might fancy each other, I never brought home anybody other than a normal friend), he gave me the tiniest little peck on the lips. I had shared more with him than anybody else in the entire world about how I hated to be touched and how scared I was about certain things. At the time, he wanted me to think he respected that.
I went to sleep smiling that night.
A few weeks later, I went to spend a little bit of time at his family home, and inevitably, both being fisherfolk, we went fishing. I had already taken him to my favourite fishing venue, and he took me to his. I could see why he loved it, and he held my hand as he showed me round. I thrilled to that. He was a very large man indeed. He wasn’t fat, although he had a bit of a tummy (but I like that – a man who likes his food makes me feel more comfortable because I really love mine, and being a greedy is no fun alone). He was six feet and four inches tall, and whilst I know some readers don’t like the science bit, I’m telling you because it may put the difference between us a bit plainer. I am five foot 1 and a quarter inches tall, and next to him, I felt like a tiny little doll, for all my width. Middle finger to wrist on my hand is about six inches long, and his enormous hand totally encased mine. There was something truly delightful (and very ridiculous) about short, fat little me toddling along slightly behind (because my legs are so little) this giant of a man, taking three little anxious steps to his every one lolloping stride. And it felt lovely, because he didn’t seem ashamed to be seen with me. I won’t tell you the things I know now, because bitterness speaks with an uglier voice than memories of a time that was so treasured as it happened.
There we were, two fisherfolk, looking to sea and watching the sun set as we stayed side by side, I sitting up the harbour’s top wall steps so that I was shoulder to shoulder with him as he stood on the lower deck. It was about this point when I began to get really nervous, stumbling over my words in my anxiety, telling him my Bestest Crap Fish Jokes (What’s the fastest fish in the world? A motorpike. Why did the ocean roar? You would too if you had crabs on your bottom), and I had to get up to do my fishing dance. I’m not ashamed of it. Love me, love my Fish Dance. I have a few rituals when I fish, as all good fisherfolk do. And this one, whilst normally performed when a fish has been caught, also warrants a performance when all has been quiet for a time, and there is no movement on the rods to show fish are nibbling at the bait.
There I was, at dusk, in my bright green Lucky Wellies, wearing my stupid bobble hat with the buttons sewn round it, the biggest fluorescent security jacket you have ever seen (I need the room to layer in winter, okay?) and the world’s baggiest trackies (again, for layering and covering up my wobbly bum and thighs, but that’s a secret – tell nobody!), doing my Fish Dance, singing my Fishing Song, throwing out bits of gingerbread into the sea in an attempt to get Neptune to send me a fishy, and all the while, this gorgeous man is just stood there watching me with a smile on his face. Not trying to hide round the corner so people don’t know I’m with him. Not running away screaming “Run awayyyy! Run awayyyyyy!”
In the end, poorliness won against the Fish Dance (stupid Neptune), and I had to stop. I stood there, shoulders slumped, breathing hard not just against the exertion (it’s a complicated business), but with the fear that he had just taken a step towards me, right into the not-my-comfort zone.
He held his arms out and said, “Come here for a cuddle”.
Whilst my heart is always screaming for my body to be touched and hugged and cuddled, my head is always telling me the exact opposite.
He stood there waiting, as I stood frozen in horror. My heart was yelling at me to stop being a pillock and get there as fast as possible. My head was screaming, “NOOOOOOO!” Not out loud, I hasten to add! Eyes wide, wellies green, I just stood there wide-eyed and tense.
He said it again, “Come here for a cuddle. It’s okay”.
I looked at the floor, staring like a crazy lass at everything I could that was floor-shaped and on the floor.
He waited.
I waited.
He waited some more.
I figured his arms must have been tired by that point and I really ought to do something about it.
“’K”, I mumbled.
I shifted my weight from welly to welly.
I wiggled side to side (I have a bad back and if I stand still too long, it aches, so I have my Wiggle, which helps).
I was now sideways on to him, so I took a little sidestep towards him.
Sidestep (a smaller one now).
I felt his arms envelop me as he pulled me in to his chest (blimey, how long were his arms?)
And there I was, head on his lower chest, arms suddenly on either side of him. I couldn’t believe I couldn’t get my hands all the way round him! But I was also enraptured by the fact that his arms, being so much longer than the imagined ones in my head, could not only meet in the middle all the way round me, but could even overlap themselves. One of my fears about being so round is that people couldn’t hug me like normal people do. You know when a person does that thing where they turn their back to you, and then make it look as if somebody else has wrapped their arms round them and are snogging and groping them? Well, certain parts of me get in the way of my doing that, and I can only get my hands under my armpits. And I am so self-conscious about my size that I never thought anybody could hug me like a normal person does. But… he could!
I found out later that at least one non-giant person can get his hands all the way round me, which was an even bigger relief, but that’s a different Excerpt.
Anywayyy, there I was, Lucky Welly Wearer, enveloped in a man’s arms for the first time. And all I could do was screw my eyes tight shut and press my cheek against his chest. I felt so warm and safe, and utterly terrified! He asked if I was okay, a sudden rumble of sound surprising and scaring me to the point where I jumped in fright. I hugged him tighter, bemused by the fact that whilst his arms crossed over round me, my arms were no where near touching round the back of him. I was never very good at dimensions.
That was the first time I discovered that you can hear somebody else’s heartbeat without a stethoscope. I had my ear against his heart (medically he had one, if not emotionally, but I digress…), and I couldn’t believe it – it was so fast!
I said, “Your heart beats well faster than mine does!”
He said, “That’s because I’m aroused.”
I said, “What?”
He explained to this complete simpleton that when people get aroused (he said it so scientifically!), it makes their heart beat faster.
I thought about that for a bit, shifting my weight because my back was hurting. I discovered that if I do my back Wiggle whilst cuddling a gargantuan giant, it makes him go “Mmmmm…”
After I had thought about that, I raised my head (I also discovered I could only see the underside of his chin if he was looking ahead), and asked, “Why are you aroused?”
“Because I like you.”
I went red and hid my face. I just stayed there, head tucked down, too scared to talk, listening to his heart beating.
Eventually, face still hidden, I asked, all muffly, “Do you really?”
He laughed, a deep, rumbling growly laugh, like the beginning of thunder directly overhead.
“Or course I do, stupid. Give me a kiss.”
I hid my head lower, almost tucked under my own arm. I couldn’t believe it! What was I meant to do? Yes, yes, I know you’re sat there reading this, thinking, “Just bloody kiss him, you idiot! Get over it.”
But the truth was, I didn’t know how to start, and I didn’t know what to do whilst we might be kissing either, and I did my crazy-eyed floor-staring trick again. It’s very hard to do the crazy-eyed floor-staring trick with half your head tucked under your own arm like a chubby Anne Boleyn whilst in the arms of a gargantuan giant, wishing you could sit down so your back would stop hurting but not wanting to move for fear of breaking this amazing but possibly painkiller-fuelled dream. But I managed it.
In the end, I don’t remember what happened, but the next thing I knew, my head was back as far as it would go, I was leaning backwards on his arm, and his mouth was on mine!
Oh. My. Days.
I half-stood, half-leaned there, supported only by his arm and clinging with my little fists to his floaty (that’s a fisherman’s special jacket, which usually holds itself upright because of the stink of rotting sand eel and squid, but his mother had washed it four times before I arrived to stay, so it wasn’t too bad), and frozen in fear.
I could feel his lips, fairly full and shapely, on mine. It felt warm and soft and… terrifying and lovely and… blimey, I thought, what do I do now? You know how some people say minutes passed in their head but it was less than a split second in actuality? Well, I kid you not, this was at least a minute, and I was just there, frozen. I couldn’t move. And he wouldn’t move. It was either pull away or do something.
Great Neptune! Do… do… do something, you idiot! I had heard a conversation in school between two friends. One had her first date coming up, and hadn’t ever kissed before, so she asked the more experienced friend for some advice. She said, “You lean in, rub your boobs against them, they like that. And you can moan a bit, they think you’re turned on. And then you put your lips together with his and… sort of… chew.”
He was in charge of the leaning. I couldn’t do anything about the boobs, it was the unspoken HERE THEY ARE kind of situation. I wasn’t going to moan, I was far too scared about what kind of sound “moaning” constituted. Was it meant to be an excited squeaky moan that sounds like you need oiling? No, too close to words like “needing lubrication” for my liking. What about a low big-cat-like growl? Knowing my luck I’d end up sounding like I’d burped, or worse, I actually would burp. Oh stuff it, my back was killing me and moaning in pain wasn’t going to be very sexy. And here we were, lips already together. Getting close to over a minute, now.
Chewing. I supposed that’s why people who snog loads get told off for “chewing each others’ faces off”. Maybe that’s what it meant. But what was I meant to chew? Do you just sort of pretend you have gum? I realised at the point that I desperately needed to swallow (no time for innuendoes right now, sorry, reader!) but didn’t know how to do it quietly, and I was mortified at how loud my breathing was.
I was thinking, what the hell is wrong with you, Mr Gargantuan Giant? I’m just here frozen doing nothing and you’re taking half my weight on your arm and I’m not responding! I’ll get there in a minute (okay, two, maybe three), and if I knew what to do I’d have jumped on you the minute I first met and tried to fuck you silly, but that’s not helping me right this second!
It was the tiniest movement in All The Land. I realised he had his mouth pressed against mine, but I didn’t have mine pressed against his. And so, very tiny, I gently and quickly pressed my lips against his too.
I felt him smile with his lips. Now that’s a weird sensation! Feeling somebody else smile against you? It was… *insert superlatives and positive adjectives here*. But being me, I started panicking, was I doing it wrong? How could that be wrong? I lost control a bit and all these million billion new senses took over.
All I remember is this: smooshing; soft; wet; safe; he might actually fancy me; crick in my neck; ooooo; oh my god is his tongue actually in my head; what happens if I do this; that’s a funny noise; can I do this forever; dear god lie me down and do that some more.
I decided there and then that I could kiss and cuddle forever (with breaks for chocolate and the toilet, obviously). He shifted his back against the harbour wall, taking me with him so I was leaning against him instead of back in his arms (I was grateful for that, as my back was seriously hurting at that point, but it was so lovely I didn’t want to say anything). I was embarrassed by the fact I had spit all over my mouth, and I wiped it. He told me he was a bit of slobbery kisser, which made me wipe my mouth more. I don’t know why he thought that was funny, but he did. I had my head down again, and he asked me if I liked kissing. I nodded into his floaty. A minute or so passed, and I dared to look up into his eyes.
“I like you,” I said, like a complete pillock. Damn my embarrassing mouth!
He smiled down at me and said, “I should hope so. You shouldn’t kiss people you don’t like, like that! You’re very good at kissing. Would you like to do it again?”
Head down (it’s habit, okay?), I nodded.
“Well, look up, then!”
I screwed my eyes tight shut and raised my head. It’s funny how everything just suddenly relaxed when he put his mouth on mine, but I was all smooshywooshyhappycuddly in his arms. I didn’t care if I was doing it wrong any more (okay, I cared a bit), it was just so nice doing it!
And then I got a shock. I was almost getting used to all these new sensations, with his tongue gently teasing mine, when all of a sudden, my mouth was fuller than it’s ever been, an odd sensation something like an enormous sausage with strange sides to it jumping up and down inside me. It was almost a violation but for the fact that it felt so deliciously and inexplicably gorgeous! I realised he had filled almost my entire mouth with as much of his tongue as he could and I was instinctively sucking on it! I learnt in that moment what he had meant when he once said he wanted to kiss me “deeply”.
Even just the thought of how it felt makes my little broken heart flutter. It was indescribably lovely!
I was lost in a haze of all these new feelings and emotions, feeling a warmth spreading between my legs as certain parts of me that had never been in this kind of situation woke up and decided they’d like a piece of the action. And I was not alone. When we were cuddling again, he said, “I’ve got a massive stiffy.”
I hid my face in my hands and mumbled that I was sorry.
“What are you sorry for? That’s a good thing! It’s meant to do that.
Even more embarrassed, I kept hiding, tucking myself into the crook of his arm, whilst wondering if I was in the right position, would I feel it sticking out?
“Would you like to feel it?”
Embarrassedly, I nodded at the floor. He took my hand, and gently laid it on his erection through his jeans. I just left my hand there, feeling a bulge, not daring to move.
“You can feel it more if you want.”
Still looking at the deck floor, I let my hand follow along the line of his erection. He gave a big sigh. It didn’t sound like an annoyed sigh, so I supposed that maybe he liked me to touch him like that. It felt hot and odd through his jeans. I didn’t know what to expect, or what it was meant to feel like. It was strangely soft, in that it did yield somewhat to my touch, but was firmer than when I felt his tummy or leg. I couldn’t quite understand how it lay sideways in his jeans (when you have no experience of such things, the imagination can be very blank at times).
“Do you want to feel it without my jeans?” I know now what he really meant was, “Please, please, please wank me”, but I have to give him credit for not scaring me.
I nodded, face burning red and unable to talk. He unzipped his jeans and (I couldn’t look!) placed my hand on his bare skin, on his hot hardness. I stood there thinking, “I have a massive erect willy in my hand and I have no idea what I’m meant to do with it!”
So I basically felt it. I could feel at the base a short mass of trimmed pubic hairs, neat, and at my waist height, this big, swollen cock waiting for… what? I didn’t have a clue! As I held it carefully in my little hand, I slid my fingers up and down it a little, being rewarded with some happy little sighs from above my head. I moved my palm over the very end of him and as I brought it back, I exclaimed, “It’s wet!” I felt wetness on my hand, it was odd.
“That’s pre-cum. He likes you.”
I stood there, frozen once more, with a wet erect penis in my hand and again, no idea what to do about it. So I carried on moving my hand up and down it rhythmically, again hearing those sighs. With one hand, he pulled my face up to his and kissed me long and gently as I kept wanking him slowly in the darkness, the sea following my rhythm as it flowed in and out.
“Would you do that a bit faster?”
So I did it faster.
I looked up at him. “Am I doing it right?”
“Mmmmm… fast as you can…”
Now, I used to work with Muppet-type puppets and at that time, my arm muscles were very strong and used to quick movements. And I wanked that lad as fast as I could, to the sound of him saying, “Oh god… oh god…” and breathing fast and shallow. It was about ten seconds of fast wanking, and I felt hot wetness suddenly explode all over my hand, not just a little bit like earlier. His legs gave out and he slumped down the wall, eyes closed and not talking. I stood there almost crying, lonely and away from him with hot cum dripping from my hand.
Nobody ever told me what to expect, and I never saw a cum-shot until I joined Lush and saw an animated gif on somebody’s profile page. It took him a couple of minutes to come round properly, as I stood there trying to hold back the tears thinking I must have hurt him. It turns out I hadn’t hurt him. In fact, he said, as he cleaned my hand off with his t-shirt for me, he’d never met anybody who could wank him faster than he could himself, and he hoped I’d do it again.
I was happy that he was happy, and most of all, that he kissed me lots and lots for it, and… But no. As always, there is only time for one Excerpt right now, and you must try to make your own Happy Ending.
And for the record, Neptune didn’t send me a fishy. The bastard.
This story only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.
Emely
- 13.07.2022
- 28
- 0
- Category:
- First Time
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