Amy 37 Electric Prom Mayhem
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Amy, Prom, And The End Of Life As We Know It free porn video
Okay, so you want to hear about my strange prom and the decision I made to give my prom date my virginity. The first thing you should know is that I had been planning the event for years, long before I really knew what prom was supposed to be like. By the time I was old enough to go to prom I was more than ready to give a guy my cherry.
So, I had everything all planned in my head. Of course, what some teenage girls call a plan is often referred to as a fantasy by those older and wiser. This was no exception. My fantasy was to have a handsome hard-bodied man take me to prom, proud to have me clinging to his arm in a low low low cut dress that made every other guy envy him the soft globes of mammary flesh that settled softly on his arm. And he, of course, would be a dashing hero type, with muscles on his muscles and fighting the inevitable hardon that my sexy bod would spontaneously manifest in him.
And we would be the belles of the ball, as it were.
Fantasies, as they usually do, fall apart at first contact with reality. There were several candidates at my high school to be my hero of choice and recipient of my juicy cherry. My dilemma was which one would ask me, and if I should hold out if A asked me and I thought B might still ask, or if C asked me first and I really wanted to go with B or A. Somehow, in all the weeks of dressing sexily and doing the strangest mating dance steps to gain their attention, I somehow discovered that A, B, C, and also D, E, and F had all asked other girls to the dance!
Whoops!? Okay, so what’s plan B? Well, actually D, E, and F were plan B. Okay, so what’s plan C? Uh. Well, there is no plan C. Better think fast girl, they don’t let singles buy tickets for the prom.
Now a little context. Being a high school kid, I obviously lived at home. I had a mother and father, like most kids. And I actually had a pretty good childhood, my only complaints being a workaholic father, which meant he was rarely around or involved in the family, and a helicopter mom back in the days before helicopter moms were really a thing. This made her entirely, uniquely, annoying. All the more so for helicopter mom’s being such a rarity at the time.
Anyway, my mother was there at the kitchen table one morning, and whether I really felt like talking to her about it or not, it was a momentary lapse of reason on my part to bare my prom concerns to her. But, it was a week before the prom. Time was running out fast. So, I poured out my soul, bemoaning the fact that all six of my intended candidates had looked right over me. Or, to be more precise, they looked past my amply displayed cleavage. Hell, at least I had cleavage. Most girls either had none at all or way too much because it was the byproduct of their resemblance to the Bordon Farms milk cows.
So, anyway, I told her my troubles. And she was appropriately sympathetic, which was both a pleasant surprise and more than I had really expected. However, further surprising, and irritating, me, she said “Amykins (I absolutely loathed that nickname, but I could never get her to stop), I have the perfect solution for you. Your cousin, Eddie!” She was all excited, as if she was the one that was going to prom. I had yet to learn of people that enjoy life by living vicariously through interfering in other’s lives. Sometimes I think that little psychological foible was invented for my mother.
But as she continued to prattle on about how Eddie wants to go to a prom and his school doesn’t have them so naturally, we would be the perfect couple. Yada, yada, yada. Okay, Eddie was alright, he was tall dark and handsome, and though he was my cousin, nobody at school knew that. I’d make up some story about him being my boyfriend from another school or something. This could work.
But, I thought late that night, what about my primary focus? Getting my virgin pussy deflowered and planted properly. Well, I’d have to shelve the idea for the moment, but not necessarily take it off the table. Confused by my own mixed furniture metaphors, I went to sleep knowing I would at least get to go to my own prom. I promptly had an intense erotic dream about Eddie. I woke up wondering if that meant I was destined to move to the South. They dated and married their cousins all the time, didn’t they?
Prom night arrived, Eddie arrived in a vintage Chevy Chevelle with a custom 440 engine, with glass pack and nitrous and the whole nine yards. It was way better than a limo! Mommy dearest waved and said she would see us later. It didn’t register. I thought she meant after prom or something. So, Eddie and I rode in silence for a few moments until he finally turns to look at me. He literally had not looked at me the whole convoluted mess of picking me up and handing me into the car, etc.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. I just grinned at him. The dress was smokin and I knew it.
“Like the dress?” I asked with a grin. He grinned back and subtly (not) adjusted his seat to get comfortable. Inside my guts were churning out butterflies faster than a hot summer day after a heavy rain makes mosquitos.
He reached back into the back seat and brought two cold beers back and offered me one. Okay, so it’s not real champagne. It was the champagne of beers. Good enough.
So we talked. And we caught up on what we’d been doing since the reunion last summer. That had literally been the last time I saw him, and otherwise we saw each other about once or twice a year. He had grown, appreciably, since I’d last seen him.
The beer was good and cold. He had a cooler stashed in the back. I was starting to love that car even more. I asked about the cooler and the other mods. He smiled proudly.
“I did it all myself,” he proclaimed, “Back seat cooler for beer, storage rack for cassettes, amp for the quadraphonics, power source, nitrous tank and valve spreader.” As he talked it occurred to me that it was now a two-seater muscle car. Or maybe three. It had a bench seat in front.
“So there’s no room in back for anybody?” I asked, keeping my voice light. And I saw the light go on in his brain as his eyes locked on mine.
“Hell, Amy, it never even occurred to me you might want this to be… like… a real prom.” His smile had faded to a frown. I sighed and patted his arm.
“Not your fault, Ed,” I said quietly. And I told him about my stupid fantasies and how it had been undone at every turn. I told him how I had planned, as so many girls do, to lose my virginity on prom night with my hunky date.
So, we talked. He had just broken up with his long-term girlfriend and had been going through the male equivalent of what I was. Not the virginity part, but the part about not wanting to miss one’s own senior prom. He had hoped to go to his girlfriend’s school’s prom. He smiled at me and reached out to pull me to him with his arm around my shoulders.
“Well, we’re going to prom. And we’re gonna dance, and drink the crappy punch, and maybe even find a blunt somewhere. We can stay out late and get a dawn breakfast at a greasy diner and let the whole town wonder who the guy with little Amykins is.” I was smiling when he started but I smacked him on the shoulder at the end.
“For the love of God, don’t call me that!” I glared at him without any real heat, “I hate that.” He just laughed and squeezed my shoulder. I looked up at him and he was grinning as he watched the road.
“Yeah, I know. I just like to get a rise out of ya.” I half-heartedly smacked him again. But his comment made me feel mischievous, so I let my hand drop to just to one side of his crotch on his upper thigh. I heard him breathe in a little, but he didn’t say anything.
“Hmmm… you like to get a rise out of me, huh?” I asked in a soft and what I certainly hoped sounded like a sexy voice, but probably resembled the croaking of a chain-smoking frog instead. But he didn’t care, because my hand had slowly moved to the left and was tracing along his quickly hardening penis.
“I like getting a rise out of you, too,” I said, feeling smugly awesome for the cleverness of my own wit. He definitely was breathing deeply now, and his hands were rigidly on the wheel as we drove.
“Damn, girl,” he moaned, “we’re almost there. Probably a good thing. Or I’d be wanting to…” he stopped. I caressed his hard cock through his pants, somewhat surprised at how big he was. Yeah, he definitely had a growth spurt.
Suddenly he was turning into the parking lot. I thought the fun was over, but after he parked, he leaned across and kissed me. Just like that. Bang! Kiss of the century, I gasped, my lips opened, and suddenly there was tongue in my mouth. Before I knew it, I was wet as a bird bath and wondering if maybe I should have left the panties at home.
But as quickly as the lips of lust attacked, they retreated as well.
“Damn,” he muttered as he sat back. “You are just too damn sexy, Amyk… Amy.” He was pretty sexy himself and I suddenly realized he really was quite handsome and rugged in his own way.
“Fuck me.” I heard the whispered phrase in the car as if it had manifested from thin air and it took me a full five seconds to realize as he turned to look at me incredulously that I was the one that had said it. I was still trying to get my head around that fact when he practically leapt from the car and came around to my side. He opened the door with a smile and held his hand out, earning him all sorts of chivalry points, especially since I noticed several of my classmates witnessing how gallant he was.
He escorted me inside to the dance and the first hour was a blurry flurry of dancing and (truly crappy, as predicted) punch and his going along with some concocted story of ours that he was my boyfriend from another school, that he was older and came back from college to take me to prom, and all sorts of stupid lies that made us both laugh as we turned away from each conversation group.
“What do you want me to be this time?” he teased as we approached a mixed group of students and teachers. I grinned and pulled his ear down to whisper. He laughed and said, “I’ve always wanted to visit Australia.” He said it in an absolutely atrocious attempt at an Aussie accent. But it made me laugh.
At one point, hours later and probably past midnight, I realized he really was my prince charming. He enjoyed my catty observations of people that he didn’t know, and laughed at my jokes, and he danced divinely. We were dancing to a low song and the floor was only a third full. It’s become my opinion that, if you can’t look like you are in the throes of an epileptic seizure, my generation doesn’t like to be on the dance floor. But we were dancing sensuously to a slow and beautiful song that totally went over my head at the time. Because. He was erect as we danced. And I found myself wanting to see. I wanted to see his cock. My cousin. I wanted to see my fucking cousin’s cock! Correction. I wanted to see my cousin’s cock fucking! Me!
I’m not entirely sure how it happened, but I apparently led him by the hand from the dance floor. I looked up at him and whispered to him urgently.
“I want you to fuck me. Now.” I led him behind one of the big decoration facades that some random assortment of cheerleaders must have worked tirelessly to construct and paint. All I knew was it was a great screen to hide behind so we could escape prying eyes. I slipped behind the screen and heTo continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.
Elle
- 07.07.2022
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- Incest
