Danny was the reject of our year. He was the quiet guy in the corner, regarded as a geeky weakling, no surprise therefore that when he exceeded people, they tried to pretend he was no better than them. He could climb rocks, row a kayak, write computer programs better than them; but unless he could play football and like their music he was nothing to them but a target of stress relief. Only the other rejects, the good guys, like me, would call him a friend.
The summer of year 11, Danny had his first real party. ‘Real’ referring to the idea of loud music, drugs and alcohol; not relatives coming round to sing happy birthday and patronise you. Naturally as one of his best friends I was invited.
I spent the day shopping with him, telling him which alcohols were most popular. Telling him a little about how parties were, although I hadn’t had any myself. We went back to his to get valuables out of the way, put the drinks out, and the guests started pouring in early, it was the biggest party I’d ever been to; which surprised me.
Not being experienced, Danny was naturally jumpy, constantly cleaning up, worrying, I could see it getting to him. I in turn was running around after him, calming him down, helping him with cleaning.
Danny wasn’t used to staying up all night; and he wasn’t aware parties went on til dawn, until that point. The alcohol added to his drowsiness. Despite the alcohol’s effect on his fatigue and a few stumbles, he actually handled the alcohol well, considering how much he had. Finally, he lay down, and I took the opportunity to help him upstairs, taking him to his bed.
I acted like the innocent friend, offering to help him into bed. As I undressed him, I knew it would be a great night. He hesitated as I went to remove his boxer-shorts, and I innocently apologised. I told him I was feeling tired too, and asked innocently if I could share his bed, because I didn’t trust the others. I kept my corset, skirt and stockings on, which to me is casual wear. I gently eased myself into the bed beside him and kissed him sweetly on the cheek, but as I withdrew, I maintained the cuddling position, in which I could feel the soft mass inside his boxer-shorts against my lower thigh.
I tickled his abdominal muscles gently with my finger-tips, and the squirming of the mass told me it was working. I decided to stimulate a little physical fun by poking him, which in the body language of young people today means I want a ‘poke war’; and he responded appropriately by poking my arm.
After a few pokes, I began evasive manoeuvres; like grabbing his wrists to stop the poking, and as predicted this started a small struggle of power. I pushed him over onto his back and straddled his waist, pushing his arms out to the side, teasing him with a triumphant ‘Ha!’. He began to struggle again, which disguised the fact that I was rubbing my thong against his shorts, and arousing the beast within.
Finally his struggles subsided, and I decided it was time to move in for the kill. I slowly leaned forward to deliver a delicate kiss on his lips. As I pulled away slightly, I looked into his eyes, letting him know what I wanted. Almost instantly we pulled each other back into a passionate kiss, and my tongue caressed his as it explored my mouth.
While the kiss continued, I located his hands and lifted them to my side, before guiding them slowly upwards towards their goal. I continued to rub against the mass which was now rock-hard behind those two dividing pieces of cloth.
I began my descent, slowly kissing down over his chin and neck, , suckling each nipple before continuing the journey over his abs, and licked straight back up them which sent a wave of pleasure through his flesh.