This Story Is About Cindy 1:1 - 1:2 - Sex Stories

This Story Is About Cindy 1:1 - 1:2

PART 1 - CHAPTER 1 This story is about Cindy. The whole story... but after these first few chapters are over it won't seem like it for a while. I guess this section is just to set things up for later, give a bit of context. And to entertain, of course. I was 16 when I met Cindy. We had gone to the same school for years, but she was a grade under me, so it wasn't until my sophomore year of high school that we had an elective together. Sadly it was an art class, (not my forte) but I needed the credit so... yeah. She, on the other hand, was magnificent. It took me a few days to notice how skilled she really was, though; for the first few classes all I noticed was her ass. Of course that's a little embarrassing to admit but, I'm a guy. Whaddaya expect? Her butt truly was amazing though. Best backside I'd ever seen. Round and firm, but not too muscular. The kind that holds it's gorgeous form but ripples perfectly when you slap it. Or so I imagined at that point. The next thing I noticed was her hair. Dark brown and smooth. It fell about halfway down her back, and almost seemed to flow like a river when the light hit it just right. Unfortunately, I hadn't gotten a real good look at her face yet. I could tell she was cute from seeing her come in and out of class, and she definitely had a marvelous chest. Again, I hadn't been up close or anything, but they looked to me like somewhere between a 'B' and a 'C,' more on the 'C' side. Modest enough so she could cover them up and you'd ...

... barely notice them, but substantial enough that if she wanted to, she could rock some amazing cleavage. Before I even knew her name I had dreamt about slamming my cock between her perfect tits... but um, ahem... I'm getting ahead of myself a little. I finally talked to her on the first Friday of school. My big knuckle-headed brain had finally noticed what an artist she was, and seeing as I was practically drawing stick figures in comparrison, I decided to ask for some tips when the teacher stepped out. I walked up beside her and regarded her drawing. "This is really amazing..." "Thank you," she responded, her voice sounding... well like a voice. I'm not going to get all cheesy and say it sounding like bells ringing or some shit, but she had a really, really nice voice. The kind that makes you feel like you aren't being judged. "How long have you been drawing?" I asked. "Oh, as long as I can remember. This is nothing really, though. My aunt was a painter, and she'd put my work to shame." "Well I guess that says something about me then," I said, grimacing internally, but also laughing at my own haplessness. I knew art was something I simply possessed no skill for. "Oh gosh, I didn't mean to ensue... er, I mean, I'm sure you're really good," she said. I grinned. She seemed like a genuinely sweet girl. Inwardly I sighed with relief; most of the girls in my grade were real C U Next Tuesdays. "No, no it's alright. I know I'm awful," I said with a chuckle. "No one can be awful. Art is ...