Seasons of Sex 3: Spring, 1968 - Sex Stories

Seasons of Sex 3: Spring, 1968

... the idea of a senior prom anyway.

The concert, because the weather was cooperating, was held in a large outdoor amphitheater. All the first and second place groups from different categories were performing, and we did our part fairly early in the program.

I was sitting listening to some other choirs perform when Gail Anderson sat down beside me. We were in a relatively empty area of the amphitheater and were able to engage in quiet conversation without bothering anybody close by.

I had once had a crush on Gail, back in my days of frustrated longing, because I was attracted to intelligence. She was an honor student, one of the girls whose class participation seemed to stem from a genuine desire to learn and not just from a wish to score points with the teacher. She also was willing to talk to boys without trying to flirt with them, which was sometimes a refreshing change. The thick lenses of her ugly cat-eye glasses did not hide her intelligence or her engaging personality. But she was a Baptist preacher’s daughter, and the past year she had become engaged to a college boy who was studying for the ministry, and I figured that in any case we would have had little if anything in common and would not have been a particularly good match. So I was surprised, but not unpleased, when she sat very close to me and casually laid a hand on my thigh. The touch of her hand and the heat from her body had my cock stirring instantly.

“So, Rick,” she said, “are you dressed ...

... like a true Scotsman today?”

She had apparently heard about the dare.

“Well, I…”

“Never mind, I see that you are!”

Glancing sheepishly at my lap, I could see kilt tenting up. “Sorry, Gail.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s. . .flattering.” She glanced around to ensure no one was close enough to see what we were doing, and she placed a hand in my lap, gently squeezing my cockhead through the kilt. She smiled, looking me in the eye, and then she really surprised me by reaching under the kilt and sliding her hand right up my thigh to my scrotum. She gasped as she fondled it, gently weighing each testicle in her fingers before moving up to the erect shaft.

“Gail. . . Aren’t you engaged . . .?

“Yes.” Her fingers gently squeezed my cock and moved on up to the fast-engorging head. “And Will says we shouldn’t do anything until we are married.”

“You disagree?”

“In theory, no. But I can’t help wondering how I can be a good wife if I enter marriage in total ignorance. Belinda said you might be willing to help.”

“Belinda?”

“She said she thought you were . . . experienced.”

“I don’t know how she would know that.”

“But she’s right, isn’t she? You’ve done this before?”

“. . . Some.” I was having trouble breathing normally. What Gail was doing between my legs was wonderful. “You sure you . . . haven’t done this before?”

“Will likes to kiss, but that’s all. Nothing below.”

“Nothing below the waist?”

“Nothing below the chin.”

“. . . You’re ...