Heads And Tails His Story

Chapter 01: His Story

Forbidden fruit is a joint writing effort with a promising new author, redhairedandfriendly. I'm writing here about his side of the experience. You'll definitely want to compare it to her side!

Note: To me, one of the sexiest and most terrifying moments with a woman I care for is touching her intimately for the first time. At one point, there's no turning back. I tried to put this experience into words in the first part of this little story. It starts out slowly as I work through the mental process. Be patient.

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I couldn't believe I was reaching to touch her breast. It was like falling; a moment's wrenching sensation followed by a feeling of weightlessness in which the world changes, but there is no feeling of movement, no feeling of control. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. With something like alarm, I viewed my arm, and the hand at the end of that arm, as if they belonged to someone else. They belonged to someone much bolder, more straightforward, and maybe even rude.

Slowly but without hesitation, the hand opened, palm forward, and traversed the short distance from my body to Sue's. The fingers and palm curved to match their landing place, a puzzle piece shaped like the inside of a bra. They very gently came to rest, making delicate contact with all the areas of the hand at once; the palm where the nipple would be, if the nipple could be seen, the fingers on the gentle upward slope of Sue's generous breast, the thumb underneath where the bottom of the breast bowed outward, rounded under its own weight. Not her breast, really, but the snow-white ribbed surface of the turtleneck she was wearing. It was a blatant move, not like me at all.

There had been ample time for her to say "No. I'm spoken for," or "No, we shouldn't be doing this," or "No, I like you, but not in that way." I don't know whether I expected her to say one of those things, but instead, she said nothing. I didn't know her very well, but I was infatuated with her beauty. From the time I met her I could hardly keep my eyes from looking at her expressions, her face, her body, and especially her breasts. I knew she was aware of this – she had caught my admiring stare several times. She did nothing to discourage it and even sometimes smiled invitingly at me, or so I imagined. Was it a signal? An invitation? Politeness in an awkward moment? I didn't know.

We had hugged in social greeting on a couple of occasions and there was the slightest suspicion that she had applied a bit more pressure with her chest, had held the hug a bit longer than necessary, and had tried to make me aware of her breasts. Or was that fantasy on my part? Had it been me, pressing harder against her?

I had spent weeks, balanced exactly on the painful razor edge of uncertainty. At times I absolutely convinced myself that she was inviting me to something further. At times I absolutely convinced myself that it was all in my mind – that she would be shocked and offended if she knew what I was thinking. Yet no matter how convinced I was, each time I met her I was thrown once again into a quandary. As long as this was unresolved, all I could think of was her.

Now I was sitting on her couch next to her, closer than necessary, but not as close as boyfriend and girlfriend; the distance friends keep. There had been a conversation about something. The conversation had crumbled awkwardly into silence. My words stumbled and fell without meaning in pieces on the floor, an unfinished sentence about a thought not completely formed, like backward counting on the operating table. In mid-sentence, I thought, "What was I saying? How did my speaking stop?" The penetrating look in her beautiful eyes stabbed me to the core, shoving a splinter deep into my heart. While my brain was thus disengaged, trying to understand this weird moment, the hand launched itself uncontrolled toward Sue's chest. It had its own mind about such things.

In the silence as my hand crossed the intervening space, her expression changed. How shall I describe it? Her eyes uncoupled. She didn't look at the self-controlled hand. She had been looking at my face with her bright eyes, and then they drifted, focused on something thousands of miles away in the direction of my ear. The smile that had danced on her lips began to disappear, her jaw slackening. It was as if her mind and being had left her face entirely. Had migrated downward into that breast, so that all her consciousness was waiting there under that ribbed cotton, straining impatiently to experience every tingling delight of the hand that was approaching. Or perhaps she was collecting her thoughts during this brief moment of shock to voice the words, "How DARE you!" Neither of us breathed.

But then, as I made contact, her eyes widened slightly. She breathed deeply so that her chest swelled, pressing against the hand. Her eyes shut wincingly and her teeth came together, clenching. She looked to the ceiling as she leaned slightly forward, increasing the pressure, as if to verify the presence of my hand, a flag planted by an adventurer. Yes, the hand belonged to me again, because with the touch came feeling that connected it to me again. I became conscious of delightful things; warmth, firmness, size, and mass. How it was made to jut proudly from the chest, designed to softly bump into things, to make itself available to venturesome hands like mine.

I yielded slightly so that my fingers could explore this treasure. I very gently brushed my fingers over the surface of the breast, savoring its roundness and delicious curves. The fingers very gently stroked the upper surface of the breast, feeling what? -- A trace of lace under the surface of the ribbing. The thumb gently pressed into the weighty flesh at the bottom of the breast. My hand made small, slow circles, the palm seeking and eventually finding the merest suggestion of a nipple under the layers of cotton turtleneck and bra. I rubbed and caressed and explored the entire surface as we both watched until I had touched every part several times.

In acceptance she raised her arms from her sides and placed them palms-down above her long red hair and showed me the trace of a smile, thus inviting further explorations. My heart thundered and I could not swallow. I slid from my position on the couch so that one knee almost touched the ground, leaning outward, so that I almost faced her. This placed my other hand in a position to gain access to her other breast. She looked down, smiling sweetly, and her eyes sparkled. I felt myself gently smile in return.

An affair starts with a kiss according to the cliché, but my hand with its own ideas had gotten things out of order. My right hand spent only a moment on her left breast, establishing its right to be there, pausing only long enough to verify that the swelling of both nipples under those contemptible layers of material was real. Then I reached with that right hand and caressed her neck. As the palm of my hand made contact with the side of her neck she pressed back against it while mashing her breast forcefully into my other exploring hand. I rose above her and first kissed her upturned, welcoming lips.

Another cliché is that the first kiss is urgent and violent, as if the bars on the cages at a zoo had suddenly broken open and angry, unfed wild animals were suddenly allowed to escape. It was not like that at all. Almost like the hand, but this time with full consciousness, my lips descended to greet hers. As I felt the first brush of her parted lips, I pulled her head toward mine and pressed my lips gently and completely against hers. Relenting a little, I tasted her lips with the tip of my tongue. Her lips rose to press against mine, opening our mouths in full greeting.

At the moment of this connection, our internal rhythms linked. Our mouths spoke the silent language of two as our lips pressed and our heads swayed like tulips in the spring breeze. As she moaned a deep hum, I felt the hot breath from her nose on my cheek, and felt the vibration in the hollow of our joined mouths, like chanting in an empty cathedral. She produced slight, pleading little hums as we kissed for a very long time, passionately, but not violently.

My hand left the surface of her shirt and descended to pull the material out of the waist of her tight jeans. She pulled her face back momentarily, not succeeding in completely separating our joined lips, and sounding almost confused, she whispered, "Yes" into my mouth. Her breathing was labored as her nostrils blew against my cheek. She increased the intensity of this first coupling and her mouth made large sucking motions, feeding on great mouthfuls of unseen food.

Reaching under the turtleneck I rubbed across her belly once and then traveled up her sides feeling her ribs and bra straps. I rubbed several times again over her bra-encased breast as, moaning all the while, she arched her back in encouragement and participation. My hand was less gentle now, like a hand packing moist snow onto a snowman, gripping, squeezing, mashing and rubbing smooth. She continued to squirm and press back against the hand. As she leaned slightly forward to grant me access, I reached behind her back and uncoupled her bra. As the bra sprang loose, I left those wonderful lips. With wide eyes, she cried "Ahhh!"

Leaning back again, I thrust the other hand under the front of her shirt and, reaching from the front, I pulled the bra up and off both breasts. They bobbed naturally into the open space as I set them free. They felt wonderful as I closed on them, seeming as large and weighty as mangoes, but softer than anything earthly. The nipples were generous, puckered, extended and rubbery. At my full handed naked touch of both breasts, Sue gasped, rolling her eyes, but then grasped my wrists and pulled them away, out from under her shirt. "We shouldn't," she gasped.

I could tell that her resistance was very weak indeed, and outside the shirt once again, I ran my hands up her sides, placed her hands once again on her head, and ran my palms across her underarms and arms and then back down, rubbing her ribs and rumpling the material, knowing she could feel the motion of the material over her sensitive nipples. Soon, she reached with both hands to the hem of her shirt and, staring into my eyes with a smile like a little girl, slowly pulled it up in front exposing her breasts to my view. I smiled at their beauty. She released her hands and the elastic material held where it lay above her breasts.

As her gorgeous white breasts burst into view, I descended on the nearest one with my mouth, holding it from both sides with my hands and kissing the underside below the nipple. Meanwhile, she reached behind her back and pulled the shirt material out of her jeans. Then, she freed her arms from the shirt and pulled both shirt and bra over her head, discarding both to the side. Then she lay back sideways on the couch, and breathed, "Oh my god!" I took a moment to marvel at her lovely breasts and erect nipples, her prominent hipbones, and her soft stomach and arms as she smiled back at me, her ruby hair wild from pulling off the turtleneck.

I swept my hands over her arms, sides and underarms, pressed my thumbs into her palms, ran my fingers through her hair, caressed her neck and face continuously as she smiled, unbuttoned, and then removed my shirt. She leaned forward and placed one of her nipples against mine and shifted so that both of her nipples touched both of mine. We held this silly position during another long kiss, while I massaged her legs and hips with firm masculine squeezes.

When we came up for air, her upper body was almost collapsed horizontally onto the couch. I took the moment to hop up so that she could lie flat on the couch. Standing on my knees I descended once again to address her breasts, rubbing and supporting the breast with one hand as my other hand continued to glide over other parts of her body and over her other exposed breast. I did not immediately launch myself at her nipple, but instead kissed and nudged it with my nose and worked with small, nibbling lip-kisses around the areola and licked the crevice at the base of the nipple, pushing it flat against the breast. I was rewarded by feeling her arch urgently upward each time I made the slightest contact with her nipple. During this treatment she moaned my name, ran her fingers through my hair and murmured satisfaction and encouragement.

After a minute of such teasing I opened my mouth wide. I squeezed my lips over a large section of breast and slowly closed and pursed my lips until they just encircled the nipple at the base, then I pulled back, pinching gently with my lips, until it snapped back when it popped out. Again, I pursed my lips about the base of the nipple and popped it out, teasing. She whimpered. I nuzzled the nipple with my nose; then I surrounded the entire region with my lips, probing the base with my tongue. I began sucking and rubbing it rhythmically with my tongue with ever increasing pressure, and began to pinch and twist her other nipple between my fingers.

At this, something like a small scream escaped, and Sue reflexively thrust her hips upward, lifting her ass completely off the couch. As I continued to suck hard against the nipple she grabbed the back of my head, crushing it into her breast, grinding the other breast into my ear. In time she relaxed her grip and I milked the breast with my hand while my other hand began to rub first the outside and then the inside leg of Sue's jeans with long strokes. With a small but obvious motion, she began to roll her crotch up and down in time with the motions of my hand. Each stroke of my hand brought it closer to the juncture of Sue's legs, and with each stroke, seemingly against her will, her legs parted a little wider, until her legs were spread wide giving my hand free access to the unexplored domain of her crotch.

But the material of the jeans was too tight. I could not make good contact – it was stretched tightly across the space like a well-pitched tent. Sue tried to press her crotch against my hand but there was a frustrating lack of contact. She made whimpering, frustrated noises.

I switched breasts and began to suck on her other nipple, and at the same time began to work the puzzle of the button and zipper of her jeans. When she realized I was doing this, she croaked "No", shaking her head, and moved my hand to the side, away from the button. I relented, but did not move the hand far away. She was at war with herself. Instead, I began again to stroke her belly, the area of her hip bones (sneaking my fingers inside the jeans just under the waistband), and caressed the inside and outside of her legs. Then I untied her sneakers, which she kicked in random directions. "So," I thought, "she's willing to go farther." I left her breast and began again to kiss her, at the same time resuming my assault on the button holding her jeans. This time, she did not resist, and seeming to have reached a decision, she began kissing me aggressively and reached down and popped the button herself. She slowly and reluctantly pulled the zipper open, pausing at the end to momentarily thrust her hand inside to pass her hand over her mound one time.

Sue's pants were too tight for me to pull down one-handed, so we had to break our kiss again. She lifted her hips and pulled them down with my assistance, but it was clear that she was only making a step. She was not ready to yield to me completely. I think her help in removing the jeans was at least partly intended to ensure that her yellow-flowered panties did not slide down along with them. Once the jeans were off, she held her legs tightly together. I didn't press the point, but instead slid a finger back and forth inside the waistband -- not lifting it enough to expose anything, but enough to show those panties who was boss. I felt the suggestion of a new heat and dampness in the room, and imagined I could smell her musk.

I rubbed her belly and legs, allowing the tips of my fingers to graze lightly over the swelling between her legs. As I did this, her legs started momentarily to part and then clamped shut. She began a strange debate with herself in a frustrated voice. "No. Oh. Oh. Nooo. Oh. Oh my." Her own hands ran up and down over her sides and her legs shifted restlessly in a closed, scissoring motion. As we kissed again, they opened slightly and then closed, maintaining their scissoring motion as if to stimulate the skin between her thighs without allowing me access.

We continued to kiss, opening wider now to explore with our tongues. Occasionally her knees would part and her hips would bend forward and up, as if she wanted me to touch her, and then they would withdraw again, and the legs would close. I took my time, returning my hands often to her breasts while kissing her deeply. Then I would slide my hand down again to gently rub the outer expression of her pussy as she fought against her will to close her legs. The parting and closing of her legs had the timing of the waves of the outgoing tide. I was patient. Inevitably, although the waves kept crashing in, the tide kept going out, and as the time passed her legs parted wider and wider. Eventually her submission was complete.

I took this opportunity to begin nibbling on her ear. Breathing gently in her ear and then kissing her, I felt her legs widen again, and I was able to put my whole hand gently over her pussy. She groaned into my mouth. Moist thin cotton was not much of a barrier, and my hand was busy rubbing over Sue's mound and the surrounding skin, which was damp. Once again I broke the kiss and, pecking one of her breasts in passing, I brought my face down to where all that slickness was.

As my face approached, she again closed her knees. I pushed a hand under the panty material and rubbed the hidden skin gently. I kissed and licked Sue's legs. Once again, she gradually parted her legs at the knees until her legs were wide apart. Rubbing my open hand over the tender surrounding skin, I kissed the very highest reaches of her leg along the inner thigh next to the material of her panties. This put my cheek directly against her pussy. From there, I simply lifted the leghole of Sue's panties and slid my tongue onto the hot wetness of her opening. Sue yelped and grabbed my hair, but instead of forcing me to the side (as I half expected her to do) she crushed my face into her crotch for a moment. As she released her hold, I used the opportunity to frantically remove her panties, with her enthusiastic assistance. She plopped down and immediately spread her legs wide. "Please, please, please", she pleaded for me to go back to work.

I ran my tongue up and down over her slippery, engorged lips, first one side and then the other. Turning my head sideways, I pinched one side gently between lip and tongue, and ran my tongue back and forth gently over the interior of her labia. I repeated the process on the other side, all the while running my hands gently up and down her thighs and calves and squeezing her feet. After half a dozen passes of this, listening to her hoarse deep breathing, I again faced her pussy straight on and began to run my tongue up and down over her spread lips, always stopping short of her clitoris, which stood angrily demanding my attention. At the same time my hands brushed gently against her belly, the tops of her thighs, ran lightly through her trim, wispy red bush, and continuously brushed the entire region.

She tried clumsily and ineffectually to chase my lips with her clit, squirming and wiggling, but I denied her. Instead, I used her bucking as a means to run my hand up under her ass and squeeze her soft buns. As I licked Sue's nether lips, pinched them with my pursed lips, and thrust my tongue deep inside her she alternated moaning and panting. I began to run my hands up the length of her sides and over her breasts. As I pinched both nipples, I ran my tongue very gently up to the top of her slit and very lightly over her clitoris. I was pleased to hear her cry out. I probed with my tongue into the base of the clitoris, closed my lips over the little bud, and sucked it very, very slowly and gently in and out between my lips. Then I removed my mouth and only breathed, then once again returning my gentle lips to kiss her hardened nub. I did this with the energy and timing I would use to keep a feather suspended in the air by blowing, with a very slow rhythm and the gentlest possible touch.