I grunted with effort as I lifted the box of props for the photo booth. It was full of silly hats, oversized sunglasses and little signs for people to hold while posing for pictures during the reunion later that night. The room was all set up, and the reunion committee and volunteers were starting to separate. Those who lived in town were headed home. Those staying in the hotel would probably get something to eat nearby or rest before changing for the big party. I figured I would take a nap in my room. My husband would be out with friends until an hour before the reunion. We had flown in the night before, and he could only take so much of my enthusiastic greetings to my high school friends.
As I was thinking about my nap, I felt the box lighten in my hands. James, always the gentlemen, had taken it from me. "I'll help you with that," he said. He may be a doctor now, but to me he is still the sweet, smart boy from class. I never felt like I had a chance with him, but that didn't stop me from fantasizing about him.
"Thanks," I said, grabbing a lighter bag of party supplies. "I'm just going to take these up to my room and bring them down later before the party."
Then I felt a strong hand on my bare shoulder (setting up for a party is hot work), and it sent goosebumps down my arm.
"I got this. We can't have the party chairperson overworked before the party starts," said Mark.
I fantasized about Mark, the tall, thin redhead, plenty in high school, too. But the difference between he and James was that Mark and I had a real history of romance. We were never serious, never one of those fake marriage relationships that so many high school couples had.
I liked him and he knew it. And he started taking me home from school, knowing my parents wouldn't be home until 6. We started out making out, and it progressed. But I was a good girl, he had to work for it.
For weeks, we had passionate makeout sessions most afternoons. They got progressively hotter as he pushed further. First, he would cup my ass through my jeans and pull me close. He would kiss lower down my neck line each day. The next day, I wore a lower cut top and a skirt to encourage him. He moved lower, his lips and tongue lingering on the nape of my neck, along my clavicle and near the top of my breast. I could feel my nipples hardening, but he didn't reach in ... yet. He grabbed my bottom and his hands on my bare thighs sent shivers down the bottom half of my body. I encouraged him with moans, but he was scared to go much further. I clamped my thighs around his upper leg, pressing myself against him. I wondered if he could feel the wet spot in my panties against his leg. I felt his hardness against my leg and my belly. But he seemed scared to go further.
When he finally got up to leave, I could see his jeans stretching to contain the hard-on he had had for an hour. After he left, I lied on my bed and imagined going farther. His hands caressing my breasts through my bra. His fingers gently brushing against my clit through my panties. Thinking about even more than that was beyond my then-inexperienced mind. I couldn't imagine the pleasure of his fingers on my breasts. His mouth on my nipples. I would explode if he reached beneath my panties and felt my wetness. I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to unzip his jeans and wrap my fingers around his hard cock. To stroke it. To touch it to my lips. To take it in my mouth. To feel it inside me. I pushed my panties aside and fingered my clitoris trying to imagine what it would feel like to straddle him. To reach beneath me and guide him to my entrance. To slide down his cock until our bodies met. To slide up and down until I exploded and he burst inside of me.
I was determined to go further next time. I wore my shortest skirt to school, with my best bra and panties. I flirted with him mercilessly, whispering in his ear and teasing him about how blue his balls must have been after our last session. And hinting that I might help him out today.
He seemed nervous that afternoon, but I was going to lead the way. We usually made out on the couch, just in case someone came in unexpectedly. But I grabbed his hand and took him to my bedroom this time. I pushed him so he was sitting on the edge of my bed, and I climbed on to his lap. I kissed him long and deep. I rubbed my crotch against his thighs, moaning and kissing his neck. He had his right hand wrapped around my waist, and I slid up so he was touching the bare skin between my top and my skirt. Finally, his left hand moved to my chest. Even through my bra and top, my nipple hardened from his touch. I moaned again, urging him on. He moved underneath my top and caressed the top of my breast. He cupped my tit through the bra. I needed more. I boldly took off my shirt and threw it on the floor. I arched my back against his hand, pressing my breasts against his fingers. He took the hint and pressed harder, teasing my nipples, still-covered by my bra. His fingers were centimeters from my nipples, which were dying to be touched. I grinded my hips against him, and I could feel his hardness. I pushed against him and whispered in his ear, "Mmmmmmm." I could feel the damp spot in my panties growing.
I slid down lower, so his other hand was now on my bra strap. He looked up at me unsure of what to do, so I arched my back again, pushing my tits closer to him. He kissed me the top of each of my breasts, moving both his hands to the front of my bra. I wanted him to take it off, because I worried he would think I was a slut if I removed it. Finally, his fingers moved to my back. I slid down to make it easier. He fumbled around for what seemed like minutes before the clasp was undone, and I helped him slide the straps down my arms.
I still have great tits, but my 18-year-old breasts were even better - perfectly round with tiny pink nipples, which were completely erect and begging to be touched, licked and suckled. He stared at my chest for a couple of seconds, then ran his palms over each nipple. Tiny shivers went through my back and down my spine. I pressed upwards toward him. He kissed my bare breasts around my nipple. Then brushed his lips against the nipple, as I unleashed a moan of pleasure. He gave the next nipple the same treatment. He licked each nipple gently, and I could feel my pussy dampen. I grinded against his hard-on more. Then he opened his mouth and enveloped my nipple, sucking and licking each one with vigor. I felt like I would pass out from the pleasure. He took his shirt off, and pressed his chest against mine. I pushed him down onto the bed and pulled my skirt off. He undid his jeans and was down to his boxers. I still had never seen an erect penis, but his was pushing against his underwear like a tent. He was on his back, and I climbed onto the bed, kissing him deeply, and then trailing my lips over his neck and chest. I moved my hands over his arms, his chest and flat belly. He moved his hands over my back, my tummy and grabbed my ass with both hands, pulling me up to him. I was on my side, a little afraid that if I straddled him, there would be just a tiny bit of cloth between us. I wasn't ready to go all the way, but I worried that I wouldn't be able to resist from that position.
His hand reached between my legs. I lifted up to give him access, excited and terrified at the same time. He rubbed against my panties and felt the wet spot. His fingers reached underneath, caressing my opening. He ran one finger over the lips from top to bottom, then in a circle. I had heard girls talk about clumsy boys jamming fingers into them, but he hovered around the outside, and pulling back the hood until he found my clit. My heart was beating fast, and my head was swimming. It felt so perfect, in this bed where I had touched myself so many times, this boy was gently pressing against my clitoris, licking my nipples, his cock engorged because of me..
He gently pushed his index finger into my opening, while his thumb rhythmically rubbed my clitoris. He pushed his head to my chest and took a nipple into his mouth. My whole body was vibrating with pleasure. I had never been able to make myself cum, but years later, I realized I was at the edge of my first orgasm.
Then, the phone rang. I jerked up in fear, and answered. It was my mother, she was headed to the grocery store and asked if I needed anything. She would be home in 20 minutes. I hung up and kissed him. Desperately wanting to get back to where we were. But the spell was broken. Mark was late too. He kissed me deeply. Then he stood up with his huge hard-on, and awkwardly got dressed. I did the same and kissed him goodbye.
We made out a few times more in high school, but we never had another session like that. And it took me a couple years to find a boy that could make me orgasm. Hundreds of orgasms later, however, I still felt like he owed me one. So you can see why, years older at the reunion, feeling his arm on my shoulder brought back a lot of memories.
We are both married now, so it would probably just be more material for me to fantasize about. I smiled at him in the elevator. He was still thin. He had lost some hair, but covered it up well with his military pilot's haircut. I giggled to myself, picturing him all those years ago trying to get his jeans over that hard-on.
I led the way to my room, with James and Mark behind me. I let them in and they both oohhhed and ahhed about the suite. This was the one benefit of volunteering to plan the reunion. The hotel comped us with the best room in the place. I showed them where to put the boxes and I picked up another box to make room.
