First Sweetheart

First Sweetheart

As often happens, I found my first love at school. Or in fact, we ended up as sweethearts at the Catholic Divine Providence Institution in Halstead. It was because we were both harassed and bullied by some of our classmates, but also by other students.

Cindy was sixteen at the time, I was fifteen. She was rather thin and didn't really have a feminine shape. She looked a bit like an anorexic girl. She wasn't at all. Only, she ate very healthily, lots of fruits and vegetables. She didn't eat pork at all and not much beef or chicken. She had her reasons: her mother had been a most talented tennis player in her youth. Unfortunately, she had given up on her promising career when she fell madly in love with a tennis apparel manufacturer. She married him. Two years later their son Harrie was born, eighteen months later Cindy arrived. Seven months after Cindy’s birth, the marriage fell apart. Cindy's father had fallen head over heels in love with a Slovak tennis player who modeled for his tennis clothing brand. Not only was she gorgeous, blond and with very long legs, she was also sixteen years younger than Cindy's father...
 
Cindy was very close with her mother and she decided to follow in her footsteps, at least when it came to tennis. This meant that she had almost zero grams of fat. Not only did her lean diet contribute to this, but she also put in a lot of physical effort. She practiced on tennis courts for at least two hours a day when the weather permitted. If the weather prevented her from playing tennis, she would go jogging.

"Bony goat...skinny skeleton...ironing board..." These were some of the insults Cindy had to endure at school. Those who bullied her got no response from her. The only thing she did was look sad and run away. Her bullies were just jealous, I think. In fact, Cindy belonged to the upper class and showed with the designer clothes she wore that her mother had money.

I was bullied myself, but it didn't last long. In those early years in high school, I was a pretty fat boy. It's because my mother fattened me up. I couldn't eat what I wanted. She served me a lot of beef, mostly big rare steaks with fries, and greasy pork chops. I rarely had chicken or a lot of vegetables. My mother was afraid that I would remain small and skinny. She had, in fact, a reason for it. My father Jack isn’t fat, and he is only 1m68. Until I was fourteen, fifteen, I was one of the shortest boys in my class. It was only later that I had a growth spurt, but I never got really tall, only 1.74m, and that was it.

"Fat suckling pig... Billy Turf... big paunch..." I've often been told that, but not only that. They laughed at my masculinity too: “You have tits like a girl, you bastard, but do you really have a dick in your pants, and not a pussy? If you've got a dick, you'll never have to put it into a wet snatch, you stupid son-of-a-bitch!"

This last statement was true. I was stupid to allow them to bully me. And it was true that I had never made love. But they were wrong for the first insult. I had a cock in my underwear, and it was erect practically every time I saw a pretty girl. Had it to do with the food I got from my mother or was it my nature? Who will tell? I didn’t ask myself this question.

But the bullying soon stopped. I was short and fat, but I was strong too. It was because, when I was twelve years old, my father Jack made me work in his company. He had me help his painters two or three times a week to load and unload the vans. I carried heavy metal pipes with which they erected scaffolding and buckets of paint. These were very heavy, around 25 kilos each. To maintain a decent balance, you had to carry one in each hand. At first, it was torture, but after a while, I got used to it. The result was that I still have hard biceps and strong back and leg muscles.

I got tired of bullying when I was fourteen. The school year was coming to an end. Instead of complaining to a supervisor or a teacher, I decided to solve my own problem. For that, I chose a victim. He was one of the tallest boys in school, two years older than me. His name was Patrick, and he was a guy with a really big mouth.

During recess, he came to find me, with his acolytes in his wake. There were four or five who liked Patrick humiliating me. I stood with my back to the wall and waited. I was nervous, I have to admit. Patrick stuck his head forward and began his litany of name-calling. This time I didn't wait for the end, but I went wild and punched him in the stomach as hard as I could. The blow took his breath away. He doubled over with a look of disbelief in his eyes. I didn’t stop there. He also got a second blow, an uppercut under his chin. Patrick groaned and fell to his knees in front of me. I kicked him between his legs as hard as I could with the intention of hitting his balls. He passed out and fell to the ground. I stayed there and waited. I looked his accomplices in the eye. They didn't want to help their leader and they left.

Since then, I had no more problems with bullying or harassment. The way I had handled Patrick spread like wildfire through our school. Most of the bullies from before avoided me from then on, out of fear that I beat them up too.

Cindy also learned how I had taught Patrick a lesson. Did she admire that? Or did she perhaps seek protection from her own bullies? Either way, she increasingly sought out my company. No one bothered her since.

From one came the other. Cindy became my first sweetheart. At first, it was very innocent. After school, we cycled together towards her house on Poppy Street behind Peewit Park. To get there, we chose the wooded path that passes the Bell Cemetery. Somewhere where there were dense bushes, we stopped. We kissed, away from prying eyes. That was our first step as lovers.

At first, all I had to do was kiss Cindy. It didn't last. Eventually, I lost control of my hands and started stroking her. Not only that, but I also wanted to touch her everywhere. At first, she resisted and pushed my hands away. Eventually, she allowed me to touch her titties. Needless to say, this made my cock stand up and made me horny. Cindy felt it, but she wouldn't let me touch her between her legs.

"When can I see your breasts?" I asked one day.

"There's nothing to see," she replied. "You felt them, so you know they’re very small."

"Maybe small," I said. “But also hard, I noticed. I think they must be very beautiful."

This compliment had surely impressed Cindy. Two days later, she didn't want to go into the bushes near the cemetery.

"Let's go home," she said. “My mother isn’t there. She’s giving a tennis lesson. I want to show you something you'd like to see."

I could guess what it was. This turned me on immensely, and even before we got to her house, my cock was rock hard. Once in her room, Cindy took off her T-shirt and her little sports bra. She had very nice small breasts with rather dark nipples. And indeed, when I stroked them and played with them a little, they turned out to be quite hard.

From then on, Cindy took me to her room whenever her mother was at tennis. She really liked me fondling her tits. It was clear and obvious from her languid sighs.
One day, she was wearing white workout pants. After I fondled her small breasts and sucked on her teats, I saw a wet spot between her legs. I didn't know what that meant. I was inexperienced in the area of sex. Stunned, I asked:

"What is it? Did you pee in your pants a bit?"

Cindy was rightly outraged:

"But what do you think? You don't know what happens to a girl when you play with her tits? No, I didn't wet my panties. It's liquid dripping from my pussy when I feel like having sex."

"Come on, let's undress and fuck!" I said.

“Are you crazy? Do you want me to get pregnant at my age?” Cindy shouted.

“Of course not!” I answered. “Don’t worry, I’ll get some preservatives.”

But Cindy denied my offer:

"I don’t want to feel rubber in my pussy the first time I have sex with someone. At least for the first time, it has to be done in a natural way."

I didn't know how to win this argument with Cindy. I gave up and asked her:

"This first time, will it be me who can fuck you?" At the same time, I caressed my girlfriend's bare back.

"Yes, yes," Cynthia replied, kissing me. “You just have to be patient. But I promise you you can be the first."

"Maybe I can see your pussy now?" I asked.

"Not at all. You'll also have to wait for me to show it to you when the time is right," Cindy replied. "Besides, it doesn't really look good when it's wet and swollen."

Then suddenly we heard the front door open. In a panic, Cindy put her T-shirt back on. She threw her bra under her bed. No problem, with or without, you would hardly have noticed the difference. In no time, she had me out of her room.
We quietly went down the stairs to the front door. Cindy wanted to let me out, but the door was locked.

Someone coughed. We turned around. Cindy's mother stood there with a wry smile on her face. She held out the key to give it to her daughter, staring at the dark, damp spot between Cindy's legs.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I was outside on Poppy Street and I could jump on my bike...

© Robur Quercus 2022