A Sexual Awakening

A Sexual Awakening A Sexual Awakening

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

A 16-year-old girl on a class trip discovers her sexuality.

Summary

A 16-year-old girl on a class trip discovers her sexuality.

Content

Submitted: August 29, 2012

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Content

Submitted: August 29, 2012

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She was 16. She went on a week-long class trip to DC, and, as usually occurs on such trips among teenagers, the group reconfigured itself along new hierarchical lines. New (temporary) alliances were formed as the preconscious forces of the in-group/out-group imperative were exacted. For the girl, this imperative had the effect of pulling her away from her roommate and close friend, and toward a guy she knew as an acquaintance at best. By the time the bus landed in DC, the two girls were each sitting with other people, the girl with the guy. 
 
She had her first "little boyfriend" (as she now, as an adult, thinks of them) at 14 but never let him or any subsequent LBs to get beyond first base. She also, to both her relief and secret fear (what's wrong with me? Am I a lesbian or something?), had never really wanted to do much with the LBs. She had never really felt sexually aroused by a guy. 
 
On this class trip, one evening, at a Radisson Hotel, she was hanging out with the guy, as usual. They, along with maybe 4 other kids (and a chaperone), were watching a movie. She and the guy were propped up on pillows beside each other on one of the two beds. Their thighs just barely touched; maybe not right at first, maybe one or both of them had inched their legs closer together in order to share this small, incidental-appearing intimacy. She was very aware of him. She felt his warmth of his thigh through his jeans, through her jeans, on her thigh. She began to feel that heat rush through her in a sudden wave, a feeling completely unfamiliar to her, that she had a hard time naming. It was only as her heart started to pound, her breath became difficult to control, and she felt a stiffening of her nipples and a dampness in her panties, that she realized what she was feeling: raw sexual attraction. She willed everyone else to room to disappear so they could be alone. As she tried to hide her sexually charged state from everyone, she fantasized about him turning to her and kissing her, the feel of his tongue in her mouth, his hand cupping her breast, and finally, (could this be happening?)... she imagined his hand sliding up her thigh and pressing on the damp spot on her jeans. 
 
Nothing happened. Obviously. They went to their respective rooms and she was pissed off that she couldn’t masturbate due to having to share a queen bed with another female classmate.
 
When they’d moved to the Courtyard by Marriot, the two of them were watching TV with some other kids in a room. No chaperones were present. There was an empty room, just next door, which was loosely assigned to the group. The girl was very aware of this room. She couldn't think of a way for them to end up in the room, alone. Her shyness and utter lack of experience in such things prevented her from whispering in his ear...what? She wouldn't even know. She was losing all hope in the promise the room held when the guy suddenly got up and said, "well I’m tired of this show, I’m gonna head next door and watch something else,” and he left the room, all without a single glance at her. She sat there, frozen, wanting, burning, feeling drawn to the next room as if by a magnet. She was afraid of what he would think if she went in there…what if she’d mistaken his signals? What did she know about this crap anyway? Who knew what guys thought or did or wanted? And she was afraid of what would happen if she got there, and it was…weird, awkward, what would she do? What could she say? She knew she couldn’t possibly make the first move, so what could she say to explain her presence? And then there were all the other kids in the room. She could feel them thinking about her, wondering what she would do next. There would be only one presumption if she got up and left the room, and it would likely be a correct one. The situation clearly called for boldness.  At some point, which seemed like an eternity, but was probably only about 5 minutes, she found herself, without even realizing that she was moving, as if her body had taken over and was overruling whatever piddly waffling her brain was doing, rising from the bed, muttering some extremely lame excuse which wasn’t even grammatically correct or in the least bit believable and scittered out of the room. She placed her hand on the knob to the other door.
 
Heart pounding in her chest, in anxiety, in excitement, in…something new, something else…she opened the door. Locked it as quietly as she could behind her. He was lying in one of the beds, watching "Terminator." He looked up and smiled.
 
She willed herself to go to him, to climb onto the bed beside him. She walked between the beds and when he took his eyes off of her and moved them back to the screen she lost her nerve. “I’m pretty tired, just gonna lie down,” she breathed, and pulled down the blankets on the other bed and got in. She stared at the screen without seeing. The air seemed electric, charged with what felt like a palpable energy field between them. Synchronistically, the movie arrived at the scene where Arnold time-travels backwards in a crackling, perfect sphere of electricity. Neither of them spoke. She lay there, heart beating, breath shallow, feeling helpless, afraid, and stupid, hoping that he would do something, say something, come to her, come to her, come to her.
 
Time dripped achingly slowly by. She gave up, she knew she couldn’t go over to him, couldn’t find it in herself to make the first move. She fought against tears, feeling incredibly foolish, as obviously, if he were interested he would have done something by now. She wished she had never come to the room, willed herself time-travelling back to the other room, to the safety of the others, the vulnerability erased. Then she heard him get up. Without saying anything, he turned out the lamp. The room turned that hotel dark, the kind of dark that only exists behind those thick, lined hotel curtains with the little plastic poles to close them shut, to hide, even from themselves, whatever things people did in hotels they didn’t do at home. She felt him, his heat, at the edge of the bed. She started trembling; all reason, all executive functioning shut down in the storm of the current that had been gaining energy with every minute they had spent together. She moved back a little to give him room, and in that small shift of her body, knew that she was giving herself over to whatever he wanted, whatever he wanted to do to her, whatever he wanted her to do to him.
 
He slid in beside her and for a moment, they both lay there, not touching, two sets of breath sounds the only thing between them and utter silence. Then she felt his hand on her cheek, so very gently touching her face, tracing her jaw, her chin, her lips. Keeping his finger lightly on her bottom lip, he kissed her. A chaste little kiss, just a brush of lips on hers, then she felt her hand move up to his neck and pull him down for another kiss, and another, until their tongues were entwined and he drew her toward him with his hand pressed on the small of her back. She had French-kissed her LBs before, and had found it vaguely…gross, but this felt like something her mouth, her whole body, had been made for, longed for, waited an eternity for. She drew her free arm slowly up from the bed and pressed her hand against his chest then slid it around to caress his back. He moved his hand up her back, beneath her shirt, and pressed her closer to him. She felt his chest against her breasts and then his legs against hers and incredibly, his hard cock pressed against her pubis. Shocked but excited and well, proud! that she could have caused this physiological reaction in him, she pressed herself closer to him. It felt like a dance, a small move on his part followed by a small move on hers, then him again, then her, with every tiny movement signifying submission. Yes, each movement said. Yes.
 
He unbuttoned her shirt and touched her chest between her breasts. He could surely feel how hard her heart was pounding, and he could definitely hear her breath becoming louder, her lips parted, her neck stretching back against the pressure of his mouth as he pressed his face under her chin. His hand moved to her breast and slipped under her bra, and with the first whisper of a finger against her nipple, a small sound escaped her. It sounded so strange to her, so alien. She had never made a sound like it before, didn’t know what her own voice would sound like at such a moment. He reached behind her to unclasp her bra and slipped both shirt and bra off of her. On top of her now, with his legs and hers all tangled up together, still clad in jeans, he kissed and slowly licked her neck, her clavicle, the space between her breasts and then his lips were on her nipple, licking, kissing, sucking. Another sound rose from her throat, another not-me! murmer that took her by surprise again. Her hands moved to his chest, then under his t-shirt and she could feel the tight, young muscles of his back and shoulders and stomach. He felt amazing. She wanted to devour him. She pulled his shirt up over his head and then immediately brought his face back down to hers for another long kiss. Hungry now, both of them, the urgency of the kiss took her breath from her and she felt the room spin, she felt the muscles in her legs go limp, and all thought escaped her…she was just a body, just a pulsing host of electricity and desire. His hands moved to the button of her jeans, and he paused, waiting for another of her small, unspoken consents. She slid her arm up his back and held on to his shoulder and pulled her whole body against his. Her jeans were off, then his, somehow, and his hand slipped slowly underneath her cotton panties. She gasped against his mouth and he kissed her deeply again as his finger found her clit. She was soaking wet. Her hips moved against his hand and she felt the magnetic current pull their pelvises together. She found herself wrestling with his boxers, shoving them down first with her hands, and then, as if she’d been doing it for years, with a foot until they almost flew onto the floor. She felt his bare cock against her skin for the first time and with a strange bold/timid slip of her hand, encircled it with her fingers. It was warm, harder than she had imagined cocks could become, and she guided it toward her pussy....
 
Fuck. For the 800th time, she wished that this is what had happened, that he had been bold enough, or wanted her enough, or that she had worked up the fucking courage to go to him. But her courage had started and stopped with following him into the room. And neither one of them had moved out of their beds, neither one of them had turned their eyes away from the stupid movie, neither one of them had said another word. After a while, humiliated, burning with shame and disappointment, she had risen from her lonely bed, muttering again about being tired, and fled.


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