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First Explorations (mf, necro)
By Rzrsej

	I was 13 when it happened, but as long as I live I shall never
forget it. It has colored my sex life from that day forward. 
Like most 13 year old boys, sex was something about which I was
more than a little curious.  It was before the days when I would
come across my father’s cache of Playboys, before the days when I
would stay up late to sneak into the downstairs living room and
watch Cinemax after dark, cheering inwardly when that rare flash
of pubic hair would make an appearance in some cheesy foreign
film.  But I knew already that I liked girls.  Really liked
girls.  The way they smelled, the way their hair fell, the way my
stomach clenched when I was around them.  And, like most boys, I
had already started what would be a serious life-long addiction
to masturbation.  The truth of the matter was, though, that at
this point, I still didn’t know what I was masturbating about.  I
would picture one pretty girl or another from my class sometimes
as I jerked my little hairless penis, but try as I might, I
couldn’t picture them other than fully clothed.
	Then it happened, and everything changed.
	We lived in a small town, only about 3000 people all told, a
place that was quiet and where nothing much ever happened. 
Beyond that, my own family lived in a rural neighborhood, a mile
or so outside of town.  It was a relatively new subdivision, and
while there were rows of streets with houses dotting them, there
was also a good deal of undeveloped woodland in places.  One such
place was directly behind my own house.  It was odd really, with
houses on both sides of us and across the street, but our
backyard was what seemed like an endless stretch of pine.  It was
a boy’s paradise, and I cannot count the Sunday afternoons when
friends of mine from the neighborhood would come over to play
army amidst the winding trails of my “backyard.”
	We had our share of neighborhood girls as well, of course. 
There was a girl named Kelly who lived just next door, a year
younger than me, but a large hulking female, with a blockish hair
style.  She was something like an amazon to poor little old me,
and I didn’t spend many days hanging out there.
	Her cousin Stacy, however, was an entirely different matter. 
There was no doubt that Stacy was white trash through and
through.  In the afternoons, just before sunset, you could hear a
blood curdling cry coming from the back door of her house, her
mother screaming at the top of her lungs, “STACY!   You get your
butt in here right now!” and wherever Stacy was in the
neighborhood she would come scampering.
	Somehow, though, her dingy clothes and matted hair seemed to
accentuate her rather remarkable beauty all the more.  Her hair
was dishwater blonde and hung to the middle of her back.  She was
a slender girl, even at 13, but she also seemed to have an aspect
of wiry strength sitting beneath those killer blue eyes and
smattering of freckles.
	Sometimes I would talk Kelly into taking me over to their house,
where we would swing or play chase in her backyard, always
careful to keep an eye on that back door in case her volatile
mother should rear her head.
	Perhaps I should correct myself, our backyard was fenced of
course, rather than just beginning at the treeline.  Beyond the
fence was a small field, and then the trees.  Just inside the
first few trees ran a small stream, more a ditch with water
actually.  In fact, in the summer months it rarely had running
water at all.  Sometimes, when none of my friends were home, as
often happened in the summer, with camp taking up a lot of my
friends’ time, or when I just wanted to be alone, I would wander
back to the creek with a book and just sit to pass the time.
	It was an oddly cool summer day when I wondered back there with
a copy of The Hobbit.  It was just past noon, but there was a
nice breeze and the thermometer couldn’t have climbed above 70. 
I went through the gate at the back of the yard, walked carefully
through the overgrown field, always wary of snakes, and headed
toward the trees.  There was an especially large pine at the edge
of the forest that made a good back rest.
	I could see something didn’t fit as when I was still 25 yards
from the creek.  It was a bright orange color in the sunlight,
nothing that would appear in nature.  I was naturally curious,
but with no real reason to hurry.  As I got closer, my heart
moved farther up into my throat.
	When I was right on it, my fears were confirmed.  It was Stacy,
lying there beside the water, a small patch of blood clearly
visible on the side of her head.  Terrified, I moved toward her
slowly, glancing around to see if whoever had done this might
still be lurking about.  The forest air was still but for the
chirping of a few birds.
	When I at last summoned my courage, I moved up and knelt beside
her.  She was not breathing, I could find no heart beat, and
though I shook her, her body was limp.  She was still warm, but
there was no life in her.  I was in shock, not knowing what to
do.  In movies, you always ran and told someone when you
encountered a body, but somehow movies could never convey the
realness of such a situation.  I sat there for a moment, my mouth
agape, no idea in the world what to do.
	Tears sprang to my eyes after a while.  Tears over this
beautiful girl, this girl who in some childish way I had loved. 
I had dreamed sometimes of hugging her, and I had had orgasms
thinking about her hair, the way her teen perfume smelled when I
sat beside her on the swing.  Now I would never be able to smell
it again.  I would never have the chance to hug her, never be
able to kiss her.
	With tears blurring my eyes, I crawled over to her and looked
down.  Her eyes were still open in a stare, but reflexively, I
bent down and sniffed her.  It was still there, her smell.  A
fruity, violet sort of smell, like candy almost, very faint, but
very sweet.  I followed the smell, something in me wanting to
know where it came from, and I discovered that it was strongest
at her neck.  It was so incredibly sweet my tongue darted out and
tasted.  Her flesh was soft where my tongue touched.
	Raising my head again, I looked into her beautiful eyes, and
drying my tears with the back of my hand, I said gently into her
face, “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry . . .”  I didn’t know
what I was sorry for exactly.  Sorry for kissing her?  Sorry for
what had happened to her? Sorry for finding her?  But something
in her eyes was reassuring to me.  Something told me that it was
all right, everything was all right, and a sense of peace spread
over me.
	That was the moment when I kissed her.  I didn’t think about it,
I just knelt down next to her, and kissed her childish lips with
my own.  They were soft.  Far softer than her neck even, and
though she could not return the kiss, I imagined that she did.
	And then, I did something that I should not have, though
something in her eyes had invited me, had told me that, yeah, if
I wanted to, it would be ok.  I made the decision that Stacy
would be the first girl I would see naked.  I don’t think to this
day that they have discovered who actually killed Stacy. 
Probably some drifter passing through; murderers never actually
live in small towns, just pass through wreaking their havoc. 
I’ll state emphatically that I had nothing to do with it.  I
found her just the way that I have said.  But I am bound to
confess, after all these years, that I was the one who undressed
her.  I found her lying there in her orange tank top, her cut off
shorts, orange socks and Keds, and I took them all off, and
tossed them in the creek to make it look as though the murderer
had done it.
	Slowly, I pulled her tank over her head, her arms seeming to
fight me at every maneuver.  Without pausing, preferring to wait
until I was finished, I unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts and
slid them down her muscular tanned legs.  She was wearing a pair
of Barbie panties, white, with pictures of Barbie in hearts
polk-a-dotting the fabric, and two holes in the side from where
they were old and worn.  Looking down at her, I realized, almost
laughing at myself, that her shoes and socks seemed incongruous
with her nakedness, and I popped the shoes off one after the
other and rolled the socks off her ankles.
	She lay there before me now, her eyes looking up at the sky, her
hair in an orange ponytail holder spilling out unkempt, her body
brown from the summer sun.  I looked at her for a moment, unable
to catch my breath at what I had done.  A naked girl, a beautiful
naked girl, lying before me.  Her chest was freckled lightly in
the same way as her face, the freckles fading as they neared her
breasts.  They were only mounds, really, her breasts, just
developing, with soft brown nipples sitting perfectly atop each.
I could tell when I looked closely that her left breast was
slightly larger than her right, and it was sad to think that the
other one would never catch up now.  I knelt down beside her and
took one of her nipples in my mouth and tried to suck, thinking
in my ignorance that perhaps there was something there to suck. 
And though nothing was there, it felt good to have this rubbery
nipple in my mouth, on my tongue, between my teeth.
	I moved down then, lower on her body, touching her feet, feeling
her thighs in my hand.  I pinched her a little, half-expecting
her to complain, but there was no sound, no movement.  Then, I
parted her legs, bending the knees and raising her legs up when I
found that this allowed for the best view.  Her pussy was small,
the lips thin and long, and only a bare tuft of hair had begun to
cover her.  I moved still closer now, wanting more than anything
to see what lay there, between those odd lips.  Using my fingers,
I stroked her there, and was surprised at how amazingly soft it
was.  It was almost like stroking a soft cotton.  Then, with my
thumbs, I opened the lips and was amazed at the many wonders that
lay there.  I stretched them wider and wider, looking deeper and
deeper, discovering the hole, small but dark and sticking a
finger inside to feel what it felt like.  It was still warm
inside of her, and slippery.
	Then I understood.  I understood what it was that sex was about
all in a rush.  Perhaps I had seen something of it as a child,
interrupting my parents and then repressing the memory, or heard
something on television, but it was as if the knowledge was
already there and I had only forgotten it for a time.
	I pulled my own t-shirt over my head, and took off my shorts and
underwear in a rush.  I had never been naked out of doors that I
could remember, and the wind was ticklish, but frightening as
well, in its suggestion that being caught was a real possibility.
 My four inch penis was hard already, to the point that it almost
hurt.  Unsure what to do, I positioned myself between her legs,
and lay down on top of her, my chest against hers, my penis lying
between us against her flat belly.  I began to shift myself,
trying to figure out exactly what to do.  I wiggled lower,
searching for the opening.  Finally, thinking that I would never
be able to do this with a real girl, I took my own penis in my
hand, and using my other hand to find the hole, I pushed myself
in.
	She lay there motionless beneath me as I went in.  I was unsure
what to do at first, and I lay still inside of her, feeling what
it was like to have a part of myself inside another human being.
Then I began to move.  Maybe it was only to get out, at first,
thinking that perhaps I had gone to far.  But as I moved to get
out of her, the feeling was so good, so intense, that I pushed
back into her.  I began to move slowly in and out, feeling the
rubbing sensation, looking into her eyes, encircling her waist
with me hands and feeling the softness of her ass.  At last I
came, and it was like nothing that I had ever experienced,
allowing my own semen to flow into someone.  I rolled off of her
and lay there for several minutes panting.
	There was nothing else to do.  I knew that I had to get away
from here, that there would be no coming back for more, no way to
preserve this love of my life.  I gathered my clothes and dressed
slowly.  Then, after a last gentle kiss, I made my way back to
the house where I spent the afternoon watching cartoons and
trying to look innocent.  They found her a couple of days later,
and there was quite a stir for a while.  A murderer/ rapist in
our little home town, a true event.  It all died down eventually,
and people went on with their lives.  I was never able to forget
though.  It was my first time.  It was her first time.  Part of
me will never be able to love anyone as much as I loved Stacy.