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My first sexual experience came on the very last day of high school, a few weeks after I turned 18. Exams had finished, grade 12 was over, and I was looking forward to making some money at my summer job and hanging out with friends before leaving my small hometown to head off to university. But first I to submit photos for a couple of scholarship applications. This was way back before the internet, and I had to get the photos taken at my high school, 26 miles down the highway. Long story short, our family was pretty low-income, we had no vehicle, but I managed to scrounge a ride. Coming home after the photos, however, meant hitch-hiking. About 11 am, there I was with my thumb out looking for a lift back home.
Less than five minutes later a sporty red Mustang pulled over. To my surprise, the driver was a girl from my school, another grad getting her scholarship photos. I had never really known Pat, even though our school only had about 150 grade 12 students. Her family farmed about eight miles east, right on the highway towards my hometown, and she was happy to take me that far… and a bit further as it turned out.
Pat was a shy, quiet farm girl, very stocky and muscular from helping with the chores – the classic “fat bottomed girl” that a lot of guys fantasize about, especially with her long, straight blonde hair and sky blue eyes. At school she invariably wore blue jeans and conservative blouses, and her social circle was limited to a few other “4-A” girls. I rarely ever saw her speak to a boy in the hallways or in class.
But on this summer day, she looked great behind the wheel of the Mustang, in a beautiful short yellow dress, showing off her ample thighs. It was quite the eye-opener to see her follow the fashion example of some of her classmates, who loved to tease us by wearing mini-skirts and bending over at the slightest excuse.
Occasionally one of these girls would accidentally allow a glimpse (or a longer look!) of pastel-coloured undies while passing a textbook to a friend, or reaching deep into her locker. Being a bookish, shy teenager, living way out in the sticks, I rarely had the opportunity to spend much time with girls, so I treasured those “spank bank” moments, jerking off vigorously to the mental images late at night in bed.
My favourite episode came on a cool October afternoon while riding home on the school bus, watching as a classmate was dropped off at her family’s driveway. Nancy was just a few steps from the bus, carrying a heavy armload of homework, when a sudden powerful gust of prairie wind caught the hem of her calf-length flower-print skirt, flipping it half-way up her back. The bus erupted in whoops and laughter as Nancy fought to get the skirt under control without dropping her books. For a few glorious moments, we all revelled in the exhilarating sight of long, bare legs, and pink panties stretched tight across her shapely rear end. It was a high point of my youth, but not so much for poor Nancy. She got on the bus illegal bahis the next morning, red-faced, eyes downcast, struggling to keep her composure as the boys snickered and elbowed one another. Luckily for Nancy, this was long before the days of phone cams, but as the story spread, her shame lived on in our collective imagination.
I recalled that episode as we passed Nancy’s driveway, talking about our plans for the summer and life after high school. As she drove, I tried to check out Pat’s legs without being too obvious, but I also thought it wasn’t such a bad idea to let her see that I enjoyed the view.
Thrown together for a few miles, we were two young adults, enjoying freedom on a fantastic hot summer day, excited to talk about the next steps in our lives. Then Pat turned into her driveway, and told me her parents and younger brother and sister weren’t home – they had gone to the nearest shopping mall for the day, nearly an hour from our rural neck of the woods. When she asked if I wanted a glass of water or a cold beer before hitting the road again, I jumped at the offer. After all, I didn’t have to be home until supper, and I could walk most of the way by nightfall even if I didn’t get another ride.
The farm was very modern for the 1970s – new tractors and equipment, barns and storage silos painted in bright reds and whites, big farmhouse, not to mention that Mustang – which seemed an odd vehicle for a practical, thrifty farmer to own. It looked like her family was doing pretty well, better than a lot of folks suffering through unpredictable cycles of grain and cattle prices.
Pat led me into the kitchen, and I got another eyeful as she bent way down to get a couple of beers from the fridge. The yellow dress rode up high on the back of her thighs, but not quite up to her panties. Later I wondered – did she really have to bend quite that far down, or was she just making the most of an unexpected chance to show off a bit?
We wandered out to the yard with our beers, as she pointed out recent improvements to the farm. Clearly she was proud of the family’s hard work, and I could see where her muscles came from.
Going back inside, Pat sat down at one end of a long sofa in the living room, gesturing for me to sit at the other end. Both of us leaned back to relax and take another sip, and then she swung her legs up to stretch out across the cushions, demurely tugging at the helm of the dress. I couldn’t help glancing down, hoping to see a little more from this new perspective, but she held her thighs close together.
This time she definitely saw me looking, but I never expected what happened next.
Pat’s eyes lit up a bit, and a smile came to her lips. In a deliberately mock-southern slow drawl, she asked, “why Kendall… did I see you checking out my legs?”
Caught red-handed at this social blunder, I finally stammered out something like, “um, sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” Which, by pure luck, actually turned out to be more illegal bahis siteleri or less what she hoped to hear.
Probably it was just the circumstances – the beer, the heat, having the house to herself – but suddenly this shy young farm girl decided to seize the moment.
“That’s OK,” she said. “Maybe you’d like to see a little more. I could show you mine if you show me yours.”
Sometimes its best to have no time to think about how to respond. I just followed her lead. Looking into her eyes, and then down at her legs, I lowered the fly on my jeans and started to slide them down, together with my jockey shorts. In just a few seconds, my erect cock was displayed for Pat. The sight seemed to mesmerise her, until I wrapped my fingers around it and slowly gave a tug or two.
That broke the momentary spell. Pat set down her beer, and reached with both hands to grasp the hem of the dress. She quickly pulled it up around her waist, stretching out legs and showing off plain white cotton panties. I began to stroke my cock a little faster, and she watched in complete fascination. A damp area was visible at the crotch of the panties – partly perspiration from the heat of the day, but obviously more from the excitement of the moment. Growing up on the farm, she must have known about the birds and the bees, but I guessed this was her first sight of a guy masturbating his erect penis. Finally she reached into her underwear, starting to rub her slit without taking her eyes off me.
We carried on like this for a while, hearts pounding, both afraid to say anything. But finally I felt obliged to point out something unfair.
“Well, I’m showing you mine, but I don’t see yours so far,” I said, trying to strike a hopeful but undemanding tone.
That seemed to give Pat a moment’s pause. Weighing up the situation, she found herself at a moment of truth. Clearly she was too aroused to stop, but there was a line she didn’t intend go over, a Rubicon not to cross.
“Yeah,” she finally agreed. “But no touching. Got that?”
“Sure,” I said immediately. “I won’t touch you.”
My promise was quick, but not without some regret. I would have given almost anything to pull my pants off, move up between Pat’s big thighs, slide my erection deep into her cunt, and end my virginal status (and presumably hers) with a few thrusts and a powerful orgasm. But I wouldn’t have even considered violating her trust. I was just delighted to get this far, and desperate to get a close look at her pussy before ejaculating – which couldn’t be delayed too much longer.
Fortunately, she took my word for it, although to be honest, she could have decked me with one punch, after years of milking cows and tossing bales of hay.
Lifting up her large bottom, she pulled her underwear down, but not completely off. Now the white panties were around her knees, and here was my long desired close look at the female anatomy. I hit the jackpot. Pat was a full blonde, with fair canlı bahis siteleri and very light pubic hair. Her pussy was completely exposed as she began rubbing her clit again. Wiggling around to get more comfortable, she drew up her knees a little, spreading her legs slightly wider. Probably she didn’t realize this, but now I also had a good view of her bum cheeks.
Awestruck by this sight, I stroked my erection faster and harder, bringing a clear drop to the tip. Pat’s two-finger frigging style revealed her inner pussy lips, slightly darker than her skin, and by now incredibly slick. Just below, I could glimpse a bit of her crinkled rosebud between two jiggling butt cheeks. Aroused beyond control, I was edging closer to climax, but I tried to delay as long as possible, slowing my rhythm. Pat’s eyes were still riveted on my cock, and she began rubbing even faster. One of us would come within seconds, but it was hard to guess who.
In the end, my orgasm was first. I was far too excited to stop, and several spurts of come shot out of the tip, right up across my belly and shirt. The sight put Pat over the edge, cheeks turning red, her eyes closing. Suddenly her head tilted back, her hips began to buck, and a long moaning orgasm began. It was the greatest sight I had ever witnessed, and I was completely rivetted.
Then we were both spent, sagging back into the sofa, taking deep breaths. We lay completely exposed for a couple of minutes, until Pat suddenly seemed to remember that she was half naked in front of a boy she hardly knew. Jumping off the sofa, she yanked up her panties and pulled down the hem of the crumpled yellow dress, looking both completely embarrassed and a bit proud of herself at the same time.
I took this as a hint that the adventure was over, and awkwardly got myself back into my pants, taking care not to catch my dick with the zipper. Draining my beer with one final swig, I looked down at the mess on my shirt.
“Um,” I ventured, “do you suppose I could wash up a bit?”
“Of course,” Pat replied, pointing to the hallway without looking me in the eye. “The bathroom’s just on the left.”
I cleaned up as best I could, knowing that my shirt would dry fast back out in the hot sun. When I got out of the bathroom, Pat was sitting at the dining room table, not far from the sofa where we had just abandoned all inhibitions.
Not sure what to say, I mumbled a few words of thanks for the ride and the beer. Tactfully, I left out “and for showing me your totally naked pussy.” She looked up and smiled. “Hey, it was fun. Good luck at university, Kendall.”
“And you at college, Pat” I responded. In an feeble attempt at gallantry, I added, “I hope we meet again sometime.”
Both of us knew it was highly unlikely. Our worlds had collided for less than an hour, and now we were heading in different directions. I walked back to the highway, and two short rides later, I was home by three.
I seldom get back there, and I have no idea whatever happened in Pat’s life. But that brief and glorious encounter was an amazing first experience of sexuality. I hope she found a great first guy to fuck her gorgeous blonde pussy and that heavenly fat ass. Too bad it couldn’t have been me!
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