„This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Sometimes you don't even know who's who when a guy meets a girl. And it's even harder to tell because the guy is a grown man and the girl is only 18. I'm sure everyone involved in this relationship will blame me, so I'd better start at the beginning.
I was living with my wife in a two-bedroom apartment in a small four-story apartment building, we didn't have children, and that was perhaps for the best. I say it was better because one day my wife, now ex-wife, announced to me dryly that she had found her great love and was moving with him to Australia and would be baptized into his faith. He was a Pentecostal minister, so I wished him a most enjoyable baptism ceremony and may the Lord count the kangaroos until the end of days.
Anyway, I felt a certain chill in our relations, but I put it down to the fact that I was very busy with work, and because of that I didn't have time to walk her around the country and take her out. Maybe it was that, but maybe there were other things that added up over time. I was left alone in my apartment with a rich library and Mondays off. She complained that there was no point in having Mondays off because nowhere she wanted to go was open anyway. And we don't get paid much either.
But let's leave my ex-wife with her kangaroos and get on to the main topic which is Emma. On the same floor with me lived a family who had a little girl named Emma. A little beauty who grew up practically before my eyes. Not infrequently, when her parents wanted to see a show, they'd leave her in my care, and I'd welcome her into the apartment, show her my collection of photos and books, and let her read quietly.
Sometimes I'd catch her big blue eyes looking at me over the book, and as she grew older, these glances became more frequent. I didn't know how to interpret them, but I was surprised by her hostile reaction when we had the occasional fling, because I didn't even want to hear about marriage.
It amused me when at about 17 we met on the landing, me with the girl I'd picked up in a bar and Emma who had just gone out to take out the trash. She gave him such a fierce look that I thought for a moment she was going to throw the trash bucket at his head, but she restrained herself and stormed down the stairs, because we lived on the second floor.
The following Monday she knocked on the door, we had a doorbell, but she liked to announce her arrival with a knock on the door as a way of personalizing her arrival.
She had a stack of books in her hand which she handed to me as she came in and said
"I'd like to borrow some more, but something more romantic this time".
My ex-wife had several whole shelves of such books with lovers embracing wildly on the cover, locked in almost explicit sex. Because I considered Emma still a child, I preferred for years not to recommend such books to her, and even discreetly urged her not to read them.
This time, glad that she had rescinded her ban, she picked out a stack of about five books and, showing me one of them, smiling, said
"I think I'd better hide them from my mother!"
On the cover, a man and a woman, half-naked, were leaning against a table, clearly having sex from the ecstasy that could be read on their faces. I was a little puzzled and didn't know what to say to him, and I was even considering whether I had done the right thing in lending him such books, when suddenly, in a stern tone, he said suddenly
"I don't like the last girl you brought home! I don't like it at all, and it doesn't suit you."
To be honest, I didn't expect to be taken so seriously, and then I think I made my first mistake, because I said:
"To tell you the truth, Emma dear, I'd love to find a girl as beautiful as you, but it seems you're the only one, because no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find you".
She blushed, bit her lips and for a moment I thought she was going to throw herself into my arms. The moment passed, she put her books in a bag and went off to read the erotic adventures of the protagonists on the book covers. And I made a point of paying very close attention to the words and compliments I addressed to her, because she seemed very sensitive to them.
Just the day before her 18th birthday, she came to my door again, knocked, and after I let her into the apartment, she asked me directly:
"How do I look? Because I want to wear this to my coming of age party tomorrow."
I looked her carefully from all sides and complimented her on how good she looked. To be honest, she was wearing a little dress that more revealed than covered her athletic body. The dress was a dark burgundy color that contrasted sharply with her fair skin and muscular legs.
After admiring and congratulating her on her coming of age tomorrow, I hugged her and kissed her chastely on the cheeks. I could feel her trembling, but eventually I pulled her away from me and wished her "Happy Birthday!" in advance, thinking that tomorrow she wouldn't have time for me, as busy as she was going to be with the party.
Before she left, she turned right in front of the door and said
"Wait till you see what mom's idea was, let me know if that's okay with you?".
Before I got a chance to say anything, she turned to me and lifted her dress up almost to her navel, and I stared at her dumbly. Under the dress she had panties that were also cherry and she wanted to know if they fit.
I swallowed dryly a couple of times, then, when I came to my senses, said just so I could say something:
"To be honest, you look really good in those panties too, but the contrast seems to be lacking".
"I don't understand," she said puzzled.
"Well, Emma darling, it's your celebration, you're going to be the center of attention and maybe even get up on a table and dance. Your dress and panties form a uniform splash of color so I'm thinking maybe you should put on some white panties to attract attention and you'll be the center of attention."
He thought for a few moments, then said:
"That's right. You're absolutely right!"
He left my apartment and returned after only five minutes. He picked up his dress again and asked:
"How do you like it now?"
"Much better," I said and I felt things were slowly, slowly getting out of control, so I pretended I had some work to do and told her to leave."
He pouted a bit, but eventually left, and I collapsed on the bed to recover. Before my eyes I still had the amphora shape between her legs, right where they met. I wanted to put my hand there and caress her, and the scariest thing wasn't my burning desire, but the thought that she was actually looking forward to it. Or maybe that's just what I thought.
The next day I got out of the house more because, frankly, at one point I was afraid she might convince her parents to invite me to her party. I got home late, well after midnight, and was glad to see the lights out their window.
I hoped that the episode would be a fleeting one and that we would forget about it, only to hear the familiar knock on the door the following Monday around ten in the morning. I opened it, helped her out of her thin jacket, for she had just come in from town, and she entered with a beaming face:
"You were perfectly right, for my attire has caused anger among the boys and extreme jealousy among the girls."
She came into the living room, for she had long felt at home in my apartment. and asked me:
"Well, how do you think I look now that I'm 18 and a day? Do I look more mature? Wiser? More beautiful?"
It was a different dress, not the one she wore to her coming-of-age party, but it was just as flowy as the other one, and seeing how intently I was looking at it I was afraid she was going to show my panties again.
The conversation then unfolded itself and eventually she got ready to leave, as if with slight regret. I was reluctant to take the initiative, though I sensed she was waiting for me to take the first step. I walked her to the door, took her jacket off the coat hanger, and held it out for her to get dressed.
As she was dressing, she turned her head toward me and looked at me with such a hot, passionate gaze that my hand inadvertently slipped to her left breast and cupped it in my palm.
She bit her lips and I stuttered:
"Let me warm you up a bit better in case you go out for another walk. It's still pretty cold outside."
She only nodded her head in agreement and moved a little further away from me so that her breast settled even more comfortably in my palm. There was such a sexually charged atmosphere between us, and also in the small entrance hallway where we were standing, that it seemed almost visible.
"Anyway, before I go, I have to kiss you goodbye," I said.
I don't know what came over me, but I did and that was that.
She accepted again just nodding and turned completely toward me stretching her warm, full lips in expectant grease.
I kissed her but she didn't open her lips so I stopped and said:
"That was lovely, Emma darling, but I don't want us to kiss like in kindergarten, I want us to kiss like the actors in Italian movies."
She looked puzzled and I took advantage and kissed her again, this time penetrating her with my tongue until I saw that she was responding passionately too. My right hand slipped under her blouse and I began to knead her breasts, finally catching her nipple and squeezing it gently, making her moan.
Finally I pulled away from her and said:
"That was wonderful, but I would like now, if possible, before we leave, to kiss like in French movies".
She didn't ask me what it would be like, she just stretched her lips towards me and as I kissed her, I slipped my fingers under her dress and began to caress her quivering pussy through her panties.
Finally I stopped and asked her:
"You see, Emma darling, until now we have not been intimate enough to allow me to ask you such a question, but now I have progressed far enough to be able to ask you: have you ever had sex with a boy?"
She completely blushed and shook her head no.
"How," I asked puzzled, "no boy has ever been able to convince you to have sex with him?"
She nodded again that no and I continued to ask her as I dug my fingers into her panties and stroked the entrance to her pussy.
"Does that mean this pretty pussy I'm fondling right now is a virgin? But how can that be?"
He sighed heavily, then replied:
"I want to find someone worth giving my virginity to! I don't want to do it randomly."
I regretfully removed my finger from her warm, silky pussy and said:
"I want to confess something to you: although I've had sex with dozens of women so far, I've never met a virgin girl. Even my ex-wife wasn't a virgin, although she was full of it."
I kissed her and then said:
"Since you're the first virgin girl I've met, I want to ask you to let me caress her a little to see what it's like for luck. Will you let me?"
She just nodded in acceptance and I took her hand and led her into the bedroom. I had dealt with virgin girls before in my life, but I thought it was time to make her feel special.
When I got to the bedroom, I took down the few books I had left on the bed and said:
"Take off your shoes and get into bed."
Very obedient, as if she couldn't wait for my exhortation, she took off her shoes and obediently sat down on her back with her legs together.
I went into the bathroom and got a small towel and when she saw me with it she asked?
"What are you going to do with the towel?"
"Well I brought it so we'd have it in case we get tired from all the stroking and sweating and need to wipe off, right?"
She looked at me with a slight doubt, but said nothing and waited for me to take off her blouse and free her breasts which were so beautiful, even though she was lying on her back and they were a little flattened from her position.
Then I took off her skirt and panties and I realized that she was expecting this because she didn't resist at all, in fact she moved in such a way as to make my job easier.
When I finished with her, I undressed as well and of course, after all that waiting, I had an erection to match. She kept staring at my penis and I said:
"If I'm stroking your pussy, it's only natural that you stroke my dick, because look how big and hard it's gotten because of your beauty and eroticism".
Normally, I used to use the words "neaoise" to describe the male and female organs that give us so much pleasure, but I don't know why with this delicate girl I felt the need to be more delicate.
She kept looking at my dick and it was like she wanted to touch it and it was like she didn't. Finally she reluctantly put her hand on it and said:
"I didn't think it was that big!"
I squeezed her hand on my hard cock and sat down next to her and began stroking her crotch, there in that desirable space I had glimpsed the day she had come to show me her coming of age dress. Gently, gently, I slipped my middle finger between the lips of her vagina that were just parting. At one point, she flinched and I realized I had reached the seal of her virginity, so I pulled back.
When I thought the foreplay had gone on long enough, I knelt between her legs and gazed curiously at the marvelous sight before me. At the risk of sounding blasphemous, this is what I thought the gates of heaven looked like. Two rosy lips opened before my greedy eyes, and though it was not the first virgin pussy I had seen, it seemed to me that none had ever looked so beautiful and innocent. I leaned closer to get a better look and saw at the entrance a pearly membrane rather like a pigeon's eyelid and sighed with suppressed lust wondering how to proceed further.
I had dealt with virgin girls before and had even deflowered a couple of them, but I felt the need to tell Emma this was the first one to make her feel important. I don't think she cared too much, but I felt the need to say it, so I continued:
"You realize that if I've never seen a virgin pussy before, then neither has my dick, so please let me show her what one of these looks like!"
Emma just nodded approvingly because it seemed to me that she had completely surrendered to my lust. Her head was turned to one side to the left and she had her hands raised above her head, as if to show me that she was surrendering and wasn't going to fight no matter what I was going to do. I mean, in a way, he let me do what I wanted because he wasn't going to participate anyway.
Too many things outside of what you normally do in bed I wasn't going to do. I opened the "gates of heaven" a little wider and moved my cock closer to them starting to rub the entrance gently until I felt it was wet enough to penetrate.
I gently pulled the pre-prepared towel and slipped it under her ass, then began to gently insert my dick into her. At one point she flinched and her hands gripped my shoulders.
"Should I stop?" I asked her, but she only denied with a slight nod of her head, so I continued inch by inch penetrating the most beautiful pussy I had ever encountered in my life.
When I got to the end, I stopped for a moment and gave her time to get used to the idea that she had finally been penetrated and was no longer a virgin. But I was still curious, so I asked her:
"When was the last time you got your period?"
"The day before yesterday," she replied, and I continued to penetrate her contentedly, convinced that I could cum inside her without any problems.
After only a few minutes, much faster than usual, I climaxed and ejaculated inside her with all the lust I had built up inside me for her over the last few years. A lust so carefully suppressed that I wasn't even aware of it.
After I finished, I stayed like that for a while, then rolled off of her and wiped the blood off with the towel between my legs, then with some wet wipes I had prepared beforehand on the bedside table.
I showed her the bloody towel and asked:
"Shall I give it to you to keep, or would you prefer to keep it with me?"
"Keep it with you!" she said, and it seemed a natural transition from the polite plural she had used on entering the house to this more intimate mode of address.
"Anyway, keep it handy somewhere, because it was so good that I'll come to repeat this scheme as often as possible."
She kept her word because every few days she still came to see what I was doing with my dick and sometimes she was on the run but most of the time when her parents weren't home she would stay for hours and her greatest pleasure was playing with my dick after we had sex.
In the fall she started college in the same city, but for years we kept in the habit of seeing each other and fucking even on the run, keeping the passion between us alive.
Finally, as is only natural, in her senior year of college she met a boy her college age who proposed to her.
Although I expected this to happen eventually, when she came out and told me, it didn't sit too well with me, but it did.
"What am I supposed to do?" she asked me after a passionate sex, more passionate than before, and I thought she was close to bursting into tears.
"Emma dear, it looks like you will have to accept his proposal because I see no other way to build your future. I would propose to you, but you know your parents would kill us both long before we reached the altar!"
She nodded approvingly and walked away. I never saw her again, and from her parents I learned that she had married the boy she was not in love with, but who offered her an honorable future. She moved to another town and the years passed one after another without seeing her again, although she sometimes visited her parents.
The other day she stopped by again and sent me a message on my cell phone that she really wanted to see me. When he finally got to me, he went straight to my photo box, where I kept my pictures from when I was a kid, and picked one of me when I was about two years old and staring in amazement at the camera, as if I was afraid the one with the camera was going to steal my soul.
"See this picture?" she asked me and, at my affirmation, pulled out her phone and showed it to me.
"In this picture is James, my two year old, just like you when you took this picture. Those two kids look like twins, don't they?"
I froze and finally asked:
"But how is that possible? Your little boy is two at most and we haven't had sex in over five years."
She shrugged and clicked something on her phone as she asked me:
"Have you heard of the telegony theory?"
At my denial, she put my phone in my face with a text she found on Google. In a nutshell, the article in question said in black and white, as they say, that a woman's children always resemble the man she first had sex with.
"Save the link and study this article when you have time." She said.
"Even though it's currently a discredited theory, it seems to be the only valid one in our case, especially since my man is dark-haired and looks nothing like James. Fortunately, he's not very jealous, or he would have interrogated me for sure."
She left and I haven't seen her since, and my mind was stuck on this strange theory of telegony. Could there be any truth to what that article said?