From: email@example.com (John Benson)
Date: 5 May 1998 06:21:54 -0700
The woods were alive with chirping as we walked hand in hand in the twilight. I thought some huge manic crickets called, desperately trying to get laid, but in reality it was too early for crickets and what I heard were small frogs, whose high croaking sounded much the same to my untrained ear. Their goal was pretty much the same too, as was ours, though we were shy and quiet, unwilling to be seen or heard.
This was the night and I knew it, though Jimmi didn't yet. He'd done the right thing finally, and I was his reward. He'd bought condoms, proving that he cared enough about me, and about himself, and about the future so that he was ready. I knew I was. Little question about that.
I was years older than Helen of Troy. Bronze age women had started at puberty and died at thirty. I had the gift of technology to separate sex from babies, so I could have my fun and my future both if I wanted. And yes, I wanted. If the assholes who preach abstinence like it so well, let them choose it for themselves.
He laid me down with sweet words and shy caresses, slow and careful, gentling me as if I were a wild thing that would bolt if startled. He didn't know I had already chosen, so he was ever so careful. His fingers found their way under my short pleated skirt and I wriggled encouragement and he spent a time teasing, then made the bold move of tugging at my panties. I lifted my rump so he could take them from me, and he worshiped at the altar of my body for a time and then went to the next stage, donning the condom and coming in where he was welcome.
The little frogs chirped loudly wanting theirs, and I cried out softly getting mine. Jimmi was so sweet about it. So sweet. We both knew this was no one-time thing. That once I had said 'yes,' I wasn't going back to saying 'no.' But when it was over, he didn't give my panties back. Wanted them as a remembrance, he said. I found myself pretty eager to please when freshly screwed, and didn't push it.
As he drove me home and I brushed the outdoors from my hair, my pantiless state reminded me that I had staked out territory as a sexual creature, and I felt wicked and strong and proud. A woman finally and not a girl. His deep kiss good-bye was a promise, and I wanted him all over again and floated inside my mother's house wrapped in a hormonal high.
I gave my mom a few pert words and flounced up the steps toward my bedroom and that was a Big Mistake. Do not, I repeat do NOT flounce up a flight of steps in a short pleated skirt if your boyfriend just stole your panties. Mom called me back down and lifted the skirt and made bitter and sarcastic remarks about the mosquito bites on my butt and how she always tried to bring me up right and now here I was being a slut. Ya sure. Mom has boyfriends and I know damn well they don't come over just to hold hands but somehow I'm supposed to be Miss Purity. Screw that.
So I told her calm down, he used a rubber, no biggie, and instead of calming down she went ballistic. She passed sentence: I was grounded for the next month and spanked every day for the next week. She always uses my own hair brush too. The one I'd just used to pull the little twigs and dead leaves out of my hair so she wouldn't know what I had done.
Bent over the end of the couch, short skirt flicked up out of the way, my pride and strength soon melted under a rain of spanks. I was no woman now. I was a girl caught out doing what good girls never do, and I deserved what I was getting. Spanked. I cried and twitched and begged and promised, but Mom was frustrated, and didn't stop until her strength gave out.
"I'll teach you a lesson," she yelled louder than my wails. "You're gonna learn a lesson." When it was over she was silent, drained, and I was allowed to go upstairs to the relative safety of my room. No flouncing now. The flounce had been clean spanked out of me.
But if she had wanted to teach me a lesson, it was probably not this one. Alone in my single bed I pointed my spanked rear at the ceiling and jammed my hands between my thighs. Being spanked for having sex made me want... more sex. I wanted him inside of me, but had to make do with my fingers, pretending it was he. The events of the evening elided and commingled and I daydreamed that it was Jimmi who spanked me, then made tender love to me, then spanked me again. Oh god yes.
I was grounded for the next month, so Jimmi and I would have to sneak off and do it on our noon hour. But sneak we would. I know what I need and nobody is going to stop me. And after the week of spankings I had coming from my mom, I'm going to tell Jimmi how hot I get when I've been subdued by a hair brush. If he liked what he got when he treated me like a princess, he's going to love what I'm like when he treats me like a slave.