Davina

Sara was bang on about word being out. The entire sixth form knew about our dance floor antics on both Friday and Saturday nights even before we got there Monday morning. And, of course, the rest of the school knew by lunchtime.

Reactions were, I have to admit, encouraging. Nobody said anything negative to my face and, if Sara is to be believed, everyone was positive with her too. And before you say it, I know! The negativity is all done by keyboard warriors. Thing is though, I didn't even detect much of that.

I just noticed I skipped Sunday. That's because I spent it at home, doing A-level coursework. Monday and Tuesday nights I spent behind the counter at the Spar, replenishing my day-to-day coffers. And, on Wednesday, damning the expense, I took Sara back to the Foundry and made sure I got to settle the bill.

(I also made sure I got my hand in her knickers on the way home, and what a thrill that was! She had hardly any pubic hair and a clit that drew my finger like a magnet!!)

Here's a digression. During those endless centuries of anticipation I did ponder about my sexuality. No, I was certainly not fretting about being a lesbian . . . I was fretting about which sort of a lesbian I should be.

The Internet is a wonderful tool but it can be confusing. I suppose that's what happens when you let everyone have their say. But even so! The arguments and definitions I read online made the common room virgin debate seem simple and uncomplicated.

On consideration I decided I wasn't butch or femme but somewhere in the middle. I also decided that, even if I did like "blue jeans", I wasn't going to be labelled. I wasn't lipstick or chapstick or any of the seemingly dozens of other types I found listed.

Well, I did feel an affinity for "gold star", but as for the rest . . .

No, I was in a pigeonhole of my own. I didn't prefer giving or taking, I preferred doing whatever gave Sara pleasure. And, to the best of my limited knowledge, the sentiment was mutual.

And here's another digression. Sara was my first true love (the first of the three I mentioned earlier). I fell in love with her at her eighteenth birthday party and I love her still. We were, however, star-crossed as lovers. Even then, October in our upper sixth year, it was evident we were not to be.

Why, I hear you ask. Well, she was as good a student as I was. She'd already made uni applications via UCAS. Next September she would be out of Bingley, perhaps never to return. I, on the other hand, had no intention of getting buried up to my neck in student debt. I was going to get myself a job the minute I left school, preferably somewhere local and in IT. I was also going to enrol in night classes and slog like crazy to make sure I got some top programming qualifications.

The qualifications I needed to earn big bucks. The big bucks I needed to buy a place of my own.

I had an urge to gain freedom, you see, but not at any cost, and not in the easy, conventional way.

So our association wasn't forever. I knew that even then. But I was an eighteen-year-old, and so was Sara. Time is a different dimension when you are eighteen. Our A-level exams seemed to be far, far away. Getting that job after school was an abstract concept; and, as for university courses that did not even start until next autumn . . .

I'm amazed more eighteen-year-olds don't have "carpe diem" tattooed on them. In fact I'm surprised I don't have it tattooed on me. Not that IT nerds do tattoos. Not unless they're related to Star Trek or, in my case, Lieutenant Uhura . . .

*****

So, finally it was Thursday evening. I had gone straight home, had "tea" with Mum then collected my pre-packed travel bag and set off for Sara's.

Then we waited and waited and waited.

Mr and Mrs C were due to leave for the airport at one in the morning. We passed the time in Sara's bedroom, listening to music. And get this: she not only had a vinyl collection, she also had the means to play it!

The collection was actually her dad's, mostly dating from the 70s and 80s, but everything was in mint condition as far as I could tell. And I had to agree the sound quality was excellent. To prove that, Sara played me a download of the Beatles' hard rock version of Revolution. It sounded as good as ever but then she put on the physical disc.

And I was blown away. Billions of dollars of digital technology totally eclipsed by maybe a quid's worth of vinyl.

Who said you can't change the world with a plastic platter? That one did it for me all right.

*****

Several real LPs later Sara suggested we got ready for bed. 'We can still chill,' she said, 'and we will look as good as gold when Mum calls in to say farewell.'

'I thought you'd already said your goodbyes.'

'Trust me Dave, she'll call in somewhere between ten and eleven. You can bet the farm on it.'

'I don't have a farm,' I said predictably, secretly thanking the stars that I had pyjamas to change into. I normally sleep in the altogether and had been planning on wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Mum had got me brand-new jammies though, giving me them at the last moment. I wasn't so sure about the powder blue colour but I definitely appreciated the kindly gesture.

'Let's change publicly,' Sara went on. 'I'll go first.'

'What about your mum?' I demurred, wanting her to override my insincere objection.

'She won't drop by for an hour yet, at the soonest. Now pay attention. I'm only going to do this once.'

Sara slowly unbuttoned her blouse, watching me all the while. I tried to return her gaze but gravity had taken control of my eyes. They kept slipping downwards, eager to see her bare flesh.

I haven't mentioned it before but Sara's skin tone was ace. A lot of girls with auburn hair are very pale but she was better than just lightly bronzed. Seeing more and more of her was a massive thrill.

Thrill? I could feel myself moistening down there. I'd never been more thrilled in my life.

Eventually the blouse was off and discarded on a chair.

'I'll let you remove my bra,' she said.

I don't mind admitting I was all thumbs in obliging. Never having needed one, I had no experience of bras at all. Some of my boy friends at school would probably have unhooked the darn thing with more efficiency. But, after a few muttered curses, I got there.

And it was worth it. I tossed her bra onto the chair and feasted my eyes on her wonderful, marvellous, splendid tits. I already knew they were firm and round. Now I saw they were virtually self-supporting and came equipped with nipples of a similar size to mine. Unable to stop myself, I took hold, a boob in either hand.

'Jesus, Sara,' I breathed.

'Later,' she said, breathless herself. 'Let me finish.'

Reluctantly, I took a backwards step. Sara deftly unbuttoned her jeans and tugged down the zip.

'You're beautiful,' I said as she stepped out of them. 'And where did you get that tan?'

She laughed tunefully, obviously proud her tits didn't have white bits. 'That's for me to know.'

'And for me to find out,' I added hopefully.

Then I shut up as she removed her knickers. What a sight! I believe I told you she had sparse pubic hair. That was because she'd shaved most of it off. All that was left was a tapering landing strip that looked like an arrow, pointing to that magnetic clit of hers.

'Jesus, Sara,' I said again.

'I'm leaving the socks on for now,' she told me, indicating the black ankle ones which, at that moment, represented her entire wardrobe.

'They're very nice,' I assured her. 'They don't cover much, but never mind that.'

Laughing once more, Sara put on her pyjamas. They were not too dissimilar to mine except they were powder pink rather than blue. Needless to say, she looked great in them.

I'm not going to describe my striptease as it wasn't a patch on Sara's. All I will say is that she seemed to enjoy it immensely and congratulated me on my white socks.

'Virgin wear,' she chortled, 'how utterly inappropriate is that!'

Then, when we were modestly clad and sitting side-by-side on her bed, halfway through the vinyl Bat Out of Hell, Mrs C came a-calling.

'Pretty in pink and bonny in blue,' she said, smiling at us. 'Don't let the paperboy see you like that in the morning. You'll give him a heart attack.'

'As if,' said Sara, lowering the volume, which wasn't very high in the first place.

'I brought you this.' Mrs C handed her a bottle of Beaujolais and a corkscrew. 'It'll help you sleep.'

She made a little small talk then, after giving her daughter a final kiss on her forehead, said she would see us both on Tuesday and left.

'I don't think it'll help me sleep,' I said while Sara hunted out glasses. 'I've never felt less like sleeping in my life.'

'Me neither,' she said, chortling again.

Chapter Seven

It was five to one when we heard the first sounds of departure. Internal doors closing, then an external one opening and closing. Then car doors being shut as quietly as car doors could be shut. And then there was the polite cough of an expensive engine.

We had turned the lights off shortly before midnight and retired to our separate beds (mine being the smaller, folding one, naturally). Bright car headlights momentarily swept through a gap in the curtains, raking the ceiling.

Then Sara's parents were gone.

At last!

Heart in mouth time or what!

'Come on then,' said Sara, 'what are you waiting for?'

I was out of my bed and across the room in an instant, my heart doing all the (by then) usual unusual things. Then I hesitated and fumbled with the top button on my jammies.

'No,' said Sara, surprising me, 'leave them on for now. My dad's very forgetful. He might come back for something.'

Even with the lights off it wasn't very dark in there. I could see Sara's eyes shining but couldn't read her emotions. Was she copping out, I wondered.

'Shall we wait a little longer?' I asked out loud.

'No way! If they do come back they won't come in here. And even if they do, as long as we're not naked we'll be all right. Get in here right now.'

That was good enough for me. I was in there in a flash.

And how cosy was that. Sara's bed seemed to be large for a single but that hardly mattered; we only wanted the space needed for one eighteen-year-old girl. We used it avidly as well. Good God, didn't we just!

I can't tell you how exciting that hour or so was. Exciting and rewarding too. Although we only kissed and caressed, avoiding intimate sexual contact, it was the best experience I'd had up to then. No, it was the best experience I'd ever had, by miles and miles and bar none.

Did I just say we avoided intimate sexual contact? Well we did and we didn't. Without discussing does and don'ts we tacitly agreed to keep away from the two obvious areas. Thing was though, everywhere else had suddenly become erogenous. Every single touch was a delight to give or take.

I suppose the occasion was heightened by us being lying together in a bed. That was infinitely better than standing or leaning against a wall; I can assure you of that. It was far superior to simply snogging and groping, even if we were being restrained about it.

We were in bed together, for Christ's sake! We were alone and in bed together!! Endless possibilities were ours to explore!!

Finally Sara decided her parents weren't going to pay a return visit. 'Come on,' she said, getting up and pulling me after her. 'Let's go have sex.'

I was a bit puzzled but followed her meekly. And I wasn't altogether shocked when I found myself in the master bedroom.

'We might as well do it in style,' said Sara, switching on one of the two bedside lamps but leaving the room otherwise unlit. 'And now you can take your top off.'

Unexpectedly self-conscious, I stared back at her. 'You do it for me,' my mouth said of its own volition.

With enviably steady hands, Sara unfastened all three buttons and eased the silky, satiny garment off me.

'Now you do it for me,' she said.

Two seconds later we were starkers on the double bed and I was feasting on her tits like a starving woman. To tell the truth, I probably overdid it. Not that Sara seemed to mind. She sighed, moaned and groaned in all the right places as I licked, nibbled and sucked.

And I'm certain neither of her orgasms were feigned.

Then it was my turn and she'd flicked that switch again. My non-existent breasts were supersensitive; great bolts of pleasure were striking through my heart, directly hitting me you-know-where.

My orgasms weren't feigned either . . . none of the umpteen I had in the space of half an hour or less.

*****

I went down on Sara at four am on the dot.

Yes, I know how nerdy that statement is but it's also actually, factually true. Here's a little background.

I said already that I'd been on the Internet, doing my homework on types of lesbian, remember? Well, when it comes to homework I'm nothing if not thorough, so I'd watched quite a few "adult" videos too. I wanted to know more about the things lesbians did to each other, you see. I wanted to know what sort of games Sara might expect me to play.

I wouldn't be lying if I said I was spoiled for choice. And I certainly wouldn't be lying if I said the myriad options staggered me. Okay, so I got carried away and tried far too many of the alternative searches suggested at the top of my screen. But I couldn't stop myself; girls seemed to have so many different ways of bringing each other off.

All of them sexy as hell!

A myriad options or not, I had concluded there was one basic act that nearly all of the actresses came back to, time after time. And to a woman they definitely enjoyed it; that was only too flipping obvious. There was not one single sign of them sharing my worries about doing that . . . about me bringing my mouth into play down there.

So: back to our first session in and on Sara's parents' bed. After we'd sated ourselves on each other's tits we paid our pussies some well-deserved attention. By that I mean manually, and internally as well as externally.

We did that for ages. Neither one of us wanted to be the one who stopped first. And please don't think there was any selfishness in that. I'm sure Sara felt the same as I did, and I was determined that she would be the last one to be pleasured.

(Pleasured! That sounds a bit like Emily Bronte meets Jackie Collins, doesn't it!!)

We were, as I implied a moment ago, taking turns to be the active partner, both of us set on being the last giver. I noticed Mrs C's digital alarm clock whilst laying back and being attended to. It was almost three and I was starting to wonder if the night would ever end. Not that I necessarily wanted it to end anytime soon; I was just concerned that my supply of cums might dry up.

Then the resolution struck me, out of the blue: If we're still at it in an hour I'm going down on her.

Well, you know me and promises. I'm as determined to keep unspoken ones as I am with ones I've sworn on oath.

'Oh yes,' Sara said as the clock showed 4:00 and I slid downwards, kissing her bellybutton on the way past. 'Oh yes, yes please.'

Her sex was nearly as wet as mine. That is to say she was absolutely sodden and I was saturated. Not giving myself opportunity to think and wimp, I dabbed at her clit with the flat of my tongue.

And I was instantly converted. Thoughts of the act being unhygienic or somehow demeaning left me, vanishing like ghosts before dawn. Sara tasted of honey and, if anyone was being submissive, it was her, not me.

'Oh yes,' she repeated, 'oh yes, yes please.'

Suddenly I was a kid let loose in a sweetshop. I didn't so much feast on her as binge on her.

Heaven; it was sheer heaven.

Chapter Eight

I woke with an enormous grin plastered on my face and with Sara's pussy perhaps two inches from my nose. After I'd had a very greedy go at her she'd gone down on me and that had been heavenly too. I certainly didn't protest as she went on and on and on.

Here's a memory for you; I can actually see it, as if it happened only yesterday. Me on my back, legs akimbo, gladly accepting the fact my cum supply wasn't exhausted after all. Sara had assumed the giving position yet again. Perhaps by telepathy, she looked up at me as I gazed down my trembling, grateful body at her.

Her face was glistening with my pussy juice. I chuckled as I realized the skin of my face was taut with her slowly drying nectar. Or maybe we were both coated in sweat, saliva, nectar and juices. It was a very primal thing to see and feel and I relished it.

'More,' I urged. 'Please give me more.'

Our final act of the night had been a rather optimistic effort at sixty-nine. I went on top at first, without too much dignity and grace. In fact I was downright clumsy. Okay, we did both get something out of it but I also got neck-ache and a strained tongue.

Sara's visit on top had been certainly more graceful, although I can't answer for her neck and tongue. I certainly got off on it, anyway. And I seriously enjoyed our curtain call: more sixty-nine but with us on our sides, me with my head towards the foot of the bed. That was good and cool and mutual.

I'd enjoyed it so much I nodded off.

*****

Waking in pretty much the same position I'd dropped off in, I didn't immediately know if Sara was still asleep or not. Being considerate, I didn't say anything or resume my nibbling (and trust me: nibbling was a bigger temptation than wishing her good morning!).

Instead I congratulated myself on a virginity successfully lost. I wasn't sure exactly when it had gone (I'm unsure of that even now, years later), but I knew it was no more. The way I saw it, and this may be a tad unspecific for an IT nerd who went down at four am on the dot, my maidenhood had left me at some stage between Sara's party and me falling asleep an hour or two ago.

For once I couldn't make myself bother about precise times. All I knew was that, from being so chaste and untouched, I had now shared countless orgasms and been penetrated by my lover's fingers and tongue. And we had exchanged gallons and gallons of body fluids. Hey, by now our DNA would be as close a match as non-related girls could possibly get!

I also dwelt at length on oral sex. Those actresses were right to keep going back to that basic act. No wonder they all so clearly enjoyed playing their parts. It was definitely one I would be regularly going back to.

No, it was one I would be going back to every time I had sex. In the unlikely event of anyone asking my advice, I'd recommend it without hesitation.

"Get your face in her fanny," I'd say. "It doesn't matter if it's her first time or yours. Be gentle, don't bite and you can't go wrong."

Of course I'm older and wiser now. I know that some girls want to be bitten . . .

*****

So that's me and my virginity parted. And I'm in need of a break, even though I've scarcely begun. I'll leave you with the image of Sara's sweet pussy and the aphrodisiac smell of her juices. I will be back with more ere long.

And next time the sex won't be drawn out and tentative. I promise you that.