First Times: Nine Tales of Innocence Lost (9 page)

He tilted my head to the side and kissed my throat, then along my shoulder, and down my arm, lifting it until he took my finger in his mouth and sucked lightly while staring into his eyes. I ran my hand up and down the underside of his cock.
 

I started to sink down, but he pushed my bare back against the cold, faded blue steel and looked in my eyes.
 

“I’m going to eat your cunt.”
 

My legs buckled from the tone of his voice as he pressed his lips to the tender skin between my breasts, matching his downward movement with a tickling brush of his fingers down my ribs that made me giggle. He dipped down and I thought he was going to drop between my legs before he suddenly rose up, took my nipple in his mouth and sucked so hard it pinched and I yelped. Laughing, he pushed me against the wall and held my hips and traced a hot wet line from my belly button down, with his tongue.
 

“Oh, please, please,” I begged, scrunching my fingers in his hair.
 

I’d never even imagined something like this. I felt so silly now, so innocent as his lips touched my sex, his tongue just hinting at my folds while his hot breath spread over my wet pussy. I leaned my head against the lockers, closed my eyes, and moaned. My legs shook as his touch grew more intense, hot trails moving over my skin as his tongue teased and moved. He pulled away and kissed my thigh, and I almost screamed at the tease.
 

I was just opening my mouth to beg when he licked me so hard it hurt, a jolt flowing up from my most sensitive places. His tongue circled my clit, then slid down and pressed at my entrance, then back up again. My legs were shaking already and he started to deeply kiss my pussy, using his lips, his tongue, his breath expertly, wringing pleasure from my already tortured, tight body.

He stood up, then started pulling me down. He sat right on the concrete and leaned back against the bench behind him, the old wooden one fixed to the floor. He was pulling me into his lap. I sat on his legs and slid against him, pinning his cock between us, and kissed him. His hands moved everywhere. Up my back, my sides, toying with my breasts, lifting and squeezing. His finger slid down my back, right down my spine, and nested between my ass cheeks. I yelped and wriggled a little as he teased my asshole with the pad of his finger, and moaned, grinding against him and sliding his cock against my belly.
 

“Get on,” he said, rolling his hips.
 

A sudden twinge of fear burst through me, and I bit my lip. He must have seen it in my eyes.
 

“What’s wrong?”
 

“I’ve never done it before,” I said, trying not to let my voice squeak. “I’m a v-virgin.”
 

He blinked.
 

“Jesus Christ, what am I doing. We don’t even have protection.”
 

He started to push me off.
 

I bit my lip, shifted, and pulled his cock under me as I rose up. When the head touched my hot sex he froze, a look of slack excitement coming over his face. I leaned into him and lowered myself down, hitching up and wincing as his thick rod spread me open, sliding into my tight channel. Nothing larger than my finger had ever entered me before, and it hurt, it stung and burned and I let out a little noise that was more pained whimper than pleasured sigh, and he squeezed me tight, slowing me.
 

“Go slow,” he whispered, in a voice that said he wanted to go fast.
 

Oh my God he was inside me. It was more than cocks and pussies now, we were together in a way I never understood. I could feel his heart beating, like he was an extension of my own body. It still hurt, and my eyes teared up. A single tear slid down my cheek but he brushed it away with his thumb as he guided me down to settle in his lap, resting my weight there. I have never felt so close to anyone, ever, as I did to him now, with this throbbing, stretching melding of our bodies filling my belly.
 

“Does it hurt?”
 

“No,” I lied.
 

I started to roll my hips. It still hurt but it was so good I just didn’t care. He pulled me to him and held me tight, sharing my breath as he gazed into my eyes and listened to my soft moans. I shifted my legs so my knees were on the floor and rose up a little, moving my hips in little thrusts that he flexed to meet, rolling his cock inside me in a steady rhythm.
 

Already flooded with excitement, I began to build. His body tightened and his embrace became even harder, crushing. My body moved in tight, involuntary jerks. He was pressing up into me from underneath, grunting and gasping.
 

I thrashed back as the release came in an explosive wave that swept through me in rolling shocks of hot and cold as electric currents shot down my legs. I pressed against him hard as the feeling hollowed me out and sucked all the strength out of my body. He bucked up, and tried to push me away.
 

“I’m cumming,” he growled, trying to drag me off him.
 

I pushed down, taking him to the root as he throbbed inside me, spilling me with his seed. His face turned into a slack stare.
 

“Give it to me,” I murmured, rolling my hips and tightening my belly. I wanted to squeeze it all out of him, be filled up. I relaxed as he finished, his head lolling back before rolling forward so he could touch his lips to my forehead.
 

It turned to a kiss. I lay on top of him until he went soft, and finally lifted up. His seed slid down my leg, yet more inside me. I flopped onto the cold hard floor next to him and leaned on him while I gathered up enough strength to shakily stand up, leaning on the bench.
 

He kissed me as I stood up.
 

“Are you coming back next year?” I said.
 

“Yes.”
 

“Wait for me,” I said, running my fingers over his chest.
 

“No one can know about this.”
 

“What? Why?”
 

“You were my student.”

 
“I’m an adult. What does it matter?”
 

“I could still lose my job. The administration-”
 

“Fuck the administration,” I said, pressing against him. I rose up on my tip toes to kiss him. Lightly. Chastely. “Fuck my parents, too. I want you. I’m coming back and I want you.”
 

He gave me one last embrace. Our bodies were slick with sweat. When he let me to and left, the look he gave me ripped my heart out. I didn’t want to shower, but I did. I went home. I went to college.
 

I came back the next summer.
 

So did he.
 

Melissa

“Melissa, would you remain after class?”
 

 
I paused in gathering up my things. Professor McCray was not one to give much individual attention to students. The archeology professor was notoriously aloof, communicating mostly through his teaching assistants. He only gave about half the lectures and maintained the bare minimum office hours. To we mere students he was a mystery. Rumors flew even outside the history department. The wealthy, handsome professor was a recluse, and recluses naturally become the subject of wild speculation. I kept out of it, for the most part. I was more concerned with earning a high mark in Archeological Methods II, though I did dream that McCray might write me a letter of recommendation when it came time to apply to graduate school. My academic advisor was pushing me to apply to PhD programs in American Studies, even though ancient history was my passion.
 

My heart was pounding. The truth was, as silly as it must sound, I had a crush on him. He was the perfect image of the adventuring archeologist. Six feet and six inches of lithe, graceful power with a firm square jaw that could never shed its stubble and piercing eyes that made my stomach flutter every time there was a brief moment of eye contact during one of his lectures. As he gathered up his briefcase I finished shoving my things into my bag and hurried down the auditorium steps to greet him. I had to stop myself from taking them two at a time. I pushed my glasses up my nose and flinched at the gesture. With my sweaters and baggy clothes and unkempt hair in a loose ponytail I must have been the very image of a geek. I felt half my age as I stood in front of him, shifting on my feet.
 

“Professor McCray?” I said.
 

“I read your paper,” he said, not looking at me. “Fascinating.”
 

I felt my cheeks grow hot and knew I was blushing. I’d taken a risk on that one, I knew. I wrote a paper on the bowdlerization of archeological finds. The centerpiece of my work was the censorship of the discoveries in Pompeii, the Roman city smothered by ash from the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. When the city was discovered mostly intact, preserved by the ash, the archeologists of the time hid and some times deliberately destroyed dozens of murals depicting all sorts of taboo subjects. Nude nymphs and Priapus, the demigod famous for his huge, permanently erect penis. I stifled a smile just thinking about it. I had a severe case of the giggles the whole time I was writing the paper. Professor McCray cleared his throat.
 

“Thank you,” I said.
 

“I”m told you’re looking into graduate schools.”
 

The professors were talking about me? “Yes, sir.”
 

“No need to be so formal. Join me in my office?”
 

My heart slammed against my ribs and I swayed a little on my feet. Visions of amateurish seductions floated through my head. I thought of tugging the loose neck of my sweater to expose my shoulder a little. My outfit was less than flattering and far from sexy, and I suddenly felt self conscious about everything, from my battered sneakers to my hair which I hadn’t washed for two days.
 

“Sure.”
 

He nodded and shouldered his bag. “This way.”
 

I followed him out of the lecture hall and through the building. The faculty offices were on the upper floors. The elevator ride up was awkward. I sunk into the corner, all my courage gone as he stared straight ahead. Like a gentleman he held the door so I could pass first as we stepped out of the elevator. I knew the way to his office by heart. I’d almost knocked on the door once, and one time I very nearly visited during office hours. He was only available for two hours on Wednesday and Thursday, and the one time I went to speak with him I realized I had nothing of any relevance to say and slunk off, defeated. Now I was watching him open the door. He swung it open and motioned me inside, then closed it behind us as I stepped into his office. My heart fluttered a bit more. Every professor kept their door open when conferencing with students. It was an unwritten rule.
 

This was the first time I’d ever actually been in here. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. His office was better furnished than the department head’s. The plain white walls and ugly indoor/outdoor carpet were hidden beneath elegant appointments and antiques. He had more books than anyone I’d ever seen. His desk was enormous, and old. He sank down behind it and dropped his bag at his side and motioned for me to sit in the club chair beside the desk. I dropped into it and tried not to sigh as I sank into the richly padded leather. My nerves jangled up again and I swallowed, folding my hands in my lap so they wouldn’t shake.
 

“It’s an interesting issue, isn’t it, the way we censor ourselves?”
 

I noticed something on his desk. It was a carven statue, ivory maybe, I wasn’t sure. A stylized man and woman intertwined with another man, in some kind of lewd sexual pose. The more I stared at it the hotter I felt. The little ivory woman was having sex with both men at the same time, pressed between them, a look of pained ecstasy etched on her face. He noticed I was staring at it and turned the base in his fingers as he spoke.
 

“What turned you to a controversial subject like that?”
 

I shrugged, and I sensed disappointment clouding his features, so I immediately started explaining myself. “I noticed it the Pompeii murals in a book and I started doing research. Once I found they’d been censored I started looking in other places. The temple in India…”
 

“Khajuraho,” he said.
 

“Yes, that one. It struck me how uptight western attitudes about sex are reflected in our archeological methods and historiography. Even our own mythology is heavily bowdlerized. Did you know the norse god Loki got pregnant by a horse and cross-dressed?”

I immediately felt a rush of embarrassment. Asking this man if he knew something? Who the hell did I think I was?

“I’m familiar with the stories,” he said. If there was any resentment for my rudeness he didn’t show it. “What do you think about that? Western attitudes about sex, I mean.”
 

I shrugged again, and bit my lip. As I looked down I could swear I caught a flash of his tongue from the corner of his eye, licking his lip.
 

“They’re backwards, I guess. Other cultures are much more open.”
 

“We have a way of hiding that aspect of our lives from ourselves,” he said, fiddling with the little statue. “In other cultures, sexuality is not treated as a secretive or dirty thing. It’s part of every day life, as it should be. Even religion. Did you know that many pagan practices incorporate a sexual component? Even major religions outside our sphere acknowledge the power of sex.”
 

I nodded, vigorously. “Maybe I should do a paper on that.”
 

“Perhaps. I remember once I went on a dig in the south of France. My team and I were uncovering a pre-Roman Celtic ritual site. I spent most of my time there sleeping in the ritual chamber we uncovered. The roof was long gone, so there were only stars above. I think it’s important that we avoid the clinical, detached distance that Western scholarship advocates and immerse ourselves in the cultures and ideas we’re studying. Don’t you agree?”