1. I Remember Erewhon


    Date: 9/29/2015, Categories: Mature, Author: BradleyStoke, Rating: 2, Source: LushStories

    juvenile. I’d probably attempted to interest her in Star Wars paraphernalia. Maybe I’d discussed the intricacies of Premier League Football. Perhaps I thought she’d be as interested as I was in the latest Marvel Superheroes movie. After all, what girl wouldn’t be interested in Ironman or the Mighty Thor? Curiously, Ydobon was always interested in, even fascinated by, me and our early encounters very often climaxed in a warm kiss or a tentative grope that left me with an acrid-smelling damp patch between my legs that disturbed me when I first became aware of it between sheets that otherwise had the odour of conditioner and fart. As time went on, these relatively innocent encounters became more adventurous, but never proceeded far beyond the bounds of my ignorance. There were opportunities for nudity and even an early fumbling between the legs, but these were always short-lived and curtailed by the increasingly frequent release of warm dampness on soft linen that so swiftly became crinkled and stiff. I would meet Ydobon in so many strange places. At first, they were in my more familiar haunts, such as parks and playgrounds and woodland paths, but with fresh interests came new and seemingly more exciting rendezvous points. These might be shops in the mall: as often as likely to be a computer games shop or comic book store as a clothes shop or department store (but never, these days, in a toy shop or other such childish venues). Sometimes I was with friends who would ...
    mysteriously fade into the background whenever Ydobon came into view. Just as often, we would meet in train compartments, multi-storey car parks, public squares (beside imposing statues of lions, dragons or horses) and all the other places one could meet by chance rather than by design. Sometimes, Ydobon recognised me. Sometimes it was as if it was for the first time. Sometimes we’d been close friends since time immemorial. Sometimes it was a brief kiss and tell. And Ydobon changed so often. Her hair changed colour and style, as also did, but less frequently, her skin-colour, plumpness and height. Her clothes I barely remember except where they best allowed vantage of an ankle, a knee, a shoulder or even (and this was guaranteed to dampen the sheets) a belly-button or the heave of her bosom. But it was also I who was changing. My voice first cracked and then deepened. My awareness of details such as a girl’s choice of clothes, shoes and hair-style was growing at the same pace as I became conscious of my own choice of shirt, trousers, shoes and jacket. Ydobon became less generic and more concrete. She had a definite twinkle in her eyes. A memorable dimple in her cheeks. A slender wrist and long fingers with bracelets that clattered as she brushed a hand through hair that was brunette or blonde (and no longer merely brown or fair). An ankle that was pleasingly slender and a knee that was impressed on my memory as firmly as if it were impressed on my groin. And the time came when Ydobon ...
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