Adult Image Library 1/Adult_Image_Library_Volume_1.iso/stories/hot_rev.txt

Text File | 1996-04-15 | 25KB | 440 lines

     I'm not sure young girls today can afford to have early
sexual experiences.  Not with all the crazy people around.
People don't seem to be as nice as they used to be.  It just
isn't safe anymore.  My girls are now 11 and 14 and I sure
wouldn't want them to go looking for anything like what I found
when I was 12.  I don't see how they could do it safely.  Even if
they could have a good learning experience, it would turn all bad
as soon as some others found out about it.
     This country just isn't the same as it was twenty years ago!
We now live in Florida, but I grew up in Ohio.  Florida seems so
conservative and bent on censoring everything, but it's not just
here.  Friends back in Ohio tell me it is even worse there.
     When I was growing up, our family was a nudist family, but
we sure didn't call ourselves that.  It was just the way we were.
     The best we've been able to do for our girls has been to
visit several nudist parks a few times each year since they were
born.  Those visits have helped them, I'm sure.  But it is just
not as good, nor as innocent, as when I was growing up.  We've
talked with them often about sexual things, mostly just me and
the girls.  I hope they haven't had any real or serious sexual
contacts, it just is not safe today.
     Even in a nudist park, and it's a shame, because, today,
that might be the worst place of all -- the type of people who go
seem to be changing, and I've seen the way the men (and some
women!) look at my daughters and me.  Ten or so years ago, when
we started visiting nudist parks and beaches with friends, there
were many good people, families, but now the people are not the
same.  Many now are downright sexually gross and crude and I'm
not just talking about the men.  They are also paranoid and
suspect everyone else of the worst because they think the worst
of themselves.  We cannot see any future in nudist parks or
beaches (which are even worse, for sure).  It would be best to
know some other families, locally, who feel the same way we do,
and then we might be able to find some secluded places to enjoy
the out-of-doors like it was meant to be enjoyed.

     I have always loved swimming naturally!  And running!
     We really had it good when I was growing up.  We lived on a
farm that wasn't really a farm anymore.  My Grandpa built the
original white farmhouse long ago.  My Mom and Dad had a more
modern house built for themselves at the other end of farm, on
another road.  It wasn't really that far, not more than half a
mile, and the path between the two houses was well worn.  The
barn hadn't been used in years, but it was a great place to play
on Sundays with the other kids.
     My Grandpa and Grandma both died the same year, when I was
about 10.  There weren't any animals left except for the chickens
and I had been Grandpa's "Number 1 chicken helper," as he called
me.  On school days, I'd often run to their house, help him with
the chickens, and then catch the school bus.  Saturdays, I'd
usually spend all day helping Grandpa and Grandma.  She taught me
how to bake bread and it was almost as good as hers, or so my Dad
liked to brag.  Sundays, we'd all go to church, my Grandpa and
Dad always wanted to be the first ones there, and the last to
leave.  Then we'd spend the rest of the Sunday at the old house,
and there was always a big feast in the early evening.  Mom and I
did most of the cooking.  Grandma did most of the deciding, and
Grandpa was always inviting friends and new people in the church
for dinner.  There was always plenty for dinner and plenty of
people to eat it.
     Grandpa made the dining room table the year Dad was born and
it could seat 20 people, easily.  The biggest room in the house
should be for eating Grandpa always said, and in their house, it
was.  The living room was very cozy, but smaller than the
kitchen.  I think that old kitchen was the second biggest room in
the house.  It was such a good kitchen, it had so much space and
room.  If friends weren't visiting at the dining table, they were
visiting in the kitchen.  I still love that house.  But there
were only two small bedrooms upstairs, and the bathroom,
downstairs, was just big enough for that huge old tub.  You could
sit on the rim while washing your hands in the sink.  Those are
all the rooms there were, so maybe it wasn't such a big house
after all.
     It was Grandpa, years ago when my Dad was a boy, who first
put the big rocks across the creek to make a dam and the swimming
hole.  Dad started swimming nude with Grandpa and Grandma just
after he was born, so did all his brothers and sisters.  Can you
believe that four children grew up in that two-bedroom house?
     Saturday afternoon was the traditional time for swimming,
when the weather was warm enough, even though the water usually
wasn't.
     When Dad first started going with Mom, she wouldn't hear of
skinny-dipping, especially not with other people around.  They
knew each other in high school and started going steady in tenth
grade.  Most every Sunday she went to church with my Dad's family
and then stayed for dinner and helped Grandma.  Just before they
started 12th grade, she finally went swimming nude.  First with
Dad, only, and then with the whole family.  She still loves to
tell that story, and does as often as she can, to anyone who will
sit still long enough.  They got married right after graduation
and I was born two years later, I'm the oldest.
     I don't know if Grandma or Grandpa were virgins when they
got married, my Dad always says he thinks they weren't, and I
know my parents enjoyed sex with each other long before they were
married.  Mom told me all about it and Dad has told me many
things, also.  Mom and Grandma are the two most decent, loving
women I've ever known, and Dad and Grandpa are the two best men
on the face of the earth.  The whole town feels that way about
them, too.  You couldn't find four more honest and caring people
if you tried.  I sure miss them.
     After Grandpa passed away, Dad didn't know what to do with
the old house.  None of us wanted to see it sold and we couldn't
live in it, much as we all loved it.  And I didn't want to see
the chickens go.  It sat empty for the rest of the winter.
     In the Spring, Dad rented it to our new Minister for next to
nothing, and I knew I would not like the man.  Dad promised I
could keep the chickens, if I could take good care of them each
day by myself, without help from him or the new Minister.  I knew
I could and promised I would.
     That next Sunday, I met our new Minister for the first time
and he was too young to be a Minister, for sure.  Before Service,
he had a special meeting for all the kids and he told us that we
should call him "Reverend Dale" (his first name).  Adults called
him by his last name.  A few days later, I also found out that he
was going to be the high school coach.
     I was nervous the first week, but each morning I'd run to
the old house, take care of the chickens and catch the bus as I
always had.  A few times I saw Reverend Dale at the kitchen table
and he'd wave.
     That first Saturday, I didn't go over until later in the
morning and he was out working on his car, in shorts and no
shirt.  I can still recall how strong he looked, and how filthy
dirty he was.  But he was very pleasant and watched while I did
what I came to do.  Then we talked and he asked if I'd like a
cold drink.  Well, the lemonade he made was horrid and I almost
couldn't drink it.
     The next Saturday, I brought some lemons from home and
offered to make him some like Grandma had taught me.  He accepted
my offer, but I couldn't find anything in the kitchen, anymore.
The place just wasn't the same.  My sadness must have shown
because he suggested that we sit outside.  As we talked, I told
him I'd bake him some really good bread next Saturday, if he'd
get what I needed and that he didn't have.
     By several Saturdays later, I was really feeling comfortable
in that old kitchen again.  He was always very nice, and he knew
enough to stay out of my way.
     Soon, I was making his Saturday dinners for him.  Mom told
Dad it was good practice for me, and I really felt good and
grown-up doing it.  Then one Sunday, I heard him tell Dad how
pleased and proud he was to have me as his "little homemaker."
"Little," indeed!  I was so angry, I didn't make his dinner the
following Saturday.
     But soon, it was high-Summer, and I'd forgotten what he'd
called me.  We were very good friends by then, and I could talk
to him about everything.  We hauled a bunch of junk out of the
barn to burn, and we were both dusty dirty, and tired; so I asked
him if he'd ever made use of the swimming hole.  I hadn't even
been there, myself, in almost a year.
     When he asked "what swimming hole?" I walked him behind the
barn and showed him the pond.  It needed work.  Some rocks had
moved and the water wasn't as deep as it used to be.  But I ran
up to the edge and jumped out of all my clothes as I had always
done (not even thinking about him), and I was in the water before
I noticed him still on shore, just looking at me.
     I called several times for him to come in, and told him not
to be chicken of some cold water.  I was getting used to it, but
he was still just sitting there.
     So, I explained how all of us enjoyed swimming nude and that
we had for years.  But he said that he really wasn't part of the
family and that he was sure all the church people would never
understand if anyone found out that he'd gone swimming nude with
me.  I assured him that I'd seen my Dad and Grandpa naked many
times and that there was nothing to be ashamed of.  I added that
I'd also seen any number of older and younger, male relatives,
and that I was sure he didn't have anything that they didn't
have.
     Then he laughed as I'd never heard him laugh before, and
that was when I first realized how much I really liked him.
     Well, he was just like the other men, not much bigger and
not much smaller, but he sure had some really white skin on his
butt.  And he sure had a nice looking body.
     As we were leaving the water, he reminded me that we didn't
have any towels.  I told him that we never needed them, that we'd
run back to the house and that the sun would dry us, completely,
before we got there.
     He sure could run fast.  He was in the house before I got
there, sitting in the kitchen and breathing hard.  So, I zipped
into the living room to get an old blanket out of the chest and
was half-way surprised to find they were still there.  I ran out
back and spread it on the grass.  The sun was so warm and felt so
good!
     But he wouldn't join me.  He said it wouldn't be right if
someone came and caught us naked.  I told him not to worry, that
we'd be able to hear anyone coming from miles away.  And that we
always laid outside afterwards, to enjoy the nice warm sun.  He
was hesitant, but he was soon next to me.
     Then, I noticed that he was not circumcised.  I asked him
why he wasn't and he asked me what I thought of it.  I told him
that I liked the looks of his uncircumcised penis better.  Just
as I was about to lay on my tummy, I remembered his white butt.
So I ran back into the house and went looking in one of the
kitchen closets for some suntan lotion.
     When I got on my knees beside him, he pulled back and
wondered what I wanted.  So I told him that he had to have some
protection and that I had just the thing.  I got some in my hand,
but he refused and said he'd do it, himself.  I told him not to
be silly and that, besides, I wanted to do it.
     He had big shoulders and big arms, but he sure had a small
rear end, and as hard as two big rocks.  It took me longer to rub
it in than was needed, but I really liked touching him.  I'd done
the same thing, many times before for others in my family, and
thought nothing of it.  But now, for the first time, it was very
different and I was feeling very warm and nervous -- almost
giggly.
     I'd seen erections before, even my Dad's, sometimes, when he
was laying in the sun on the blanket with Mom.  I'd never really
paid any mind, but now, Reverend Dale was trying to hide his from
me and that just made me more interested.  So, I asked him what
an uncircumcised penis looked like when it was erect, and he
turned beet-red.  I told him that I didn't want to hurt him, that
I just wanted to see him.  I almost even begged.  I even promised
that I wouldn't tell anyone that he was uncircumcised.  So he
finally turned over and I liked the way it looked -- like he was
still wearing a hat!
     I didn't know why I did it at the time, but then I threw my
arms around his neck and gave him a great big hug.  He pushed me
away much too soon, and told me that he liked me very much, that
he liked being with me, but that there was a limit as to how we
should behave.
     I asked him what limit.
     He asked me why I liked to be naked and I told him that I
just did, and that I especially liked it with him.
     He asked me what I knew about sex and I told him that I knew
all about it.
     Then, he asked me again what I knew about sex and I told him
that sex was what people did when they loved each other.  He left
it at that and I was glad, because I really didn't know much more
than that, then.
     He asked me if I was going to tell anyone about our swimming
and being naked.  I asked him if he wanted me to keep it a
secret.  He told me that he did want me to keep it a secret and I
promised that I would, just so long as we could go swimming again
next Saturday.
     We went swimming again, and I was happy to see him again,
and it was good to rub suntan oil on him, again.  He didn't try
to hide himself from me, and that made me feel even better.
     The next couple of Saturdays, I didn't bother to get dressed
until after I'd fixed his dinner and was ready to go back home.
Each time, he sat at the kitchen table, naked himself.  It was
now very natural for us and I enjoyed looking at him, especially
because he was always erect.  My Dad was often naked, but I never
saw him with an erection while he was just sitting in a chair,
and somehow I knew this was different.  He was not the same as my
Dad, and I didn't feel towards him like I felt about my Dad.  I
loved my Dad, and my Mom, and my brother and sister.  I enjoyed
hugging my Mom and Dad, and I enjoyed it when my Mom or Dad
kissed me.  But I wanted to hug Reverend Dale and I wanted to
kiss him and I wanted to do that forever.
     One Saturday, when I was about ready to dress and leave, I
knew he was standing behind me.  I didn't say anything.  I didn't
turn around.  Then, I felt his strong hands on my shoulders, and
it was he who turned me around.
     Just that quick, I locked my arms around him and buried my
face just above his belly.  His hands were holding my head tight
and stroking my hair, when I felt his hard erection against my
tummy.  I couldn't help it, I started crying, and I didn't know
why.
     He picked me up.
     I locked my arms around his neck and he kissed me deeper
than I'd ever been kissed before and I locked my legs around his
waist to keep from sliding further and I felt his whole entire
body turn rock-hard and his chest was suddenly three times bigger
and with violent shudders the whole room shook because, like a
wild wounded bull, he snorted masterfully, and I felt rapid
sudden warm, liquid spurtings striking my butt-cheeks, and
dripping down my bare back while his whole body grew softer and
less tall and, as the room was turning slowly, I could feel him
breath again and the loud strong steady pounding of his heart,
sending shock-wave after shock-wave deep into my chest.
     I had become part of him in the most wonderful way.
     Then, I saw the dining room pass by, then the living room,
and then I knew that we were on the stairs and going higher.  He
was so strong and I felt so very safe and small.
     The bed didn't make a sound as he laid me gently down on it.
But I refused to let go of his neck and he didn't say a thing as
he let me feel his body lay down beside me, all warm.
     He was so tender with his strong, silent fingers quietly
being slow between my thighs that couldn't open far enough with
wanting his kneading there, where the whole world now existed for
only me and the warm timid air from his delicious mouth on the
new, young, yearning of me right there in that small, narrow,
wet, slit, knowing his lips would hasten the small waves from
inside and rolling like the tide found by his tongue licking
lower and deeper still to lift that fountain of desire higher
past all things gone past and past all darkness to that bight
light that burns ever so slowly in us all until the flame is
kindled with more thrashing for deeper breathing that comes
faster with more loudness whose release with moaning is heard by
no one and by all that know this rushing river as it crashes over
the highest and most heavenly peak above the clouds in private
with only his mouth and only his hands lifting my hard behind
into himself all the way until the clouds burst wide open and the
thunder bursts out all the way from deep inside to rolling tide
now slower with his gentle rocking to a music heard by only us
there at the center of everything growing smaller and more slowly
just past the point where everything finally rests and is at
peace, and is, forever quiet and gone.

     I was looking at the ceiling and looking through the
ceiling, past the roof at the big, snow-soft clouds turning in
the sky-blue everything away slowly as the roof closed and saw
the ceiling once again because he was lifting his face up from
between my legs as I lowered my knees to see the beauty of it all
over him and his mouth that now wasn't saying anything but a
smile so full of love, tender with the soft wetness of my release
through him.
     And it was all so funny.
     "Look at your head, your hair is a mess..."
     "Which one are you talking about?"  He smiled so sweetly.
     "Which what?"
     "Never mind, its a dumb thing to say, now."  And, as he
moved towards the top of the bed, elbow on the pillow next to
mine, he asked me, "Do you know what that was?"
     "Do I know what that was?  Yes."
     "Are you afraid?"
     "No, I loved it."
     "Do you know what you loved?"
     "Yes, I loved what you did to me with your mouth and
tongue."
     "Do you know what that is called?"
     "Yes, it's called making love."
     "No, it's called sex.  It's called cunnilingus."
     "What does that mean?"
     "It means that I use my mouth to give you very good feelings
there."
     "Why?"
     "Because you're really not big enough for anything else,
yet."
     "What happened to me?"
     "That, my precious Sweet One, was an orgasm."
     "You mean I didn't really break anything."
     "No, I had one, too.  A very good one, in the kitchen."
     "Is that what's half-dry and sticky on my back and rear?"
     "That's me."
     "Did you break something?"
     "No, I loved it, it has been so long."
     "Then what's this stuff stuck on my rear?"
     "From me, men ejaculate when they orgasm."
     "Do girls?"
     "No, not really, just a little, not like a male."

     He lowered his head onto his pillow, and with one hand I
pushed him easily so he rolled from his side to his back and me
on my tummy, I put my chin on his chest, and listened to him try
to explain everything that I didn't understand and still didn't,
even when he was finished, because my fingers were playing in the
thick, stuck hairs at the base of him, big and hard, and I asked
him if I could hold him, and he said I could, and he was alive
with the beating of a heart that belonged only to him, but that I
knew with my hand and could feel in my heart pounding like his
when I held on tighter and wouldn't let go.
     He pulled me up to lay on his chest, my legs on his legs,
stronger and longer as my whole world went higher and lower with
his breathing, I made myself heavy to push on him each time
harder there where the thick length of him lay between his hard
belly and me there where I wanted the pushing pressing harder
with moanings coming from within me from nowhere and him saying
"SHHHHHH" while I felt his powerful open hands, fingers clutching
each smallness that were my butt-cheeks going up and down with my
thrusting harder down helped with his pushing up to feel him
better, pressing with my fingers firm hold on either side of his
hair buried deep and hanging on to keep from falling off and to
pull myself higher because I felt his chest suddenly three times
bigger and both bodies hard like a rider and a wild horse
screaming down that sudden steep sloop of the bursting forth
waterfall over the thunder and full-power out of his throbbing
wet shootings up between us pressed tight and held by his arms of
his raging sea, like a small tiny boat that was crashed by huge
breakers onto the shore and now slowly carried back to that vast
smooth stillness in his open hands and the sea of his chest and
mine now going level and softer, stuck together and made into one
with his violent offering, thick with the same whiteness that
lasts as the bond between our bellies now soft with release, his
hands falling from my cheeks and my fingers releasing the hair
around his ears, that hear me saying, without me speaking, that I
will love him forever.

     "We must wash ourselves."
     "Will you carry me?"
     "If you promise to keep your hands to yourself and let me
watch while I wash you."
     "Okay, and I will wash you."
     Him standing up in the big bath tub and me with my legs
inside and my cheeks on the rim, holding him, soaping him thick,
my fingers love it, and so does he, uplifting and defying gravity
the soap makes him smoother than slippery, and that feels even
better when he is bigger.  The grin on his face and his flagpole
at full-stiff attention and just standing there defiant and
loaded with soap.  As he bends to his knees and with mine apart,
he with a small towel warm with soft water, brushes and cleans
that small narrow, tender, the response of his touching worship,
all with all loving, and all remembered forever!

     Forgive me for getting so flowery.  Just remembering it
brings me such warm pleasure, and my mind goes all ga-ga.  I
can't write about that afternoon any other way.

     So, at 12, I became Reverend Dale's mistress.  Neither he
nor I could wait very long to try and see if I was "big enough."
I was.
     My time spent with him, in that old house, was time spent
naked and touching, and licking and probing, sucking and kissing,
and loving.  He was amazing the way he could get hard, time after
time.  And, he said I was amazing because I was always ready and
anxious.

     I grew -- 13, 14, 15, 16, 17 -- and I stayed his mistress.
Young women at church wondered why no one was "turning his head."
Marrying a minister was a challenge, and Reverend Dale seemed to
make it an impossible task.  I always sniggered when I heard them
gossiping about him -- because I knew.  It was MY body, MY mouth,
MY loving that made him so uninterested in them.
     I look back, and wonder how I ever kept it a secret from my
family, but I did.  I didn't date in high school -- I didn't have
to, because I had him.  There were questions, but I always said I
just hadn't met anyone at school I really liked.
     I got a full scholarship to college, and hated leaving him.
We talked about starting a "proper courtship" during my breaks,
and getting married when I came home for my first Summer.  I was
so happy.
     In November, even before I came home for my first break, at
Thanksgiving, he married the banker's daughter and accepted a
posting in another town.  I never saw him again.

     I was shattered.  Devastated.  Crushed.  Humiliated.
     I got over him, but not quickly.  Not before ruining my
reputation at my small college, by going to bed with every man
who asked, including the professors.  I spent the next three-
and-a-half years on my back or on my knees, seldom with the same
man for more than one night.
     Finally, I got it all back together, again.  I went home,
found a job, went back to Church, met a dear man and married him,
and had my two beautiful daughters.  I couldn't ask for any more
in my life.
     But, I still think about Reverend Dale.

-- edited by Sleazy Liz, 4/92