Steamy Stories: Front Clasps, 501’s, and Easy Chairs

Front clasps, 501’s, and Easy Chairs
a first-time fantasy

They had been going together for two months, twenty-nine days. Tomorrow was their three month anniversary. It was the kind of thing girls her age remembered, though they seemed silly in the eyes of others— his friends, her father, the merciless teasing of her older brother.

It had started in the mornings, those crisp cold days at the end of winter, when the frost sometimes still iced the picnic tables in the quad. Stacy’s mother dropped her off at school too early at school, anxious to beat the gridlock of commuters on the bridge. Stacy was younger than most of her classmates, having started school as early as possible so her parents could forego babysitting payments and make the dollars stretch farther for their young family. Now she was one of the only students in the class of ’86 who didn’t have their drivers license yet. Not that it would have mattered. Stacy’s parents couldn’t have afforded another car, and her own money, earned at fast food joints and mall shops was being tucked away for college in one more school year. So it was that Stacy arrived at school too early. She was always the first to huddle at the scarred picnic tables, learning who loved who ‘forever’ in their scratched surfaces. Stacy always found it ironic that a declaration of unending love could be made by carving ‘TLA’ into some table top with a pocket knife. It was on one of these mornings that he surprised her by coming to her, the boy with the dark hair and soft eyes who she knew only a little—mostly just in passing.

James was older than Stacy and in the class ahead of her. He was part of the mod artsy crowd, with his jeans narrowly pegged in with big safety pins, and his vintage sports coats showing their paisley lining on the turned up cuffs of the sleeves. She had gone to his apartment once afterschool. A small place a few blocks away where he lived alone with his mother. They had drunk Cokes and watched MTV. But that was with her best friend Marnie, who had been the go-between and the outing arranger. Stacy had assumed that James was interested in Marnie. Everyone was interested in Marnie. She cheered, and starred in all the school musicals, and chatted easily with whoever was nearby. There was something about the way Marnie laughed and tossed her hair, the way her calves curved up above the school-colored stripes of her cheerleading socks. All these things attracted boys to the wonder that was Marine, so Stacy never even considered that James might be interested in her. It wasn’t within the range of possibilities that this cute, stylish boy might be attracted to the slightly geeky honor student whose long list of high school accomplishments contained nothing more stylish than a French award and being the secretary of the student council. So when he walked across the empty courtyard on that first chilly morning to sit beside her in the cold, she was slow to connect what he was doing there. She couldn’t figure out why he would come to school so early when his apartment was within such close walking distance to the school.

Stacy had been struggling with the assignments from her AP Algebra class and James sat down and offered to help. He leaned into her across the page as he wrote out the problems with his left hand. Stacy remarked outlook absentmindedly on this, that he was left-handed, as all artists are meant to be, using as they did the right side of their brain. James paused in his figures, and they both gazed at his hands for a moment. Stacy noticed with a sort of rush that rose from her collarbones to her throat, that James’ hands were beautiful, almost elegant, and the thought flashed into her head that she would like it very much if those hands would reach up and brush back a piece of her hair. Suddenly self-conscious, she rubbed her own hands together, more for something to break the stillness than for anything else. Her hands had grown cold without the scratching of her pencil to keep them warm. James reached out then, as she chaffed her hands together, and took her own small fingers into his, wrapping them in his own to keep them warm. It was then that she realized this was a flirtation—that this cute, interesting boy was interested in her, in Stacy, and not in Marnie. She felt her face flush hot with the possibility.

That was three months ago—well, two months and 29 days—and they had been practically inseparable since. Now they knew each other’s favorite bands (The Cure, The Smiths, and for Stacy, also Duran Duran); who thought Pepsi was better than Coke (only Stacy); and what kind of gift they wanted for graduation (James was holding out for a used car.) They had started slow at first, just kisses on the doorstep, then making out whenever they found his apartment empty, or her living room unattended. They stumbled a bit, when James sunk into a funk after his father appeared unexpectedly for a week, and then disappeared again without a word. Once Stacy had gotten James to find words for what was troubling him, together they had waded through the darkness of that moment, and lately, they seemed closer because of it. Just yesterday, in the now-warmer morning in the quad, James had presented her with a present. Stacy expressed surprise, eagerly unwrapping the tallish box. Popping open the lid she withdrew a delicate paper replica of the Eiffle Tower, a tiny silver bell tied to the top with a thin blue ribbon. James had made it himself, sketching it onto heavy art paper and painstakingly cutting out the delicate metal bars with an exacto knife. Stacy marveled at the intricate design, the way the whole thing folded and hinged from one piece of paper. It was a small wonder of artful engineering. Stacy had just won a scholarship to go on a study tour of France that summer. James knew how much that trip meant to her, and made her this treasure both to celebrate that, and to mark their anniversary.

Now they sat in her living room pressed together in the big almost-a-double chair Stacy’s mother had just purchased as part of a three piece set. It was made of a rattan frame and overstuffed cushions in a stylized Hawaiian print. It was the first truly new item her mother had ever bought for the house, and to Stacy it seemed heaven sent. The chair was just big enough to justify squeezing into it with her boyfriends, (boyfriend!), but it was small enough that their bodies were always pressed close. They had spent many a night curled up in that chair, watching television with her brother and parents – Miami Vice, Remmington Steele, endless reruns of M.A.S.H. on late nite. Even then, under supervised eyes they had managed secretive touches; his hand slipping under her in the half-darkness, her palm sliding high on his thigh. Stacy took a quiet inner pride at the way the proximity of her body made him grow tight against his pants, causing him to shift his weight around in the big chair to find a more comfortable position in the crotch of his 501s.

But now, this Friday afternoon after school, Stacy’s family was out: her parents going for drinks with work friends, her brother at an out-of-town baseball tournament. She and James were alone, alone and nearly at their three month anniversary. Already she was sitting astride him, her skirt pushed up above her knees. She was sucking his tongue inside her mouth, pulling softly on his full lower lip with her teeth. James’ hands wasted no time sliding up from her waist to her breasts, cupping them in his artist’s hands, squeezing her hard in his hunger. Then his quick fingers moved to the buttons of her blouse as they kissed. Stacy melted, arching her head back and away from the place on his neck she had been lapping, so now he could more easily get to the undressing. She thrilled as she felt his fingers touch her, running down from her collar to the edge of her white lace bra where her slightly dark nipples were already erect and pressing through the unlined fabric. James traced a line along the inside edge of each scalloped cup, coming to rest on the silver clasp at the front center of her bra. This he managed with one flick (hadn’t they gotten this far many times already?) When Stacy pushed the straps off her shoulders and her shirt and blouse fell away, James let out an appreciative moan, running his fingers across both her breasts a few times before sinking his head to take wide mouthfuls of first one, then the other. Now Stacy moaned too and pressed against him, her legs spread wide around his hips, her body grinding hard against his clothed erection. She loved the feel of his mass pressing against her through the dark denim of his jeans, and moved herself rhythmically against him until she was sure her wetness was soaking through her thin panties onto his button fly.

Stacy reached for his belt buckle, his top buttons, freeing James of belts and bindings as his lips moved around her neck, his tongue on her collar bones. His hands slid up her bare legs and under her flowered skirt, resting on her hip bones briefly before sliding down her thighs, then back up again. James slipped two fingers of each hand under the elastic leg of her panties and hooked them over the top of the waist band, cinching the small fabric tight and pulling it against her skin like a harness. She looked at him then, with a light in her eyes and let out a throaty laugh that surprised her in its womanliness. They exchanged a look of knowing. Then in a rush of hunger Stacy’s hands flew to his waistband slipping it over and off his flushed head, beginning the awkward struggle to get them off his slim hips. James lifted himself up eagerly, shoving his jeans and boxers down past his knees. She settled back onto his lap, gasping in her hand what she had only ever felt before in hidden stages behind clothing. James fell back against the chair’s cushions, groaning with pleasure. After a few exploratory strokes James let go of his grasp on her hips, and held on tight to the wicker arms of the chair frame. Stacy slid off her perch on his lap and knelt on the carpet just in front of him, eye level with his swollen cock. She was impressed by its size, and the way the tip glistened in the afternoon light that streamed through the living room slider. She licked it tenuously, the first drops salty on her tongue. Then smiling, she lapped at its crown like licking the dripping sides of an ice cream cone. She looked up at him, taking in his enormously pleased reaction and kissed the tip, taking it just slightly between her lips like a plum, then tipping her head and sliding her tongue in one long stroke from base to tip before taking him all the way deep into her mouth. In a moment James was pulling away from him, his long fingers in her hair, his breathe coming in gasps as he begged her, “Wait. Wait.” He breathed raggedly and slowly for a minute, fighting to hold back his peak.

Stacy rocked back onto her heals while his eyes were closed, stroking the inside of his thighs slowly. She was so wet the lace edges of her white cotton panties were limp and soaked. Her body was aching with longing and she seemed to be both swelling outward and contracting deeply inward in almost painful anticipation. Stacy stood decisively and stepped out of her underwear, gathering her skirt up high on her thighs and climbing onto James’ lap once more, careful to give all his sensitive parts breathing room. She leaned close to his ear and breathed out a question. “Where is it?” she asked, her breath hot on his neck, the soft hair of her triangle so close to his crotch that it brushed against him. “Back pocket,” he sighed. Stacy leaned over the arm of the chair rummaging through his jeans to find the metallic packet. She found that necessary treasure, and settled on top of him again, her bare thighs spread open across his legs. Stacy struggled with the package while James slid his hands under her skirt, just along the joint where her smooth shaved thighs met his lean muscled ones. Stacy ripped off the top of the condom wrapper, then closed her eyes and gasped with pleasure as his finger parted her, probing in her wetness. When she opened her eyes he was smiling, practically licking his lips in anticipating. Stacy awkwardly rolled the latex over him, struggling to focus as James slid his fingers in her, first one, then two, stretching her virgin skin. As she finished rolling the condom down his long shaft he slipped his hand out of her. Stacy pressed against him hard, sliding her outer lips against the ribs of the latex, playing a little, feeling the slip of her skin against the curve of his cock without letting him dive inside her. James reached to stroke her nipples, bent his head down to her neck. Mercifully the layer of latex had backed down his trigger switch and they could linger a little on the exploratory rubbing and grinding, the luxurious friction of their bodies as they moved against each other. James pulled his upper body back to watch his fingers slide into her, moving up and down her slit with languid motions, finally finding the place in her wetness that froze her for a moment as she involuntarily whispered “There!” Stacy pressed against him, placing her own hand over his and moving it in slow circles. James returned to sucking her breasts, mimicking her circular rhythm with his hand. Stacy’s breath came faster and he picked up the speed, then let go of her waist and bent his elbow to slip two of his fingers from his other hand inside her. She moaned and swiveled her hips in time with him. His fingers seemed to be everywhere at once and she was woozy with sensation. On instinct, James slid in a third finger, making her gasp a little. Stacy paused almost infinitesimally before grinding on. Seconds later she arched away from his lips on her breasts and gasped out in pleasure, while he thrust hard and circled rhythmically. James knew he had seen for the first time, a girl cresting under his touch. He withdrew both his hands and opened his arms so Stacy could collapse against him, her face hidden in shyness against his neck.

In a few moments he put his hands on her waist and without moving her face from his warm neck Stacy lifted her hips, encircled the base of his cock with her first two fingers and her thumb, and in a slow languid motion lifted her head to look into his eyes while sliding down onto him. Simultaneously they moaned: she at the sweet painful stretch of her skin as his length and breadth filled her; he as he felt her soft hair arrive against his lower belly. Stacy slid up once, then pressed again all the way down and James groaned, thrusting his hips up and his head back at the rolling sensation of his release. Stacy felt him pulse inside her and knew he was flowing inside his latex glove. She glowed with pleasure that the heat and friction of her very own body could create such pleasure and release in this boy she found she loved. She rode him a few more times with her hands pressed against his chest watching his face be both tense with pleasure and slack with relief at the same time. After a few more undulations of her hips, James opened his eyes and pulled himself more upright with Stacy still in him. He kissed and kissed and kissed her, Stacy smiling wide with glee and pleasure. It was then James said it, in that awkward wonderful ending. “I love you, Stac.” he whispered, his cheek touching her own, his mouth close to his ear. She turned to him, very deliberately and holding his head in her warm sticky hands, kissed him, happy in the heat of their messy after glow.

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