Marcela (Part #1)

A romance begins when a boy tends to a girl when she sprains her ankle. They have a "kissing relationship" for years that slowly escalates to a sexual climax.

Part One

Marcela Kenmont and I had been neighbors for about five years on the day of the mishap. She was eight and I was 12 when she hurt herself playing hopscotch on her driveway that fateful July day in 1980. Actually, I saw it happen. By chance, I, David Cutler, was glancing out of my house’s kitchen window and saw quite clearly how Marcela, a cutie with dirty blonde hair and a slightly upturned nose, came down awkwardly on her right ankle.

She yelped in obvious pain. I was outside to assists her in less than ten seconds. She was now crying and wailing when I picked her up and carried her to her side door. Both her parents were home, but they were in the basement so they did not see or hear the accident. While still in my arms, Marcela opened the door to allow me access. I carried her inside where her screams finally got the attention of her mother and father. Marcela was too distraught to tell them she had landed awkwardly and hurt her right ankle badly. That task was left to me. I handed Marcela off to Mr. Kenmont and quietly left their house.

That night at dinner, when my parents asked me if anything exciting had happened that day, I was about to give my routine answer of “No” when I remembered the incident with Marcela. I told them I had witnessed what happened and carried the neighbor girl a few feet inside her house so her parents could tend to her care.

“That was very fortunate and very nice of you, David,” my mother told me. “Maybe you should drop by the Kenmonts’ home once our dinner is done to find out how Marcela is doing. She’s such a sweet kid. I’m worried about her. Her injury might be quite serious.”

I said it was likely just a sprain that was made worse by the fact that Marcela was “a hysterical little girl.” I could tell that Mom didn’t like that unflattering characterization, but I said I’d follow her suggestion and drop by to see her just to be courteous.

About 20 minutes later, Mom handed be a Belgian chocolate bar from a stash that she kept well hidden from both my father and me because they were so tasty. I was to give it to Marcela as a get-well-soon present.

When I knocked on the Kenmonts’ side door, Marcela’s mother let me in and explained that Marcela had been diagnosed at the hospital with a severely sprained ankle—but luckily there was no break. She was resting on her bed. I showed her that my mother had sent a treat for Marcela, so I was escorted into her room.

“Marcela, your knight in shining armor is here!” Mrs. Kenmont announced as I followed her in to see her injured daughter. Marcela’s face lit up when she saw me. She insisted I sit on her bed beside her. (I can attest that definitely was the first time in my life I had gotten such an invitation from a female.) I handed her the bar of chocolate and we shared it.

Marcela and I did not have many shared interests because of our age difference, gender difference and general intelligence. From our general conversation, I could tell that Marcela was unlikely to be her high school valedictorian in a decade. Nevertheless, she was an affectionate gal. As soon as we had finished the chocolate, she surprised her mother by wrapping her arms around me to give me a long hug “for being a hero.”

I laughed at Marcela’s assessment as my so-called heroics consisted of lifting her off the driveway and carrying her a few feet to her side door. But if this little girl insisted that I had done something superhuman, who was I to argue with her? I upped the ante by kissing Marcela on the cheek. That token of affection certainly made her smile.

“Can you be my boyfriend, David?” Marcela excitedly asked me. “I think I’d really like that!”

Without really giving it a whole lot of thought, I responded, “Sure! Why not?” This led to another hug and kiss from Marcela. I didn’t know if she was being serious or not.

Anyway, I had done my job. I had checked on Marcela’s health, delivered a bar of chocolate, chatted with her for a while—and somehow left the Kenmont house with a girlfriend who was four years my junior.

Part Two

It turned out that Marcela was very serious, indeed. She insisted that I visit her a couple more times while she was still ailing. Once she had fully recovered, she became a constant presence at my house. I really didn’t mind, because I liked doing the only thing we had in common: smooching! I guess I was a rarity as a young boy in that I never found kissing and hugging to be off-putting. When I was in the second grade, I got the lead role in our class play because I was the only boy who had no problem whatsoever with kissing the lead female in the final act. The girl, Jill Farnham, wasn’t especially appealing to me, but I didn’t care. We constantly practiced our scene-ending kiss. We got to like it so much that our teacher, Mrs. Ballinger, had to tone down the level of affection we were displaying! Anyway, whenever Marcela suggested we kiss, I’d happily oblige. Sometimes I was the one who did the suggesting. I wasn’t averse to doing a bit of exploration with my hands during these busses—even though prepubescent Marcela didn’t really possess much to explore.

This odd relationship continued unabated for a few years. We’d buy each other birthday and Christmas gifts regularly, but Marcela and I never went on a date. All we did was get together to do a lot of kissing. This was fine by me—and apparently Marcela approved of the arrangement, too. By the time Marcela was 10, she began to take on a womanlier appearance than most of her classmates, so I became the usual instigator for our embraces. I became bolder in my advances as I realized Marcela was unlikely to resist them. The first time I deliberately caressed her breasts during a long kiss, Marcela wasn’t the least bit annoyed or angry with me. Her only comment about my actions was, “Mom told me someday you’d start doing this!”

“Your mother was absolutely right, Marcela!” I noted. From that point onward, groping became a large part of our relationship. It was fun for me, but I made sure we never got beyond that point for legal reasons.

Part Three

By the time Marcela was 14 years old, she was quite a fetching girl. Although she was a grade-eight pupil, she had a build superior to many of the girls I saw every day at my high school, where I was now an 18-year-old senior. It was 1986. In February of that year, my parents celebrated their twentieth wedding anniversary. I splurged and bought them a video cassette recorder, commonly referred to as a VCR. Neither of my parents ever bought the newest marvels of technology, so I figured their present was my present, too. I got a deal. The price was exactly $600—which included vouchers for a hundred free movies at a nearby video rental store. It was owned by the brother of the fellow who sold me the VCR.

We had had the VCR for about three weeks when Marcela showed up for another round of smooching—which I was enjoying more than ever now, for obvious reasons. After about five minutes of our typical kissing and heavy petting, Marcela surprised me by saying, “I understand your family now has a VCR. Is that right, David?”

“Yes, it is. I bought it for my parents’ wedding anniversary a few weeks ago. How did you know about that?”

“Your mother told my mother,” Marcela informed me. “I think she was bragging on you for being so generous with your money for an anniversary gift. We don’t have one at my house yet. Can I see how it works?”

I led Marcela to the rec room where the VCR was hooked up to our television set. I happened to have just rented the 1982 Steve Martin comedy flick Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid—which was a parody of mystery and detective movies. I hadn’t watched it yet. My parents and I usually watched everything I rented together as a family activity, but I figured I’d give Marcela a thrill by playing it for her. I showed her how the machine generally worked, and then we watched the movie. We both enjoyed it thoroughly, although I suspected some of the subtle humor eluded Marcela.

My parents weren’t home that night. They had some sort of commitment with friends of theirs. Therefore, I was alone in the house with Marcela—who looked rather scrumptious in her sexy pink blouse. It was almost see-through. We had cuddled during the movie and kissed once or twice, but my libido was beginning to get the better of me. I figured the VCR might help me out. Marcela opened the door by asking me a simple question.

“David, do you rent all your movies, or do you buy some of them outright? I think it would be great to have a collection of favorite movies on videotape you could watch anytime you wanted.”

“Well, the one we just watched is a rental from the store I go to. When I bought the VCR, I got vouchers for one hundred free rentals from that place! I think I’m down to about sixty now. They’re not making much money off me.”

“So, you don’t own any movies yourself yet?” Marcela asked.

“I didn’t exactly say that, Marcela. I have a small but secret stash of movies that my parents have no knowledge about. They wouldn’t be happy that I have such a thing.”

“Why is that?” Marcela asked me.

“They are all adult films. Porno movies, if you like,” I explained. “Three of us at my school buy them from a west coast distributor. Brian does the buying and takes delivery. He has no mother at his house, and his father is all in favor of it. Brian buys a lot of movies so he gets a discount rate that he passes along to all of us. So far, I’ve only bought six porno movies, but I have another eight on the way. In fact, I should be getting them from Brian tomorrow at school.”

I was waiting to see Marcela’s reaction to my having a porn stash. I honestly didn’t know what it would be. I feared the whole idea might repulse her horribly, but I truly hoped it would make her sexually curious. I knew the latter was the case when she asked me, “Can I see one of them?”

I rushed up to my bedroom where I had hidden the six tapes amongst a pile of sports memorabilia in my closet. I returned with one I thought might get Marcela in the perfect mood for our first-ever fuck!

In the 1980s, most porno flicks quaintly had plots like real movies. Eventually, the producers of XXX films figured out that very few people rented a dirty movie for plot development or witty dialogue. However, this one did have a plot—albeit a weak one. It was about a well-endowed plumber who provided services beyond plumbing to his female clients, their daughters, or sometimes both of them. I’ve long forgotten its title.

The box containing the VHS tape almost made Marcela’s eyes pop out of her head. It showed the star of the movie happily displaying his large appendage while surrounded by three buxom bimbos who gazed at it admiringly. “I’ve never seen anything like this before in my whole life!” declared Marcela—who really hadn’t seen anything yet.

I slid the videotape into the VCR and took my place on the couch beside my longtime, affectionate, and rather beautiful young girlfriend. Before I hit the start command on the remote, I brazenly said to her, “This movie will make me totally horny! Marcela, honey, I want to play with your beautiful tits while I’m watching it. Okay?”

To my surprise, Marcela had no objections at all! She simply said, “Sure, David. I’m alright with that!” In fact, she unbuttoned her blouse to let me have easier access to her two treasures. Two seconds after I activated the movie, I had my groping hands inside her brassiere.

Marcela was captivated by the goings-on in the film than by what I was doing with her, which was a little bit insulting. “Jeez, he’s got a big dick, David. Is yours that size, too?”

“Sadly, no,” I informed her as I pressed her boobs together. “That guy got his job for having an extra-long schlong. The same goes for the girls. Look at the tits on that one!”

I had seen the movie four times already, so I was more focused on fondling Marcela’s 14-year-old jugs than seeing the actor ejaculate across the blonde’s tits one more time. Marcela surprised me again with an excellent suggestion: “David, you and I should mimic what they’re doing in the movie! I think it would be fun!”

“You don’t’ have to ask me twice, Marcela!” I practically shouted. I released Marcela’s tits—for the moment—and promptly got undressed. Marcela did the same. Her breasts, now in clear view, were quite lovely sexual objects. They weren’t in the same league as the auburn-haired porno actress, of course, but the sight of them got my penis erect in no time.

Marcela said, “Hey, David, you do have a big dick, too! Let me play with it. I want to do exactly what the girl is doing on the screen to the guy with the really huge penis.”

What Marcela was referring to was a hand job followed by a blowjob. For a newcomer to all this, Marcela was quite naturally talented. She even rubbed my erect rod all over her face—just because that’s what the actress was doing.

From watching the movie before, I knew the next scene was the male performing cunnilingus on the buxom beauty. That would be something new to me, but I was not going to decline the opportunity. Marcela spread her legs and I licked her hairy pussy up and down.

“She’s got no hair on hers!” Marcela realized.

I said, “Female porn stars usually shave their vaginas. Apparently. that’s what the male viewers want to see rather than a hairy bush. Forget about her. I like your pussy very much, Marcela, regardless.”

When the male actor moved to tit-sucking, so did I. (Frankly, I preferred it to pussy-licking, but I did want to please Marcela.) My goodness! Marcela had great tits for a girl not yet in high school. They were round, and firm, yet malleable. I could have sucked on them for hours. This sex act became more pleasurable when Marcela followed the female star’s lead and skillfully massaged my balls while I was sucking on her terrific treasures.

Finally, the couple on the screen began to fuck. The male sat on a plain chair and the female, sitting face-to-face with him, rode his dick. We both watched for a while until Marcela understood what would be expected of her if she mimicked the girl. She did. I got a similar chair from another room.

“Time for a milestone in my life!” Marcela announced as she straddled my erect and throbbing rod. Then she placed my dick so she would be penetrated as she descended. I thought Marcela’s tits were her best body part. I was wrong. She had the tightest pussy I had ever screwed. The sensation on my shaft was nearly overwhelming. Marcela was struggling to perform this basic sex act because her vagina was perhaps just a bit too small to easily accept my 18-year-old penis. I knew there might be a problem—but what a great problem it was to have!

“Marcela, you have the tightest pussy I’ve ever experienced!” I told her honestly. “Your vagina is fabulous. I want to stay inside it forever!” I was not exaggerating—it was that pleasurable for me. It took a few moments—a few wonderful moments—for my dick to go completely inside Marcela’s virgin channel. We were both moaning like crazy. There was no possible way that the actor on the screen was enjoying his fuck any more than I was. It was such a tight fit that it was almost impossible for Marcela to move up and down, so she just stayed impaled on my shaft. I passed the time by sucking on her tits some more. We also exchanged, long and very passionate kisses.

“Oh, wow, Marcela!” I declared. “Over the years we’ll make some beautiful babies. My dick and your pussy go great together!”

“Don’t come inside me, David. I’m too young to be a mother!” she pleaded. “Do what the actor in the movie just did. Pull out and shoot your cum on my tits.”

“Will do!” I said. “It won’t be long before your pussy makes my dick explode!” About 20 seconds later, I extricated myself from Marcela’s wonderful cunt and sprayed a huge load of thick, warm, white goo across her chest. I let out a yelp of triumph as Marcela fell into my arms nearly exhausted from the effort in getting my penis inside her. She was as tired from our romp as I was. I took that as a great compliment.

I broke the silence by noting, “Marcela, I used to think your tits were your best features, but there’s nothing that compares to the feeling of being deep inside that tight pussy of yours—and I mean nothing in the whole world!”

Marcela decided to be very logical. “How many pussies had you fucked before mine?”” she asked. “Perhaps half a dozen,” I said. I was reluctant to tell her any of this because all my other trysts had occurred since Marcela and I first became a kissing couple six years before. She would have every right to feel betrayed. Either Marcela hadn’t figured that out or she simply didn’t care.

“My pussy was the tightest! Yay! Whose was the second tightest?” she prodded me.

I decided to be fully forthright with her. I said, “Four years ago when my parents and I went to a hotel resort in Venezuela, there were three sisters lingering around the lobby who would offer their bodies to the hotel guests. One of them was quite charming, so I took eagerly her up on the offer. I didn’t need much persuasion. After all, it only cost $15 for a fuck with an exotic cutie. Up until today, her vagina was the tightest I had ever penetrated with my dick. That was understandable because I figure she was three years younger than I was. I came inside her after about three minutes. What a fuck she was! She was the most popular of the three sisters—by far!” I let Marcela do the math. Again, she seemed oblivious.

“Anyway, Marcela, you’re the champion now,” I informed her. “I’ve wanted to screw you since the day you sprained your ankle playing hopscotch.”

“Really? I didn’t know that!” Marcela replied with delight. She had a huge smile on her face.

“Yeah, I was disappointed that your parents were home that day,” I confessed. “I was hoping to take care of you in a very personal way. I’ve always thought you were a beauty!”

Marcela blushed slightly and said, “Let me know when we can get together for another movie on your VCR—and I don’t mean a comedy film!”