On the Banks of the Ohio
So it was whilst queued-up in suffocating heat, waiting to board the Chunnel train back to Britain last summer, that my glance fell upon one of the uniformed young women, directing cars aboard the upper deck of the lead carriage.
Admiring her quite obviously youthful figure as we inched our way along the platform, I had almost drawn level with her, when she turned towards me, holding up one hand to indicate we should stop, before they commenced loading the lower deck. No more than six feet from me now, it was all I could do to suppress a cry of disbelief. The same cheeky face, shoulder-length blonde hair and fine yet quite prominent eyebrows. Even with the realization that it wasn’t her, my mind nevertheless replayed scenes from that hot summer interlude not so many years ago.
Having by necessity to attend a business seminar in Cincinatti mid July that year and with a week or so to kill before flying on to join a marketing delegation in New York, I decided to “discover” Ohio, heading east along Interstate 52 in the general direction of Portsmouth then north to Columbus and east to Youngstown via Pittsburgh PV. The plan was good, the reality something else.
Just twenty miles out from Cincinnati, New Richmond typifies small-town America. The quaintest of villages and with a population just pre the new millennium, of barely 2200 people including just five permanently stationed Police officers, lets just say that rush-hour had yet to prove an issue.
Peckish, having passed-up on breakfast, I decided this was as good a spot as any to indulge my stomach lining. Pulling off the Interstate that runs pretty much through the town center, I cruised a couple of side-streets until a cute little eatery called “The Landing” took my fancy on Front Street.
Devoid of customers, I had the pick of the table settings and chose one set in to a small niche near the panoramic window that overlooked Front Street itself. Clean and bright, “The Landing” was quite obviously a family business to judge by the many framed photographs around the wall. I was studying one that might well have been the building itself at the turn of the century, when a glass and jug of iced water were set down in front of me, by the most appealing of young ladies.
“Can I get you something?” she smiled sweetly, those finely shaped dark eyebrows suggesting that perhaps the shoulder-length, rather pretty blonde hair was not her natural birthright, not that this could ever have detracted from the overall package you understand. The only thing I wanted her to get me right that second was a room we might share across the way at the small cottage that I noted was advertising itself as a bed and breakfast stop-over. I noticed the name-tag just above the curve of her right breast. What I would have given to be that pin!
“Well Amy,” I said, “A plate of hotcakes and coffee might just about hit the spot.”
She scribbled the order down on her pad and handed me another of those smiles that all but closed down my options for thinking straight. “Sure,” she added, turning on her heels and thereby presenting me with a highly therapeutic aspect of her shapely little bottom, covered that it was unfortunately, by a tight skirt whose hemline one imagines, might in later years, dredge-up more victims than a Venus fly trap!
In her absence, I glanced once more at the many prints on display on the far wall also. One in particular stood out. Quite obviously a very recent picture of Amy herself, the girl slumped prettily in the chair, her legs draped over one arm. Dressed in her school uniform, the pose bridged the gap between innocence and provocative tease quite effortlessly. The top few buttons of her plain white blouse were undone allowing the material to gape slightly - if not suggestively then interestingly at least. The close proximity of her delicate fingers handed one the impression that given the right script, she might be persuaded to undo a couple more. The tease-factor was heightened further in as much as her black and white check skirt exposed a sufficiency of the underside of both slim legs at that angle, so that in normal circumstances her panties would have been acutely visible, were not it for the winter cotton leggings she was wearing in the photo and which left the viewer simply to contemplate what might have been. Shoe-less and with one leg resting demurely across the other, she was an angel.
I was still pondering that which was hidden, when my hot-cakes made an appearance.
“Maple syrup?” she asked politely, proffering the easy-pour container on the tray she was holding.
“Oh yeah!” I replied. “What would hotcakes be without maple syrup?”
“You’re not American are you?” she drawled. “Kind of a cute accent though…are you English?”
“Sorta,” I answered, more than happy to engage her in whatever conversation was on offer. “Australian actually Amy – well, I was born in Britain but have lived in Sydney, Australia since I was eighteen.”
Right at that moment another family walked in, totally icing the momentum and sat down at the table opposite. I had the impression Amy’s preference was to stay and chat, though she muttered dutifully, “I’d better go get those people a menu.” I could have watched that curvy retreat until those hotcakes were stone cold!
The arrival of my coffee presented one last small window of opportunity. Gazing outside, I made the comment that I might take a stroll down to the Ohio river and check out the scenery, it appearing to be little more than a shortish walk from the restaurant itself.
“Rivers up again,” she said, following my glance and looking quite concerned. “Flooded so bad last year – way up Front street, she gestured up towards Quarry Street and the Interstate. “Its soo beautiful though,” she added as an afterthought, “There’s this real neat lookout just a-ways upriver – you can see for miles across the Kentucky flatlands.”
So pretty was she at that moment, my heart ached for her and I yearned to hold her to me, fully oblivious to the chronic age-difference and the fact that she was probably no more than a few years older than my youngest daughter.
“I’d really like to see it Amy,” I told her, “But I really don’t have the time to go looking. Maybe next time I’m through this way?” Even as I spoke the words I felt their emptiness. Reality dictated that I would in all probability, never set foot in New Richmond again. For the merest fraction of a second, she looked at me…deep inside.
“I’m off at twelve,” she whispered, “I could show you!”
Hardly able to believe what she was saying, I must have looked like a tongue-tied juvenile. I glanced at my watch – it was already 10.50. “I’d be honored sweetie,” I replied. “Want me to pick you up kerbside?” She nodded just as a slightly embittered male voice called out “You gonna take our order Miss or what?” Obviously embarrassed, she left the table.
By the time I finished my coffee and settled-up the bill including a healthy tip, there was but fifty minutes or so to account for. I figured I would go fill up the rental car and check out a few of the shops along Main Street.
Even as I pulled the Pontiac over, right outside “The Landing,” Amy had stepped out on to the sidewalk and was walking to the car. I leaned across and opened the passenger door. Sliding onto the bench seat in that ultra-short skirt did wonders for the visuals. I don’t think she even realised. Having changed into smart casual clothes, she was a total teenage dream. Whatever delicate scent that was also, merely heightened the overall effect. Thank God I had taken out full travel health insurance.
“So, which way sweetheart?” I asked, forcing my eyes back on the roadway as opposed to allowing them their natural inclination of focusing at key points along those wonderfully slim legs.
“Ohh, back that way,” she exclaimed, pointing east along Front Street. I performed a quick u-turn, which in the total absence of any traffic was anything but a challenge.
“How old are you Amy?” I asked, trying not to make it sound overly intrusive.
“I’ve just turned eighteen,” she barely whispered, but then blushing momentarily as I glanced across at her, “I hope you don’t think I make a habit of doing this er,…”
“Noel” I smiled…”and no…I’m sure you don’t Amy. I would like to ask you just one question though if I may.”
“What’s that?” she replied softly.
“I’m just curious why you decided to make that offer to me sweetie? You’re very young and its taking a big risk. I’m sure your parents would not approve.”
Now she really was blushing. “I don’t honestly know,” she muttered. “Something about you. I knew I’d be safe and I just wanted to take you there and show you the river.”
I smiled at her once again. “Well your instincts serve you well Amy. Yes you are safe – well unless I stop taking my medication that is!” She giggled delightfully.
“To be honest,” I continued, I have three lovely daughters at home just like you sweetheart. One fifteen, another sixteen and the eldest just about your age. She’s in twelfth grade, same as you I’m guessing?”
Amy nodded, before asking “No boys?”
“Yep, one of them too,” I grinned. “Chris is the eldest. He’s twenty and at college. We were now at the end of Front street and crossing over to Susanna Way.
“We follow this road right to the end,” she announced, “Then I’ll show you where the lookout is.”
“Sounds good,” I replied, easing my foot off the gas. It’s remarkably easy to hit fifty on an empty straight road. Well as it happened, Amy really didn’t have to direct me to the lookout at all, since Susanna Way comes to an abrupt end before veering north into Augustus Street. Right at that point a spur road leads south almost to the river’s edge. To the right a rather attractive lookout has been built up in a lightly treed area which obviously affords welcome relief mid-summer. Nosing-in to the deserted parking area, I killed the motor. I could see why she had brought me here.
The sun glinted off the Ohio, and beyond as Amy had said, the gentle Kentucky plains stretched as far as the eye could see. A gentle heat-haze wavered marginally above ground level, imperceptibly distorting one’s vision of the flatlands the far side of the river. One or two private boats were navigating their way east, adding to the scenic tranquility.
“Its very beautiful here Amy,” I muttered, knowing that this was an understatement of some magnitude. She looked across at me and with no reason for doing so – I held out my hand to her. Having equally no reason to take it, she grasped my hand softly and I pulled her to me.
Words became superfluous, the age difference merely a statistic. I had always been going to kiss her, right from the moment I walked into that restaurant. I think I knew it even then. The moment our lips met I knew I was safe. Shielded from the harshness and cruelties that life deals out, Amy was sanctuary. She may have been only eighteen, but it was I felt the child. She returned my kisses with a gentle passion all her own, held me tightly and murmured softly as I ran my fingers through her hair whilst caressing her gently as might the unselfish lover.
Hot morning that it was, her warmth infiltrated my whole being. I needed her and wanted her above all things but this I knew had to be on her terms only. Simply holding and kissing her was an experience to savor, a privilege to appreciate, the rarest of check-points in the game of life itself. Just for a moment she broke off from kissing me and looked up, her eyes – part promising, part pleading….wholly needful.
My left hand closed around her small yet incredibly soft and yielding breast. Immediately her eyes glazed over and she let out an involuntary cry of surprise. I kissed once more that delicate little open mouth through which breath so fresh was issuing, in time with her increased respiratory rate. For several moments I continued fondling her gently, knowing full well she had never done this before and that some facet of her biological clock had told her that today was her day of learning.
Easing my hand across to her other breast, I began manipulating the nipple through the thin cotton top she had on. Whether she realised it or not I could detect a slight forward thrusting of both breasts as she became more at ease with my ministrations. The occasional whimper of pleasure was beginning to escape her lips and at the point I began undoing the top few buttons of her blouse, she merely lay back against the seat, watching my progress as one might observe a spider weaving its artistry.
Inclining my head towards her now fully exposed bra cups, I kissed the softness beneath, aware of the sharp intake of breath as she became aware, probably for the first time, the power inherent in her feminine birthright. She was just so beautiful. Kissing her once more on the lips, I allowed my hand to slip inside her bra, feeling its exquisitely designed contents and deliberately passing my fingers across her nipple. Her eyes opened wide, but she made no attempt to restrict my exploration – even when I slipped my hand inside the other cup, gently manipulating that delicate bud between my thumb and forefinger.
That she was small, even by late teenage standards was nothing but an added attraction for me. Maintaining steady eye contact with her, which I sensed was reinforcing both her trust and my unspoken intentions to cause her no discomfort – real or metaphysical, I eased both shoulder straps down her arms, gently lowering the silky material until both curvy little breasts were fully exposed. Momentarily she looked so vulnerable. I admired her brave resolve in a situation quite obviously foreign to her and one that a very young girl has no real control of.
I was mesmerised myself. Those wonderfully sculptured mounds of youthful femininity lay proudly displayed before me. Leaning forwards, I kissed her right breast softly, as with my free hand I caressed her the other side. It was at the point my lips drew down on her nipple that first time that I felt, rather than heard, her whimper softly. Raising her arms she held me to her, as I suckled her nipples one after the other. Her eyes closed now, she thrust her breasts out proudly, imploring me to suck harder which as it just so happened, dove-tailed with my own agenda.
How long we engaged in that wonderful closeness I couldn’t say, but inevitably, desire and accumulated hormonal back-up opened the flood-gates. Still sucking gently on her nipples as she lay back against the seat smiling dreamily, my hand sought the warmth of a quite different locale. Sliding the hemline of her skirt up beyond the realms of modesty, I slipped my hand between her legs feeling the softness of her inner thighs and the latent heat that resided there. Amy gave a cry of probable genuine girlish shock and murmured “Nooo not there please…I’m still a virgin.”
Her words however were fully contradicted by her body language which saw her part her legs marginally and she begin to kiss me with what I could only describe as an increased passion. Again, my hand sought refuge in that reclusive tunnel and at the point the tips of my fingers reached the front of her panties, she started to breathe hard. Rubbing her there softly she began to moan, needing me to kiss her harder and quite obviously requiring my complicity in whatever was to follow.
Seemingly acclimatized to sitting there topless now, she even whispered softly “Do you really think I’m pretty?” It was as dumb a question as ever I have been asked.
“I doubt there is a prettier or more desirable girl on this planet right this second sweetheart,” I assured her. It was the undoubted truth.
Beginning now to rub her the full length of her pussy, albeit through those skimpy little white-lace knickers that were even now peeking out from beneath her rumpled skirt, Amy’s soft cries of pleasure were escalating. There was only one option indicated.
Slipping a finger up beneath the elastic I discovered a warm and well-furred terrain that curved down and inwards to an ingress of near volcanic heat that on approach, caused its owner to wriggle perceptibly while whimpering in what may have been semi-embarrassed pleasure. I certainly wasn’t embarrassed!
“No one’s ever done this to me,” she whispered between little gasps. I already suspected as much but was pleased beyond measure to hear her confirmation of such. Incredibly tight as you might imagine, I was only able to get a finger inside her with due patience and diligence. It was worth it though. I couldn’t rightly say how pleasurable it was for her but from my perspective it was at the upper end of Nirvana.
When fingering a young girl of existing virginal status, there is a fine line indeed between pain and pleasure – your pleasure, her pain!. It is very important to ensure that she is as relaxed as possible and that you treat her nether regions as you might a Ming vase – with respect and gentility. Amy as it turned out was a Grade A student. Shy and giggly – unrelentingly sexy attributes, both! The further inwards I delved with my finger the louder her gasps and the wider she spread those slender legs of hers. Thinking to round off the lesson for the day, I located her clitoral hood and set up a vibratory pattern there-upon that had her fully unable to sit still. I had almost forgotten, such was my concerted application, the degree of arousal such activity was bequeathing my own procreative equipment.
“Oh gosh,” she moaned delightfully as the first of several pre-orgasmic tremors radiated outwards from vaginal ground zero. Her expression right then was that of a sexy young schoolgirl caught using the library’s computer to partake of some illicit chat with her boyfriend. I could ill-afford to slacken off my ministrations and thus I began to kiss her hard on the lips at the same time increasing the pressure on her quite obviously engorged clitoris.
I could feel the quake building and as she neared what I knew must be her first full-on orgasm at the behest of any male partner’s fingers, I felt her legs closing up on auto-pilot. I took her to the edge – nature dragged her over!
If there is anything sexier than a young girl locked-in to a doozy of an orgasm then I have no idea what it is. In Amy’s case, it was to die for. Fully incapable of rational dialogue, all she could muster was a series of ‘Ohhs” as wave after wave of coalesced pleasure wracked her slim frame. Watching as she slid a hand down between her own legs lending merely some token comfort to her abused little slit was simply icing on the cake.
Gradually she opened her pretty eyes. Flushed silly, but feeling I imagine extraordinarily healthy, she smiled up at me. “I can’t believe I just let you do that….but it felt so good,” she giggled, pulling her bra straps back up and wriggling her skirt down to her knees as she spoke. There is something just so inherently arousing observing a girl do that, most especially a teenager.
It was about that moment I remembered that I had needs of my own and watching what I just had, hardly qualified as a pacifier. With no particular expectation of reactivating the magic, I just pulled her to me once again and telling her truthfully just how beautiful she was, kissed her with all the passion that I possessed.
It was different this time – more a sense of urgency from her viewpoint. The harder I kissed her the tighter she wrapped her arms around my neck. Our words and intimacies became more subtle – less believable, but Oh how wonderful it was. Could I have known her long enough to actually love her? It didn’t matter, I whispered it aloud as I drank in her youth, her warmth…the whole essence of her being. For her part, she clung to me, not as a father-daughter might, not as a newly come-by lover should, but as only conjoined souls are able – on that empirical level that embraces awareness and inseparable affection.
I don’t even remember her kneeling in front of me – my back now to the seat. I have no recollection of sliding her panties down and her then straddling my hips with her own. I knew my hands were caressing her soft and pliant young bottom and that she was somehow urging me on to greater daring. Vaguely I was aware that she had pulled her bra up once again, freeing up both almost child-like breasts that now she was encouraging me to suckle erotically as I took such delight in the rest of her body.
“Be gentle” I heard her whimper as my erection pressed unerringly up between her legs. Had I asked this of her? Had this day been planned in cosmic realms unknown, eons ago? Now was not the time to ponder the mysteries of life however and kissing her passionately I left it to Amy to guide me in to the promised land. I felt her lips separating, the moisture on site and the tightest of channels barring my way. I’m sure she was crying softly whilst bearing down with her own hips, though I could no more contribute to her pain than I could withdraw from this field of dreams.
My only tools of trade - compliant lips and soothing words of affection were but a poor man’s anaesthesia yet she braved the worst of it for me with no audible complaint. One last thrust downwards as I winced for her and then I felt all hymenal resistance fade and I was able to slip deep inside her. This was a new world order, one that I was no more in control of than she was. All I knew – I desired her more than any girl before her. Yet this desire curiously, I knew was founded purely on love not lust.
As my own needs escalated in direct proportion to my deepening penetration of that semi-exposed cavern between her legs, I began to thrust up into her, even as she started to whimper aloud for me to cum inside her so that she might feel it. I gave no thought as to the possible consequences, merely fulfilling my sexual capacity in the best interests of Mother Nature. Holding her hips tightly, I spurted all I had to give, probably more – deep inside her vaginal corridor. Even as I pumped in those last few stragglers, the glow which spread across her face rendered all words obsolete.
Afterwards she just lay against me, wanting me to caress her hair and cheeks. She let me pull her panties back up, which served also to stem the tide of semen trickling down the inside of her thighs. It was all so ethereal and left-field of the real-time somehow.
We sat cuddled-up in that car for several hours watching life slip-by peacefully on the Ohio. I think I kissed her insensible. Eventually she told me she needed to be back at 6 p.m. for her evening shift. I couldn’t bear it, but of course I had to drop her off.
The tears were still in free-fall even as I made the outskirts of Columbus that night.
(c) Courtesy of the published anthology "The Best of Peter_Pan" (2007 Lulu Publishing Inc: Morrisville NC) www.lulu.com/content/679070
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