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From: K333@indiatimes.com (Kaya)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 27 May 2002 11:07:28 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Junior year class sleepover: my memoir
Date: Mon, 27 May 2002 16:10:03 -0400
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About seven years ago, when I was a junior in high school, Pam, one of
my classmates invited the class to a sleepover party. She told us that
we could assure her that her mother would be staying up all night to
chaperone, and that no alcohol would be served. Knowing Pam as we did,
most of us didn't take her assurances at face value but our parents
did. And we felt responsible and capable enough to keep out of
trouble.

In fact, as Pam well knew, her mother had no intention whatsoever of
getting in our way. In fact, she wasn't even there; but she had her
telephone diverted to her cell phone, so if anybody phoned the caller
wouldn't be the wiser; and she could easily enough transfer the calls
to her daughter's cell phone and pretend to be on the scene.

The evening started off quietly and calmly enough. There was a good
turnout. A few kids who had believed Pam's assurances left their
bottles in the bushes; the others brazened their way in with whatever
they cared to bring. Our particular class wasn't much involved in
drugs soft or hard: we were streamed high-achievers, and many of us
would be depending upon licensing authorities one day to practice
medicine or law, or on the security services for clearance for a
government job. But almost all of us drank at home, so we expected to
have wine and whiskey at parties, too.

The drinks flowed, the music was great, the dancing hot. The dancing
became electric and sexy. Then someone suggested we undress and dance
in the nude.

Peer pressure brought about a massive if not unanimous disrobing. The
fat and ugly, the slim and beautiful, the big and the small were all
revealed in the flesh. If there was discomfort among many, it soon
faded away. Those most uncomfortable slunk away quietyly. Among those
who stayed the posers posed and preened, the losers got lost among
themselves; most of us just kept on chatting, naked, as if we'd been
lifelong naturists. And then the dancing started up again: fast
dancing at first, then interspersed with close dancing.

Someone announced that there was a show going on in the game room.
There was Pam with her boyfriend Roy, his penis fully erect, fondling
each other and kissing deeply. As they became more and more excited,
their attentions moved to their respective genitals. They caressed
each other, and looked lovingly at each other's sex. Roy lifted up
Pam's legs to his shoulders and approached Pam's vulva with his mouth.
Somebody pointed a spotlight so that we all could see better. Roy's
tongue found its target: far into Pam's vagina, then, slurping in
mixed saliva and female juices, running over, under, around and
through the labial split, caressing the clitoris, sucking into his
mouth all the soft parts Pam had down there.

We onlookers became excited and envious. Girls' dance partners looked
at the girls' pubic areas; the girls watched their boy's penis quiver
and release pre-cum seminal lubricant. Boys looked at their girls
expectantly, squeezed their hands or running their fingers over their
breasts. They were, so to speak, testing the waters.

By this time Roy had lain down on the rug and pulled Pam over him in a
crouching position, her vagina over his mouth, his tongue still doing
its work. Pam was studying his penis as if planning her strategy: now
caressing his scrotum, now running her fingers through his pubic hair.
A few drops of fluid extruded from the end of Roy's penis; Pam licked
them off, then ran her tongue over the penis in its full length. The
penis hovered there, glistening, its circumcised head glowing in the
spotlight. Roy continued to work on Pam's vagina, drawing as much of
her flesh into his mouth as would go, pushing his tongue in and out.
But the crowd's attention had been drawn to his penis. We watched with
eager anticipation. Pam pounced. She put Roy's penis into her mouth,
ran her tongue over and around its head. She concentrated on the rim
of its crown, flicked her tongue just underneath, along the vein. She
drew the penis into her mouth again, and began regular strokes: up and
down, synchronized with Roy, who was by now limiting his tongue motion
to slow caressing of Pam's clitoris and the pinkness below it, ending
each stroke with a deep entry into her vagina; then back up to the
clitoris, the cycle repeated every few seconds.

Pam sighed delightedly. She tried to concentrate on the two
simultaneous tasks at hand. Then she shrieked a muted shriek out of
the corner of her mouth, still trying not to break the ongoing,
growing tension within Roy leading him to orgasm. Another two minutes
and Roy's breathing became labored, his loins shook, his penis
quavered, he ejaculated deep into Pam's mouth. Some of the streaming
semen she swallowed, much more dripped down along Roy's penis, onto
his balls, onto Pam's hand, onto the floor. Pam licked off some, then
rose up. The show was over, at least for a while. Pam and Roy looked
about to see what they had wrought.

A few couples, and a few singles, voyeurs only, sought out corners
where they could hide. Most of us looked expectantly at our partners.
Whatever our preconceptions of sex, we'd just had an unforgettable sex
education lesson. Many of us wanted to share that joy. Would our
partners cooperate? Some were already at it. My partner look doubtful.
His penis was flaccid. I looked around for another. A boy whom I had
once dated and whom I'd dropped suddenly looked interesting> He was
standing alone. He looked in my eyes, stared at my breasts, and came
over. We chatted some inanities, by which time his fingers had felt my
breasts, caressed my nipples,  moved downwards and were in my vagina.
My tongue was in his mouth. Why was I, a virgin, doing this? I didn't
know, except that the atmosphere was electric and I'd been carried
away by the scene. There were penises in vaginas and penises in mouths
all over. You could slip and slide over the semen on the floor if you
didn't look out!

 From nowhere, bowls of condoms had materialized. Not everybody was
interested in them. Some girls were already on the Pill; some were
with steady boyfriends; some couples imagined they were immune to
whatever sex could bring. You might tell, by the way those who took
condoms and were manipulating them, who was experienced in such
matters, who was not. But nobody was policing their use, more's the
pity.

My boy's hands were all over me. I felt, in that sex party atmosphere,
uninhibited. I didn't need to wait for my man to make a move, even if
this was my first time. I took his penis and brought it close to me to
study. I ran my hands over his balls, and along his shaft. I licked
its head, then looked at my handiwork as pre-cum oozed out. I licked
again, there was more. My boy moved his attention from my breasts, now
out of his reach, to my crotch. He fondled and massaged, a bit too
roughly. I moved my haunches closer to his head; his mouth found my
opening. I wanted to copy Pam and Roy: they had marked the path,
they'd had such obvious fun exchanging body fluids. I remembered how
Pam had made Roy so happy, how she had reveled in his ejaculating
penis and shown her pleasure by consuming his ejaculant. My boy got
the message, and his tongue was inside me. It took awhile, but now he
was leading me to ecstasy. I was very, very wet and very, very hot. If
there had just been two of us, maybe personality and personal
indifference would have mattered. In this crowd they were irrelevant.
Everybody, almost everybody, was at some stage of the journey to
orgasm. There is reassurance in crowds.

My partner's body tensed and shook and his penis vibrated as a wave of
semen traveled its length and entered my mouth. I had thought it would
be repellant, but it was sweet. No, it was a taste more complex than
that, but it was a memorial to joy, and, near to my own climax I
cherished it. I could tell that my boy didn't care to continue, his
thoughts were elsewhere; he'd had his fun. But I pulled him back. He
moved around and dutifully put his tongue back in my vagina. I'd lost
some momentum; he had to build it up again.  He concentrated on my
clitoris, sometimes too hard and the abrasion would take me down from
my heights. I told him to go more slowly and more tenderly, but he
seemed oblivious to what I said. I saw that he was looking out of the
corner of his eye at other partners scattered across the floor, doing
the same and different things, but all with that one climactic goal in
mind.

Then, when I least expected it, I passed that point of no return. My
boy's tongue must not stop moving, and I pressed against it, moved up
and down to magnify the feeling and to indicate to him again not to
stop. My boy got the message and I joined that roller coaster heading
towards climax. I shook violently and cried out, frightening him.

I dismounted from my boy and lay down to recover my senses and my
energy.  I tickled his penis, ran my fingers teasingly along its
length, cupped his balls with my hand. It stirred, it arose, seemingly
looked at me. My boy leaned over and kissed me tenderly, slid next to
me, slid on top of me; then he was inside me. A girl's first vaginal
sex, her defloration, is supposed to be a not just a rite of passage,
but a life-changing experience. To me, the oral part was more
memorable. If my first sex was supposed to hurt, well it didn't; and
anyway I was still on my high from the oral part.

All around couples were doing likewise, more or less. Signs and cries
were everywhere. A very few had gone back to dancing, embarrassed
perhaps at what had just happened, at that other scene. A few couples
were  in quiet embrace; just a few remained in corners unable or
unwilling to participate or outcasts without any partner. One or two
had quietyly gone home. By and large, a good time was had by all.
Regret, if any, was for another day.

The rest finished what they were doing and resumed dancing. It became
early morning. Kids went about putting on pajamas and nightgowns,
making coffee, cleaning up. We had a couple of hours yet to sleep.


This is my entry for the journalism students' diaries collection. As
another class member has said, these sexy parts didn't make it to our
class submissions last term; we only wrote them for our mutual
amusement. But a few of us thought they were so good that we should go
public with them; here's my own journalistic memoir. My story is, by
and large, true to life, which is why co-ed sleepovers have had such a
bad press lately.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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