Message-ID: <39038asstr$1036073404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
X-Original-Message-ID: <20021029171623.63675.qmail@web13402.mail.yahoo.com>
From: Selena Jardine <selenajardine@yahoo.com>
X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Tue, 29 Oct 2002 09:16:23 -0800 (PST)
Subject: {ASSM} (Birth) Let Yourself Go (Selena Jardine)
Date: Thu, 31 Oct 2002 09:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/39038>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, IceAltar
__________________________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
HotJobs - Search new jobs daily now
http://hotjobs.yahoo.com/
<1st attachment, "Let Yourself Go_2.doc" begin>
Comments welcomed and responded to, as usual, at
selenajardine@yahoo.com.
Let Yourself Go
By Selena Jardine
It was the song last night that made me think of Rob again, for
the first time in years. And what a song! An Elvis song, for
chrissake! I've never been into Elvis, slouching there with his
sneer and his pompadour and his lightning-bedecked jumpsuits,
going uh-huh, uh-huh. I find him tacky and vaguely creepy. Didn't
he marry his teenage cousin, or something? Shouldn't he be the
mascot of West Virginia?
And yet when I heard that song last night, Let Yourself Go, I
found myself transfixed. That slick velvet voice, the only reason
why anyone ever went to Memphis, was nothing compared to the
words he was singing.
Well baby I'm gonna teach you what love's all about tonight
Trust me honey everything's gonna be all right
Just do like I do there ain't nothing to it
Listen to me baby anybody can do it
All you gotta do is just let yourself go
Why did that music take me straight back to eleventh grade? I was
fifteen then, and young for my class; I wasn't listening to
Elvis. I was listening to pop music: Elton John, Paul Simon,
Steve Miller. Paradise by the Dashboard Light. Quicksilver Girl.
Roxanne. Every song had a meaning to me then; it wasn't just
background noise. Of course, to a fifteen-year-old girl,
everything does have a meaning, a profound meaning, an
illimitable meaning that only she can truly understand and that
she can only express through bad poetry in blank verse. I wrote a
lot of bad poetry in those days.
Most of the poetry, and especially the stuff I didn't show even
to my best friend, was about Rob Ibrahim. Not that I was in love
with him. I certainly was not in love with him, no sir, no way,
no how, and there was evidence to prove it. The best evidence, of
course, was that he already had a girlfriend. Rob was older than
I was, a senior, eighteen already. Heather was his umpteenth
girlfriend, of course, and rumor had it that he was pretty
experienced, but she was the first one I really liked, and
everyone knows it's impossible to fall in love with someone who's
already attached if you like his girlfriend. Heather was a
sweetie (though not the sharpest knife in the drawer); ergo, I
could not be in love with Rob.
Then there was the fact that I enjoyed his company. If I'd been
in love with him, it would ordinarily have made friendship
impossible. Anguish, misery, cold sweats--the usual accoutrements
of unrequited teenage love tend to get in the way of a
comfortable, bantering relationship between a fifteen-year-old
and an eighteen-year-old. And that was what we had. I'd known him
since grade school. He was smart, he was funny, and he read for
pleasure, and the trifecta made him an irresistible lunch
companion, someone to seek out on weekends when he wasn't
closeted with Heather. He liked me, too. I could tell. If he
hadn't been dating someone else, things might have been
different. He often gave me shy, appreciative smiles when I said
something funny or dressed in a particularly short skirt. But he
was dating someone else, and that was the end of that.
Sort of. But then why the poetry, written late at night and
stuffed under the bed?
God, it makes me blush to say it even now, years later. (And to
think of that poetry, too. My mother probably found half of those
scraps of paper when she was cleaning. I ought to pray she gets
Alzheimer's.) I wasn't in love. I was in plain ordinary lust.
Every time I saw Rob in the hallways at school, my eyes lingered
on his curly dark hair and his big brown eyes, then traveled to
his broad baseball player's shoulders and his flat stomach and
his gorgeous ass. It was all I could do not to throw him to the
ground (Watch your head on the lockers! I could hear someone cry,
faintly, in my imagination) and... and...
Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? I wasn't quite sure what
came next. Oh, I knew, of course, in principle. My mother, bless
her, had told me The Facts of Life when I was seven years old.
But I hadn't had any hands-on experience, so to speak. Not only
had I never seen an actual human penis, I had never even seen a
decent photograph of one. The closest I'd ever come was the
alarming cutaway diagram in the biology textbook. You know the
one? One leg, one testicle, one-half penis, first flaccid and
then, by some miracle of engineering, erect?
I didn't have boyfriends in high school, or not often, and not
for long. I told myself then that I was too intelligent for the
pimply oafs who lounged around our school halls, smelling of
Right Guard and acne medicine. (Looking back--hindsight is often
slightly better than twenty-twenty, peering over its
spectacles--it may have been the poetry.) Yet I slid into a
puddle of unfocused lustbunny yearning whenever I saw the
beautiful Rob. I needed to know more, and I needed to know it
soon, or a certain ticking time bomb was going to go messily off
in the halls of Westminster High.
Well, any red-blooded girl would have done what I did next: the
Grand Experiment. Wouldn't she?
I think now that only high-school girls have the incredible
cunning necessary to operate on two levels at once and have those
levels be utterly divorced from one another. On one level, I went
breezily about my business, going to classes and clubs, hanging
out with friends, biding my time. On another level, a deeper one,
I planned my Grand Experiment with care: what I was going to do
and when I was going to do it. It was a little like dealing with
my own parents: I never had a chance to be nervous, because I
never told myself just exactly what I was going to do.
All this time, my music played along: Jackson Browne, Creedence,
Meat Loaf. Sweet Home Alabama. The Night They Drove Old Dixie
Down. I sang along, in the car, in the shower, walking to school.
Illimitable meaning, poetry under the bed.
One spring weekend, The Grand Experiment went into effect. My
folks were gone for the day to a craft fair in Winchester.
"Sure you don't want to come, honey?" asked my mother, looking at
me a little wistfully.
"Do you want me to get into college, or not?" I demanded. "I have
to study for the SATs or I'll wind up at Podunk Hicktown Junior
College, sweeping the floors and gathering what information I can
off the ditto sheets I pick up in the classrooms."
She laughed. "Okay. We'll be back around five and maybe we can go
out for Chinese afterward." She kissed me on the forehead, and
they left.
As soon as they were gone, I sprang up and paced the floor
nervously for a moment. I went to the phone, picked it up,
dropped it back in its cradle. Then I picked it back up again. I
dialed Rob's number, then hung up before it could ring. Dialed
the first three digits, then hung up again.
I'll spare you the rest of the Telephonic Dance of the Teenage
Girl. Suffice it to say that I finally managed to connect to
Rob's house, and to wait long enough for him to answer the
telephone.
"Hello?"
"Rob, it's me, Janet."
"Janet!" There was warm pleasure in his voice. "Hey! I was just
wondering if you wanted to get together this weekend. Heather's
gone on a cheerleading retreat and I'm all by myself. Want to
catch a movie or something?"
I cleared my throat. I knew perfectly well Heather was on a
cheerleading retreat. It was part of my Grand Experimental Plan.
Still, for a moment I thought I wasn't going to be able to go
through with it. Then I said, "Actually I was thinking I could
just come over to your place and we could" I drew a deep breath.
"Visit," I said.
There was a long, thoughtful silence on the other end of the
telephone. I was terrified he was going to say, "Visit? What are
you talking about?" or just emit a belly-laugh.
Instead, he said, "That sounds nice. Are you coming over now?"
"Yes," I said, and I hung up before he--or I--could say another
word.
When I arrived at Rob's house, I hesitated by the door before
knocking. I've done this a million times, I told myself. We're
just going to hang out. But still I waited a moment, nervous.
Then the door opened, and Rob was there, leaning on the
door-frame. I dissolved into liquid Jell-O.
"Hi," he said, grinning. "Were you planning to ring the bell by
telepathy? It's a good thing I saw your car."
"No," I said, "I was just," and didn't know how to end the
sentence. But it didn't seem to matter. I followed him down the
hallway.
"My parents are gone for the afternoon," he said over his
shoulder. We passed the kitchen and the tidy living room, the
shades drawn against the afternoon sun. "Some craft fair or
something."
"Really?" I said. "Mine are, too. They'll probably see each
other." And then suddenly I was short of breath, because I was in
his room. He'd clearly made some attempt to clean up, because I
could see the dresser and the desk, and his bed was made. Usually
there were clothes and papers everywhere.
Then I noticed Rob was sitting on the made bed. This Grand
Experiment was going pretty fast. I stood, awkward, not knowing
what to do with my hands. There was a silence.
Then Rob sighed, and smiled, and reached out for my hand. "Come
here," he said. "Isn't this what you came for?" And since it so
manifestly was, I walked toward him, perfectly balanced, one-half
frightened rabbit to one-half melted river of gold.
Now don't be afraid just relax and take it real slow
Cool it baby you ain't got no place to go
Just put your arms around me real tight
Enjoy yourself baby don't fight
All you gotta do is just let yourself go
"Don't be scared," he said.
He kissed me, unexpectedly to my mind, on the cheek. I jumped a
little.
"Relax," he said. "We're not in any hurry."
I tried to relax. After all, this was my idea, wasn't it? My mind
was racing, remembering that horrible cutaway diagram, thinking
of everything I'd learned in Family Life class. What if I didn't
live up to his expectations? What if I did something stupid? What
if...
He kissed me. He took my chin in his hand and held the back of my
head and kissed me. All of a sudden, I wasn't thinking about
anything at all. I saw against my closed eyes the pattern the
sunshine made, coming through the blinds. When he stopped kissing
me, my entire body felt stretched and relaxed, and I realized
that my arms were around him.
He smiled at me.
"That's better, isn't it?" he said. I nodded. It was. "Been
studying for English class?" he asked.
What?
"Um, yes," I said. Did he want to talk schoolwork? Had I done
something wrong?
"I read Othello, but that play's a bitch," he said. "Explain it
to me, would you?"
"Oh," I said. "Okay."
If that was what he wanted, the Grand Experiment had failed, but
crying about it would have to wait until later. I felt shaky. I
sat back a little bit on the bed and thought.
"Othello, okay, he's a really standout soldier. I'm not sure
everyone in the class understands that well enough."
And then, with delicacy and deliberation, even as I spoke, Rob
began unbuttoning my blouse. My exposition of Othello came to a
screeching halt.
"Keep going," he said, grinning at me. "Every time you start
talking in class, I've wanted to do this. I want to see how long
you can keep it up."
I wasn't sure I could even remember the name of the play any
more. A smile spread over my face. Rob reached down and adjusted
himself in his pants. I did that, I thought quite clearly.
"Go on," Rob said. "Othello. Standout soldier."
"Oh. Yeah. Othello," I said, as Rob's fingers moved down the
front of my blouse, brushing my skin. "He's this really good
soldier, and Desdemona, she..."
Rob had my shirt open now. His forefinger traced a pattern over
my breasts, finding the bumps of my nipples through my bra. I
hissed in breath. He looked at me, then sat up and took his own
shirt off over his head. I looked at his smooth skin, the color
of teak. I hesitated, my cheeks burning, then reached out and
lightly touched one of his broad shoulders, stroking down to his
chest. He shivered a little.
All you need is just a little rehearsal The first thing that you
know You'll be ready for the grand finale So come on baby let's
go
"Desdemona?" he asked politely. His thumbs were rubbing over my
nipples now.
"Desdemona loved him at first because he was a soldier, that's
the part our class missed," I said without bothering to breathe.
He reached behind me as I was speaking and unfastened my bra,
then put his arms around me. I was stroking his warm body all
over now, chest, shoulders, back. I wanted to kiss him again, and
I shyly kissed his bicep, which was nearest. He flexed for me,
and I laughed.
"All the things she says about being devoted to him, they're
based on his past," I told him. "He..." and then Rob's mouth came
down on my nipple. It was electrifying, delicious. I let out a
little cry. He stopped immediately.
"Janet?" he said. "You okay?"
I didn't know what to say. I wanted him to go on more than
anything else in the world. How do you put that when you're a
fifteen-year-old virgin conducting a Grand Experiment with
someone you're not supposed to be in love with? I did the best I
could, under the circumstances.
"I'm fine," I said, smiling hopefully.
He laughed. I tensed immediately in his arms, sure I'd done
something stupid. He stopped laughing. "What?" I asked
apprehensively.
"Nothing," he said, still smiling, waving one hand a little bit,
trying to explain what he meant. "This is just so obviously what
you want... you like it so much... it's just so nice to be doing
this with you."
Take a real deep breath and put your warm red lips on mine Just
do like I tell you, everything's gonna be just fine Kiss me nice
and easy, take your time Baby I'm the only one here in line All
you gotta do is just let yourself go
After that, it was easier. I helped him with the fastenings on my
jeans, then waited while he solemnly undid my shoes and took them
off my feet before stripping my jeans off inside-out. Then I
waited, naked and shy, on the bed while he took his own jeans off
and cast them beside mine. I was a little cold, and when he
joined me on the bed wearing nothing but his briefs, his warm
skin was very welcome.
"You're so beautiful," he said, touching me gently. "Here, make
that sound again," and he took one of my nipples into his mouth.
My head went back and I closed my eyes, and I made a little
whimper of pleasure. I ran my hands down his back to his ass,
where they encountered the cloth of his briefs.
"Do you want to take these off?" I asked, and immediately felt
like a gleeful conspirator in crime.
"Yes," he said, "I sure-God do," and he hooked his thumbs in the
waistband and pulled them off.
He was even more beautiful naked than he was clothed. My eyes
went immediately to his cock, of course, and then I tried to look
away, embarrassed.
"It's okay," he said, amused. "Go on. Touch me if you want to." I
wanted to. I looked at his face first.
"You can touch me, too, if you want to," I said, and I reached
out and touched the tip of my finger to his erect cock. It was
much warmer than I expected, and the skin was softer. I put my
hand around it and stroked experimentally.
"Oh," said Rob softly. I glanced up at him and saw his face tight
with pleasure, and felt a warm rush of power and delight.
"You like that?" I asked.
"I like it too much, honey," he said. He sounded a little shaky.
"Let me touch you for a little bit." He pulled me to him with one
hand, and with the other he stroked my belly, fingers spread
wide, down and down.
"Relax," he murmured, and kissed my ear, then my mouth. As we
were kissing, I felt his hand cup my pussy, and his warm fingers
gently stroke me. I was wet. Was that bad? Was that good? Was
that normal? I quit worrying about it. What he was doing was
making me wetter, making me crazy, making me want more. I pressed
my hips up toward his hand and felt him laugh again, a little.
This time I didn't mind.
Suddenly I broke the kiss. Something had happened to my air. His
fingertip had found my clit and was brushing across it with tiny,
tender strokes. I couldn't kiss any more; I had to breathe. Could
someone else do this for me? Was it possible? Then he bent and
took one of my nipples in his mouth and, at the same moment,
changed his pattern to circles, lazy circles, round and round my
clit. Oh, Christ, was my last coherent thought. Oh, my good
Christ. And I was coming in the safe circle of his arms, making
nonsense sounds of pleasure, pussy pulsing under his hand, coming
harder than my own fingers had ever made me do.
When I recovered a little, I found that my throat was sore. Rob
was looking at me with open admiration. "I've never seen any girl
do so well on a first try," he said. "Boy, you're a natural." I
blushed furiously.
"Is that okay?" I asked.
"It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life," he said.
"Look." It was true. His cock was hard and hot against my thigh,
and there was a tiny drop of moisture at the tip of it.
"Then," I said, "what are you waiting for? An engraved
invitation?" And I snuggled back into his thin pillow, propped a
little on my elbows, and waited to see what he would do. Now, I
thought. It's the last part of the Grand Experiment. It's all
been good so far, but this is it, girlie, this is the part where
we hang the bed-sheets out the window for the populace to see.
Rob knelt between my thighs, kissing my breasts, his cock resting
against my lower belly. "You can go ahead," I said.
"I'm in no hurry," he said, but his voice belied his words, and
his cock pressed urgently against my pussy.
"Yes," I said, both frightened and aching with desire, and I
lifted my hips. The head of his cock slipped inside me. We both
sucked in our breath. And then with one smooth movement he
pressed deep, and groaned in a gravelly voice barely recognizable
as pleasure.
I flinched, and he froze. "Are you all right?" he whispered. I
considered. Was I? Nothing hurt. I had flinched in anticipation,
not in pain.
"Yes," I whispered back. "Please." He kissed me gingerly, then
drew back, and pressed forward again. Better this time. And
better the next. This utterly new sensation was beginning to
create new friction inside me. I found myself involuntarily
pressing my hips up against him, running my hands up and down his
back, making tiny sounds when he drove into me.
"Oh my God you feel wonderful," he said, "oh Janet you feel so
good, oh God I'm going to, oh fuck, I'm going to," and then he
drove deeper, deeper, so deep it forced a sound of pain from me,
and he froze, his face lovely and still in the afternoon light.
I did that, I thought again. I held him against me in utter
satisfaction. I do not think I have ever felt luckier, before or
since.
We didn't cuddle long or talk much after that. Our parents were
due home soon, and (unspoken though it remained) there was the
thought of Heather, on the way back from her cheerleader's
retreat. The Grand Experiment was over. On the way home, it was
windy, and my eyes watered a lot. I remember noting very clearly
for posterity that I was not, not crying.
In my yearbook that year, he wrote, "I enjoyed every single
moment we spent together." The double meaning of spent did not
escape me. The poetry under my bed was two feet deep (college
cured me of that.)
So Elvis may be the world's tackiest rock-and-roll icon. He may
be brilliantined and fat. He may have died on the john. He may be
emblazoned on black-velvet paintings everywhere. But one song of
his last night made me think of Rob, for the first time in
years.
I guess even the mascot of West Virginia has his uses.
Well baby I'm gonna teach you what love's all about tonight
Trust me honey everything's gonna be all right
Just do like I do there ain't nothing to it
Listen to me baby anybody can do it
All you gotta do is just let yourself go
Edited by Nat
<1st attachment end>
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format. The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+