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From: "Bradley Stoke" <bradley_stoke@hushmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} First Kiss (Bradley Stoke) (mf f)
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Date: Wed, 15 Mar 2006 03:10:03 -0500
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{ASSM} First Kiss (Bradley Stoke) (mf f)

Title: First Kiss
Author: Bradley Stoke
Keywords: mf f
Short Summary: Katherine's first kiss.



Story: First Kiss (4,334 words)

As Hitler's bombs land on England, Katherine's young life is
dominated by the war. But despite the war, she is a girl
whose needs are the same whether the country is at threat
or not. Her first kiss tells her much about herself, but
is unfortunately compromised by her uniqueness.


For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www


First Kiss
==========

The rain which only a moment ago seemed like a mere
threat was now in full pelt. There had been nothing more
than pinpricks on the face or hands a mere five minutes
earlier. Then it graduated to huge drops which struck the
grey, dry earth and splattered it with a polka-dot of brown.
And now, its smell, let alone its insistent rhythm on the roof
of the hide, was unmistakable. A gust of wind pushed
against the latched door, not strong enough to burst it
open, but certainly fierce enough for a puddle of dampness
to seep through the gap at the door's bottom and along the
woodwork on its upper edge.

How could the weather change so quickly? One moment,
the day had been calm, a few grey clouds scattered about
amongst the fluffy white ones and the odd chink of blue
through which the sun occasionally shone, pooling shadows
beneath the spreading beeches and oaks. Now, the sodden
earth was erupting in puddles that coalesced and widened
over the slithery clay soil. And the driving rain hammered
down on the ferns and shrubs of the woodland through
which the path had led.

And it had led here, to this hide, where there were no
birdwatchers, perhaps because they were all doing their bit
for King and Country, to give jerry a bloody nose, and to
show Hitler that the British had real spunk. Inside, as
secure as in an Anderson air-raid shelter from the rain, the
downpour was an incessant rhythm beating against the
walls and roof, while what little light there was entered
through the hooded narrow gap where men with binoculars
would normally be gazing at the striding herons and wading
coots still outside in the huge lake, wholly undeterred by
the ferocity of the elements.

Edward strained up on tip-toes to peek through this gap at
the pounding rain that agitated the water surface into a
mosaic of widening ripples, while rivulets slid off the leaves
of the dark overhanging branches and cascaded onto the
reeds below. The sky above was a thoroughly filthy coal-
black colour, like the ashes left in the grate when the fire
had been left to snuff out. Or maybe like the smudged
newsprint on Edward's fingers when it was finally his turn
to read the Daily Mirror, impatiently turning the pages to
the cartoons. He especially liked the Jane comic strip: the
girl who sometimes managed to lose most of her clothes to
the delight of British servicemen and to the dismay of his
tut-tutting mother.

"Golly! It really is raining outside!" Edward exclaimed. "It's
raining cats and dogs!"

"Not real cats and dogs?" Katherine wondered. "That's just
a saying, isn't it?"

"Of course it is, silly!" Edward said. "It means it's raining
lots and lots. Listen to it! There's tons of rain coming
down."

"I don't like the sound," Katherine confessed, staring at her
bare knees as she knelt cross-legged in the corner of the
hide, only her face and knees at all illuminated by the
narrow band of light coming through the gap where
Edward was looking out so intently. "It's like when the
planes come at night. When they drop bombs. It's
frightening! Do you remember when they bombed
Armstrong Avenue? That was horrid."

"Armstrong Avenue?" Edward wondered, turning his head
round to regard Katherine, his ears sticking out prominently
from the sides of his short cropped head, the few still
remaining freckles pale and pink against his maturing
features. His voice was on the cusp of breaking: sometimes
like a radio broadcast cracking into so many inaudible
fragments, sometimes cohering into a childish chime and
sometimes hinting at the man's voice to come. "That's near
where you live, isn't it? We've not had many bombs fall
round our way. Jerry must like your part of town."

"It was horrid! Horrid!" Katherine repeated. "Does it look
like it might stop raining? I didn't think it'd get as bad as
this. Mummy said it might rain a bit. She tapped her
barometer thing in the hallway. She said: don't stay out too
long, it might rain. Didn't she?"

"I don't know. I only met you in the park, remember."

Katherine nodded. The park seemed such a long way away
now: its swings, slides, bowling green and football field just
memories after Edward and she had slipped through the
gap in the wooden fence and strolled along the path to the
lake where the birdwatchers would often congregate.
Katherine would like to see a birdwatcher now, in his tweed
jacket and brogues, flat cap on his head and binoculars
secured around his neck and resting on his chest. Perhaps
he could help get them away from all the rain.

"It's not stopping, is it?" Katherine asked.

Edward shook his head. "Not yet it isn't. But it can't last
forever. We'll wait for it to stop, or at least not rain so
much, and then we can run back home."

Katherine sniffed. "I hate the rain! It's made my shiny shoes
so muddy! Look! And I've got some horrid black splodges
on my nice white socks. Mummy'll be ever so mad when
she finds out!"

Edward laughed. Girls! They were hopeless! No wonder it
was men that went off to fight the war and the women
stayed behind: working in the factories and driving the
buses and teaching in the schools. War was man's stuff. It
wouldn't do if you were a girl and worried about getting
muddy shoes while jerry was goose-stepping all over
France and Russia. He leaned up against the walls of the
hide to look at the rain outside. His bare knees rubbed
against the rough planks of the wall, his toes straining to
support his whole weight. He was taller than he used to be,
the ruler marks on the yellowing kitchen walls didn't fib, but
he was still not as tall as he'd like to be.

He settled back down on the flat of his shoes, one sock still
pulled up to just below his knee, the other flopping above
his scuffed black shoes. He turned round and regarded
Katherine, in her blue and yellow dress, with the glass bead
necklace around her neck and over the slightly raised
bumps on her chest. Like him, Katherine was also growing
towards that mysterious destination of puberty, but in such
an obviously different direction. Edward was at the age
now where he was beginning to realise that the girls of his
own age, equally awkward in their early adolescence as he,
were developing towards being the girls of his masturbatory
imaginings, the ones whose images he and the other boys
had perused guiltily by the bicycle sheds, their full
voluptuous bosom teasingly hiding a mystery that
demanded to be revealed, and, beneath whose tight
trousers, which only models or Hollywood actresses ever
really wore, there was a mysterious area that excited the
boys' imaginations. Edward had seen nude sculptures of
course, but Billy said that real women had something else
under their skirts which they never showed in sculptures.
Billy's sister had told him about it, but except for it being
hairy he couldn't remember too much of what she'd
described of it.

Edward sat down next to Katherine, an uncomfortable
swelling under his shorts which he'd long ago found out did
not mean that he needed to go to the toilet. Although when
he was younger he recalled rushing outdoors into the privy,
only to be puzzled by the perplexing behaviour of his willy.
And if George hadn't told him what his Daddy had told him,
who knows when he might have learnt just what this
strange new phenomenon meant?

"Gosh! That looks funny, Eddie!" Katherine commented,
pointing at his tented shorts. "What's that?"

Edward wasn't sure whether to boast or blush. Being on the
threshold of so many things, he chose to boast. "It's my
cock," he said, uttering a word that still sounded awkward
to his ears.

"Your 'cock'?"

"My willy. My pee-pee. You know, Kathy!"

"But it's sticking up, like a sort of soldier."

"It does that!" boasted Edward. "It means I'm growing up
to be a real man."

"Really!" Katherine exclaimed, her cheeks burning, but their
gleam hidden in the shadows of the hide. "And what did
you call it?"

"A 'cock'. It's called a 'cock'."

"That's silly!" Katherine laughed. "Why not call it a willy.
Why name it after a bird?"

"That's what you call it when it grows up and starts getting
stiff."

"Gets stiff?"

Katherine's face had a very strange look about it, her eyes
shining in a way that Edward was in no way able to
interpret, although they shone out relatively brightly in the
darkness. She looked down at Edward's strangely crumpled
lap, the woollen fabric of his shorts pushed up enough for
the legs to let through more than a comfortable breeze of
rain-chilled air. She glanced back at her own lap, and held
her gaze there for longer than Edward felt was right for
something of so little apparent substance, before returning
her gaze back to Edward's lap.

"Let's see," she said.

The hormones struggling for supremacy in Edward's body
erupted into a blush which burnt his cheeks with almost flu-
like intensity, while his penis became, if anything, even
stiffer, the glans pushing through the constraints of his
foreskin, rubbing against the cotton fabric of his underpants
and adding an extra degree of distress to his predicament.

"What did you say, Kathy?"

"Let's see!"

"What? Look at my cock?"

"Yes!" Katherine said firmly, and quite breathlessly.

Edward nodded. Well! Why not! He just hoped Katherine
wouldn't tell his Mum. He undid his belt, pulled down his
shorts to his ankles, pushing his arse off the ground to ease
them down. And then, seeing Katherine's large brown eyes
widen at the glimpse of erect penis through the crack at the
front of his underpants where he'd normally put it through
when he needed to wee, he repeated the operation with the
last cotton frontier, until around his ankles were bunched
not only his wayward socks but his shorts and underpants.

"Golly! It's big!" Katherine exclaimed.

Edward nodded, looking down at his perfectly average
sized erection. It was a sight for which he was acquiring a
greater affection. His penis stood out erect, perhaps five or
six inches perpendicular to his waist, a thick garden of hair
bunched densely at its base and one or two sprinkled along
its length, a shovel-shaped purple glans at the tip, puckered
and sensitive, even released from the constraints of the
underpants, and its length, a twitching pole of manhood, on
which the veins were so very clearly delineated.

"Your balls are big as well!" remarked Katherine with awe.

"Balls?" wondered Edward. He'd never thought much about
them, but so they were. And then suddenly, ooh! That was
an odd feeling. "Urrggh! Why'd you touch them?"

"I don't know!" admitted Katherine, surprised at the
intensity of Edward's reaction from such a gentle prod.

"What do you think, Kathy?" asked Edward, his bosom
swelling with pride.

"It's a funny thing," remarked Katherine, with some
indecision. "I knew it got big, but not sort of like this!"

Edward sat down on the wooden planks of the hide, his
legs as wide apart as they could be, now that he'd totally
removed his shorts and underpants, and his penis standing
out swollen with pride and manliness between his thighs.

All the while, the rain, which had seemed so much the
centre of the two adolescents' attention a few minutes ago,
had gradually lessened. The thundering against the walls
and roof of the hide had dropped down to the merest
whisper of a beat, like a drummer in a big band teasing his
cymbals with a brush. And the smutty grey skies had
broken into fragments. And then several fragments parted
to let through a window of blue and the brilliant rays of the
late Spring sunshine.

"Ooh! Look!" Katherine exclaimed, as the sunlight
illuminated Edward's penis, showing it up as brilliant white
and startlingly purple, casting a black shadow on his still-
hairless thigh. "It's such a wonderful sight!"

And then, Katherine leaned forward, her plaits falling on
the shoulders, her glass beads hanging down below her
neck and themselves glinting in the sun, and her lips pursed
in the way she might squeeze them when she kissed her
mother goodnight. She brought her face closer and closer
to Edward's penis, until the beads rested on his thigh, the
ribbon of one plait trailing down the outer side, her eyes
wide open and full of a wild gleam that frightened Edward,
who had never before suspected that eyes could contain so
much unrestrained desire, and then she pressed her lips
against the purple head of Edward's penis.

It was brief. It was barely two or three seconds of contact.
But a few seconds that caused Edward to tremble in an
uncontrolled and unsuspected way, his eyes almost popping
out of their sockets as he strained to watch while feeling
equally unable to move, his penis jerking quite slowly and
steadily more upright. Katherine's wide-open eyes and her
creased cheeks appeared both to mock and to be in awe of
him. Her lips were yet to be rouged by her mother's lipstick.
And the teeth behind those lips were still somehow too
large for the face that contained them. And those lips then
telescoped away from Edward's fevered gaze, as did the
brush of Katherine's plaits and the coldness of her glass
beads, leaving him feeling somehow more naked and
vulnerable than he'd ever felt before, his shorts and
underpants by his side, splinters in his bare bum and his
penis twitching between retreat and triumph.

And that was that.

Edward's penis was back inside his shorts and underpants,
its prominence steadily becoming as much a memory as that
of the heavy rain now totally dissipated by the breaking
clouds and the fresh rays of the sun. The hide was no
longer so dark and mysterious, and a new urgency gripped
Edward and Katherine as they reflected that a birdwatcher
might yet choose to come this way. And anyway, wasn't it
going to be teatime soon? So, the hide was abandoned and
the two youngsters hurried along the path back to the hole
in the fence at the park where they'd met by chance only an
hour or so earlier.

When Katherine got home, her mother had also returned
from the munitions factory where she worked, her nails
chipped and her hands coarse from the work she'd been
doing. There was still a dark smudge across her cheeks.
She was perched on the stool in the kitchen smoking a
Woodbine and smiled as her daughter entered the room.

"You didn't get caught in the rain, sweetie?" she asked. "I
was ever so worried you might."

"No. We sheltered in a hide. By the lake."

"'We'?" wondered Katherine's mother. "Who's 'we'?"

"Me and Eddie," said Katherine, feeling a little nervous.

"Eddie? A boy is it? Not a girl's name, like Edwina?"
wondered Mrs. Kenyon, narrowing her eyes.

Katherine nodded her head, feeling the chastisement of her
mother's eyes.

"What did I say about you and boys? Or you and girls for
that matter? You were a good girl, weren't you?" She
lowered her gaze towards Katherine's crotch, hidden
beneath her flowery dress.

Katherine nodded her head again. "I'll never let anyone
touch me there, Mummy!"

"It's for your own good, dear!" said Mrs. Kenyon, blowing
out a ring of blue-grey smoke. "You don't want people to
look there until you're much older. You don't know what
they might think. I know it's normal for a girl to want to ?
to want to get to know boys better, but it's just not normal,
is it?"

"No," agreed Katherine. "Not with the war and everything."

"Indeed not," sighed Katherine's mother. "Nothing's
normal. Your Daddy in North Africa and Hitler dropping
the bombs and you growing up to be quite a different kind
of person to what we thought you might be? It's not
normal at all!"

Katherine felt awkward as she always did when her mother
hinted at things which even in the modern world was
difficult to discuss without embarrassment. "What's for tea,
Mummy?"

"Tea, Kathy?" Mrs Kenyon said with a broad smile, ruffling
up her daughter's hair with the hand not holding her
untipped cigarette. "I got some rashers from under the
counter at Mr. Deacon the Butcher's. He's a gent. Saved
them for me. And there's some jam I got from Mrs. Banks.
She makes her own, you know, from the strawberries
growing in her garden. We'll have a real feast, you and I!"

Katherine smiled. Her mother was so kind to her. Although
it was difficult for her working in the factory, and looking
after her daughter, and all the while anxiously waiting for a
parcel of mail from some undisclosed address in the British
Empire where her father was defending Freedom and
Democracy. The two of them busied themselves in the
kitchen, before settling in the living room to listen to the
BBC Home Service, seated around the dining table that still
seemed somehow empty without Mr. Kenyon in his place at
the table insisting that they say grace before tucking in to
their victuals.

 And then, not long after the last sip of tea from the delicate
china cups, there came that high, piercing note that
Katherine recognised so well.

"Oh no!" she said. "It's been ages since the last raid! I
thought they'd stopped!"

"No such luck!" Katherine's mother sighed, hastily
gathering together a book and her knitting needles. "At
least we've eaten first! It'd be horrible to stay out all night
hungry!"

While Katherine and her mother sheltered in the air-raid
shelter, with no sounds at all to disturb them, no roar of
aeroplanes or the ack-ack of anti-aircraft fire, and the
occasional piercing howl of a fox or owl, the girl's mind
wandered back to the similar time spent in the hide with
Edward. When Katherine had compared the downpour of
the rain to the downpour of the bombs that destroyed so
much of Armstrong Avenue. That really had been like
sheltering from rain. Only a much more deadly rain. One
that tore houses apart from the inside. One that ripped sofas
into shreds. One that left the shell of houses with the
wallpaper facing the street, sometimes with pictures still
hanging from the wall and sometimes with coal-scuttles still
beside fireplaces.

The memory of Edward's erect penis was prominent in her
mind, making it impossible for her to focus on the text of
her many times re-read Swallows and Amazons novel,
whose words swam unfocused under the candle-light.
Katherine glanced up at her mother who was knitting some
gloves in the pale glow of the paraffin lamp. What would
her mother say if she knew? But at least now she had
something for comparison. And she now knew a little of the
smell and even taste of a boy's willy. And he called it a
'cock'. A strange word, so unlike the word 'penis' that her
mother and the eminent London doctor employed to name
it. Cock. Penis. Willy. Katherine wasn't sure which word
she liked the most, but 'cock' being so short and abrupt
somehow sounded like the naughtiest word. And the fact
that it sounded so naughty made it sound altogether more
exciting.

"Touch wood. Quiet night so far, Kathy sweetheart!"
exclaimed her mother.

Katherine nodded. Most times the siren went off it was like
this. Well, not even Mr. Pike, the Air Raid Warden with the
tin helmet, knew what Hitler's dastardly plans were. She
imagined Hitler with his generals in a big room giving
orders to say which road and which hospital or school to
bomb. Why did he choose Armstrong Avenue that night?
That was so frightening. The bombs dropping only a few
roads away, the vibrations shaking the shelter, while
Katherine gripped her mother around the shoulders, her
back being patted and her hair stroked, gaining comfort
from the embrace of her mother whom she loved so much.
And all the while those horrible thuds, thumps, crashes and
even, she fancied, the sound of rotor-blades as a dive-
bombing aeroplane swooped low over their house. And
what had poor little Susan McDonald done to deserve
losing her house in the bombing? Why did Hitler tell the
Luftwaffe to bomb her house? And all those other houses?

And then, rather sooner than it did on that other terrible
night, the air-raid sirens called out the all-clear. And as it
always did, when that piercing sound resonated through the
Anderson shelter, there was a kind of lifting of a weight
from inside Katherine's chest. Though on that previous
night, there had also been a kind of dread and apprehension
that maybe her own house had been hit by one of Hitler's
horrible bombs. She could imagine Adolf Hitler himself in
the plane laughing as he dropped one of those tear-shaped
things on her collection of Arthur Ransome books. And
maybe burnt that old teddy bear of hers into a cinder as
well.

"Well, now we can sleep in the comfort of our beds tonight,
sweetest!" said Katherine's mother gathering up her knitting
and lifting up the paraffin lamp so that it reflected some
very strange long shadows across her face.

And not have to smell pooh in the chamber pot, either,
thought Katherine, but not voicing her thoughts.

Mother and daughter emerged from the Anderson shelter,
where it was built at the very end of a garden now
dedicated to the cultivation of vegetables, whereas once it
had sported a lawn and flowerbeds. Mrs. Kenyon led her
daughter along the paving stones they'd laid out together
early on in the war when ration cards were quite the new
thing, and kissed her gently on the forehead.

"Now you can sleep under your comfortable quilt, sweetie.
Isn't that nice?"

"Yes, Mummy!" said Katherine, reciprocating the kiss by
hugging her mother round the shoulders and then dashing
upstairs.

She stopped at the landing to look down at her mother,
who hesitated with an extinguished candle and her half-knit
gloves. She smiled at her mother, who smiled sadly back,
and then scurried into her bedroom.

And then, at last, the privacy that had been denied her for
so long, while she sheltered with her mother. Katherine
washed herself, scrubbing her teeth furiously and
impatiently, before pushing open the door to her bedroom.
She hoped her mother wouldn't come to kiss her goodnight,
as she used to do when she was younger, and pulled her
clothes off as quickly as she could, the memories of her
brief encounter in the hide so vivid to her, that first kiss,
which she fancied she could still taste on her lips, and then
stood, naked, in front of the wall-length mirror that was
framed into her tall wardrobe.

'Cock'. That was what Edward had called it. And it had
been pretty big, Katherine thought. Huge! Of course,
Katherine had only ever seen one for real in her whole life,
and therefore at least knew that the penises on those
classical statues, whose pictures she saw in those art books
her father had left behind, were smaller than the real thing.

Well, not that much smaller, Katherine reflected, holding
her penis between her thumb and forefinger, but when it got
stiff, as it was getting now, as she remembered the time
she'd kissed Edward's cock, it was much much bigger than
the one sported by, say, Michaelangelo's David. But
Edward's was bigger even than her own! Perhaps hers too
would grow to those dimensions, but was it possible? Her
body was taking on the contours of a woman's body. The
mounds of her bosom were swelling to new dimensions and
her nipples sometimes felt as sensitive as her glans.

Katherine knew she was a special girl. Her parents had
made her aware of this from as early an age as she could
remember, just as they assured her that her oddness
wouldn't mean that they loved her any the less. And now,
that strangeness becoming more pronounced as her body
grew in two separate directions both independently and
simultaneously, Katherine also knew that she was in many
ways not as strange as she'd feared. Having seen, having
even felt and tasted, Edward's own erect penis, she now
knew that the worries and anxieties that had so frightened
and worried her, and about which she knew, just knew, she
couldn't divulge to her mother, now she equally well knew,
and that discovery relieved her more than she could say,
that other penises, and not just hers, also became stiff, and
erect, and pushed against the constraints of one's
underwear.

But one worry still remained, as Katherine lay naked on her
front on her bed, stroking and fondling her erect penis, her
head burrowing into the comfort of the feather-filled pillow,
her buttocks thrusting slowly but urgently with a rhythm
that Katherine had never been taught, but came from deep
inside her. Did other penises also do what hers did when
hers got so stiff? Was she alone in having a penis that
behaved in such a strange way?

And as the semen exploded, warm and gooey and smelling
so rich, over her fingers and onto the sheets, Katherine
wondered also not just whether other penises ejaculated as
hers did, but whether they left boys quite as exhausted as
hers left her after it had released its liquid wealth. Would
boys also be left, hot and sweaty, the drool on the pillow
damp against the cheek? And, after that first kiss in the
shelter of the hide, whatever her mother said, this was
something that one day, Katherine was determined to find
out for sure. 




For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www

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