Viksi's Virginity

I was no fool. I knew the first time had to be special - they did not call me Vixen Viksi for shits. I would like to think of myself as a high school dealmaker - navigating those filthy, vicious, bile-infested halls of fakeness with maturity and sophistication. What pissed me off was the constant groping of the boys, well, some boys, the alphas that slept around and tossed girls like Kleenex. The rest of the lads were headed into oblivion, some into incelhood, some into loneliness - it did make me sad to see their sad husks, but not my problem - a generational and societal thing beyond me.

Like any sexy youth, I spent a huge part of my day in front of the mirror, both glass on the wall and glass on the phone. I was not too obsessed; there were some sick bitches in my class that did not let a single eyelash out of order. But I did take care of myself and had a natural look, and the boys that dared would try to get a piece.

Friends and family told me I looked like a Barbie doll, very apt given the recent cultural resurgence of the timeless role model. I had lovely pink hair and light blue hair, luscious lips, large eyes with blue irises and lovely lashes, and a perfect nose. I was blessed. My youthful years had been good for me - my complexion was perfect. My body was tight and firm and blemish-free, and I set the boys and many girls on fire to get under my clothes. But for some reason it felt sick, and I did not want to be touched that way, without meaning.

We lived in a good suburb, with lots of Chevy Suburbans in the drives and every other large-ass SUV that only the lower rich could fuel nowadays. My parents were so good to me, raised me well, and trusted me, a single baby - but I don't think I was a spoiled piece of shit.

“Viksi, you do use protection, don't you?” My mom blurted out on occasion, and I spun in rage and looked at her. My dad coughed and choked on his drink in the other room. My mom was an older version of me, and my dad was a retired jock. I got good genes from them.

“Mom!” I exclaimed and huffed off. Perhaps I was even shocked to state I was a virgin. Would they judge me like the rest of the shitheads at school? Already rumors were flitting around that I had not yet done anal or a threesome. Why did people stoop so low so quickly? I still felt in my heart there was something more, something special. My SATs were rushing over, and college was around the corner. My 18th birthday passed with a huge bash, hugs, and kisses. Mom and Dad had to leave for a conference, and one day the doorbell rang, and my life changed. I rushed to open it, and a medium-built, neatly dressed man stood there, in his early 30s, with a strong frame and a kind, confident smile. Then it hit me.

“Cousin T!” I yelled and launched myself at him, and he stepped back two times and caught me.

I had nothing but the best memories with him. We grew up together when my mom and her sister lived side by side in another city. I remember long bike rides and walks in the woods. He was a few years older, but he took good care of me, like a cousin. I fondly remember at times we did kiss like innocent babes sitting on a log under the stars. It was a safer time, with less baggage and fewer agendas. Have trust, will travel. He hugged me, and I felt the muscles of his arms and shoulders and his trim waist. My boobs were not small, and they rubbed against his chest, and I felt a certain spark of warmth.

“Welcome, welcome!” gushed my mom and dad, and they pulled me aside and hugged him. I was puzzled. Was this planned?

They explained T was a teacher now and an expert in SATs, and that since they were gone, this was the perfect time to have me tutored up to high gear, a few months before the exams hit me like a ton of bricks. It made sense, of course, but it came out of the blue. Mom said she had kind of forgotten and half did not expect him to show. But T smiled at us.

“You are family; you were so good to me growing up. I will always be there for Viksi.” He looked around beaming; his eyes settled on mine, and I began to feel a warmth in the pit of my stomach.

We had a lovely dinner, and my parents were out the door at first light, and I was tossing in my bed wondering what he was up to. I had on cute PJs, my hair was in a ponytail, and I was nervous. Should I dress up, or should I go down natural? I chose the latter. He was making breakfast - what a responsible fellow. It was cinnamon French toast - what a sophisticated fellow. I had a neat plate already laid out with cutlery and freshly squeezed juice - what a considerate fellow. I could not resist and gave him a hug, my bra-free boobs squeezed up against his shirt, and I lingered a little. He did not flinch, only put his arm lightly around me, and then pulled the chair for me.

We had a delightful breakfast and thought of old times. We recalled our old haunts. It was magical. For the first time in years, I saw what a mature, kind responsible man looked like, aside from my dad. Here was what a man should be. I felt an overwhelming desire to trust him, to confide in him. So I chatted my head off about school and friends and relationships and all the highs and lows of youth. He nodded and seldom spoke, but when he did, it was some pure gold nugget of wisdom. I was beaming inside and outside; what a delight to talk to him. I began to feel myself uplifted, inspired, and wanting to be around, inside him.

We ended up on the couch surfing around the apps, and American Beauty came on. We looked at each other and smiled - we had watched this together and made out years ago right before we moved away, when I was barely in my teens. There was something about forbidden love between old and young that was so appealing then and, to my delight, seemed irresistible now. I reached out a painted finger and touched T’s hand; he did not recoil. I placed my hand in his, and he held it, smiling slightly at the TV. I drew close, hushed, and expectant, wondering what he would do. It was effortless.

He turned and faced me, and he ran his hand gently across my cheek, and down my neck, and over my shoulders. I felt such a tenderness and warmth in his touch, those strong hands with calluses from pulling weights in the gym. I shivered a little. He leaned in, and with great possession and confidence, he gave me such a kiss it sent shivers down to my toes. It was different from the hurried mouthing of the immature fucks at school - this was a man’s kiss, strong and mature, skilled and adept. His tongue entered my mouth, hot and warm, and I melted. He pulled back a little.

“Is it too much? You know how I have always felt about you,” he asked, a little concerned.

I did not want to talk. I leaned forward and kissed him again. His hand went under my PJ top and cupped my boob, squeezed softly, and pinched the nipple, which hardened immediately. His hand went down and entered my PJ bottoms and found its way to my pussy and entered; I gasped. This was a heat unlike any other, something electric and internal and primal. He was an expert and very gently probed, running his fingers up and down my vulva, and I was already wet; then he hit my clitoris, and I lit up. I saw some stars and gasped. He was so gentle, so non-intrusive. I felt wave after wave of pleasure. I had masturbated before, but this was on another level: a strong man’s hands caressing my womanhood, my flower, and his firm mouth all over my skin. I wanted to please him.

“Can I, please?” I asked shyly. He withdrew his hand, and I fumbled with his zip. He helped me, and his stiff rod shot out, and I marveled at its strength and pulsing, veins bulging. I kissed the tip, put my mouth around it, and slowly moved up and down. I was an amateur, but he did not let me know. Instead, he leaned back and put one hand down my back and softly touched my butthole and pussy, and the other hand cupped and pinched my boobs. I was on fire, stimulated from multiple places. I was gushing wet but not embarrassed, not with T. He enjoyed my blow job for a long time. Then he took a little charge.

“Can I suggest something better?” he asked gently. I was curious and nodded.

He stood up and pulled me up and pulled his clothes off first so I was not uncomfortable. Then he gently disrobed me, softly pulling my PJs off, and I stood in front of him shyly, looking down. He smiled and touched me everywhere gently, as though he was preparing me. I felt spikes of pleasure at his touch; he ran his hands down my shapely ass and legs. He moved up and down my belly and cupped my boobs; it was divine. He stroked my long blonde hair and smelled it, then kissed me. I was putty in his hands. He lay down and pulled me down 69, and he leisurely ate my pussy and butt hole, and I continued to blow him. We carried on for a while, and I stroked him harder and harder, and he came first. I pulled back a little and did not want to get spunked. Thank goodness the couch was leather. I wiped it off, and he smiled and whispered, Sorry. I told him it was nothing and I was happy. I ran off to the shower.

When I came out, he had already showered and was working on his laptop. He looked up and smiled. Things were, of course, weird, and we did not talk for a bit. But I had felt too close, too much intimacy, to let this die. I nervously walked up to him and sat at the table. I talked about my feelings frankly and opened up to him; he reached out and held my hand.

“Viksi, this is about your journey. I am just here to show you the way and walk with you, if you want, the rest of the way. I have always loved you,” he said with emotion.

That hit me. I was quiet, and I felt my eyes wet. Has he loved me all these years? What had his life been like? Did I miss something, or did I find something in time, just in time? I probed. He had some girls over the years, but nothing stuck. He was stuck, in the past, with me. He was afraid this was too much, and I reassured him it was not. I was a Disney princess, after all, and those bitches married at 18 or less. He said he secretly wished over the years to come back to me, and the call from my parents closed the deal for him. We talked for hours and came together emotionally and mentally. We got on the same channel, and it was healing.

That night we made dinner together and had a few light kisses and cuddles. It was time to sleep, and I went to my mom’s room and rummaged around till I found her stash of lingerie. I picked up something cute, a nice pink baby doll, and stole back to my room. I put a few candles on, killed the lights, and put on some of our favorite songs from days past—ballads, they called them. I called to him and sat on the bed, legs up and curled. He came to the door. His eyes flew open, and then he smiled.

“Take me all the way,” I said, reaching my arms out to him.

He strode up and bodily lifted me and kissed me, then laid me down. He was gentle. He kissed my feet and legs, then came up and opened the baby doll. He dropped his pants, and his cock pulsed over me. He kissed and licked all over my body and showered me with kisses. He took my boobs and sucked them till they were about to go sore but not quite. He turned me over and gave my back and butt the same TLC. I was molten lava. Then he flipped me back, spread my legs, and asked once more if I was ready. I nodded.

He put the tip of his penis into me and ever so gently pushed in small strokes. I began to feel the tightness give; I was wet, so it slid easily. All this time he locked my eyes with his, and I was speared under his gaze. I did not notice the sudden give, then the small stab of pain. He drove deeper, and I grimaced a little, but he was gentle. He carried on a little while longer, and it became easier. There was dull pain, but I was floating with him, watching his face spasm in pleasure. I reached up and stroked his arms and chest. He pounded harder and harder, and I felt pleasure come; then he shook and came inside me. He fell onto my naked boobs, breathing hard. I embraced him. I could not have had a more magical deflowering. We showered together.

The next few days were intense tutoring, both SAT and sex. I became much better at pleasing him, and he began to give me multiple orgasms all day long. I catapulted from girl to woman in a few days. He left before my parents returned but not after making me a few promises through my tearful hugs. I felt his presence fade, and I felt the pain dull. We kept in touch, and I reminded him of his promises. My parents noticed the change and suspected it and even called, but he kept my honor. I aced the exams, got into the college of my choice, and was dropped off. I settled into the pace of classes, made friends, and had fun, but I was in a bit of a daze; I felt incomplete.

Then one day the knock on the dorm door came. Cousin T was outside, with flowers, with love, with my favorite pizza, with my future and heart in his hands.