Strawberry Blonde Forever

Three guys have taboo sex with one girl

April, 1972

Grateful for the end of the school day, I gave my locker a light kick. This habitual ritual was to settle the tumblers of the combination lock; then I spun the dial right-15, left-21, right-6. I thumped the door again and raised the latch. I was in the process of fishing for the books I would need for the weekend’s homework assignments when I felt a warm, meaty hand on my shoulder. My brain immediately registered the invading paw as belonging to Jocko.

“Hey Mark, jump to it. We’ve got something fun to do,” Jocko said, and walked away.

I tucked my calculus book under my arm, but deciding the English assignment could wait until Monday.

Jocko glanced over his shoulder. “Hustle it up, Mark.”

I followed him. Jocko’s choice of words gave me pause; I couldn’t recall him ever bringing me along on something he called fun. I caught up with him at the school exit. On his heels, we turned toward the student parking lot.

“What’s up?” I asked.

He turned to me with a broad, toothy smile, but said nothing. Jocko and I crossed the student’s parking lot.

“There it is,” I said, and pointed. We were searching for Gary’s red El Camino.

Of our six-man gang, Gary was the only one with a car. He had been held back one school year; thus, he was a year older than the rest of us. For the past three years, the El Camino had been our transportation when traveling as a gang. The front seat could hold three normal sized boys. But, with Jocko in the passenger seat and Gary driving, the remaining four of us had to ride in the truck bed.

Gary was already in the driver’s seat as we arrived. Jocko entered the passenger door, and I swung over the side into the truck bed. This was a fine ride for our gang. The 1964 semi-car, semi-truck had a 350 horsepower V-8 engine. As soon as Jocko closed his door, Gary backed out of the parking slot and followed the line of cars to the exit.

Listening to the rumbling motor, I wondered where the other guys were, but made no attempt to ask Jocko. Even though he had the side window open, conversation was difficult. Besides, I rarely asked Jocko any questions.

Gary piloted the El Camino down a familiar lane and parked in front of a red brick ranch house. I knew exactly where we were, but I couldn’t imagine why Jocko had directed us to the residence of Barbi Benton.

What was Jocko thinking?

This, of course, was not her real name, but this is what we called Diane Waterford. While Barbi was the most popular Playboy playmate ever, Diane was the best looking, most popular girl in the senior class. To a huge extent, they looked alike.

The gang had been to this house several times in the past, but only at night. We stalked her, peeking in the windows, and occasionally catching a glimpse of her. Unfortunately, she was never in the nude, or even in her underwear. Rumor had it, she knew we boys stalked her, and she didn’t mind the attention. However, she was careful not to give anything away.

Additionally, I had a personal crush on her. Diane was in my English class. Mr. Grey, our teacher, was young and unorthodox. Every other teacher had their classrooms arranged in the typical fashion — rows of student desks facing the chalkboard at the front of the class. Mr. Grey split the student desks into two halves. There were two rows along each sidewall. The parallel rows faced each other across a gap — from the chalkboard to the back wall. Mr. Grey paced up and down the gap while he lectured.

For this reason, I loved English class.

Slouching down in my seat, I could get a great view of the girls along the opposite wall. Girls almost always wore dresses to school, and the very short hemlines were the fashion rage. It was pretty much impossible for them to sit through the 45-minute class without flashing a view of what lie between their legs. In the warmer months, the girls would usually be bare-legged, and their gleaming white panties would light up my life. During cold weather, the girls would wear the new style pantyhose, or tights. I was never sure of the difference, except the tights came in a variety of colors. While this did mute my view, the contrast of the glorious vee between the thighs remained.

Diane sat directly opposite me. Hardly a day went by that I didn’t learn exactly what color her panties were. They were usually white, but she did toss in a few pinks, baby blues, and I particularly favored the days she wore the candy-striped ones.

Being a nerd, I never spoke to her. She was a cheerleader and the darling of the jocks. Rumor had it; she had done the dance with no pants with the entire football team. There were stories of things happening on the fifty-yard line at midnight. Some tellers of the tale embellished the rumor by adding she had taken the whole team together.

Jocko and Gary stepped out of the El Camino’s cab. I jumped down from the truck bed.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

Again, I got the toothy grin from Jocko, but he added, “We are here for some fun. Real fun.” He winked.

Gary shrugged, signifying he was also clueless.

This specific April afternoon was warm; warm for an early spring day in Montana. However, it had been cool in the morning when she had been dressing for the day. Diane had worn her gray tweed skirt with white tights (or maybe they were pantyhose). She had been wearing her pink panties, and the combination had given me an instant boner.

While bare legs afforded the best viewing of the magic triangle, I actually preferred to see the girls in tights. I had developed a thing, or perhaps it was a fetish, for the colored hosiery from viewing the movie, Blow Up. The movie certainly taught me what I needed to know about the purpose of erections, and the use of the pink void between girls’ legs. Additionally, it cemented in my psyche a fetish for girls wearing pink or lime-green tights.

Boldly, Jocko led the way up the sidewalk. He rang the doorbell. Moments later, the door opened, and there she was. Beautiful Diane was only two feet away from me, and she was smiling.

“There you are,” she said. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“No,” Jocko answered. “Your directions were spot on.”

I struggled to keep a straight face. It had only been two weeks earlier when we had last gathered under her bedroom window.

“Come in.” She backed into the foyer, and we followed. Gary was the last in, and he closed the door. “Better lock it,” she said.

Gary twisted the key in the deadbolt.

I nearly fainted dead away when she kissed Jocko. I had no idea the two knew each other. Leaving his embrace, she wrapped her arms around me. She looked me square in the eyes — we were the same height. I noticed her lips were a bright reddish color just before she pulled our lips together. She was gloriously warm and tender. She slipped her tongue into my mouth and moaned.

I moaned and prayed my knees would hold up. I wrapped my arms around her. When our kiss ended, I licked my lips. The glossy lipstick she had applied made her lips taste like a freshly plucked strawberry.

Pulling away from my arms, she kissed Gary. He had to rise up on his tiptoes.

Then, she said, “We’d better hurry and get started.”

I desperately wanted to know what was happening, but dared not ask.

“Let’s draw straws.” She produced three matchsticks in her hand. From what could be seen, they were the same length. “Long one goes first, middle one goes second.” She didn’t bother to describe what happened to the holder of the short straw.

Fireworks exploded in my brain as the only possible explanation dawned on me. Dare I believe this was really happening? This was to be something from the Penthouse Magazine Forum section. Those stories must be real!

Jocko was clearly displeased with her proposal. As the leader of the gang, it was his right to choose, and he would certainly choose to go first. But, not wanting to spoil the moment, he held back.

“Jack, you draw first,” she said, using his real name, which we never did.

He drew a matchstick. I couldn’t tell if it was a long or short one. She held her hand with the remaining two sticks towards me. I drew one. It was clearly longer than Jocko’s. Diane smiled. My heart threatened to burst, leaving me dead in my tracks. She opened her hand, revealing the shortest of the matchsticks to Gary.

“Ah, saving the best for last.” Her smile would stop a rhino. She turned to me. “Let’s get going, Mark.”

Before this moment, I had no idea Diane knew my name. She took my hand in her warm, slightly moist one and headed down the hall. She stopped beside one of the closed bedroom doors.

“Wait here, until I call for you,” Diane whispered. She kissed my cheek and disappeared inside, leaving a scent of strawberries in the air.

“Mark, I’m ready for you,” Diane Waterford said, through the closed bedroom door.

Gently, as if I might be disturbing a sleeping occupant, I turned the knob and opened the door. Having peered through the window, I recognized her room. It was rather small, containing a twin-sized bed, dresser, night stand, and desk.

Diane’s clothes were arranged on the desk chair as if it were wearing them. However, they were in reverse order. The bottom layer was her Oxford shirt draped over the chair back. The top layer was her bra. The shoulder straps were also hooked over the chair back. The gray tweed skirt she had been wearing flowed across the chair seat. Her white tights were on the chair seat, atop the skirt, with the legs cascading down to the floor where her shoes were. Her pink panties were neatly displayed on top.

The presentation implied she was now naked. However, sight alone could not confirm this. She was kneeling on her bed with the sheet drawn up to cover her shoulders. I could see her only from the neck up. For all I knew, she might be wearing pajamas.

“It’s your turn,” she wet her lips, “to get undressed.”

I lost no time in stripping. My cock was already standing at attention, waiting for my command to insert. With each article of clothing I shed, she allowed the sheet covering her to slip lower. When I dropped my shirt, she exposed her breasts. And, they were wonderful breasts. While not quite as large as the real Barbi Benton’s, they would make any woman proud.

As I dropped my underwear, I decided the fully erect cock was an asset in this situation, not something to be concealed. I watched her eyes fixate on the appendage jutting out from my groin. She let go of the sheet and revealed the triangle of curls below her belly. This mat of hair was slightly lighter in color than her blonde hair. It had a pinkish hue; I finally understood the meaning of strawberry blonde.

The curious expression on her face surprised me. The current situation attested to her promiscuity; however, I doubted the rumors about her excessive promiscuity were true. I wondered what favor Jocko had done for her to illicit this invitation from her. Yet, the fact Diane was hosting us was confirmation that she did not have a steady boyfriend.

This was my first experience with social sex. While these parties were still a bit of a taboo, in the Age of Aquarius and Free Love group sex was acceptable and not a reflection of extreme promiscuity. Even backwoods Montana had hippie communes where, as portrayed in the movie Easy Rider, everyone shared everything — everything. At least, those were the rumors. For my generation, this only meant Diane was a popular girl.

I stepped forward, and placed a knee on her bed. Her eyes were fixated on my jutting member. During a camping trip, my stepfather had caught sight of my early morning boner. He indicated that its size was something to be proud of; that my tool would be the envy of the girls. I didn’t fully understand his comment, but I was consoled to learn he considered an erection to be a good thing. Watching Diane’s eyes, I realized my stepfather’s assessment of my woody’s size, and its effect on women, had been correct.

“Your socks too,” she said. “Please.”

Of course, I was being stupid. I pulled off the socks and knelt beside her on the bed. I put a hand on her shoulder, and then trailed by fingers down to her breast. I lightly pinched her nipple, and then cradled her lady lump. My cock was screaming for action. I was worried I would come too fast to properly please her. This might be something she was accustomed to; this might be why she had invited three boys.

She kissed me, and I tasted strawberries. Again, her tongue explored mine. She extended one hand and gently cupped my taut balls.

“Mark, I know you watch me in English class. Why don’t you ever talk to me?”

“I, uh, I always thought you were busy. Guys hang around you all the time.”

“Hmm, they hang around, but I don’t necessarily like them. You should not assume I’m busy. The rumors you hear are not true.” She lowered her chin, but raised her eyes to give her expression a mysterious aura. “You know, I asked Jack to bring you today.”

Of course, I didn’t know this. My jaw dropped as I searched for the proper words to respond. Thank you. Why, that’s marvelous. WhooHoo. Silence hung while I failed to find the appropriate reply. I wondered if she had manipulated the matchstick drawing to ensure I was the first one.

However, Diane didn’t let the silence dangle. She parted her lips with a sigh which reminded me of Tiffany Case in the recent James Bond movie. “Do you have a rubber?” she asked.

“Yes.” I fished my reserve condom from the inner fold of my wallet. As I tore it open, she took it from my hands.

“May I, please?”

I nodded.

With her left hand, she gripped my bone-hard shaft. She squeezed it and smiled, apparently pleased with my iron hardness. With her right hand, she pressed the condom to my tip. She began to slowly unroll it, sliding it onto my rod.

This was when disaster struck.

The instant her fingers grazed along the sensitive underside of my glands, my cock erupted.

“Oh, God!” I groaned, as my dick spasmed in her hand.

She quickly pushed the condom on to capture the spend spewing from my throbbing cock.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” I said.

“Nothing to worry about. It happens.”

Her left hand cupped my clenching balls; her fingertips massaged the fleshy spot behind the scrotum. Her right hand squeezed and stroked my pulsating tool. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the wash of pleasure. As my ejaculation ended, she kissed me. This time, she sucked my tongue into her mouth. She looked down and flicked a finger against the flooded tip of the condom.

“You know, you really need to beat off more often,” she said, and giggled.

I didn’t mention that if I masturbated more frequently, my tool would probably fall off.

She squeezed it. “It’s still hard. Do you want to put it in? You won’t need a rubber.” She didn’t wait for an answer; she began to roll the condom off my cock; careful to retain my spend. She wiped me clean with the corner of the sheet and laid back. Holding her eyes focused on mine, she lifted her knees, and parted her legs. Her lady bits opened, glistening with her moisture.

Lying atop her, I slid my tool inside her wet entrance. It slipped in easily. Never before had I been inside a woman without wearing a condom. The warm sensation was glorious. I thrust in and out.

“Ooh,” she moaned. “This is my first time.”

“What?”

She giggled and stroked my back. “Not that. I mean my first time to have a man inside without a rubber.” She held me with her thighs. She wrapped her arms around me. I wanted to show her a good time; I wanted to bring her to climax, but my cock was deflating.

“I’m sorry,” I said, giving up on the effort.

“It’s okay, really. Just hold still.” She crossed her ankles behind my back. Her heel pressed into my butt. “I like the way it feels. You know, with you inside me bareback — no rubber.” She kissed me; I pulled her tongue into my mouth.

Eventually, my soft member slipped out. She pulled away from me and wrapped the sheet around her shoulders.

“Listen, Mark, why don’t you go reload that weapon. If there’s time, you can have another go after the others.”

Dejected, but feeling surprisingly good about it, I quickly dressed. As I left, Jocko was waiting by the door.

“You took long enough,” he growled. “Did you leave any for me?” he asked.

“The lady begged for a second orgasm.” I chuckled. “What gentleman would refuse.”

Closing my mind to what was happening in Diane’s bedroom, I went into the bathroom, wrapped a bit of toilet paper around the used condom, and flushed it. This was not the accepted means of disposal, but I couldn’t leave it in the trash. Likewise, I was not going to carry it in my pocket. The city sewage system would just have to cope with it.

I joined Gary in the living room. From his expression, I could see he wanted to say something; ask something about my experience. But, he decided to stay silent.

A surprisingly few minutes later, Jocko came out. He gave Gary a mock punch to the shoulder as they passed in the hallway.

When Gary came out, she followed him. She was wearing a baby-blue, plush terrycloth robe. Using my Superman x-ray vision, I imagined her nude body. Giving her a long once-over, I noticed her pink toenails for the first time.

She said, “Thanks for stopping by, boys. I had a lot of fun.” Apparently, she had forgotten her promise of giving me another round. Just as well, I didn’t think sufficient time had passed for my weapon to reload.

She kissed Jocko and Gary. When she kissed me, her warm hand found mine.

Gary unlocked the front door and led the way back to his El Camino. Sitting in the truck bed, as we pulled away from the curb, I looked into the palm of my hand. I stared at the small, folded square of paper she had slipped to me. Opening it, I read, “Tomorrow, 1 pm. Knock three times.” It took a moment for me to recall that tomorrow was Saturday. And, the popular song by Tony Orlando & Dawn had been playing on her radio while I had been inside her.

Diane had not forgotten her promise.

*****

Monday, I eagerly awaited English class. It was the only class I had with Diane. I waited by the door as the other students filed in and took their seats. I wanted to wait for Diane. I wanted to speak to her; if only, to say, “Hello.” Unfortunately, she was a no show.

When the bell rang, I turned in the English assignment — on time. Diane had taken her English book home. Sitting naked on her bedroom floor, we had completed the assignment together while taking a break from sex. She had said, “My family went fishing at the lake. I told my mother I had too much school work and couldn’t go.” My stamina had been outstanding. We made love three times. Between sex romps we had studied, and I had polished her toenails a lime green color.

I took my seat. A moment later, the classroom door opened and Diane walked in.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grey, I got held up in the…” She left the implication she had been stuck in the bathroom unfinished.

“Please take your seat, Miss Waterford.”

As she sat, she glanced toward me. We locked eyes for a second, and then she looked away.

Mr. Grey paced along his path between the seats and droned on about Shakespeare. I wasn’t paying attention; I was watching Diane. She was wearing a short denim skirt and bobby socks with her loafers. I was watching, anticipating the parting of her thighs so I could see what panties she had chosen; her legs were bare, I would have an excellent view. I was distracted in this chore because I was also watching her eyes, waiting for recognition of the special Saturday afternoon we had shared. But, she resisted looking at me. She glanced back and forth between Mr. Grey and her notebook.

Then, she shifted position. Her knees came up an inch and parted. Staring up the tunnel between her creamy thighs, I saw pink — pink flesh and strawberry blonde curls.

Her knees snapped closed, and my eyes jumped to hers. She was staring at me, grinning. She really had been held up in the bathroom. She had removed her panties just to give me a thrill. I realized I had passed through a doorway to a new experience; I was in love!

THE END

Copyright ©2023 by Mark S. R. Sterling All Rights Reserved

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