I grew up in a moderately Orthodox Jewish household, in an Orthodox community. I attended public school and had friends yet could not participate in after-school/extracurricular activities, spending my time at home or Temple. As a girl, I was held in less regard than my two older brothers, spending my time learning to be a good little housewife.

When I turned sixteen, I was able to work in a “non-Jewish” business after school and on weekends, doing basic secretary work. I liked it, it got me away from the eyes of the community.

In our home, I found my brother's stash of “dirty” magazines, erotic, not your common Playboy. There were explicit photos of beautiful women and gorgeous guys in various sexual positions. Many of the photos were black and white, a few in color. The pages were crinkled and worn. Until then, I knew little about sex. Because of my religious beliefs, I was excused from any sex education taught in school, yet I saw the older boys and girls interacting, kissing, and holding hands. Sometimes I would see them “making out,” yet I didn’t have a clue beyond that, I wanted to kiss a boy, to make out.

These magazines were my sex education, coupled with some romance novels that I had well hidden. This world of sex and romance affected me, I wanted to experience it all.

At this business, there was this man who always talked to me when he came by. I would use Ron as the man in my dreams, kissing me, making out with me, and having sex as they did in the “dirty” magazines. Ron was married, thirty-five, nice smile and deep blue eyes, he became the man of my dreams.

My fantasies soon became a plan, how can I have Ron, how can I “date” him? I had no interest in boys my age, and I could not date the ones in school anyway. My parents had an arranged marriage, but this custom was somewhat out of vogue in our sect. Yet, the Jewish boys seemed awkward and dull, not to the standard of my romance novels and the “dirty” pictures.

My sights were now focused on Ron, the forbidden fruit on many levels, yet all I could think of was Ron. When he came into the business, which was often, I found myself blushing.

My orthodox dress was drab and plain, a long black skirt, a white buttoned blouse, flat tasteless shoes, and a small head covering my short light brown hair. Even at sixteen, I was bypassed by the breast gods, unlike my mother and her sisters, and the woman in the magazines. I was nearly flat, so by all accounts, I was the furthest from being sexy in body and dress. Yet, Ron would always talk to me and often had a small gift of chocolates.

I realize he was not coming on to me, he was a friendly man, but to me, my fantasies had him secretly in love with me, as I was with him. Yet, how to get Ron to notice me, to date me?

In one of my novels, a young lady seduced her beau by revealing her large soft breasts, by unbuttoning her blouse. I could do that, but again my breasts were tiny. Yet, when I saw his car pull into the parking lot, I undid two buttons, which was timid. My blouse was buttoned to my neck.

Yet, when he came in, it seemed to me he noticed. When he walked to the back to talk to the owner, I unbuttoned two more.

He came back and stopped to tell me about something, and he saw that my blouse was unbuttoned, yet not to a risqué level. I saw him look and smile, then he left. I looked at myself in the mirror and realized I would have to go further to reveal my small breasts.

Yet I was committed, not knowing what would happen if anything. I wanted Ron, nothing else mattered. His marriage and age didn’t seem an issue to my naïve budding sexual brain.

Of course, when he left the office, I quickly buttoned up, I didn’t want to attract anyone but Ron.

The next time, I decided not to wear my bra, not that I needed one, and I undid six buttons.  He noticed and said he needed to talk with me after he did his business with my boss. I was excited, I felt my nipples grow, which they did when I looked at the magazine photos or read a juicy section of the romance novels. Ron would notice, they were pressing against my blouse. Was this the day that Ron would ask me out on a date?

When he came back to my area, he saw my nipples, my rosy blush, and my timid smile. Yet, he frowned and asked me to join him outside. Something was wrong, why a frown?

When we got outside, he asked me to button my blouse and told me that he was a happily married man and that he was twice my age. I was floored, and saddened by his response yet he told me I was an attractive young lady. As I buttoned my blouse, I noticed him looking at my softening nipples now retreating from pressing against my blouse.

He kissed my forehead and softly spanked my bottom as I turned to go back to my desk, now depressed.

On his next visit, I undid four buttons, and he looked stern, I got the message. Ron was not going to ask me on a date and to go further with my naïve seduction would get another lecture. I retreated to my novels and the dirty photos, a new one was in the stash.

I was walking home from school, a chilly day with a misty rain, annoying. Ron drove up in his truck and rolled down the window. “Do you need a ride home?”

I replied, “Yes!" and as I walked to the door, I undid six buttons of my blouse, wishing I didn’t have the bra on. What the heck, I was prepared for the lecture.

He noticed, and this time, he smiled. He said, “Marsha, you look pretty today.”

He asked if I had to go home directly, and I told him my parents were at Temple and they wouldn’t be home for a while. He smiled again, he looked gorgeous when he smiled, even his eyes sparkled. We drove to a park nearby, and we parked and again he was looking at my small chest. He told me again that I looked even in my dull dress. 

My nipples grew, and I blushed. Was he going to ask me out—now what do I do? I wanted Ron and now that I might have him, now what? I was unprepared. What do I say or do?

He explained that he was thinking about me, dreaming about me. My brain was on overdrive, did he say he dreamed about me? Thinking about this, I was like the mouse that caught the cat, and then thought, what now?

Ron sensed all of this, and he asked if he could kiss me, to which I said yes. Now I was nervous, closing my eyes as I felt his hands caress my short hair, my head cover fell off and I felt his lips touch mine. I was living the romance heroines, this was happening. Ron, the romantic man of my dreams, was kissing me. Lightly touching our lips, his hands caressing my face. His tongue pushed against my lips and soon, he was in my mouth, the French kiss from my books.

We continued with these amazing kisses when his hands softly caressed my neck, sending such a delightful chill through my body. Then I felt him caress my small breasts over the drab white fabric. Another wave of pleasure coursed through me, as I felt the remaining buttons being undone, his soft hands were feeling my small breasts under my bra, and my nipples were large and begging for release.

All the while, my hands were holding the car seat and dashboard, yet I recall from my novels that the romantic lady would caress the man’s chest, so I pressed my hands on his body; I touched him so awkwardly.

Once again, Ron must have sensed my naivety and undid his shirt and placed my hands on his muscular chest. His body felt warm, and I found my hands exploring his body. I was excited; I was touching my romantic dream.

Then he guided my hand to his legs, over his jeans, and I felt his strong legs. Then he looked at me and told me that this was his dream, that he wanted to be with me, and he felt that he loved me. The heroine in the novels would swoon, and I could hear those amazing words echoing in my head, and with no context, I told Ron I loved him. He smiled and guided my hand to his crotch, and there it was. I was feeling a penis, a hard one by how it felt.

Now my mind shifted to the magazines, and I felt like I knew what his penis looked like, as he unzipped his pants. He slipped his jeans and underwear down to his knees and there before me, the black and white pictures in real life.

He said, “Marsha, touch my cock, show me how much you love me.”

Yes, the words under some of the pictures referred to his penis as a cock and I did, I wanted to feel him. His hand continued to guide me, pressing on his shaft, touching his cock head lightly, he let out a loud main. I got scared, did I hurt him, but he reassured me, I was making him happy.

He said it again, “I love you Marsha, I need you.”

He asked if I had more time and I did, so he said we would go to his house if I didn’t mind. I must have looked confused, and he explained his wife was away and we would have privacy. He reassured me that he would drive me home before my parents got home.

I agreed and wondered, was this a date? I was not sure, even romance novels never really talked about a date. They wrote of bravery, of beautiful women and strong men, chivalry, and passion. The magazines were all about sex.

At his house, we drove into the garage, closed the door, and entered his family room. Once inside, he showed me around and talked about sharing his place with me, his words were going straight to my head, and he repeatedly said he loved me. The words came easier to me, how I loved him.

We sat on his couch, and he offered me a soda and he opened a beer. We began to kiss again; his hands caressed me, and the waves of pleasure once again excited me. He removed his shirt and then removed my blouse and bra. My tiny breasts loved being free, my nipples were so hard. He fondled my breasts and nibbled on my nipples; every move was exciting. I liked being on a date, such that I believed this was a date.

I felt his body again and he stood and removed his pants, he was standing there naked. His cock was hard, and he guided my hands to it, I felt his shaft and cockhead, then he slid my hands to his balls. He moaned again, and this time I knew it was good.

Once again, the dirty magazines were my guide. I knew from the pictures that he would want his cock in my mouth. Seeing pictures and the real thing are different, as he asked me, begged me, to kiss his cock.

I wonder how I would have reacted if I didn’t see countless women taking a man’s cock in her mouth. He asked if I was alright, and I said yes and he asked me again to kiss his cock and I did.

I kissed his cock and then, as instructed, licked it. I was awkward and unsure, but he said, “Marsha, you have done this before haven’t you?”

I said no, and he said I was a natural. Was I that good, like the gorgeous ladies in the magazine? When he pushed his cock gently in his mouth, I felt a sense of pride, I was making him happy. Yet, taking his cock in deeper was hard and he assured me with practice, I would be able to take more of him.

He started to pump his cock partially in my mouth, stroking the other part and with the other hand, holding my head.

His moans were constant and then I tasted some sweetness, something was happening. The novels and pictures did not tell me about his coming. I stopped and wanted his cock out of my mouth, I thought he was bleeding. He laughed when I apologized for hurting his cock, and once again he assured me, I was doing “this” right. He told me that when girl sucks cock her reward is the sugary sweet juice, and that I would get used to this as well, and I might come to like it.

His face showed the agony he was in, but he wanted to make sure I was alright and asked me to take him in my mouth. His cock felt even harder, especially his cockhead. It was difficult to get him in my mouth. He asked me to lick his cock head, and I tasted him. Then he gripped my head, pushed his cock deeper into my mouth and came.  It felt like a gallon of his cum was rushing down my throat. He moaned and said that he loved me and then moaned again.

His cum tasted sweet, was warm, and had an unusual texture. I didn’t know if I liked it, but I knew I wasn’t disgusted. He said it was an acquired taste and that we would practice this often.

I realized that he was saying we would have many dates. I liked that, I truly felt love, but again, I knew love from the novels. It felt good, so yes, I loved him.

We cuddled, and he kissed me and thanked me. Thanked Me?

He checked the time and motioned me to his bedroom. The warm soda felt nice going down, and he got me more and some ice. He offered me a sip of his beer and it tasted awful. He asked if he liked the taste of his cock, and I thought about it and finally said, yes. Once again, his words of love made me feel special.

We went to his bedroom, and he asked if I would slip off my dress. By this time, whatever he asked I felt a desire to please him. I stood naked with my dream man in his bedroom. I never thought about how he shared this bed with his wife. There was a wedding picture of them, she looked pretty. She looked like one of the ladies in the magazine, yet I never questioned why he dreamed of me.

We lay together on the bed and kissed, and I felt as if I was in heaven. He dimmed the lights and caressed me, from head to my legs. When he touched my thighs, my body reacted strongly, a more powerful pleasure feeling, and my vagina was wet.

With each touch, he made me wriggle and twist, I was feeling amazing. I didn’t understand this, but I loved it and did want this to end. Then a finger entered my vagina, and I didn’t think I was going to survive the waves of pleasure. Then he inserted a second finger, and I thought this feeling couldn’t get better. I was wrong, as he kissed my small chest, my stomach, and my belly button (that tickled) but before I could giggle, his tongue was licking my vagina lips. I prayed this would never end as his tongue licked deep, exploring me.

I touched myself when I read the juicy parts of the romance novels or looked at the sexy photos, but this pleasure was way different and better. I felt so wet.

He slowed and asked if I was alright, as he had done numerous times before. I said yes, then he slid up and asked me to lick his cock again. I wanted to please this magical man, so I agreed. This was the second time I had his cock in my mouth, and I liked how it felt as he pushed deeper and then back out, and then he moved his body and I realized, he was going to put his cock in my vagina. Again, if I didn’t seen this many times, I would not know what his intent was, but seeing pictures and knowing he was going to be inside me are two different things.

He kissed me and asked if I loved him, and I said yes. He made me say the words, “Yes, I love you.”

He said he wanted to show me how much he loved me, he lightly gripped my arms and asked if I was ready to be his lover. I would have said yes to anything, my head and body were filled with pleasure, pride, and love.

His cock was pressing against my vagina, and he said, “This will hurt a little, but I love you so very much.”

Before I could process his words, I felt his cock push hard inside me and felt a quick sharp pain, then I felt nothing. He said, “There that wasn’t too bad love.”

I felt his body on top of me, his muscles, and heard him moan and I was moaning too. My hands were pinned down, but he released them, and I wrapped them around his body. Did that come from the pictures, I was doing so many new things. I noticed I was crying, taking his cock was not easy. I didn’t know why I was crying because I felt his love, I liked his body inside mine.

He tried to pull himself out and even though I am tiny compared to him, I pulled him back down and his body stiffened.  He was moving slowly inside me and then pulled out and pulled my head and put his cock back in my mouth. I tasted myself and his come together and realized he was still coming. He held me tight while his motion slowed, and his cock softened in my mouth.

He rolled over breathing hard, and I noticed I wasn’t crying anymore, and I was breathing hard too. He held me tight and whispered his words of love. Then he told me, “Marsha baby, you are now a woman, no longer a little girl.”

He continued, “Baby, you are now my woman and I love you dearly.”

I noticed the wedding picture and a few others of his pretty wife, and yet I felt no remorse. I wanted this man and somehow, I got him.  I was his secret lover for over a year, and I was convinced that when I could marry him, I would. Of course, that did not happen and a few years after we stopped seeing each other, he died of cancer. My first love, my first sexual conquest, I am still amazed that I seduced him.