A story for Lush by EroticCop
Hi. My name is Greg and I’m a high school senior. I live in a suburb of Minneapolis and play hockey, a lot. In fact, I’ve been playing varsity since I was a freshman. As a senior, I’m captain and have twelve different division I and II schools checking me out. I’m six foot four, and I weigh two hundred and twenty-five pounds. I’ve been a gym rat since I got to high school, but that changed when a new girl came to school this year.
Ok, since I’ve been playing on a team that won the state championship last year and are favored to do it again, having a girlfriend isn’t something I’ve struggled with, ever. I’ve always had a healthy, active sex life and I’ve never complained. Not that I’m complaining now, but our community is lily white, a lot of Scandinavian blood, a lot of blonde hair and blue eyes, with a good number of brunettes and the occasional redhead thrown in for good measure. Maybe that’s why when I laid eyes on the new girl I couldn’t get her out of my mind.
I saw her in the hallway the first week of school. She was small, thin, but in a healthy way. She had a caramel complexion and was definitely African American, but maybe not a hundred percent. She had huge, deep, liquid brown eyes and puffy, warm lips. She had fairly short, curly hair, that if straightened would’ve reached past her shoulders, but not an afro. Her face looked round, mainly because of her hair that she wore with a thick pink ribbon. She was dressed nice, a t-shirt that hugged her tight. She had small breasts, but they looked firm to the point of being hard. She had a flat stomach and a perfectly round butt that protruded out just enough that I wanted to reached out and touch it. And she wore a little heel, but the top of her head still didn’t come to my nipple line. If she weighed ninety pounds I’d be surprised.
But with my practice schedule and workout schedule and studying, I couldn’t ever find her. She wasn’t in any of my classes. I wasn’t even sure what grade she was in. When I did go out, whether to a party or even shopping, I always looked for her, but with no luck. I finally resorted to a geeky friend of mine. I confessed to her that I wanted to know more about this girl. Come to find out, the girl was in my geeky friend’s class and she would do a little investigation on my behalf.
My friend reported back to me in short order. The girl’s name was Tamara Allen and had moved to our suburb during the summer. Her father, a white guy, had died of a heart attack last year and her mom, who was African American, had decided to move the two of them back to the states from England. Tamara was an only child and had just turned sixteen, but was advanced in school. Her mom was originally from Minneapolis and still had family living here. Tamara was shy and hadn’t joined any clubs or teams. She didn’t have a boy friend and seemed a little skittish about the age difference between her and the other seniors.
I found out her lunch period and arranged to see if I could meet her. I found her sitting at a table in the back corner of the lunchroom. Not lacking for confidence, I walked up and asked her if I could sit next to her. She seemed reluctant but nodded her assent. I introduced myself and she mumbled her name back at me. I had to ask her to repeat it twice before I made it out. She had the most delicious English accent.
“Tamara,” she said, all the ‘a’s sounding like, ‘ah,’ emphasizing the middle syllable of ‘Mar.” Her eyes were forever searching, like she wanted to find a way to escape. I played it cool and said that I’d catch her later when she left. I found her the next day and the one after that. Eventually I got to find out she liked punk, bands like the Buzzcocks and the Sex Pistols, and after another week, she’d say, Hi” to me in the halls. I saw her looking for me in the lunchroom and we seemed to be running into each other a lot. I finally asked her out.
It was a great date, just a movie and a snack. She seemed a little uneasy, mostly because of the age difference I think, so I took it real easy. I gave her a kiss, but nothing like what I wanted to do. We went out several times. Our next kiss we shared our tongues and I did feel her breast. It was firm underneath my caress her nipple was quick to harden. She breathed deep and her mouth was hot and wet.
The next date, she invited me over to her house for dinner. Apparently her mom wanted to meet me too. I brought flowers and was met at the door by her mom. She was gorgeous too, but her hair was long and straight. She was taller than her daughter and a little bit thicker, but not by much. They looked more like sisters than mom and daughter.
“Hi, Ms. Allen,” I said. “These are for you and Tamara.”
Her mom smiled a mouth full of strikingly white teeth against her full red lips.
“Thank you Greg,” she said stepping back. “Come in.”
We had spaghetti and meatballs and bread. Afterward, Tamara and I cleaned up before joining her mom in the TV room. Her mom was wrapped in a blanket and looked pretty sleepy as we started watching a movie. Tamara and I snuggled on the couch, her hand resting on my thigh, getting me painfully swollen. My fingers strayed where they could out of eye sight of her mom, though her eyes seemed like they were mostly closed.
An hour later her mom excused herself and went to bed, complaining she had a long day ahead of her.