I arrived at the party at eight, sullenly aware that most of my friends were paired off. This was my third of these parties. A kid my age should have more experience, I felt. My friend Cara, whose parents had consented to this gathering, had insisted I come even though I lacked a make out partner.

I think this requires some deep background. Return to 1973, hippies (still prevalent though in decline) abounded, still very much pre- “Saturday Night fever”. I’m still a virgin, though at the last of these parties, I certainly managed to get made out with thoroughly. Lets forgo the base path analogies, made famous by Meat Loaf… I had not yet touched any part of a girl that would earn me respect in testosterone driven discussions. This last was not for a lack of wanting… those were years where, how I ever learned anything, not concerned with sex, remains one of the miracles of human experience. All I could think about was sex.

So - make out parties: In the early seventies these were common in my circles of friends… they most closely resembled Roman orgies where the clothes stayed on and no one got publicly fucked. Tits got squeezed, hands got wrestled with, boy’s jeans got stretched, girl’s panties got wet, hickies got applied, and I imagine, in remote rooms stronger things happened. That night I began with no knowledge of the deeper activities in remote rooms… just snogging, the English term for making out. Making out, if you’re confused, means passionate kissing, with tongues mating like wild, and a big component of groping, hugging and lying upon one another. I have no doubt that this offered me my earliest training in sexual encounter… just for feeling the heat and the need. I had gone home from the previous make out party, with a case of an affliction still common today, referred to as “Blue Balls”. When suffering this, one walks oddly, has a wet spot in ones crotch region, and, upon applying stroking of the freed penis, later in private, one usually gushes like a broken fire hydrant.

The fact that these make out parties were public events I still find amazing… but kids that age struggle to find a place and time for lust that remains forbidden to them in situations where they can be alone together. Generally music would play loudly, and lights got turned off. I recall that night, that the stereo played a particularly great Harry Neilsson album called Neilsson Shmeilsson. and George Harrison sang at his concert for Bangladesh.

As with most cliques of friends in junior high, you find types. That night, much to my amazement, the prettiest girl in our group of friends plopped down next to me. I only realized later, that her boyfriend (yes I knew she had one) had stood her up, to hang with his buddies (his people he called them, the self important arrogant prick) and she didn’t cherish the thought of having no lips on hers at a make out party. The long story short, she was a friend, and she chose me. I don’t think I was so much turning her on … but on the other hand we had always enjoyed nice conversations, and she liked me enough. To have no smooching partner in this circumstance would not do for her.

Her type… she was nicely busty, rather pretty, not tall, in low-rise jeans, the one who would always have a boyfriend till she became pregnant at 17. I learned later that she had well abandoned her virginity before that night, but I didn’t know that at the time. Debbi… Her name was Debbi.

Kissing Debbi amazed me and lit me up like a Christmas tree. She did it with ardor, tenderness, and skill. To say she aroused me more than other girls I’d kissed, would be hard to guage… I’d never had a kiss that failed to turn my cock to iron in a nanosecond… but kissing Debbi made me very hot indeed. I think her body language changed the equation. Her body was all on. In my arms and my mouth and my eyes, no stop… no resistance… no reserve could be detected.

While we kissed, for long minutes at a time, my racing mind recorded the vast volumes of information coming in. Her taste was pure lust to me, Her mouth warm slick and hungry, her musky skin, smelling of whatever high school grade cologne she was wearing and tasting of adrenaline and mild salt, these all soaked into me. As I kissed her and we smiled and stroked, I realized she was wearing no bra. I spent several minutes trying to discreetly reposition my cock so it wouldn’t break in half from engorging in tight jeans.

I stroked her stomach. Oh my god to be touching skin so perfect was a miracle. She had on a crop top tank T and the fact that she was braless overwhelmed me by the very near nudity. I realized much later that she must have pulled off a bra in the bathroom, for fun, because of the impossibility of her mother ever allowing her to leave her house dressed as I beheld her that night. Still, her mouth and her body said yes. She kissed my neck and her denim covered groin and soft smooth belly rolled against my aching bulge. That moment told me, I decided, that the effort to touch her breast, might, just might, succeed. My previous attempts in feel copping suffered abject failure. Girls expected boys to try, girls, gently and sometimes not so gently rebuffed the effort. That’s how it worked. As my hand stroked over the ribbed cotton of her T (Christ no I didn’t have the guts to go for an under the shirt approach on the first try) she gave no resistance, and when my hand cupped and held her lovely breast, I felt the nipple crinkle into my palm and she moaned quietly in my ear. My brain went off like a crazed fire alarm…. OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD. So now, as we kissed with even greater passion, I got to learn the joys of breasts. Hers gave me the unfair disadvantage of disappointment with other breasts as life unfolded… simply put; this young woman’s breasts were perfect. At her lusty ripe young age, she was probably a 34b/c and her nipples, brownish pink, sat perfectly placed, sized, and exquisitely sensitive, erecting to be kissed, and making her t shirts a festival of contours for boys eyes. Later that night I would see Debbi’s breasts bare and it would blow my young mind out of the water.

I don’t remember when she began to stroke my flagpole cock through my jeans. I remember the anguish of the intensity, the aching throb, the nearness to orgasm, alongside the impossibility of cumming like that, fully dressed and so constrained. She raked her long fingernails down it, a move which to this day wipes me out, when done through fabric. Remember that one please ladies. Still we kissed and groped.

I remember her tugging me up from the sofa and down a hall. She seemed to know where to go. I found myself in a dark bedroom, away from the music, which we could still hear rumbling from an indistinct distance through the walls. Debbi turned on a bedside lamp. Standing, for the first time since all our fun had started, we kissed again. This time her bottom attracted my hands and her hot crotch… yes she was radiating heat from her pussy by then, I’m sure - was again pressing into my trouser front. “Oh man, that’s kinda starting to hurt me”, I whispered in her ear. She then gave me, what I can only describe, as my first real look into carnality. Debbi smiled a smile I will never forget, because of its hunger and knowledge, and batted her eyes in mock innocence. “Maybe we should do something to make him more comfortable then”, she said.

My mind turned to mush, at the same time blasting into hyper focus. My world seemed to turn to slow motion. Debbi kissed me once more and then, without another thought, happily smiled and pulled her shirt up, off, over her head. As her eyes found mine, she giggled, pleased I think by my awe. I reached out to touch her chest, and feel her nipples grow between my fingers and the sweet girl simply stood and moaned, enjoying me. My head exploded in a flurry of images of what I wanted/should do next. Kiss her breasts? Push her down on the bed? Look into seeing and touching her pussy? OHGODOHGODOHGOD… she solved the crisis. She simply sat on the edge of the bed and motioned me to her. Stupidly I complied. I vaguely remembered what she had said about making me more comfortable, only moments earlier, as her hand started to open my belt. I was completely stunned and frozen to inaction. I could do nothing but watch. She brought out my cock with obvious pleasure, and like a girl who had mined for this ore in the past. Debbi didn’t hurry to touch me, but instead took her time pushing my pants low, past my thighs. Then she unbuttoned my shirt while she smiled up at me. Looking back on that night, I believe she clearly relished the power she had and the wonder in my eyes. As her gaze returned to my shaft, she saw a long clear drooling drop of juice pulse from the swollen head and quickly cupped her hand beneath me to collect it. She looked up again to smile serenely, as her fingers wrapped around me to stroke the hard length… I can’t remember but I must have moaned. Again she giggled. She pulled her hand away and sank lower, her bottom sliding off the edge of the bed toward the floor. Kneeling, looking up she gave me a look of raw hunger and lips open in a soft pucker, planted her kiss on the bottom of the crown of my throbbing cock. I could feel the tip of the tongue I’d just gotten to know so well, in that crease where the head cleaves into shaft while she quietly and devotedly kissed and gently slurped on that spot. My only distinct memory of that moment was a feeling exquisite pleasure and of panic. I was painfully aware that my orgasm had become inevitable, and as badly as I might hope to hold it back, in this I had no control. Fleetingly, my mind begged my mouth to warn her of the impending mess, but I suspect the only sound to escape was some kind of animal groan/growl. She had leaned back again, to study my face, the head of my cock, maybe three inches from her mouth. I remember through the haze she was holding it again, pointing out and up. I remember she was smiling. I didn’t realize I had begun ejaculating, till I saw a surprised look jump to her face, her eyes wide. At some instant her face had been spattered with what looked like small seed pearls, hundreds of them, into her hair and across her chest. As this image began to register, the full blow of the orgasm hammered me, thundering through me, propelling out from me. The first full spurt made a colossal impression, gushing a wild lewd swath from her shoulder, across her face, over her left eye and forehead and out into space, where I presume it may still be going. Debbi’s look of amazement changed again to sweet pleasure and she laughed out loud, her eyes closed now, just taking it, her pretty mouth open to the truth that it was certainly not about to stop. The girl took all my spill, willingly, and unflinchingly, more than once lapping the thick spunk from her lips  and swallowing.

 She was too sweet to behave as if I had disappointed her or failed. That reaction still stands for me today, as the most thrilling and generous of any, I’ve ever been graced with by a lover. I thought to cum in such an abrupt manner, so quickly, must mean I failed. But Debbi didn’t treat me that way, or suggest in word or manner, that anything had occurred which shouldn’t have. Smiling she moved easily, to pick up her T-shirt from the floor and slowly wiped her face and hair and body as dry as she could. Again she stood and wrapped her arms around me to kiss me. As I held her, already beginning to harden again, she suggested we better go back into the party. She said her boyfriend might be coming soon and she didn’t want a scene. To my everlasting amazement, she pulled that T-shirt back onto her body. I asked her if it wasn’t too gross and sticky. She said she didn’t mind and anyway it was dark in the living room. She smelled overwhelmingly of an odor I was all too familiar with by that point in life. She smelled richly and thoroughly of hot cum.

As we appeared down the hallway heading back to the living room, there was an odd tension, and I learned abruptly that her boyfriend had shown up minutes earlier (about the time I was shooting off all over his girlfriend I suppose). He had gone outside to the back yard to find her. Cara said he new from friends she had been making out with me. He reentered the house and started to make a dumb scene, Debbi intervened, and they yelled at each other. He threatened to beat my ass and our friends jumped in to hold him back until I made my exit. As I made for the door, Debbi did manage to give me a sideways very sweet smile. I never told a soul about what happened in that room until many years later. Debbi and I never connected in any romantic fashion again. I do remember seeing her a couple of years later when she was showing pregnant, and thinking I should reach out, let her know I didn’t think she was bad…. But I never did.