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peterboy1.peperonity.net

Some first times should happen all the fucking tim

The cheerleaders at high school were the source of my first orgasms. But I never touched them. Their nudity-with-pom-poms was all in my mind. My newly-found-to-be-sensitive and sensationally-pleasuring cock was all in my hands during those early years.

Indeed, my sex was never actually tactile, other than self-tactile, until my sophomore year in college. My first non-solo sex wasn't with any cheerleader, but it remains a memory so intense and erotic that five years later it still provides the inspiration in those times when self-tactile is the appropriate (read, "only-available") option for getting off.

So how did I get my first piece of ass? And what made it so fucking good?

The answer, in a word: "Nipples." In fact, if every woman had nipples like THE nipples, Osama bin Laden would have had 500 kids instead of 50. Not that that's a good thought, because 50 offspring spreading his genes around is 50 too many -- but what I'm saying is that every Y-chromosomed human, even one with a congenital brain defect, would get the hard-on of hard-ons and the orgasm-of-orgasms by enjoying these nipples-of-nipples.

And now for the confession, my first fuck wasn't with a woman and her cunt. Aha, now they think I am a fag. If not a cunt-fucking cunt-licker right out of the box, he must be a cock-loving cock-sucker, who prefers not the front-and-center female box but the back-side cock container -- right?

Wrong.

Yes, those who jumped to the conclusion that my incredible first experience was a homosexual experience are wrong, wrong, wrong. No, I was not talking of rock-hard nipples as a metaphor for rock-hard gay cocks. So, don't jump ahead of the story, and don't jump my bones if you have a boner instead of a beaver!

Okay then. Back to THE nipples and THE woman who owns and maintains them. Her name is Judy, and the names of the nipples are ... well I don't know, but I do know that most women with great breasts and/or great nipples give them names. Usually something like "Roxy on the Right" and "Lusty on the Left," not "Hooter 1" and "Hooter 2," as most guys would use for reference.

Judy's nipple support system (her breasts) are the foundation for these feminine peaks of perfection. They are rounder, and almost as big it seems, than even Mother Earth, which is an oblate spheroid as we all know. Judy's special female globes are ripe grapefruits, ripe cantelopes, the freshest and best-tasting mellons of any variety. And these breasts, like all foundations, are the most important part of any well-designed and well-built structure.

But atop all masterpieces of artistic construction are pinacles of inspiration. And how these nipples inspire! As F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote in "Winter Dreams," they are a vision that many men will carry with them well into midde age. Those that loved them will always love them, but they will have only known them for a nanosecond click of the natural atomic clock that has recorded 14 billion years as the Universe was built.

Judy and those nipples were only 19 years old at the time of my story. Although life is shorter than the drop rate of even one grain of sand through the cosmic hour glass, nothing diminishes the ethereal importance of the nipples of which I speak, and on which I would have sucked for another 14 billion years.

Anyone that ever did would too. They are that fucking incredible.

Way better than anything you will ever see in National Geographic, of course, and even better than anything you will ever see in Penthouse. Some say that men read National Geographic and Penthouse for the same reason -- to see places they will never be. But for me, I was there. I had the Everest Climb, the Saturn Five Moon Launch, the Columbus Voyage, of Great Nipple Adventures.

No, I did not take any snapshots to prove it, but I truly was THERE man!

And now because you've insisted on some kind of proof about this nipple odyssey, I won't tell you ALL the details. I'll skip ahead to the bra coming off. Yes, because you pissed me off asking for pictures, you are going to miss some great preamble erotica. But I'm not pissed enough to leave out the grand finale. To return:

Like two mountains on the distant horizon, the beautiful breasts wrapped in 38-D Italian silk were visible through the clouds and haze as I looked up from between her legs while she lay back on the brass-railed bed. What a discovery this explorer was about to make as he kissed his way along quivering flesh.

Then, there they were. I'd swam continent-to-continent across the ocean. I'd crawled across the Sahara Desert. I'd found the elusive and child-proofed hook that those crafty Italian bra builders invented to thwart the novice. But Edison turned on his light and I saw the trick. I made my move, as if I'd done it 14 billion times before, instead of never before, and the bra was open.

I removed it with a seasoned deftness that came not from years of experience but probably because the vagus nerve that connects the cerebral with the cardiac had slowed my heart into near suspension during the suspense. And uncovered, the breast shapes never changed! Without the bra, they were still more-perfect molds than any potter could turn or throw. The 6-inch bullet-proof glass had been removed from the Mona Lisa, and I was about to make love in the Louve.

Exact symmetry, let alone perfection even asymmetrically, is rare, practically never. But there they were. Both with breasts and with nipples. Now when you've been so close to such wondedrous breast/nipple combos, it makes it hard to get hard for the more usual pancake-style mammories that some men refer to as "beaver-tail tits." And don't get me wrong, Judy had (still has I'm sure) a very nice beaver, but you really have got to hear about the nips.

These nipples could hold a balatta-covered Titleist while I drove 1600 yards on the lunar surface. Alan Shepard used a 5-iron. I'm about to use my 7-inch putter.

And I was surprised to near pre-ejaculation, because for my first fuck, she wanted a TIT FUCK. She BEGGED for a tit fuck.

I succumbed. I came. I came. I came.
The way she encased my cock by squeezing her breasts so hard, I was actually mostly in contact with those large, hard nipples. But for this first time, when my erotic contact was not just a fantasy grip on my mind, but real-woman contact, it wasn't just my cock contact and mutiple orgasms that got me so sexually satisfied. With her huge NE's ("nipple erections," as women refer to the phenomena as they move to chilly and/or erotic environments), she achieved, to my extra thrill, the MO factor at clit site with just a tit fuck.

With her pussy dripping and her face covered in a Great Lake of cum, she whispered (I'd like to think that it was my cock-to-nipple pounding that knocked the wind out her and made her whisper), "Where'd you learn to ball like that!?"

I couldn't even choke out a response, and I don't think she would have believed it was my first time. But I have my voice back after a 5-year recovery period, and I can now shout, "Judy, your never-equalled nipples gave me a first-time experience that proves to me now, evidenced by my longing for reverse travel in time, that both economics and sex can be ruled by the law of diminishing marginal returns."

More simply, and most sincere, "Judy, I thank you, and if there is an eternity of any duration, I will still be thanking you."





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