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I first saw Maggie when an unruly gang of teenagers, about eight of them, were hanging around in the alley behind my house. Now I don’t consider myself to be all that far from my teenage years myself, although I’m just past 30, and I didn’t want to seem too “adult.” But I still wanted to find out what these kids were up to behind my garage, so I grabbed the garbage and headed for the trash can in the alley.
A couple of the teenagers were smoking, but most were just standing around talking or sitting on the ground. When they saw me coming, one of them turned and hollered into my neighbor’s yard, “Hey, you ready, or what?” They were just waiting for one of their friends, and they wanted to make sure I knew that’s all they were doing. So I wasn’t too worried about them anymore. After I tossed out the garbage, I turned to walk back into my house. Right then, she caught my eye. She was sitting on the ground, leaning against my neighbor’s garage. When I looked at her, she stared right back at me and we made eye contact for what seemed like an eternity.
She was a young girl, probably sixteen years old. But she was beautiful, in a “little punker” sort of way; her hair was medium length, died jet black, her skin was white, her eyes were a striking blue. She was wearing an old black cardigan, a white teeshirt, and a long, baggy, black skirt. As I broke my eyes away from her mesmerizing stare, she smiled at me, and her bright eyes twinkled in the evening sun. I thought a lot about this girl in the next couple of days. Her penetrating eyes had burned their image in my brain.
It was a cloudy evening two days later when I saw her again. Sitting in my kitchen, I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. I got up and looked out the back window, and there she was, standing in the alley staring rather blankly at the back of my house. The wind was billowing her black hair around her face, and every few seconds she reached up a pale, small hand and brushed the hair out of her eyes. She was dressed in a tight black sweater and black jeans. Wanting to say something to her, I opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck. She quickly turned her head away and started walking down the alley.
“Hey,” I yelled. “Wait!”
She stopped and turned to face me as I scrambled out into the back yard. “What’s your name?” I asked her.
“Maggie,” she said, cautiously walking toward me. “Well, Margaret, but everyone calls me Maggie. What’s yours?”
“Ron. I saw you a few days ago, with some of your friends, didn’t I?” As I walked toward the alley, she continued towards me and we met next to my garage.
“Yeah, we were waiting for Linda over here.” She gestured to my neighbor’s house.
“Hey, it’s kinda cold out here. You want to come in for a cup of tea or something?” I asked her.
“Sure,” she said, brushing the windblown hair out of her face.
Inside, I quickly made a pot of tea and we sat down on the couch. We had a great conversation, talking about the hip bands of today and the ones from yesteryear. She was impressed with my knowledge and musical tastes, and I was impressed with hers. Gradually, we moved ourselves closer together on the couch until our gesturing hands were sometimes touching each other’s leg or arm. Then, at one point, she interrupted me by grabbing my hand and pulling it down until it came to rest on top of her leg. As she held my hand down and started talking, I wrapped my fingers around her hand and held on tightly for a few more minutes as we talked. Then, during a lull in the conversation, she leaned her head against my shoulder, and I instinctively turned and pressed my lips into hers.
I guess, as I think about it now, that I expected her to object to my little kiss, to slap me and run out of the house. But she obviously didn’t mind; almost immediately her lips were parted and her little tongue flicked out and lightly touched my lips. I took this as an invitation and cautiously ventured my tongue into her mouth. Obviously, Maggie had made out like this before, because she certainly knew how to French kiss! As we sat and kissed, our tongues just beginning to touch each other, to explore in a tactile flirtation, I moved my hands over her back and through her hair. Only now did I begin to realize how much her young body had to offer. I was surprised at how petite she seemed to be, much shorter than me, maybe 5’2″ or so and probably only 100 pounds. Her beautiful, white face had a hint of sadness behind it, but also an equally strong hint of interest, of ual awakening. Her small breasts were effectively hidden behind the black sweater she was wearing, but I could just make out their contour. They were not much bigger than little peaches, probably just beginning to blossom, and they were held almost flat against her chest by her constraining bra. Her waist and hips were thin and girlish, which perfectly matched her slender legs and small feet.
After we had kissed for a number of minutes, my heart was racing and my groin ached from the pressure of my growing erection. At one point we paused from our embrace to catch our breath, and I was surprised when Maggie sat up and stretched, arching her back, accentuating her young bosom. As she turned to look at me, she ran her fingers through her hair and interlocked them behind her head, her elbows straight out to either side of her head. She smiled seductively at me, her back still arched, and her deep breaths caused her little bosom to swell out towards me, then retreat, then swell again.
I couldn’t help myself; I had to touch them, I had to touch her little jewels. As I lifted my hand, she made no sound, only ever so slightly biting her lip, and when my finger came into contact with one of her breasts, she closed her eyes immediately and moaned, almost imperceptibly. I reached up my other hand and began to fondle both her breasts, feeling their softness and their diminutive size. With each caress, the young girl arched her back even more, her eyes still closed, occasionally letting a soft moan escape her mouth.
I kneaded her bosom for a number of minutes, and she continued to sit with her hands behind her head, elbows out, her back arched and her young breasts standing out as best they could. Finally, I decided I had to be more bold, and I reached down to the bottom of her sweater, grasped the hem with both hands, and pulled it up. Rather than object, as I expected, Maggie lifted her hands high into the air, allowing me to take the sweater off more easily. I lifted it over her head and off of her, and now she sat before me wearing nothing above her waist except an adorable little bra. She immediately put her hands back behind her head and arched her back again, staring seductively into my eyes with her baby blues, smiling slightly and blushing as I gazed at her young, beautiful body.
Her youngish bosom was swelling out of her small bra; the elastic of the edges of the tiny cups seemed to be cutting into her mounding flesh, which proudly stood out towards me as she arched her back. Almost instinctively, I reached up with both hands and firmly grasped her little breasts. They heaved in my hands as I held them; I could feel Maggie’s heart beating, fast and hard, as my fingers felt their way around her breasts, the soft skin, oh so soft, where her breasts began to rise above her chest, their wonderful, almost conical shape, the feeling of her small but hardening nipples peeking up through the satin fabric under the palms of my hands. As I felt her wonderful little globes, she continued to smile at me and to stare deeply into my eyes.
Then I slipped my fingers under the tight elastic on the top of her little cups. As my fingers crept down, I could feel how soft her skin was, even softer than before, and my groin was aching, pulsating. I had to see her! So, with my fingers now strategically hooked under the elastic of her cups, I pulled them down, and her little breasts popped out. They were the most plump, perfect little titties I could have possibly imagined. I hadn’t seen anything this beautiful since I was sixteen years old in the back seat of my father’s car.
Maggie’s small bra, pulled down under her breasts like this, helped to prop her titties up, so that they were almost pointing skyward, proudly poking out and facing right at me. Their soft, milky undersides were whiter even than the pale skin of her face and hands; completely white and unblemished, save for a little mole on the underside of her left breast. Her nipples, oh my God her nipples! They were small, unbelievably light pink little nubs, erect and fabulously beautiful. They topped her girlish bumps like darling little buds on a crabapple tree, young and pink and just beginning to bloom; they were like tiny dollops of the sweetest lightpink frosting you’ve ever tasted, softly gracing the top of the world’s most adorable little white cupcakes. The nipples stood up proudly from the plump skin of her titties, puffing out as if they wanted to call attention to themselves, as if they were crying out to me to take their delicious pink skin into my mouth, to taste them, to suckle on them forever. I looked up into Maggie’s eyes, and I noticed that her smile had been replaced by a nervous frown, and her eyes, though still staring directly at me, were wide and perhaps a little frightened. I realized that, although the young girl had made out before, this must be the first time that she had ever had her naked breasts exposed.
“You have the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen,” I told her, in all honesty, staring directly at them.
“Really?” She said, smiling slightly again.
“Oh, yeah, really.” I stared hungrily at the plump little gems standing out from her young chest.
“You mean it, or are you just saying that?”
“Oh, I mean it.”
“But they’re too small, aren’t they? I mean, they’ll get bigger, but…”
“Small and gorgeous. Small doesn’t mean a thing to me.” I continued to stare at the wonderful titties so fabulously displayed in front of me, and Maggie continued to show them off for me, her hands behind her head, elbows out, back arched.
“You’re too nice, Ron,” she said. “Thanks.”
“No,” I said as I leaned into her, “thank you.” I leaned my head down until her left breast was right in front of my face, then I lifted up a hand and carefully placed the first knuckle of my index finger under the small breast and lifted it slightly, so that her incredible little nipple was facing right at me, right in front of me. I marveled at it’s beauty, all the little bumps and creases, the light pink skin. Then I carefully fit my lips around it and kissed it lightly, then took it into my mouth, feeling its pink and puffy skin against my tongue.
“Oh,” I heard Maggie moan in a highpitched tone. She moaned over and over, occasionally even squeaking, or almost squealing, an even higherpitched sound. Her breath was labored as her lungs lifted her breasts up and down in front of my face, but I never let go of the nipple in my mouth. I could tell that she had never had her breasts kissed before, and that the young girl was greatly enjoying the experience. She continued to hold her chest high with her back arched and her hands behind her head.
After I had enjoyed her left breast for a minute, I lifted my head up and looked at her. She wasn’t smiling anymore, but was looking determinedly at me, her eyes no longer wide but focused, staring at me, her breath coming in loud, short gasps. This was one very excited young girl, I could tell. I leaned over to her right breast, examined the nipple closely as well, trying to memorize it’s little bumps and nubs, then took it into my mouth. Immediately, as my lips closed around it, Maggie moaned aloud.
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