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The Seven, Chapter 2 - Morgan

Teen
2004-02-06

Thundering reverberating wood noises emanated from her dresser as Morgan took hold of the handle hand pulled outward, revealing a mess of wadded but clean clothes. Wadded was fine, since they were clothes she wore to bed. Out came a purple pair of cotton panties and she stepped into the tiny lavender piece of clothing and pulled them up lusciously around her perfectly tight and round ass. Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed so as not to cause discomfort, each soft light brown hair not even long enough to make a full curl, about a half inch. Following this was her white shirt. Any white shirt. But was tightly clinging to her still damp body and her cold erect nipples showed through the fabric. The only bulb lighting the second story bedroom of her house in one of the outskirt neighborhoods shone from under the lampshade of her bedside light. And as she crawled into bed, she reached over and turned the black knob until it clicked twice and darkness came. Before Morgan could close her eyes, she stopped and noticed that John was still awake. John lived next door and his second story bedroom was slightly higher than hers and what she didn’t know until tonight was that he watched her often. He was one year older and a little shy, very good-natured except when it came to sex. When he thought about sex, he could do anything. Bravery was his only aspect. Cowardice was unknown. If the very thought of his virgin penis entering a vagina came to his mind, he was Superman.

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  . . until he masturbated and ridded himself of everything. In a strange way, Morgan loved John. Often she would think about him, so attractive even with thick-framed thin-lens glasses, but rejecting every chance at romantic encounters so that he could retreat to his room and waste his life on writing science-fiction stories and playing video games. Rare to find such beauty in a man, Morgan thought to herself, completely socially withdrawn. In a plain and simple way, John loved Morgan, but would never admit it to anyone and she would never catch on if it wasn’t so obvious. Every night, after dispelling sweet and innocent romantic thoughts of her, he would use Man’s Own Sleeping Pill and watch her walk naked through her room every night. Man’s Own Sleeping Pill was, of course, masturbating. Her beautiful body mixed in with her beautiful ways, her grace, her everything. . . all of it made for good masturbation inspiration. Same as the other nights, John watched her go to sleep, then once her light went out, he opened his pants and pulled out his cock and began stroking, imagining it was her pussy. She would see him other nights, but with the angle of her room to his, all she saw was his chest and up.

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   But tonight, as he reached his orgasm, some of his wad shot up and hit the window. Morgan was shocked, to say the least. John, unknowing of Morgan’s view, calmly wiped it off and went to bed. Never did Morgan ever have the urge to touch herself to ecstacy. In a way, she wanted her first orgasm to be special and wanted the person to give it to her to be special. In a way, she wanted it to be John. In a way, she saw that he could give it to her like none other, because it wouldn’t be some guy who just wanted to fuck her with no strings attached, but someone who truly loved her for what she was and who she was. In a way, though, she also didn’t want to bother. But now, under her white think comforter and sheets, she fought the almost magnetic want to please herself. Her left hand rubbed her pale beautiful navel, now exposed to the sheet over it, her shirt’s bottom resting under her breasts. Then her right hand flew like an arrow down and four fingers were now gripping her wettened crotch through her lavender underwear. Pleasure overwhelmed her and she had to pull away strongly in order stop. Finally, she pulled her shirt down and turned herself over and forced herself into sleep. “Someday I’ll tell you,” Morgan dreamed of saying to him, “how much you mean to me. ”To be continued.

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