Panic

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She had panic attacks when a man got too friendly.
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Ashson
Ashson
8,512 Followers

When you're sharing a house with several other people you get to know a bit more about their personal lives than you really want to. It wasn't as though we were relatives or close friends. We were just people sharing a house as that way the rent was affordable. We had six people in a four bedroom house, four girls and two guys. The girls shared two bedrooms while we two males had a room each. Admittedly they were the smallest bedrooms but so what? Men don't require anything like the wardrobe space that women do.

This story is really about Wendy, one of the girls. Well, obviously she was one of the girls. What man would be caught dead with a name like Wendy? Wendy was pushing twenty, age-wise. She was reasonable attractive and also reasonably intelligent. She kept herself fit and dressed with taste and discretion. The sort of girl any man would be proud to take home to his mother. Or to his bed if he could get her there.

That's where Wendy's problem lay. She was still a virgin, albeit an unwilling virgin. Now I wasn't eavesdropping when I learnt her story. I was just comfortably ensconced in an easy chair in the front room, reading. Totally not my fault if Wendy and Marie decided to have a heart to heart and didn't notice me there.

OK. Maybe I should have stood up and waved when they started talking but I thought that might embarrass them, because they were talking about men and sex. I lay low and tried to ignore them but it was a bit hard with Wendy practically wailing out her problem.

To sum it up, Wendy was a virgin. Wendy did not want to be a virgin. Marie suggested that she date some horny male and just let nature take its course and Wendy almost wept at the suggestion. She'd tried that, several times, and therein lay the root of her problem. She panicked.

Apparently she would go on a date with a man. She would enjoy his company. She would enjoy the meal, the nightclub, the theatre, the dancing, the football if that's what he chose. Coming home she'd enjoy kissing him. His hands would start to wander. She didn't mind his hand brushing against her breasts. In fact, that was another thing she enjoyed.

As long as it was outside her clothes. As soon as a hand started to ease inside her clothes, be it bra or panties, she'd panic. She'd find herself turning into the innocent young girl about to be ravished by the wicked male intent on satisfying his lusts. She'd pull the plug on the date at that point, quite prepared to flee his car or unit or wherever they happened to be, running for home and safety.

"I don't know why but the very thought of being naked in front of a man makes me feel faint," Wendy lamented. "I've got to get around this somehow."

"Pick a man you really like and persuade him to go slowly. Tell him to touch you through the clothes to start with. Under the clothes when you're more comfortable."

"I've tried! It just doesn't work for me."

"Well tell him to be patient and eventually he'll get lucky, which means that you will, too. Would getting tiddly help?"

"No. That just makes it worse."

"Oh. Um, have you considered that you may be gay?"

"Well of course I have but I decided that I'm not. Making out with another girl is OK but there's no excitement. It just doesn't seem right."

"So pick a guy with a reputation for not taking no for an answer. He may force the issue."

"Tried that. A knee to the testicles was accepted as meaning no."

"Yes, I can see where it might," said Marie giggling, while my own testicles cringed. "All I can do is wish you luck with tonight's date. Charles, isn't it. He's supposed to be very smooth. Maybe he'll be the one."

"One can only hope," said Wendy with a sigh.

At that stage the pair of them wandered off, to my relief. Charles, whoever he was, had my sympathy. I suspected that he wasn't getting laid that night.

Next morning was a Saturday and I got up late. As far as I could tell the house was deserted. I didn't mind. I enjoy some peace and quiet occasionally. I dug out some cereal and made some coffee and started to enjoy some breakfast. That's when I found I wasn't home alone.

Wendy came snarling into the kitchen. It was obvious from the look on her face that she was not happy. She gave me a look that consigned me and all men to the dunghill of things that should not be allowed in a decent world. My guess was that she either finally got laid and didn't enjoy it or she struck out again. I was betting on striking out.

"That had better not be my cereal," she snapped, looking at my breakfast.

"It's not. This lot came from the big box marked Not Wendy's."

My humour was unappreciated. It's so sad when people can't laugh at life.

"Why's the fucking milk out not in the fridge?"

(A little divergence here. Some essentials, such as milk, are bought using a pool to which we all contribute. That way we don't wind up with six litres of milk and none of us knowing which milk is whose.)

"Mainly because I took it out as I intend to have another cup of coffee."

"Not my coffee, I trust." (She was in a snarky mood.)

"It would be a bit hard for me to be using your coffee," I told her. "You ran out yesterday and must have forgotten to buy some more. You can use mine if you want some."

Wendy proceeded to go on a rant about how she wanted her coffee, not mine, and it was probably my fault that she forgot to get it. Did I say she was in a snarky mood? I was wrong. She'd moved right past snarky to downright obnoxious. She might have been disappointed on her date last night but why take it out on me?

I'd finished my breakfast apart from making my second cup of coffee and the smart thing would have been to vacate the kitchen and let her vent at the empty room. I'm sorry to say that I don't always do the smart thing. What can I say? I'm a man. Sometimes we just get our back up.

I sat back and considered Wendy. It might have looked as though I was listening to what she was saying but my attentive look was actually me regarding what she was wearing and remembering what she'd been saying to Marie the previous day.

Wendy had only just got up and hadn't bothered to get dressed yet. It had been a warm night and the day was already starting to heat up. Wendy's pyjamas were of a light material, a silky sort of stuff that clung to her. That material clung quite lovingly to her breasts, showing the shape of them and a couple of small lumps showed where her nipples were. Eyes travelling downwards I could see the material draped across her hip and thigh in a continuous smooth line. If she was wearing panties under those pyjama trousers there was no sign of them.

She had indicated to Marie that she was extremely nervous about being naked in front of a man. It would be only right and proper to help her overcome this fear. It wasn't as if I would be doing anything to hurt her. I found myself remarkably easy to convince.

I rose to my feet, nodding thoughtfully as Wendy continued to expound on the deficiencies of the male sex. A quick step around the table and I had hold of her pyjama top and was lifting it up and off before Wendy had any idea that I'd do such a thing. She gave a strangled cry, breaking off her tirade mid-word, her hands flying up to cover her breasts. She'd have been better served sending them down to hold on to her pyjama pants. My hands dropped and her pyjamas did likewise, pooling around her feet. I was pleased to observe that I'd been correct about the panties or, rather, the lack thereof.

A pair of hands is not really enough to cover all a ladies bounteous charms, although Wendy was certainly trying to, her face quite red.

"Are you feeling faint?" I asked sympathetically.

"Faint? Why would I feel faint, you rotten swine? What do you think you're playing at?"

"Oh, that's good. Ah, where are you going?"

"To my bedroom. Where else would you think I'm going?"

Wendy was practically dancing on the spot in rage, which did not help her modesty. It did seem to add an interesting bounce to her breasts though.

"I don't think you should do that," I told her.

"Why not?"

"You're naked. If you go running off to a bedroom I'd naturally think you want me to follow you and make love to you. You'll find it makes a lot more sense to just make yourself some coffee. Drinking it will help you get control of yourself. Ah, would you mind making me a second cup while you're at it."

So Wendy sat down and had a nice cup of coffee and some quiet conversation. There were a few hitches along the way. First of all she wanted to put her pyjamas back on but I maintained that they were mine by right of conquest and wouldn't give them back.

Did I really think she was going to run around the kitchen naked, making coffee?

I didn't deign to answer such an obvious question. I just smiled and she gave me a nasty look.

Then she didn't want to make my coffee. She wasn't my servant, she pointed out. I pointed out that she was using my coffee to make her own and good manners insisted that she do mine at the same time.

She then wanted to know when I became familiar with good manners. Sounded quite sarcastic when she asked that. Almost hurt my feelings but I made allowances.

Finally we were sitting down and drinking our coffee, even though she still seemed to be a trifle nervous. At least, she'd given up on trying to cover herself all the time, giving in to the inevitable.

"Something that puzzles me," I told her, "is that you seem to conduct yourself as though you were a virgin? I find that hard to believe when you've got a figure like yours. I mean, just look at yourself. As Solomon said, 'Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins'. A very poetic way of saying they are fine and shapely and yours certainly fall under that category. Continuing with you and Solomon, 'Thy rounded thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a skilful workman'."

I shook my head slowly, letting her see that I was looking at her body admiringly. She didn't say anything. She was too busy blushing and squirming about. One would almost think she didn't want to be admired.

"So, are you a virgin and if so, why?"

"That is none of your fucking business," she said.

Fair enough. If she didn't want to discuss her little problem I saw no reason to push it. I was, however, wondering if she really did panic when someone touched her intimately. It should be easy enough to find out. It wasn't as though I'd have to slip my hand under her clothes.

I'd finished my coffee so I rose to put my cup in the sink. Seeing Wendy had also finished I took her cup at the same time. She was rising from the table as I turned back.

"Now that we've had our coffee I assume that you have no objection to me going and getting dressed?" she asked sweetly, a lovely smile painted on her face.

"Not really," I said, smiling just as sweetly and just as falsely. "But before you do go. . ."

Seeing she was facing me all I had to do was reach out and I had both her breasts held in my hands, rubbing them gently. She went red, then white, then red again. She opened her mouth but couldn't seem to say anything. Her hands came up and pawed at my hands, presumably trying to push them away. I ignored her feeble pushing, continuing to stroke her breasts and tease her nipples. Nipples which, I might add, were quick to stand out.

"Your hands," she finally burst out. "You're touching my breasts. You can't do that."

"Yes, I can. I'm already doing it. Do you mean you don't want me doing this?"

"Yes."

"Is that yes, do it, or yes, stop doing it?"

"Stop."

I slid my hands off her breasts, running them down her sides until I reached her hips. At that point they went in different directions, with me moving slightly to the side of her. I now had one hand stroking her bottom while the other was running across her mons and sliding down and between her legs.

Wendy had no idea of what to do at this stage. She completely lost it, hands waving around, gasping and saying stop, repeatedly. I had an idea of why she claimed she panicked. She was just a shade short of doing that now. I moved my hands back up until I was once more cupping her breasts.

"Do you prefer this?" I asked and she just nodded dumbly. It wasn't that she wanted me stroking her breasts but a case of her not wanting me stroking her pussy. It was just unfortunate that she wouldn't be getting her way.

She'd tried backing away from me with the result that she had backed up against the kitchen table, leaning backwards slightly. I released her breasts and undid my trousers, letting them drop. Wendy looked down at me and her face did that red, white, red, thing again. For a moment I thought she was going to faint which would have put a bit of a dampener on things.

Once again I reached down and stroked Wendy's mons, then slid my hand between her legs again. A little shudder ran through her.

"You can't," she said in a voice that was barely a whisper.

I continued rubbing her. I could feel her heat and dampness. Like it or not, she was aroused. I moved closer, my erection now brushing against her. It was at this stage that she found her full voice.

She didn't quite panic but I think it was a near thing. Hands waving and gesticulating she informed me that there was no way known that she could allow me to touch her. While she was telling me this, loudly and vehemently, I was pressing a foot against her ankle, moving her legs further apart. Now having sufficient room to play I dragged my cock down along her tummy, sliding it between her legs, letting it rise up until the head was pressing firmly against her slit.

Wendy got even more vocal, explaining in detail what she would do to me if I didn't back off. At the same time I was easing her lips apart, my cock probing for the correct point. Finding it I pushed lightly, easing between her lips, letting the wrap around my cock.

Her eyes opened wide and there was a look of total disbelief on her face. I started pushing, slowly but firmly, and she started protesting, loudly and heatedly. She was all, "No, don't, stop it, argh, stop, cut it out, you can't do this, this isn't fair, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera." The entire time I was pushing home she kept the protests going. Honestly, the noise she made when I popped her cherry was indistinguishable from the noise she made the rest of the time. (I was right. She had struck out on her date.)

I drove fully home and then put up a hand to cover her mouth, silencing her.

"You've made your protest," I told her, "and it made no difference. You're no longer a virgin. Now's the time to stop carrying on and go along with what is happening. Just calm down and move with me."

I removed my hand and she started on me, discussing my morals, my antecedents, cursing me, cursing my ancestors, and cursing any descendants I might have. She really had a good grasp of vituperation. I finally put my hand over her mouth again.

"Behave yourself, Wendy," I said firmly. "I am not starting to fuck you properly until you get a grip on yourself. I'm quite prepared to stay like this all morning."

The hell I was. It would kill me. I took my hand away and she stayed silent, glaring at me.

I started moving slowly, just pulling back a short way before smoothly returning, talking all the time. I was telling her how sweet she felt, how warm and loving. I encouraged her to move with me, telling her when to push. I praised her body, telling her how wonderful it was, how exquisite her breasts were. (My hands had captured them again and I was massaging them in time to the fucking.)

Little by little she was relaxing, listening, moving with me. I slowly increased the length of the strokes, but not the speed. Not yet. She stayed with me, watching me, while I was watching her. I could see the change in her expression as the gentle strokes started to build on her excitement. Now she was aroused and pushing harder against me as I thrust in.

"Harder?" I asked softly, and she gave a quick nod.

Harder it was. I picked up speed a little and she now had a dreamy look on her face, her eyes were half closed, and she was just moving with me, feeling me inside her, relishing the contact. I increased the pace a little more and just went on like that, stretching it out for as long as possible.

Wendy's eyes were now closed and from the look on her face I could have been Quasimodo and she wouldn't have cared. All she cared about was the way she was feeling, the excited arousal that was steadily carrying her away. She was breathing hard, nearly gasping.

It was rapidly approaching time to finish things. I drove in hard, a lot harder than I had been going. Her eyes popped open and she started making little grunting sounds as I hit home. Her hips were working overtime to stay with me and her hands were clutching at my shoulders. A few more hard strokes and she lost it, climaxing splendidly, while I didn't do too badly in the climax stakes myself.

"Why did you do that?" she asked once we had collected ourselves.

"Well," I said thoughtfully, "I will admit that I took off your pyjamas purely as a stroke of mischief as you were being exceedingly rude. The trouble was that once I took them off you looked so beautiful that I couldn't help myself. I had to make love to you. I suppose I should apologise for forcing myself on you but I'm not going to. I thought the whole thing was marvellous and I just can't make myself regret it. You were just too wonderful."

(Never apologise after making love to a woman. They will resent it fiercely if you do. Admit that you probably should but can't and they'll forgive you.)

Wendy just gave me a female type look. You know the sort of thing. They know exactly what it means while you have no clue. They also know you have no clue. That's probably why they give you that sort of look, just to get you wondering.

I won't say that Wendy was avoiding me for the rest of the day. It just turned out that wherever I was, she wasn't. I did catch a glimpse of her when she was picked up for her date that evening. She was wearing a short red party dress. It had to be short as it was so tight it would have tied her legs together if it was any longer. I've seen coats of paint that weren't as tight as that dress. Her boyfriend, I decided, was on a good thing that night.

All the girls in the house had dates that night and were soon gone. Mike didn't have a date but was out hunting for one. Or poaching one if he could get away with it. For some reason I didn't want to go out. There was a game on the TV so I decided to just stay home, bum around, and watch the game.

I was rather surprised when the front door banged at around nine and Wendy came stalking in. Rather a short date, I thought. She came into the front room and gave me the evil eye.

"Shut-up," she said, and sounded serious about it.

I didn't say a word.

"I don't want to talk about it," she told me.

I nodded sympathetically.

"That asshole only took me out so he could dump me," she stormed. "It's not me, it's him, he said. He just wasn't connecting. So sorry but I'll be better off without him. Too damn right I will. He was born a loser and will die a loser. Quite soon, too, if I see him again. Why did I have to bother about getting all dressed up just to get dumped? He could have done it over the phone. A lot easier and no awkward drive home afterwards. Asshole."

I tried my best to look both sympathetic and understanding. I still didn't say anything. If I did she'd jump straight down my throat.

She did anyway. The ex-boyfriend wasn't there and I was, so I was the obvious target.

"You're an asshole, too," she snapped, turning on me. "You took unconscionable advantage of me this morning. I've never been so outraged in all my life."

"True. And then there's the way I behaved this evening. Absolutely shocking, I'm sure."

Ashson
Ashson
8,512 Followers
12