When I was a kid, I had a tree house, down the hill past the barn, in the back field. Grandpa helped build it high in an old oak out of scrap wood. It had a rope ladder I could pull up, to keep my sister and her friends out.
At first, my tree house had a strict "no girls" policy. When I was a little older, I wanted to reverse my policy, but there were no girls offering to join me. Many times I'd sneak one od my dad's Playboys up to the treehouse, and stare longingly at the images.
The Millers has a daughter, several years older than me. Denise was 18 when I was 14 in the summer of 1978. School had let out, and I spent a lot of days in my tree house. One day, I spotted her walking across the field in her dress. I called to her from my perch in the tree. It took her a while to locate me, but she eventually walked over and looked up. I kicked down the ladder, and she came up to my secret spot.
She glanced around. I'd brought up an old blanket and some pillows to make it like a fort. She didn't seem impressed. Then her eye caught the corner of the Playboy sticking out from under a pillow.
"What's this?" she asked, taking it from it's hidden place and flipping it open. "You're too young for this!"
"No I'm not!"
She continued to flip though it as she sat down on the pillows. She'd stop and read the centerfold. "Miss April..." she said to herself. "I could be her..."
"You're just as pretty," I said.
"You think?"
"Heck yes."
"Oh you don't know. You're just a kid."
"No I'm not."
"Oh yeah?" she looked up at me from the magazine. She seemed to let her eyes move over my body and around the tree house and off into the distance, toward the field and the forest. The she said casually, "Ever play Truth or Dare?"
I hadn't.
"Truth or dare?" she asked.
"Truth."
"Have you ever kissed a girl?"
I admitted that I hadn't. She'd dare me to kiss her. I leaned forward, mouth puckered. She laughed.
Then she asked if I'd ever seen between a girl's legs, and I admited, shyly, "Only in the magazines."
She lifted her sundress just enough to show me she wasn't wearing any underwear. I caught a glimpse of her thick triangle of dark curls.
She asked if I'd ever felt a breasts, and I said no.
"Hold out your hand," she instructed. I did. She took my hand and placed it squarely on her breast. She pressed her hand over mine, forcing me to cup her soft breast, feeling her through the light fabric.
She glanced down and noticed my erection straining in my pants.
"Truth or dare?" she asked.
Feeling bold from the recent touch of my first boob, I said with as much courage as I could muster: "Dare."
"Show me your pecker," she said.
I blushed, but tugged down my shorts, and let my boner spring out.
She looked at my body with interest. Did I ever touch myself? Sure, I admitted.
"Thinking of me?"
I nodded.
"Thinking of this," she asked, spreading her legs and showing me her bush again.
I nodded.
"Do you want me to show you?"
I nodded.
"Do you dare me?"
I was blushing, shaking, my dick sticking out in the wind. I stared at her body and her pale skin that had been under the cover of her summer swimsuit. She opened her lips, parted her curls with her fingers, and showed me her soft, pink skin.
"I dare you to touch yourself," she said.
Awkwardly, I fumbled with my penis. I was hard and the sight of her body sent me over the edge quickly. She watched me the whole time, letting one finger slowly glide up and down her wet lips.
When I was done, she flipped her dress back down and descended the ladder. "See ya around," she said. I didn't know if I should be embarrassed or proud.
In the following days, she'd return to the tree house. It was summer break and we both had plenty of time on our hands. She had a job at Dairy Queen, but it left plenty of hours to come by. Sometimes we'd look at the latest Playboy.
She would let me stare at her as she spread her body, as she touched herself, and told me to do the same. We'd get our timing right to cum at the same moment. The more we did it, the closer she let me get to her naked body. She never let me have sex with her, though; she said she didn't want to get pregnant. But she'd let me caress a nipple with one hand as I stroked with the other. She'd let me cum on her chest a few times.
By the end of summer, she even let me stick a finger inside her, and put my mouth on her, and taste a woman for the first time. She showed me how, and she would let me make her orgasm with my tougue on her clitoris and my finger stroking inside her pressing up against her vagina wall at her-g-spot. I didn't know the name then, but I knew to watch for the signals as she began to shake, and then release in orgasm.
At the very end of summer, she told me she had a special treat for me becuase I had given her so many orgasms. She took my penis into her mouth and sucked me off, until I came powerfully in a spasm. She didn't stop sucking until she had drained every drop of cum from my teenage balls. Then she looked up at me and wiped a drop of semen from her lips and smiled. "You're a good kid," she said. "And not a half bad lover. I'm gonna miss you."
She left for college and I never saw her again. Some said she went to New York and became a model.
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