Thanks, Morgan

Morgan was lazily scratching the backs of her long legs with a ballpoint pen. She was the first thing I saw when I shyly stepped out into her garden after undressing, and that slow stroking action alone was starting to make my head spin. We were both down to our underwear, white cotton limpid in the dusk, but the high black hedges surrounding Morgan’s house guaranteed privacy. Though it was evening, there was still enough light in the late June sky for us to see each other.

As I drew nearer, in a kind of dizzy daze, I concluded at last on what I’d wondered about the night I met Morgan. That risotto-smell like spicy baked rice had indeed been coming from the girls at the party - or as it seemed right now, specifically this one!

"Can’t get used to little white panties on a boy," was what she said to me.

At once I blushed, but Morgan went on, not unkindly: "They're like ones I'd wear!"

"They're like the ones you are wearing!" I pointed out, embarrassed, and we both laughed. Was it the twilight, or did I dare imagine there was the tiniest of blushes on her adorable flat face?

“Mine fit me better,” Morgan then remarked. A second later it dawned on me what she meant. My hand shot downward, to shield what her very pretty blue eyes could plainly see.

“Like that’s anyone’s fault but yours!” I cried.

"Bet Jenny gave you a hard time about it," she went on feelingly. "Promise you’ll have more birthday fun here with me."

My heart positively throbbed. "You're so sweet," I stammered out, breathless because I meant every word.

Morgan turned in a swish of her straight silky fair hair to lead the way. She’d done something to the ends to make them wavy, and the way her locks bounced on her small shoulders was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. Her long slim legs made me almost too weak to keep up with her brisk walking pace. The risotto-smell seemed to hang around her if anything more when we were outdoors.

She reached the picnic-table and sat down upon it, with her feet in white sports socks and shoes prettily together on the bench. A little hand like a butterfly fluttered an invitation on the place next to her. I sure didn't need telling twice, and hurried my tired self to clamber up beside her. When she asked I told her all about how it had gone at Jenny’s.

“Wow,” said Morgan when I was done, almost admiringly. “I knew how bad you smell at netball, but tennis? By your next birthday are we going to find a sport you can actually do?”

She ran her finger up and down something she’d already mentioned, then lingered excruciatingly at the very tip for second after heart-stopping second. I’d had the most maddening ache immediately below for most of the month, but this was worse. This, I could hardly bear. I gulped.

“Again, not really my fault if my grades for PE are even lower than usual lately,” I reminded her once I’d found my voice. Morgan giggled.

"What makes it fun," she breathed into my face, "is seeing if we can kiss for longer than anything."

My heart leapt. "Promise no spicy lip-gloss?" I whispered cautiously.

"That was ages ago," she said, and we clamped our open mouths together.

How long we were like that, me with the sweet little slim body pressed up against me, was anyone's guess. It was the nicest thing I'd ever felt, so much so I was fitfully sure something so nice couldn't be real. I started itching in the same place I’d had such trouble with when I was playing Jenny, so moved my hand there and scratched while I kissed, pensively, digging my fingers in. Morgan murmured as if some of that heightened sensation was being transferred to her.

For a dreamy endless stretch we kissed and I scratched. At great length Morgan’s hand slapped my scratching one, quick enough to sting, and she drew slightly away and giggled.

"I've got to!" I insisted, laughing. I also had to have those pink shiny lips again, while they were so near.

"See how long you can leave it," she suggested throatily, and then the sweetness I so wanted was all mine again.

It was hard work leaving the back of my underpants alone though. I stared to fidget. Then I tried to shuffle and rub the itchy bit on the rough wood of the picnic table. I could feel Morgan was giggling again, mid-kiss! Ooh, but the prickling was unbearable, I was going mad for a scratch! With every breath by now I gave an urgent little whimper, even as we pressed lips, and I couldn't sit still.

We parted. "Go on then," she pushed softly from her pout, and relief flooded through me as I shoved my fingernails up hard and went busily to work through the grubby cotton while our lips planted down again.

Oh, the ticklish dry spicy scent of girl-risotto. It was rising up everywhere as we kissed. My biggest fear in fact was that from now on whenever risotto was served at dinner, I'd be too embarrassed to leave the table the minute I sniffed it! I was spilling over with things I wanted to say to Morgan, all of them about how sweet she was even though I'd said that already, but I didn't want this never-ending kiss and the never-ending press of her to ever end.

At last I had to disengage though, if only for a breath or two, because I was crying. "You're so nice," I moaned to her, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"You’re still an orange," was her reply, and one hand closed around the tented-up fabric at the front of my underpants to gently squeeze right at the end.

I gasped, but she just gave me a soft shush and then we were kissing again. 

Now as we kissed and kissed her hand started to move, squeeze and release, squeeze and release, never anything but slow and gentle though it still made my heart lurch more each time until the sensation was almost unbearable. I murmured aloud with unrest and longing. How was she making me feel like this, and why? I was lip-locking in a passion by now, desiring more touch and taste and smell just as I had to have more of what it was she was provoking in my pants.

When Morgan lifted her hand away and drew back I didn't know whether to heave a huge sigh of relief or whimper out loud right away for more.

“Just a sec,” she told me innocently, and reached for her leg-elastic.

"If you so much as touch that diary…!” I warned her, already laughing at the smug look on her little flat face, and then we kissed and she started to gently squeeze and release again.

It was my dream come true. After the last half hour I was ready to believe anything could happen to me, though I'd never imagined it would get the front of my underpants so dingy and smelly or make my heart beat like this.

"I'm going to be the envy of my friends!" I stammered out.

"You are if you can manage it," Morgan corrected and we resumed, but I had a feeling we wouldn’t have to for very long.

My pants were grubby by now, front and back, in fact I didn't think they'd ever been worse. I thought of Jenny, who'd obviously want any boy to have spotless underwear and everything else before she let him so much as near her cheesy knickers, and it amazed me to think that because of her I'd always thought of this as something you could only do if you kept clean. Although this was my first time, it was becoming pretty clear the only way you could do this was by getting smelly!

“Happy Birthday,” Morgan breathed, and that was when she let me.

THE END