The difference between the two classes was tremendous. Most of the students had been taking private lessons for five or six years. One of them even made the grade and became a noted concert violinist. Our teacher acknowledged that it was the most unusual orchestra he had ever led. While the beginning seventh-grade class was still learning to do scales without squeaking and hitting bloopers, the ninth-grade orchestra was performing the entire original score of Pinion's Rainbow, with the help of the choir and dramatics club, whose abilities unfortunately were not equal to ours.
It was during rehearsals for Finian that I got my first real go at a cunt. I began joking with Donna, a girl who sang in the choir. For several days, when the stage characters were rehearsing and the orchestra and choir were not needed, Donna and I sat next to each other in auditorium chairs and talked. Since only the stage lights were on, I began to hold her hand in the semidarkness and she held my hand back, eagerly. Never since have I received such a thrill just from holding hands. I had such a hard-on that I was sure I would come in my pants. When we had to go back and play I made a Groucho Marx dash, to have the security of the snare drum in front of my crotch.
One day shortly before the big performance we arrived in the auditorium early from lunch. Donna and I decided to explore the area backstage. We walked amid rows of ropes, pulleys, and guywires to a metal stairway, and, with bated eagerness, we decided that we should find out where the stairway led. She was wearing white bucks with white ankle socks, a navy pleated skirt, and a white middy blouse with a V neck. I followed her up, and I thought my erection would catch on one of the steep steps, as my face was practically in her ass. I could make out fine, blond hairs on her bare calves. At the top of the stairway was a passage which led to the stage lighting booth. The booth was empty.
Donna was a tall girl, about my height, and we kissed and held one another the second we got into the booth. I had never kissed a girl before, but luckily Donna seemed to have had some experience. She kissed as she had seen some of her screen favorite's kiss, turning her head sideways and putting her lips on mine, then just holding them there. Nevertheless, it felt heavenly. We had our arms around each other's waists and pressed tightly together. I could feel her breasts against my chest and my swollen cock pressing into the space between her legs. Without saying a word or moving her lips, she removed one hand and let it drop to her side for a minute. Then I felt it lightly against the side of my buttocks, as if it was resting there by accident. I bent her slightly and turned the front of my pants toward her hand. I was so excited I thought I might explode. It wasn't possible to turn all the way because of our position, so she obliged by moving her hand slowly, ever so lightly, to the front of nay pants, over my bulge. As we continued to kiss she increased the pressure of her hand until it was firmly against my cock. And then she began to rub. Panting with our lips together, I thought I would go crazy. It was actually happening to me. I was actually kissing a real girl while she felt my cock. I could hardly believe it.
Of course, I wanted to feel her,-too, but I didn't know whether to go for her tits, her cunt, or both. Still shy, I decided on tits. I put one hand to her neck. Slowly, I let it run down to the V of her middy and then inside the blouse. To accomplish this maneuver I had to turn my hand all the way around, leaving my elbow sticking up in the air. Damn! I was between her slip and her blouse. I pulled my hand up and let it slide down again, being careful this time to keep it in contact with her soft skin. I felt the lip of her bra, the swelling of her breast, and started to slip my hand in, when the damnedest thing happened. With her free hand she firmly grabbed my forearm and withdrew it from her blouse before I could get all the way inside of her bra. Hell. Here she was, with her hand rubbing my crotch, and she wouldn't even let me feel a little tit.
Still kissing, her hand still on my cock, I was perplexed. My mind raced to solve a barely formulated problem. If she wouldn't let me touch her tits, she sure as hell wouldn't let me go for her cunt. With my lack of knowledge and my obsession with sex organs, I reasoned that I had only three alternatives: tits, cunt, or cock. Since two were temporarily out of the question, I decided to try the third.
Thank God I was wearing gray cords with a zipper, instead of Levi's with those impossible buttons. I moved my hand down and put it on top of hers, pressing it still more firmly in-to my cock. No resistance. I removed my hand from hers and found my zipper. Still no resistance. I unzipped halfway. Still no resistance. I unzipped all the way and waited. She had slid her hand over to the side, feeling my shaft and rubbing slightly through my pants. I waited for her to put her hand into the opening, but it didn't move. Again making a choice, I put my hand into the opening and immediately ran into trouble. My prick had grown so big that I couldn't get it out through the little slit in the front of my jockey shorts. I struggled and struggled, but to no avail. The damn thing wouldn't budge. Finally, in desperation, I broke the kiss and bent over almost double to give myself room to move in front. Gratefully, it popped out and I resumed our kiss.
Donna's hand moved over slowly, just touching it at first, then stroking it with her fingertips, and finally grabbing and holding. Then something else strange happened. Her breathing became much harder, her arms tightened around me, and she pressed herself closer. What was this? Could it be that she was enjoying it? I couldn't figure it out.
I decided not to screw around with tits anymore. If she could feel mine, then I could feel hers; fair was fair. I put my hand directly up her leg and began groping at her crotch, through nylon panties. I could feel prickly little hairs sticking out through the material. To my surprise, Donna didn't resist. She began moving her hips back and forth and moaning softly. She liked it. She really, actually, liked it. I couldn't get over it; girls used fucking motions just like boys.
Elated by my success, I turned my hand and slipped a few fingers under the elastic of her panties. And there it was, resting against my hand, soft, pliable pubic hair and the lips of a cunt. A real honest-to-God cunt. Finally.
I moved my fingers to try to get one into her cunt. It was wet. It was wet and slippery. What the hell was going on here? Had she pissed in her pants? Her moaning became louder, her motions faster and more forceful. She spread her legs apart a little and seemed to be really enjoying it. I took my free hand and plunged it down the front of her blouse again. This time she didn't protest. I found her nipple and began squeezing, which was about all I could do inside the cramped quarters of her bra, with my elbow sticking up like a flagpole.
Meanwhile, my hand down below was turned inside out and backward. My circulation was going and it hurt like hell, but I didn't care. Just being able to touch a cunt was worth it. Anyway, I was still in trouble. There seemed to be all kinds of folds of flesh and hair, and every time I shoved into what I thought was a hole, it turned out not to be a hole.
Suddenly the problem solved itself. Donna rubbed a little too fast and a little too hard for just a second, but that was long enough. I shot off all over her hand and the front of her skirt. She said, "Oh, oh, oh," as it came squirting out, and broke our kiss to watch my ejaculation. She had the funniest look on her face. An expression of pleased triumph. I couldn't figure that out, either. She moved back to pull my hand away from her cunt, wherever it was, because even being right on it, I couldn't seem to get into it. I was almost relieved. My hand and wrist hurt so badly that my eyes were tearing.
Donna took a small hanky from the sleeve of her blouse and cleaned off the front of her skirt. On the way back downstairs she made me promise that I would never tell anybody, and of course I lied and said I would rather die first. Back in the orchestra pit I kept smelling my finger. It was a week before I washed my hands; the hands that had touched a real cunt. The whole experience didn't last ten minutes, and five minutes later I was letting the other guys in the drum section smell my finger. I wouldn't tell them who I had fingerfucked, but they all knew I had been sitting with Donna.