“Melody…” I want to say more, but the image of her standing before me in a pair of boots, riding pants, and a bra is too much. I can’t form words. I can barely breathe through the excitement clutching every inch of me much less speak.
After giving me time to take in how much her body has changed from the last time we played the I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours game, Melody signs, “Your turn.”
Since I’m wearing a plain white shirt, it takes me not even two seconds to comply with her request. Usually, at this time of the morning, I’m cursing Mr. Gregg for his intensive training regime, but right here, right now, I’m thanking him.
Melody takes her time ogling the bumps that usually have me cramping up at all times of the night. I’m not as built as Connor, and I’m certainly nowhere near as tall, but the way Melody looks at me makes me feel like I’m a giant.
You have no idea how hard it is for me to keep my eyes on Melody’s face when her hands creep down to the zipper in her pants. The hiss of the metal lowering sends a pleasurable zap through my body. It clusters in an area I’m certain will make the removal of my jeans extremely difficult. I’m as hard as a rock.
A few seconds later, my eyes drop to Melody’s midsection. It isn’t because I’m a pervert who couldn’t hold back for a second longer, even if I can’t. We lost eye contact from Melody bobbing down to undo the laces in her boots.
Once they’re opened, removed, and lined up against my dresser, Melody finalizes tugging her pants down her thighs. She folds the rigid material into a neat pile before placing them onto the edge of my bed.
Although this morning is going above and beyond anything I could’ve ever anticipated, she must have had some inkling about how our proceeding would prevail because she’s wearing matching undergarments. She only does that when she’s afraid someone is going to see them, such as at summer camp. She hated the idea of being caught in mismatching underwear, so she made her mom purchase identical sets before every camp.
She didn’t need to worry. I’d never let anyone see her in a compromising position, not to mention Mr. Gregg, who was the supervisor for every excursion and camp trip we attended.
While licking her lips, Melody’s eyes drop to the crotch of my jeans. I don’t look down, but I’m reasonably sure she can see the outline of my dick. It’s so squashed against the zipper, I’m extra cautious not to nip my skin while lowering the flimsy mechanism keeping my erection contained.
After folding my jeans in a similar pattern to Melody’s pair, I place them on top of her pants. Something so insignificant shouldn’t seem like a big deal, but I really like seeing our clothes tangled together.
While moving back to stand across from Melody, I adjust my crotch, so the crest of my cock isn’t peeking out of my boxer shorts. Melody’s eyes are as wide as mine, and her skin appears just as sticky. We’ve stood across from each other like this before, but this time is starkly different. For one, even with my hands hiding my crotch, my erection can’t be missed, and two, there’s a heavy dose of sentiment in the air.
Joey’s condition isn’t the only thing about to have a major upswing today.
My life is as well.
“Don’t,” I plead when Melody pulls her arms behind her back, so she can fiddle with the clasps of her bra. I’m not asking her to stop because I don’t want this to go any further. I want to remove her bra. It’s been a fantasy of mine for years. “Can I?”
Melody watches the bob of my Adam’s apple before lifting her chin. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud when I slowly bridge the gap between us. My room is a standard size room, but I shorten the length of my strides so that I have ample time to take in the stunning visual before me. Even if this is as far as we’ll ever go, I’ll die a happy man.
When I fail to unlatch her bra three times in a row, Melody’s soundless giggles increases the heat on my cheeks. She steps back before advising the cause of my dilemma. “The clasp is in the front.” Her chest balances against mine when she curls her hands around mine to assist me. Once it’s removed, she peers at me with mischievous eyes. “I think Mom bought this style on purpose. Only an ambidextrous could remove my bra without my knowledge.”
The mention of her mother should be awkward, but for some reason, it isn’t. Her parents have featured in my thoughts a handful of times the past ten minutes, and although the many scenarios I’ve run through my head if her father finds out about this should have me stopping it immediately, they’re not scary enough for me to believe the consequences of my actions will ever outweigh the gain.
Furthermore, we’ve been tiptoeing toward this for a decade, so I’m more than eager to skip another decade of torture.
“Wait,” I plea when Melody’s hands lower to the waistband of her hot pink panties. “It is my turn.”
My lips curl into my infamous lopsided grin when Melody nervously signs, “But you don’t have a bra.”
“I know, but we are going turn for turn, so it is only fair I go next.”
Although I’m acting chivalrously, in reality, I’m dying for any excuse to step away from her. Our parents stopped bathing us together the instant Melody’s breasts began developing. I’ve dreamed of seeing them uncovered ever since.
Melody doesn’t take a page out of my book. With her politeness as long forgotten as our first fight, she stares at my crotch, gasping when my dick springs free from my boxer shorts. He’s standing proud and tall, virally stretching up to my belly button. With my father in the military, I’m cut like many other brat kids, so nothing hides the glistening droplet at the tip Melody is eyeballing.
I’m stark naked, and Melody is still wearing panties, but when she circles her hand around my cock, I no longer care about our strip-tease game. The girl I’ve admired since we were five is stroking my dick. Now isn’t the time to keep a tally on our game.
A thick groan shudders up my chest when Melody swipes her thumb over the crest of my cock to gather the droplet of pre-cum pooled there. She has touched my dick before, but it was always through clothes when we were snuggled under a blanket, and more times than not, it was made out as if it were an ‘accidental’ brush or grope. It has never been as direct and to the point as it is now.
The nervous fumble of Melody’s strokes reveals she’s not experienced in giving hand jobs. I don’t mind. I love the way we’re fumbling through this together almost as much as I love the way it only takes a few pumps for her confidence to soar. The gruff moans vibrating from my chest must be encouraging, not to mention the pre-cum her tugs produce. The head of my cock is glistening as much as Melody’s mouth is salivating, and my balls are tucking in close to my body.
While her hot breaths cover my neck with tiny beads of condensation, Melody drags her hand from the base of my cock to the tip over and over again, only stopping when I beg her to. I need a minute to calm down before I make a fool of myself.
I should be ashamed at how quickly my excitement is building, especially since we’re standing in the middle of my room like the novices we are, but you have no clue how good this feels. Her perfect combination of speed and firmness ensures not an ounce of unwanted friction is felt even without the addition of shower water.
When Melody peers at me with wide, apprehensive eyes, panicked as to why I stopped her, I blubber out the first excuse that pops into my head, “It is your turn.”
