Free XXX Stories Sex Story

Erotic sex story Exotic xxxstories

Prodigy

This is the true story about my life. I didn’t talk
until I was 5 years old. The pediatricians my parents
had taken me to, gave me a working diagnosis of
autism. They said I would always stay a c***d, and
never become independent. They recommended they put me
away in an institution.

My parents refused to do that. They kept me close to
home instead. At about the age of 7, when I finally
did learn to talk, they mainstreamed me into a public
elementary school. I was teased, taunted, and beaten
up a lot. To make matters worse, my father eventually
became a wife and c***d beater. My mother, at the same
time, felt I was too vulnerable to be allowed contact
with other c***dren, so she forbade me to venturing
away from home except for school hours.

The thing you have to understand is that while I still
was never a very verbal c***d even when I finished 6th
grade, one teacher noticed a discrepancy between my
grades and my achievement tests, who then alerted the
school psychologist, who then upon testing me
discovered I actually had off-the-scale scores in
nonverbal reasoning along with a photographic memory.

After a bureaucratic fight between my teachers and
parents on one side, and the school board on the
other, all the way up to the state level
superintendent; I was given the offer to begin high
school at a young age

While my classmates were warned to keep their hands
off me, I was still especially lonely in high school
since no student would even talk to me outside of
class. I was far too intelligent for the k**s my own
age, and far too young for people I wanted to be
friends with. To make matters much worse, my own
mother remained extremely overprotective, essentially
forbidding me any kind of social life for fear someone
might take advantage of me.

I tore apart the entire high school’s math curriculum
and rode it right up to calculus with the help of
tutors my mother hired. I also took some of the
hardest courses the high school had to offer, finally
graduating high school at the age of 15. My parents
had no choice but to board me at a local college about
3 hours away by rail. I was therefore attending
college in my teens, the way nearly everyone else was
attending high school in theirs. My mother still
forbade me any social contact, and I could not defy
her as she was paying for my tuition.

I was at least as lonely in college as I was in high
school. My parents divorced in my sophomore year and
since she was paying my tuition out of c***d support,
I still had to dance to her tune. No frats. No
parties. No clubs. No dates. I was also to leave
college to return home every Friday, and leave home
every Sunday for college.

I finally turned 18 years old as a junior in college.
I was waiting for my next class on the doorstep of the
engineering building watching the rain falling off the
room. I saw a figure in a rubber yellow rain jacket
stumbling toward me through the mud. Remembering my
manners, I stood and offered the person my seat out of
the rain.

A lady’s voice in a thrilling contralto thanked me.
She motioned me back down to share the seat with me.
She threw her hood back. She had brown hair, brown
eyes, ivory skin, and a beautiful smile. I then also
saw the reason for her hobbling.. She was walking on
crutches.

Her name was Dana. To this day, I still carry a torch
for her, even though I am happily married and even
though she is twenty years dead. Here’s why:

I cut class that morning just to talk with her for a
couple hours. She was absolutely amazing, a
Renaissance lady who knew history and microbiology.
She was a perpetual graduate student who attended this
school simply for the sheer love of learning. I
identified myself as an engineering major in the
junior year.

She said I looked very young to be a junior. My mother
had been extremely beautiful in her day, and my father
once said I’m the only one of his c***dren to take
after her. Evidently my round face which I inherited
from her accentuated my youth even further. I also had
dark brown hair, and soft grey eyes, and I wore
aviator glasses.

I revealed my age to her. She asked me how that
happened. I shrugged, saying “no 7th or 8th grade.”
“Oh, no!” she gasped. She was 32 years old, a trust
fund baby, and owned her own house off campus. She
told me once upon a time she had been an extremely
bright c***d like me. “They called me a prodigy. I
strongly suspect you are the same, just younger,” she
said.

We spent the entire year talking about practically
anything she or I wanted to, over any subject you
might possibly imagine. She was brighter than I was,
than I was above average, her mind was an entire
universe for me to explore, and I learned a great deal
about the world from her. She was also a bit of a
Japanophile, and tutored me on the bare bones of their
honor code, bushido. She told me that she and I were
both samurai, except that instead of katanas for
weapons we had our own minds, and we were bound by our
honor to use our powers wisely.

The reason for her crutches was a sparring accident
from the karate club. The club was not a formal
extracurricular activity, so during my freshman year
at 16, I used that as my excuse to gain some exercise
and some knowledge of self-defense.

I figured what my mother would not object to me making
an effort to lose weight in a gym, I simply neglected
to mention exactly how. I was more than thirty percent
overweight, the result of a lifetime of inactivity and
stress-eating. I never advanced beyond white belt
because of this.

I had never seen Dana before at the gym where the club
held daily sessions, evidently she and I attended on
different days. At the time I met her, I had been a
white belt for three years, and she told me she held a
green belt. She invited me to her house, where we
spent a couple of hours per week doing very light
sparring to get her knee joint back into shape.

By the time she was completely well we would spar at
half strength. She regained her ability to dodge any
kick I fired at her. I got my share of thumps from the
kicks she launched at me.

The year between the time I met her when I was 18, and
the time I started the fall of my senior year when I
was 19, were very happy times. I found myself falling
for her, but I never had to courage to tell her that.
Instead, I invited Dana over to my folks as a friend
for Thanksgiving dinner. All that was left in my
f****y were my mother, grandmother, and younger
b*****r.

Dana ate in silence and listened politely while my
mother ranted on in such a way meant to drive Dana
away from me as a friend. She left the house and drove
off without a further word. A week later I receive a
call from her in the college dorm asking if I wanted
to visit her folks for a week during Christmas break.
My heart leapt at the invitation, so I said yes. She
said she would pick me up at my mother’s.

(I have to admit to feeling at least a slight guilty
pleasure for my first celebration of the Christmas
holiday, as I had been born and raised Jewish.)

A couple weeks went by. Dana, true to her word,
approached my house on Christmas Eve. As she walked
through the door my mother was fixing to explode in a
rage. Dana yelled, “Get in the car!”

I did, then from the window I saw them having words
with each other which I could not overhear. Dana then
got in on the driver’s side. I asked, “What was that
about?” She said she would tell me later.

We drove for a couple hours to her father’s home a
couple states away. She introduced me to her folks,
and we had dinner together, and some nice
conversation. Then Dana showed me my room, then showed
me where the shower was, and said she would see me
tomorrow. I cleaned myself up and got into bed at
11:45. The air was freezing but I normally did not
wear underwear, so I shivered under the covers till my
own body heat warmed me.

I was almost asl**p when about a half hour later Dana
herself comes in, not wearing a stitch, and holding
only a single candle. This wakes me up instantly, and
I sit both upright in the bed. Dana sits on its
corner. The only thing separating us was a sheet.
Truth be told, I wasn’t sexually excited at this time,
instead, I was shaking apart inside from nerves, I’d
never seen a naked lady before, never mind one sitting
just barely beyond my reach.

We talked for a while. Dana told me I had not
exaggerated regarding my own mother. She observed
during her own indigestible Thanksgiving dinner that
while my mother originally may have had the good
intentions of protecting me from the rest of the
world, my mother had now become obsessed with control
of me, and therefore had turned evil.

Here and now, Dana said, she would pledge herself to
stopping my mother. I asked her, “how?”. Dana said she
saw only one way, and that was for her to convince me
I should live for myself, rather than live only for
others.

“What are you going to do?” I asked her. “Give you a
gift,” Dana said. So In all her nakedness aglow by the
single candle, Dana smiled at me. Holding her arms out
open towards me, she said, “Merry Christmas. Come
here.”

I closed the gap of frigid air between us, but I don’t
notice the cold because we are embracing each other
sitting on the edge of the bed, and her skin is
warming mine. I bury my face in her shoulder. Tears
leaked down my face to drop on her skin.

Moments later, I am overwhelmed by waves of crushing
sadness. My body was racked in sobs, my eyes weeping
many bitter tears over too many years spent isolated
from humanity without any affection, friendship, or
touch. Such had been the fate of someone no-one made
the effort to understand, save for her.

Dana lets me cry for as long as I want. When I am
finally cried out, she approaches my lips with hers,
and kisses me softly. Then she tilted her head to
breathe, makes a complete seal of her mouth over mine,
and in practically no time our tongues begin dancing.
Not breaking the kiss, my hands start feeling the
softness of her long mane of hair, then roam down her
back, and then her sides. Dana is caressing my neck
all this time.

I break the kiss and lay down sidewise upon the bed,
my body is so warm now that I need no sheet or blanket
to stay harm. Dana lays down with me. She reaches over
and kisses my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks, and works
downward to my chest. In the meantime, I reach out to
her chest and gently caress the softness there,
holding them gently in my hands, rubbing the tips with
my thumbs, and then I suckle them in instinctive need.

Desire burns within me like a rocket engine. I have
now become thoroughly aroused, and there is a part of
myself now standing proudly. Dana gently holds my
circumcised tip in her hand. “It’s only six inches,” I
confessed. I measured once during the times I would
discreetly take care of myself without Mother knowing.
From my readings of Father’s obstetrical textbooks
when I was still only 13, I understood myself to be
human average.

“But it’s round and fat, like a baseball bat,” she
said, “and I want it inside me.”

“The Cowpers glands emit fluid containing sperm that
could still make you pregnant even if I don’t
ejaculate inside you,” I told her.

“Don’t worry,” Dana said. “As soon as I learned you
were telling the truth about your entire life, I
decided I had to intervene. I had an IUD put right
after Thanksgiving was over.”

“Here,” she told me as she guided my hand, “can you
feel the string?”. It was there, so I nodded. I also
brushed her soft petals along with the surrounding
hair. Embolded, I inserted my index finger deeply
within her.

“Gently!” she cautioned me. I felt around for the
other important structures I read about. “Yes, that’s
my cervix you’re touching. Now, if you put a little
pressure upward… OH, YES!”. I think that was the
Grafenberg spot.

“Now, just at the front, you should feel a little
button,” Dana continued. I found it, and I touched it
gently. She closed her eyes, and her mouth opened
slightly. I was sending her to ecstasy just touching
her there. I kept on doing that for a while.

Dana opened her eyes. She rolled us, with herself on
her back, me on top. “It’s time,” she said.

I began shaking from nervousness. “Don’t worry about
performance,” she reassured me. “Move up a little,”
she said. As I did so, she grasped me in her hand and
ran my tip back and forth against her moistness. “Now,
drop slowly, just let gravity do the rest,” she
instructed. I followed her instructions.

Perfection. Paradise. Wonder. Amazement.

I had sunk into her to the hilt. I didn’t want to
move. I just stayed there for a minute or so. “I love
having sexual intercourse with you!” I declared.

“It’s called ‘fucking’,” she corrected me. “I can feel
you up to my navel. My chest. My throat! Now move it
in me. Hard, honest strokes. Let your body take over.
Ravish me without mercy.”

I took Dana at her word. I actually had problems
learning how to climax, it initially took me a half
hour for my mind to release its hyper vigilance from a
lifetime of emotional abuse, and permit my body to
take over.

She shivered in my arms as I approached my first
climax ever inside a woman, nothing mattering aside
from this amazing female human in my arms, the first
one who had ever accepted me exactly for who and what
I was.

I began shaking and my eyes started to shut of their
own accord. My pelvis slammed into hers, my erection
slammed into as far as it could possibly go… my
world went dark, my mind had finally gone away,
because I was erupting deep into her belly, in a
series of volcanic explosions, no longer thinking…
only feeling…

Heaven.

Eventually I returned to reality, my breathing slowing
to normal. I laid my head between Dana’s breasts. “I
love you,” I said. Dana just kissed the top of my head
and wrapped her arms tighter around me while we
enjoyed the afterglow together as we fell asl**p in
each other’s arms.

I spent the days of Christmas week together with Dana
and her f****y, dining together, exploring the
country-side, playing board games, and just talking.
But I spent the nights of Christmas together with her.
She revealed to me she had only one prior boyfriend,
who had treated her like dirt during her first time.

She felt I was the best possible candidate to help her
recover from the abuse. I therefore wasn’t just
receiving the gift of my life from her, but I was also
giving to her in return a gift she desperately needed.
She needed to be loved as much as I did.

I proposed to her on the fifth evening with her. Dana
said no. She said our age difference was too great.

I said, “I don’t care. I’ll stay at your home and
raise your babies.”

Dana said, “No. The world needs you far more than I
do. You need to learn things, do things, achieve
things, have a career, and you can do none of those
with me tying you down.”

“But…” I said.

“In fact,” she said, “we won’t be seeing each other
again. That way you’ll have to reach outward to other
people besides myself.”

I looked down at the bed. “Friends forever, at least?”
I asked her in tears.

She thought about it. She reached out to tilt my chin
upward so my eyes could once again meet hers. Then she
nodded. “I’ll give you my phone number,” she said.
“You can call me any time of the day or night for
advice on anything.”

My tears were still on my face, but I smiled through
them. “You have no idea how much even just your
friendship would mean to me,” I told her.

“I wish I could let myself love you,” Dana said. “But
I think I’d be wrong to do that.”

“I understand the necessity,” I replied. “But even if
the love can only be one way, it’s still there.”

For the very first and the very last time did I ever
see tears on Dana’s cheeks. She said nothing. I opened
my arms toward her. “C’mere,” I said. She held me
tight for a while.

Then I turned the tables on her. I used upon her
everything she taught me that week. I didn’t just have
intercourse with her, fuck her, or ravish her, or any
of the other things she had requested I do to her.

I simply made very slow, very sweet love to her. I
used my mind alongside my newfound knowledge,
resolving to give her the best experience ever. Only
missionary was possible because even with her knee
healed, placing any extended stress upon it was simply
out of the question. We had made the most of it all
this time.

I kissed her cheeks, lips, eyes, neck. I licked her
fingers, one at a time, then each of her toes. Then, I
not only tasted from her flower, I drank from it until
she squeezed my head between her legs and shuddered in
a climax.

Then and only then did put myself into Dana for the
final time. I looked deep into her warm brown eyes as
I took myself by the hand and guided myself into her.
Then, about halfway in, I had a sudden inspiration. I
gently reached behind Dana’s head and placed my hands
behind her head, resting on my arms on the bed by each
side of her shoulders. The increasing pressure from my
embrace caused me to sink all the way into her.

Now my face was only an inch or so away from hers.
“This is for you,” I whispered to her. I tilted my
head, and then I kissed her deeply. My tongue gently
probed her mouth, synchronized to the soft and gentle
motions in and out. I had quickly analyzed that week
about how women climax. f***e or speed isn’t
necessarily the key, consistency is.

I didn’t need to do this for too long, maybe about
five minutes. Suddenly, Dana wrapped her arms around
me. Her body shook violently, and she quietly screamed
through my mouth and down into my throat. I broke the
kiss, supported myself on my hands, and continued to
move gently. She shuddered again, silently, less
violently.

I decided it was time to go for my own climax. I
finally learned how to let myself go so that I didn’t
need a half hour to climax. I could let it happen. I
made the effort this time to keep my eyes open, this
time, and lock my gaze to hers. I wanted Dana to know
how I really felt about her.

“Words fail!” she said to me to afterwards. “You’ll
make some extremely lucky woman a wonderful husband!”

We cuddled in the bed, one final time, and slept until
dawn, when we had breakfast together, just us, alone,
no other f****y. Then, Dana drove me back to my house.
We shared one last lovers’ kiss before I left her car.
Then she drove off.

Dana was true to her promise. For the next eight
years, she answered my calls. I would call her once a
year just for companionship, but I would occasionally
call her when I had problems learning how to
communicate with co-workers or negotiate a romance.
Her phone disconnected when I tried to call on year
nine. I was a little hurt, but I also judged that Dana
had her own life to live also, and I couldn’t lean on
her forever.

About year ten, I had married. Things were not going
well, as my first wife had hidden her bipolar
depression from me until after the wedding night, and
things were just getting worse three months into the
marriage. I then received a blank postcard bearing
Dana’s first name, a new last name, and no message.
Dana had only known my address growing up, so this had
been forwarded by the post office about four times,
and the post-mark date was months old.

I found a private place to make a long distance phone
call. According to the postmark she now lived in a
different town. In a matter of minutes I used
directory assistance to find her phone number. Then, I
was able to call her. It had been about a two years.

Dana picked up the phone. She sounded tired. I found
out why. She said she had advanced multiple sclerosis,
and she had wanted me to call her. She couldn’t send
me a message directly for fear of upsetting her
husband about her past regarding me. She was glad I
was able to intuit her request.

She said that a year or so after I left college she
married a professor she had her eye on for a while but
was too afraid to approach until I had changed her
life. Her life was a very happy one ever since, and
she had two beautiful girls by him. She said this
would be our final call, because she was in her final
days. She wanted me to contact her so that she could
thank me for everything I had done for her.

I decided I would have the grace to not bother her
with my own problems. “Thank you too, for everything,”
I said over the phone.

“It was my honor,” she said.

Those were her last words to me. The call ended. Her
life ended somewhat later. I was now completely on my
own.

Ten years after that, my first wife and I divorced on
fair terms. I had hung on all that time, trying to
make her life happy, but finally I had good cause to
resign from my marriage: she wanted me to take an
overdose of her medications with her. It broke my
heart, but leaving the marriage was like waking up
from a nightmare anyway.

A few years later, I married again, this time to the
right lady. She was a schoolteacher, reasonably bright
but extremely compassionate and loving. Also,
extremely passionate. We met electronically, had our
first date four weeks later, and during that date
destiny happened to us: we made tender and passionate
love the next couple nights of the kind only poets
write about. We married a year later.

The year following, our beautiful little girl was born
to us. I got to be there in the delivery room and cut
the cord while she rested on her mother’s belly. I
held her in my arms after they cleaned her. I fell
into those dark beautiful eyes and got forever lost in
love with her.

I’m 50 now, having retired early due to disability. My
wife retired with me. We’re both stay at home parents,
raising our school aged c***d. Money is always tight,
but there’s always more than enough love to go around.

God bless you, Dana, and I hope He’s smiling on you
somewhere in the afterlife.

I couldn’t have managed to beat the nearly impossible
odds of my upbringing, found my own way to earn a
living and become independent, persevered during a bad
first marriage, found the second love of my life, and
finally built a loving f****y, without your help.

Updated: October 21, 2016 — 1:24 pm

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Free Porn, Sex, Erotic story © 2016