Making Out

We’d been making out.

Kissing.
Necking.
Petting.
Exploring.

Under clothing.
But,
Clothing still on.

Her nipples,
Were erect,
I could feel them,
My hand under her bra.

I was erect.

Still inside my pants.

I’d said,
She could take it,
Out,
To more easily,
Stroke it.

But she’d said,
She was fine,
Reaching inside.

Her hand,
Inside my pants,
Was,
Doing just fine,
I was erect.

Hard.

Hard as I was,
Going to get.

With a touch of,
Wet on the tip,
Which she rubbed,
Around,
Up and down,
My length,
Pausing to lick,
Off her fingers.

She was wet.

I could tell,
Through her panties,
But,
She wouldn’t,
Let my fingers,
Inside them.

She stayed sitting up,
Won’t lay back,
Her pants,
Were tight enough,
Even with her zipper down,
To keep her legs,
Mostly together,
A finger between,
Rubbing though,
Her bikini,
Was all I could do.

I was ready.

I hoped she was ready.

She kept rubbing,
I was panting.

I kept stroking,
She was sighing.

Then,
I was groaning,
Cumming,
Squirting,
On her hand.

She pulled her hand,
Out of my pants,
Licked my cum off,
Her fingers,
Coated her lips,
Rubbing them together,
Enjoying the taste.

She pulled my hand,
Out of her pants,
Looked straight into,
My eyes,
Kissed me,
Hard,
With my cum,
Still on her lips,
Said,
“That’s all you get,
On a first date.”

“Now take me home.”