Reconnecting with Marla

At age 20, Charlie's childhood soccer teammate, Arman, is a university classmate. His six-year-old sister had adored Charlie. She's now 14 and gorgeous!

Part One

I suppose the most remarkable part about my sexual encounter with beautiful Marla Alamouti was the speed with which it happened. It was like something out of a lustful fantasy—and it materialized completely out of the blue that September afternoon back in 1969.

My name is Charlie Conrad. I was a 20-year-old Canadian male when this wonderful, sensuous happenstance occurred. I was enrolled in the general arts program at the university located about half an hour’s drive from my home. I had no idea what I wanted to do as a career for the rest of my life, so I figured I’d take a wide variety of courses and perhaps fall into my life’s calling that way.

The autumn semester had just begun. In my English literature class, I spotted a vaguely familiar face. He recognized me first and approached me. “Hey, you’re Charlie Conrad, aren’t you?” he asked me with a friendly tone in his voice.

I confirmed that I was he and then I added, “You look familiar to me, too, but I just can’t place you. Please tell me who you are.”

“That’s understandable, I guess,” he responded. “I think it’s been about eight years since we last met. I’m Arman Alamouti. We were on the same youth soccer team when we were both 12 years old. Do you remember that?”

I playfully smacked my own forehead for not knowing him immediately. “Of course!” I blurted. “That’s who you are! Wow, it has been a long time! Our team wasn’t very good, but we had a lot of fun. You were quite the jokester, as I recall.”

Class was about to begin, so Arman suggested we should get together after it ended and go to the university’s coffee shop where we could leisurely reminisce about old times. I readily agreed. We talked about lots of things, how his family had emigrated to Canada from Iran when he was three and how grateful he and his family was for all the opportunities that his new country had provided. That was something I seldom thought about. My ancestors had arrived from Great Britain in the late 19th century, so being Canadian was something I was born into. I suppose that once in a while I needed to be reminded that life here was pretty good.

Arman politely asked me about my family’s health and welfare and I did the same. Everyone was fine in both clans. Then Arman said, “Do you remember my little sister, Marla? She had a big crush on you that summer we played soccer together.”

Now there was a name from the past! I hadn’t thought of Marla in years. Arman was right: Six-year-old Marla was absolutely smitten with me in the summer of 1961. What a little cutie she was! She was a darling girl, and somewhat exotic to me because of her swarthy complexion and big brown eyes! She would attend all her brother’s soccer games, but she was oddly more focused on me than on her sibling—who was a far better player than I was. Marla often shouted, “Come on Charlie! Score a goal!” That was a tall task for me because I was a midfielder. I often waved at her when she gave me her heartfelt, verbal encouragement.

One July night, neither of my parents could stay for my game, so it was arranged that Dad would drop me off, but the Alamouti family would give me a ride home. They had to go well out of their way to do that because I lived on the west end of my suburban city while the Alamoutis lived on the east side. Arman and I attended different schools, so the only time we ever were together was for soccer. After the game, which our team somehow won by a 2-1 score, Mr. Alamouti said we’d celebrate the rare victory by going to an ice cream parlor. That was a welcome and unexpected treat and a great way to end the day!

The Alamoutis owned a station wagon. Marla gleefully announced that wherever I sat in the car, she be seated right beside me because I was “such a handsome Canadian boy.” (Marla herself had been born in Canada, but she felt it was necessary to identify me that way.) True to her word, she quickly sat beside me in the middle seat, wrapped her arms around me, and cutely rested her head on my right shoulder. At age 12, I was just starting to be interested in girls. Six-year-old females were not on my radar, but Marla was so genuinely affectionate that I didn’t mind the hug at all. In fact, I hugged her back just as tightly. She positively glowed when I did that.

Mr. Alamouti said jokingly from behind the steering wheel, “I’m afraid my daughter is going to be a wild girl as she grows up. I might have to lock her in the house for her wellbeing and mine.”

“Oh, that would be a terrible shame,” I replied. “She’s too pretty to be kept hidden away.” Upon hearing that comment, Marla climbed on my lap and kissed me on the cheek. I promptly returned the favor. She was still wrapped around me when we got to the ice cream parlor where she clung to me incessantly. When I was driven home, as I exited the car, Marla sweetly said, “Good night, Charlie. You are a beautiful boy!” How could I not give her a long embrace and a kiss for saying that to me? I never saw her or Arman again once the soccer season ended—at least not until 1969.

Now, eight years later, I specifically asked Arman how Marla was doing. “Oh, she’s just fine. She’s 14 now and very pretty for her age,” was his reply. “In fact, Dad still threatens to lock her up for her own safety. He’s just kidding, of course.”

A week into our English course, the class was given an assignment to do a book presentation in pairs. Arman and I got together and selected Around the World in Eighty Days from one of the choices on the professor’s list of novels. I told Arman, “This project will be a cinch because I read that book in high school and I still have the essay I wrote. I got an A on it.” That tidbit of info sealed the deal for Arman. We would work as a twosome on the project and accordingly we informed our professor we were a team. Arman suggested that I find my old essay and bring it to class the following day. Later I could come home with him for dinner so we could work on our assignment together after downing a hearty meal. That sounded like a splendid idea to me. He added, “By the way, Marla is quite anxious to see you again.”

That comment surprised me. “Really? I figured she wouldn’t even remember me. After all, she was only six when we played on the same soccer team.”

“Oh, she remembers you quite well, Charlie. There’s no doubting that! Her face lit up when I told her you were a classmate of mine in English class this semester. She said, and I quote, ‘Charlie Conrad! He was the first boy who ever kissed me. I really liked him. He was a beautiful boy.’”

I was stunned for a second, then I coyly remarked, “So, Arman…you said Marla has blossomed into a very pretty girl. Is that right?”

Part Two

As planned, Charlie gave me a ride to his house. Neither of his parents were home when we arrived. They were the proprietors of a popular local restaurant featuring both Canadian and Middle Eastern fare; they were still at their place of business. Marla was apparently home in her upstairs bedroom, though, as Arman shouted a hello at her when we came through the front entrance.

We weren’t in the house for more than a minute when Arman saw a note for him. It was a reminder to run a few errands—which had totally slipped his mind. “Ah, jeez!” he stated. “I forgot all about these little tasks. Charlie, I estimate they’ll take me about 45 minutes to do. You can stay here while I’m gone and get reacquainted with Marla.” He then shouted up the stairs for Marla to come down and be a good hostess while he was preparing to step out of the house.

I heard Marla quizzically say, “Hostess?”

“Yeah, remember I invited Charlie Conrad for dinner. He’s here. We have a school assignment to work on together. Come down to the kitchen, say hello to your old sweetheart, and get him a snack and a drink.” Then Arman went outside, got into his car, and drove away.

Marla descended the stairs—and I got quite an eyeful when she entered the kitchen. She was perhaps 5’4” and was absolutely gorgeous! Marla was barefoot and wearing a green dress with white polka dots. She had long, lustrous, black hair and a truly marvelous figure for a girl her age. She also had a beautiful face. She’d undoubtedly win any beauty pageant that she’d enter. I couldn’t help but say, “Wow!” to her. That one word made her smile. She had a great, sexy smile, too.

“Charlie, you’re older and taller, but I’d know you anywhere—even after eight years!” she said. “You still look the same as you did when you played soccer with Arman.”

“You don’t look the same, though,” I admiringly noted, “You look better! You are absolutely beautiful, Marla. You were a very pretty girl when you were six, but today…” I was unable to complete my sentence.

“Oh, that’s so nice of you to say that to me, Charlie!” she commented as she gave me a hug that was too brief for my liking. “Can I get you a cold drink and a piece of birthday cake? It’s left over from my mother’s party yesterday.”

I accepted the offer. My eyes never left Marla as she walked to the fridge and bent down to retrieve the half-eaten cake from the bottom shelf. She was even gorgeous from behind. I felt myself becoming aroused!

“I think I’ll have a piece, too, Charlie,” Marla informed me. “I’ll eat it while we have a chat together."

I took a seat at the kitchen table. Marla poured herself and me tall glasses of cola and set a large chunk of birthday cake on a plate in front of me. At first, we did more staring and smiling at each other than talking. I could tell Marla was still attracted to me after all these years—and the feeling was certainly mutual. I had been attending university for more than a year—and I hadn’t seen any female student on campus who was anywhere close to being as beautiful as 14-year-old Marla Alamouti

Marla finally broke the sexually charged silence. “You’re still a handsome fellow, Charlie. Even more so since you’ve aged. I have to confess I’m still as attracted to you now as when you were 12 and I was six.”

I quickly responded. “Since we’re being open and honest, Marla, I have to say that you are stunningly beautiful, I’m really attracted to you…and I think we should do something about our mutual attraction right now!”

“Yes!” she concurred. “This totally goes against the conservative way I’ve been raised, but I can’t control myself. Let’s quickly finish our cake and cola and do something about it upstairs in my bedroom before Arman gets home.” I had never eaten birthday cake so fast in my life. Within a minute Marla had taken me by the hand and was leading me up the winding staircase.

We knew we had limited time, so we both undressed in a hurry. I’m sure I would have enjoyed a sensual striptease from Marla, but I happily settled for her being in her birthday suit inside of 30 seconds. I wasn’t too far behind her in discarding my own clothing. I was slightly delayed because I had a bit of difficulty lifting my briefs over my obvious erection.

This was going to be considerably more fun than our long hug in her father’s station wagon had been in 1961. Marla could sense my eagerness to begin, but she sweetly said to me, “Charlie, I can appreciate your level of excitement, but I’m a virgin, so be gentle with me, please.”

“I’m not sure you can appreciate my level of excitement,” I told Marla honestly. “Hey, I don’t think anyone can. My dick has never been this hard in all my life. Of course, I’ll treat you gently, sweetheart. I want to make love to you, not just screw you.”

Marla giggled softly and said, “Well, don’t be too gentle with me, Charlie! Make sure you please me sexually, too. I think you’re well equipped to do that!” That I was! My dick felt like a telephone pole. Bedding Marla would be the highlight of my young life. Actually, I doubt if any personal experience in the half century since 1969 has surpassed it.

We met in the center of her unmade bed and embraced. We romantically kissed. I would have been happy doing that for hours on end as a prelude to fucking, but we were keenly aware that we were pressed for time. I massaged Marla’s hairy pussy with my right hand for a few seconds to prepare her for vaginal penetration. I spread her legs widely and moved myself to the spot on her bed where I needed to be. I inserted my penis in her sexy love channel and slowly pushed it in as far as it would go.

I was about 6’1”, so I towered over my petite bedmate. Our size difference was also a turn-on for me—not that I needed any further stimulation. Marla’s brown eyes widened as my penis went as deep as it could inside her virgin pussy. I worried that I might be hurting her, but she was all smiles and coos as I rode her. I increased the pace of my thrusts. I complimented her on every aspect I could think of, including, “You have a truly great, tight vagina, Marla. It was perfectly made for my hard penis. I’d love to fuck you for hours and hours.”

I didn’t want to neglect Marla’s lovely set of shapely and firm 14-year-old breasts. They were fantastic objects, too. Her nipples caught my attention for being stiff and prominent, so I had to reduce the intensity of my fucking for a moment or two to give them the attention they fully deserved. Marla obviously approved of my slight diversion. “Keep fondling my tits, Charlie!” she told me breathlessly. “I really like it when you do that!”

Tit fondling was a pleasant pastime, but, as far as I was concerned, fucking was more rewarding to me. Therefore, I disobeyed Marla’s request and resumed pounding away at her pussy with extra gusto. I knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t be able to last much longer. The sensation was too wonderful to endure without me firing a huge load of semen. The temptation to deposit my seed inside her was great, but I did the sensible thing by pulling out. I timed my ejaculation fairly well. With about five seconds to spare, I launched my cum shot across her stomach and breasts. My orgasm was accompanied by a moan of ecstasy. I doubted if I’d ever experienced such a fine ejaculation since I first learned about the wonders of sex as a tween.

Marla was captivated and intrigued by what I had just done. “Is there always this much semen when a boy comes, Charlie? I’m new at this, you know.”

“Well, I can’t speak for the entire male population,” I told her, “but this was a great cum shot for me—and you are entirely responsible for it. I love every inch of your sexy body, Marla. One of these days, when the time is right, I’m going to fill your pussy with another great big load of goo!”

“Thank you so much for the fuck, my beautiful Canadian boy,” Marla said. It was if she had turned back the clock to when I was 12 and she was six. Only about 20 minutes had elapsed since we’d first entered her bedroom. Only now did I notice its girlish décor and that it was replete with stuffed animals and posters of musicians and male TV stars. Those items reminded me that I’d been vigorously fucking a 14-year-old girl. I wasn’t bothered by that in the slightest! In fact, that thought got my dick on the rise again, but I knew we sadly didn’t have time for a second round of screwing. However, once we cleaned ourselves up, got dressed, and headed back to the kitchen, I busied myself caressing Marla’s breasts and bottom until her brother returned from running his errands. I told Marla I didn’t think I had spent enough time fondling all her marvelous body parts—and I wanted to make up for the deficit I perceived.

When they got home from their restaurant, Mr. and Mrs. Alamouti were both delighted to have me as a dinner guest. Despite the passage of time, they recognized me right away, too, which I took as a compliment. We enjoyed a delicious meal consisting of both Canadian and Iranian dishes, followed by more leftover birthday cake. Marla sat quite close to me and occasionally gave me quick hugs every few minutes. These outward shows of affection did not go unnoticed by her parents.

“I see some things never change, Charlie!” Mr. Alamouti told me as he pointed to the amorous actions of his alluring teenage daughter. “I see Marla likes your company as much as she did when she was a little girl.” He paused and added, “She’s not so little anymore, though, Charlie. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Oh, I definitely noticed!” I replied with a smile and a few chuckles. “How can I not notice beautiful Marla? There are some things you can’t help but notice!” I paused for a second or two before adding, “Do I have your permission to marry her a few years from now? It would be great fun for me, I think we’d make a handsome couple, I’d love Marla forever, and we’d give you a bunch of beautiful grandchildren to enjoy.”

Everybody seated at the table laughed at my candid and wholly unexpected remark. I kept a straight face, however, because I was absolutely serious about what I’d just said