Unexpected “Fame”

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This was my first story on Literotica, originally written in German. I translated it and hope that it will enjoy English speaking readers as well. The story is set in the early 1980s in a West German town. (Hint: Drinking age in Germany is 16 for beer, 18 for other drinks)


Her name was Gisela, but everyone called her Gesa and that’s how she introduced herself to me.

At that time, I had been doing community service for a few days in a facility for children with disabilities. Apart from Andy and me, both 18, there were only nursery school teachers working there, most of whom were over 30 years old.

I went about the work that was assigned to me. I built giant towers out of wooden blocks, cleaned the aquarium, repaired children’s bikes and pedal cars, pushed wheelchairs, and cleaned the airways of gasping toddlers with a suction device. It was a bit exhausting at times, but the work was apt to distract me from my grief: I had broken up with my girlfriend Christine since last weekend. She had broken up with me was more like it.

We had been a steady couple for 18 months, were very much in love with each other and had spent many hours together. I was happy with her, even if she was quite shy in sexual matters. I had hoped for a long time that we would finally make love. But for Christine, something always came up: Condoms were too unsafe as contraception, she could not take the pill, no place to be on our own, her mother in the kitchen or her siblings in the next room, menstruation, sometimes even the proverbial headache. Maybe growing up in a strict Christian home was the reason for her reticence, even if she used to deny that.

Anyway, in all that time we had stuck to heavy petting, kissing wildly and caressing each other to orgasm, but had never orally satisfied each other, let alone really made love. The condom I carried around in my pants pocket was alarmingly approaching its expiration date. But at least one thing seemed settled: if we were going to experience sex for the first time, we would experience it with each other. With the prospect of “someday soon”, but very definitely with Christine, I stayed on with her. We really had a lot of fun, though, and meanwhile understood each other without words.

But then there was the previous weekend, at a party of her best friend Anja, to which we had both driven in Christine’s Beetle.

We weren’t one of those inseparable couples who just sit next to and on top of each other at a party and make out all the time. No, we enjoyed ourselves quite separately, danced and talked, even flirted a bit with other guests, only to get together again on the way back from the party and tell each other about our new acquaintances. All of our friends knew anyway that we were a steady couple, we didn’t have to keep proving it publicly.

But when I hadn’t even seen Christine from a distance for a whole hour that evening, I started looking for her. I searched in the living room, where the loud music system was blaring, a few people were swinging their hair and arms on the dance floor, and some couples were making out, wedged into each other, on mattresses that had been laid out on the floor. I peeked several times into the kitchen, where the real party was going on in the crowd right in front of the fridge with the drinks. I even looked — with a slightly queasy feeling — into the bedroom, where however on the bed only all the jackets and coats of the guests were waiting for the end of the party.

And I went outside, where on the steps of the terrace some couples squatted tightly, some other guests were sitting on the lawn passing around joints, while a few singles simply meditated in the moonlight.

Christine was nowhere to be found. Unsuccessfully, I asked Anja about Christine’s whereabouts, and then through the smoke-filled air and Pink Floyd music, in the half-light of the candles, all the people who looked remotely familiar. But I got no answer. No one knew, no one had seen Christine in the last hour. Her Beetle was parked on the street in front of the house, but she remained untraceable for the rest of the evening.

Annoyed and a bit worried, I finally accepted a friend’s offer to take me home in his car well after midnight. On leaving the party Anja had tried to calm me down, I should not worry, everything was certainly all right with Christine. Nevertheless, I spent a restless night.

On Sunday morning, Henry called me and immediately sputtered out, obviously thrilled to be the first to tell me the news. “Wanna know where Christine spent the last night? With that motorcycle guy Jonas. Anyway, the rumor’s going around, and I wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t find out from one of the assholes in his high school graduating class.”

My stomach immediately dropped, a mixture of frustration, jealousy, and sheer desperation spreading throughout my body. Still, I tried not to embarrass myself in front of Henry and laughed into the phone feigning Keçiören Escort coolness, “Yeah, I know. But it’s really nothing serious.”

At least outwardly, at least today, at least towards Henry, who was not one of my closest friends anyway, I wanted to keep up the pretense. And I didn’t want to give anything to mere rumors either. Before I believed something like that, I needed verification. It could not and should not be true: Christine and I, we were firmly together, always honest with each other, and faithful to the tips of our toes. Especially since all our friends and acquaintances assumed anyway that we were doing it for a long time. Except maybe Anja.

An hour later, the doorbell rang. It was Christine. At first glance I could tell that the rumor was true. She made no effort to deny it. In my room, where we would otherwise have immediately laid down on the bed to make out wildly as a welcome, there was now an icebox-like atmosphere. I sat on the desk chair, Christine on the edge of the bed. With increasing anger, I listened to her story.

Here is the short version: Jonas had talked to her very nicely at the party yesterday. They had a pretty good conversation; he had danced with her for a while and then asked if she wanted to go for a ride with him on his motorcycle. He then took her to his home for a coffee and that’s where it happened.

At first she felt guilty and a bit scared, but Jonas was very sensitive during sex, and it was a really great experience for her. It all felt very romantic and natural. I should not blame her; she was not in the mood for a guilty conscience. Now she just didn’t know whether she still wanted to stay with me or start a new relationship with Jonas.

Every word of her description felt like a stab. I envisioned everything in much more detail than she had described it and images appeared in my head: how she lay on the bed with Jonas, how he took off her T-shirt and her panties. How finally his long hard cock slowly slid into her pussy and began to fuck her more and more wildly. In my imagination I heard her and him moaning, and I saw in my mind’s eye how he came and squirted his cum into her. What was with her fear of pregnancy suddenly? Had he used a condom? Or had he withdrawn his cock before coming? Was she in pain, had she bled? Was his cock as big as had been rumored? Had she taken his penis in her mouth? Had he licked her pussy?

With all these unanswered questions, a hot anger rose in me. And as I looked at her now, I could see naked Jonas bouncing around on my bed behind her, grinning and smirking as he presented his hard cock to me.

Jonas, of all people, this braggart who — allegedly — managed to get every woman into his bed who interested him. To satisfy her perfectly with his huge cock, his great experience as a lover and with his 750cc Kawasaki. Often Christine and I had gossiped about Jonas and had agreed that he was a pretty big arrogant asshole.

“I really like you,” Christine said now. She had gotten up and started stroking my head and cheek comfortingly as if to a toddler.

What? Now, of all times, she acted as if I were a little boy who had fallen off his bike and needed a band-aid? Yet she had cheated on me and pushed me into an abyss. This was too much. I cleared my throat, “You better go now. I don’t think I can stand to see you right now.”

No sooner was she out the door than I regretted sending her away. There was still hope, after all, that Jonas was just an insignificant affair, and she would come back to me repentant. Maybe everything would go back to the way it was before? Maybe she would finally want to have sex with me? But the thought immediately brought back to my mind the images of her getting fucked by Jonas. No!

All Sunday afternoon my feelings changed from anger to self-pity. Then I decided to break up with her. For good. It was better to draw the line on my part than to wait in agony to see if she would choose me or that asshole Jonas. I wrote a long letter telling her that she had hurt my feelings badly and therefore I couldn’t be with her anymore, etc. etc. After the decision I felt better for a few minutes. I wanted to take advantage of that and send the letter right away.

The mailbox was just across the street from our house. I pulled myself together, opened the flap and dropped the letter in. Relief came over me.

When I returned, my eyes fell on our own mailbox, where something white gleamed through a crack. It was a folded note with my name on it, written in Christine’s handwriting. Many times, she had written me little messages and dropped them in the mailbox when she left the house. Usually, they were short funny love messages decorated with cheesy hearts and smileys. Now it just said, “The time was nice with you, but I guess there’ s no point now. Don’t be mad at me.” Underneath she had painted a sad smiley.

Shit, so she didn’t Etimesgut Escort even want to give me the opportunity to separate from her. First she’d cheated on me with that asshole, and now she’d pushed me off the cliff on top of that. I was done with her.

I heard over the next few days that Jonas had apparently lost interest in Christine by Sunday morning already. He had dropped her off at the next bus stop under the pretext that he urgently had to get something for his mother on his motorcycle. It was probably enough for him to have deflowered Christine. A relationship, even a second date with Christine was too strenuous for him. On Sundays, there was no bus at this stop, so Christine had to be picked up by Anja to get back to her Beetle. And before that, she had had to beg at a gas station to be allowed to call from there.

All this had nevertheless not caused Christine to forget about Jonas, rather the opposite. After all it was her first time; she was hopelessly in love with him. And that’s why she was now even more unhappy than I was, as I learned from Anja on Monday evening.

Anja also confessed to me that she had noticed on Saturday that Christine wanted to leave the party along with Jonas. But she had to promise Christine not to tell me about it. And then I gradually learned that all the others I had asked at the party had also known but were sticking by Christine on Saturday and even now. So, on the same day I lost not only Christine, but also many of our mutual friends.

And now I had been working at this childcare center for three days. Work distracted me from my sadness. It wasn’t until I got home in the evening, with no Christine coming over and no one else, that I bathed in my bad mood. I didn’t even like masturbating anymore, because as soon as I touched my cock, I remembered there was no Christine to stroke it soon. And all the experienced and fantasized images of her sweet apple breasts and her pussy covered with blond fuzz and the idea of how we would finally have sex immediately led to frustration and sadness and made the member in my hand go limp. Christine was history, and with it the prospect of soon making love to a woman for the first time, indeed, of exchanging caresses with a woman at all in the near future, had faded into an indefinite, seemingly unattainable distance. And I didn’t even enjoy sex with myself.

On Thursday, the fourth day of my community service, I noticed Gesa for the first time. Or rather, I caught her eye. I was fixing a dripping faucet in the kitchen when she came in and greeted me. “Hello, so you’re the new guy. My name is Gesa, actually Gisela, but everyone calls me Gesa, that´s ok with me.”

Gesa had long curly dark red hair, soft features with full lips and she had bright green eyes. Her open smile and soft voice were stunning. She wore loose clothes so I could only guess at her figure underneath, but she was definitely curvier and more womanly than Christine. I liked Gesa’s appearance, and a little flirtation could distract me from my heartbreak, I thought to myself. If there had not been the age. Gesa was at least ten years older than me. When she was a screaming teenager at Beatles concerts, I had still attended kindergarten. And the Beatles had broken up ten years ago. I gave her a friendly nod, told her my name, and we exchanged some trivia. No, this wasn’t flirting, this was just a conversation among new colleagues. And flirting with an older woman? Was that even an option?

At five in the afternoon, when we were putting the children on buses to take them back to their parents, Gesa was standing at the next bus a short distance from me. I watched her secretly. Again, I was struck by her beautiful face and how warmly she treated the children. When she bent down to a child, my eyes fell on her round buttocks, which showed under her dress. And I heard her captivating laughter. As Gesa straightened up, she threw her head back briefly, and in the artificial light in front of the entrance, her red glowing curls came out fantastically.

Before I could turn away, she had “caught” me watching her. I was a little embarrassed, but she pretended not to notice. Then she came over to me and smiled at me, “Tomorrow, Friday, I’ve invited a couple of colleagues over for coffee. Would you like to come too, after work?”

I briefly wondered if this was a pick-up line. But having coffee with colleagues? Pretty boring, what people over 30 did. It definitely wasn’t a date. But of course, I agreed. Anything was better than sitting alone in my room, putting on records with sad music and sinking into lovesickness.

Friday morning, I realized that I didn’t know where Gesa lived, nor how to get there if it was farther away. Anyway, I had already noticed Gesa driving to work in a red Golf. During lunch break I asked her.

“No problem, I can give you a ride. Andy and Steffi, who also don’t have a car, will also Demetevler Escort ride with me.”

So she had invited Andy, too. On the one hand, it was reassuring that another 18-year-old would be at the coffee party. On the other hand, I didn’t seem to have aroused Gesa’s special interest after all, what I had imagined a bit since yesterday. The night before, while masturbating, I had also no longer called up the now disturbing image of Christine but had consciously thought of Gesa. I had imagined Gesa touching me with her full soft lips and taking my cock in her mouth. After that, however, I had quickly wiped away the new image: what did I want with a woman over 30, probably even married?

The kids were picked up early on Fridays, so we met shortly after four in the parking lot at Gesa’s Golf. Andy and I took a seat in the back, colleague Steffi rode shotgun. We drove beyond the city limits, then up a long hill on the country road and through the next village. Then Gesa suddenly turned right onto a narrow asphalt road that led down into the valley. At the bottom, perhaps four or five houses built with brick and half-timbered stood together, probably a former farm, renovated and converted into attractive single-family homes. Gesa parked right next to one of the front doors. The other two colleagues, Theresa and Petra, had arrived before us and were now getting out of their small cars.

The afternoon was entertaining, although there was really only coffee and cake. The four colleagues, whom Andy and I did not yet know closely, were good friends with each other. They laughed a lot together and told us „Newbies” stories from work and also a few private things, about their husbands, their new flats or homes and their children.

I also learned that Gesa had been born a good thirteen years before me, and that she was not single, but had been living here with her boyfriend for two years now. However, he was often abroad on business trips, currently in South America. Around seven o’clock Theresa and Petra were getting ready to leave. They still had to take care of their families. Andy also wanted to leave. He knew that a bus was heading for the city at half past seven on the road at the top of the hill. Did Steffi and I want to come along?

Gesa objected, “There’s no way you’re going on that bus. I invited you and brought you here, and I’ll drive the three of you home again, right to the front door. Don’t argue!”

We sat down in the car and Gesa drove off after asking for our addresses. It seemed a bit strange to me when it turned out during the drive that she obviously intended to drop off Andy first, then Steffi and finally me. This meant a couple of kilometers detour. But I said nothing. On the one hand, I didn’t want to show off my local knowledge and on the other hand, I liked the prospect of being able to ride alone in the car with Gesa for a few more minutes.

After Steffi got out, Gesa asked me if I wanted to come up front. And as she turned the ignition key, she asked, seemingly casually, “Do you have any plans now, or would you like to come over to my place again? We could chat some more and listen to some music if you like.”

That seemed actually to be a date now. I nodded, “Yeah, sure sounds good. Let’s head back to your place.”

As we talked, I noticed my suddenly dry throat. During our 20-minute drive back out of town, up the mountain on the country road, and then down the valley on the right, we were silent. I sometimes looked at her for a longer time, and she sometimes looked back for a shorter time, but we said nothing. My heart was beating so hard by now that I was afraid she could hear it.

So we entered her house again, not even an hour after we had left it. On the dining table were still the coffee dishes from the afternoon, but the atmosphere was now completely different. There was an almost audible crackling between us. Gesa pointed to the sofa corner in the adjoining living room, “Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. I´m gonna freshen up a bit. Have a glass of wine, will you? Or something else from the fridge.”

I did none of that and instead sat down on the carpet in front of the shelf with the music system. Choosing an album now seemed like a good way to hide my nervousness. And a record shelf always says something about the person collecting the records. There were practically all the Beatles LPs, but also newer stuff like Pink Floyd and some progressive rock records from the ’70s. But then I put on something completely different: “Nick Drake, Bryter Layter”.

“At the Chime of the City Clock,” Gesa came down the stairs. She was now wearing a black bodysuit that accentuated her figure and gave me a clear view of her thighs. She looked seductive in it. And that probably was her intention. She sat down next to me on the floor and said, “Nice music.”

“Yes, Nick Drake. I just discovered that one recently.”

“Oh, I bought that record when it came out. Must have been ten years ago though,” she gushed, explaining to me which of the records were hers and which were her boyfriend’s.

Then she fell silent again and looked me in the eyes for a long time. At “One of these things first,” she took my hand and pulled it to her chest.

“Would you like to pet me a little? Just caressing, don’t be afraid.”

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