The Kiss

by erotic scribbler

©Copyright 2018 erotic scribbler

A teenage girl who feels like she needs to practice risky behavior puts herself in a situation that makes her question everything, including whether or not she deserved what happened to her while exposing herself in public. What she finds changes her life forever.

Chapter 1

Serotonin, oxytocin, dopamine, and endorphins are the brain chemicals responsible for our mood.

In a study published in the Journal of Psychiatry and Pseudoscience, happiness, as reported by study participants, is positively correlated with higher levels of serotonin synthesis in the right anterior cingulate cortex of the brain.

Oxytocin, the trust chemical. This brain chemical creates intimacy and is released when we orgasm. It is a hormone that facilitates social bonding. As humans are social animals, touch can serve as a way to create bonds and encourage cooperation. A study has found that a massage can increase levels of oxytocin and decrease levels of adrenocorticotropin hormone.

Dopamine is released when you love something or someone. When you are doing something you love. We normally think of dopamine as the happiness drug. However, that’s a big misconception. Dopamine is actually involved more with anticipation than the actual “happiness” feeling.

Endorphins . . . these feel-good chemicals are associated with the "fight or flight" response. . . . Opioids such as heroin, morphine, and fentanyl are pharmacological mimickers of the natural endorphins.

Ah, if only I had read Psychology Today or the Journal of Psychiatry and Neuroscience when I was-Hmm, not sure exactly when I would have to go back to. At twelve, I remember doing things that were indicators of a problem, but if my brain wasn't producing the correct amount of chemicals required to feel good without doing those things, could I have changed anything?

Would I have prevented what any sane person would consider the worst thing that could happen to a girl?

All these years later, I can still close my eyes and re-experience the excited anticipation of that day. I can feel the thrill that warms my insides, the nervous energy that makes me moist, and the rush of blood that comes with shock and terror.

My nerves tingle, and my heart races. Even though I know what's coming, exactly what will happen, my brain gradually takes me from concern to worry and on to fear. Anticipatory juices seep from my vagina, and I relive the powerful orgasms that I shouldn't have had.

Finally, I'm rocketed into blinding terror. The only things I don't experience again are the jerking sobs of regret that came after. Wasn’t it the worst thing that ever happened to me?

If I could go back in time, what would I change? Back then, as a somewhat reckless teenager, searching for something, anything to fill the void I always seemed to feel and give me the pleasure I saw others experiencing:

Thank God, I thought; finally, I can drive with the top down. The sun was hot on my skin while a swirling breeze kept me cool. I set the speed control and planted my feet close to the seat, pushed down, and lifted my ass. I pulled the stretchy skirt up around my hips and glanced down at my exposed pussy.

Chapter 2

My left knee was against the door, and my right leg was over the console. I was spread open so the sun could bake down on my freshly shaved pussy, sending a wave of warmth from my labia up into the core of my body. All morning, my body had been alive, tingling with anticipation of what I had planned.

Now I was wet, and my finger easily slipped between my lips. The size of my swollen clit spoke of the heightened state of my arousal. I pulled the fleshy hood back, exposing the nerve-laden bud to the hot rays. It would have only taken a few flicks to get myself off, but that wasn't the plan.

Last night, when the weatherman said tomorrow would be a beautiful day, the warmest of the year so far, I thought about what I would do. Since then, an anticipatory pleasure had been building.

Now that I was actually driving through my hometown with my bald pussy exposed, I needed more. That was my problem; I always needed more. That's why I slowed my Mustang down. There were cars in my rearview and a red light ahead. If one of those cars pulled up in the left lane beside me, I would touch myself and look at them, imagining they knew my cunt was right there for the world to see. What's wrong with me?

As a little girl, my mother used to tell me, "Sally, sit like a lady." When I got a little older, she said, "My, God, Sally, close your legs. Nobody wants to see your underwear!" By that time, I already knew she was wrong.

Plenty of boys wanted to see them and what was under them, too. I remember the hot flush of excitement I got, coupled with fear, when I showed Tommy what I had so I could see what he had. I set the bar high at a young age, and I've been raising it ever since. A little too high, some said.

I didn't want to get caught, but I loved knowing I could. When you're in the front row of the classroom, not sitting like a lady, and any second, the teacher might see your panties wet from the brazen exhibition, your senses are on high alert.

Every sound or the slightest flicker of motion sends a dose of dopamine racing through your body. Your short hairs stand, and your nervous system tingles. That's the way it is for this girl, anyway. So far, I haven't found a friend who understands me. The only person who sort of gets me is my sister.

My father married her mother when I was four, but I don't consider Ann Margaret my stepsister because she was six and I was four when she moved in. I've idolized her ever since. Anna, as I still call her, is smoking hot but never let it go to her head. She has cautioned me about my behavior but never judged me for it. Like I said, she gets me.