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I was young when we moved from the Midwest to our new
home on the Pacific Coast. A transfer with new and greater opportunities
had enticed my Dad, and before we knew what had happened, we are on the
road; our old car packed to the running boards. The voyage started in a
raging snowstorm, and we almost got lost before we got out of town. But
with fond farewells, and sadness in our hearts, we turned our hopes and
sights on the new land beyond the mountains.
The initial months were tough, with a myriad of adjustments to new
schools, schedules, and sights, and we often found ourselves gathered
around the dinner table collectively griping about our "hopeless"
situations. The days were long and frustrating, and the nights were longer
during the first winter; but we struggled through, clinging to our
memories, and each other.
The spring brought new opportunities and hopes for us all. My Dad begin to
work swing shift and was seldom home when I returned from school with an
armful of books and enough homework to keep me from gainful employment. My
Sis and Mom were always discussing the evening chores and current events,
while I was content to bury myself in my studies, and fantasies of
captains and mighty ships sailing into the unknown. I wasn’t a
particularly gifted child, and felt quite short changed in the appearance
department with a tall skinny build, dark-framed glasses, and a nose that
was just to big for my face. I was somewhat rebellious, and always eager
to find both acceptance and the easiest way out. That’s when I met
Michael.
Now Michael lived about a block away, in an older two story farmhouse that
had been in the family for generations and was surrounded by over ten
acres of partially cleared land. The wooden floors in the deteriorating
domicile creaked and the rooms were sadly lacking in necessary window
space, leaving the interior dark and musty. Michael lived with his working
Mom and older sister Faye, who was just about to graduate from high
school.
The family, itself, was a study in extremes, as Michael was kind of short
and plump with a personality that could put a insomniac to sleep. Faye was
tall and skinny, and as nervous as a bee in a midsummer storm, always
scurrying around the home with nonsensical tasks. The Mother, was tall and
well developed, and was hardly ever home thanks to a demanding job as a
waitress in a local truck stop. Most nights she would never make it home,
and I always thought she worked far too many hours, when in actuality,
much of her time was spent seeking acceptance from one of the truckers
passing through.
Still overcoming the social shock of the move, I was drawn to Michael like
a fly to a flame, and we soon became the best of friends; often sharing
the joys and misfortunes of our maturation in confidences previously
unknown to either of us. I taught him how to work a yo-yo, and he taught
me how to play war.
War was a customized version of hide-and-go-seek. We would hide a treasure
in a clearing (usually a battle weary Playboy) and set out for opposite
corners of the property. With our chronometers aligned, we would take off
through the underbrush at a preset time, to try to capture the treasure
and slay our opponent with our individaul array of water weapons. I had a
small derringer type and a larger rifle, and he had a Luger and a
submachine gun. The ensuing seek-and-destroy mission could go on for
hours, often scheduled for the weekends, while my Mom and Dad got
caught-up, and my Sis took off with her friends for shopping excursions
and the like. Fortunately everybody seemed to love Michael, and there was
never a challenge when I asked to go to his house to spend a couple of
hours.
During that summer, we got to know the "battlefield" intimately, spending
long hours dodging water volleys, and hiding amidst the abundant
undergrowth of scotch bloom and blackberrie bushes. Unbeknownst to either
of us, there was a constant specter in the second story window, watching
as we flirted with mock danger. Faye was intrigued be the shy Midwestern
lad who had befriended her little brother, and was always eager to offer
us her home-baked goodies, and a glass of Kool-Aid. Her gentle touches to
my shoulders and to my butt were annoying, but accepted in lieu of the
food stuffs she offered. It wasn’t until one warm October afternoon that
her hidden objectives became apparent.
Coming from a predominantly right wing, working class family had its
definitive drawbacks in those days. Money was always tight, and trips to
the sexcond hand store for clothes became common place. I was not as
experienced as I should of been for my age either. Most obvious, was my
naivety. I knew very little of the opposite gender, and although I had
secretly discovered the joys of masturbation, I had repressed the desire
to relieve myself for fear of hairy palms. loss of eyesight, or memory
lapses. I knew of the female form, from my peers and the magazines I
wasn’t supposed to see until I grew up, but somehow had never actually
visualized a man and a woman satisfying one other in a sexual way.
Anyway, that afternoon as I climbed the creaking stairs to the weathered
front door, she stepped out to meet me wearing the shortest cut-offs I had
ever seen. I froze in my tracks and stared at her legs, my heart leaping
into my throat. They were endless, beautifully portioned, and went all the
way up. She smiled a knowing smile at me when our eyes finally met, and
for the first time, I realized how big and green they really were.
Although her face was covered with freckles and she was entirely too thin
for her own good, there was an unspoiled beauty that captivated me from
the onset.
The off white tube top she wore barely hid the tiny upturned mounds of her
unsupported breasts, and her undeveloped hips were straight and quite
unremarkable. But the look on her face was somewhat different than I had
seen before, and as she stepped towards me and took my trembling hand, I
began to struggle as my knees became jelly. I was embarrassed and
frightened, and wanted to run to the security of the battlefield to
collect my thoughts and savor the vision of her lithe figure on the porch.
But her designs were quite different, and she led me firmly into the front
room with an air of anticipation. It was there I learned that Michael was
gone for the weekend with his Mom to visit a distant friend.
My throat was parched as she guided me to the couch and begin to ask
questions about my inexperience with the opposite gender. Ineptly, I
spilled the Kool-Aid she had set out for me onto my jeans and sweatshirt -
it was my favorite flavor too; cherry. Faye disappeared around the corner
and returned with a moistened towel, and begin to dab my clothes gently in
an effort to extricate the red stains. I stood up, but wasn’t too
concerned, as my Mom always had some strange magic she performed in the
laundry room that made stains disappear.
As I stood there, I began to experience sensations of arousal and once
again, was faced with the fight or flight response. Quickly turning on my
heel, I bolted for the door, but her arm caught me around the torso, and
she physically lifted my slight frame off the ground and eased me back
onto the tattered couch. I struggled briefly, and she tried to comfort me,
thinking that I was afraid of my Moms’ response to my soiled clothes.
Actually, I was panicked by her forwardness. Somehow, I had always thought
it was my job to prepare her, rather than the other way around. As I sat
trembling on the couch, both dazed and frightened, I felt her hand gently
massage my crotch. My mind went into overdrive with images of unwanted
pregnancies, and venereal diseases that were instantly fatal.
Looking into her eyes, I could see her anticipation and desire, and felt
her hands undue my jeans and slip them and my underwear down below my
knees. Paralyzed with self-doubt and unable to mutter a word, I became
aware of her cool soft hands as they caressed my virgin manhood, bringing
it quickly to an almost painful erection. Automatically, my hand reached
for her bare midriff, and slowly explored the softness of her tummy,
absently moving in expanding circles until it slipped into her waistband
and down towards her furry womanhood. Instinct had taken over, and my
senses became almost painfully acute, aware of the sights and smells and
sounds of my lover as she brought me closer to the edge.
Again our eyes met, and hers were now glazed as my fingers had found their
way to her glistening rosebud amidst the tiny grove of coarse brown hair.
I could scarcely swallow, as my fingers explored a womans most private
places for the first time. With her free hand, she unfastened the buttons
of her cut-offs, and slowly wriggled free with the agility of a gymnast.
With my free hand, I slid my fingers under elastic band of her tube top
and exposed her left breast - barely developed, and almost totally covered
with a plump reddish-brown nipple.
There were freckles sprinkled across her reddening chest, that was moving
up and down rapidly to keep up with her short breaths. The very sight of a
warm and willing partner brought me over the edge, and I could feel my
hairless scrotum contract violently as the first of several gleaming white
ribbons shot high into the air to land with an audible thump on our legs.
She giggled quietly, as my body spasmed convulsively and quivered; the
muscles forcing the virgin seed out of my manhood in a bubbly dribble.
I lay there gasping for air, until I felt her sinewy fingers resume
they’re activities on my now wilted organ. Just the thought of being with
her in this alien environment reignited the passion, and I could feel my
pulse racing as my second arousal became firmly apparent. She appeared
somewhat surprised by the speed with which I recovered, but wasted little
time in positioning herself over my thighs, and lowering her dark patch of
pubic hair over my newly erected organ.
The exquisite sensation was overpowering, as she began to move her hips
forcefully against my pubic bone. I swear every neural fibre in my body
must of relocated to the head of my manhood, as all I could feel was the
moist and velvety folds of her womanhood as they repeatedly caressed my
painfully erect member. Suddenly, her torso stiffened, and she let out a
gasp as her delicate sexuality spasmed with its first orgasm. It had
happened so quickly that I hadn’t even time to explore the tender valleys
of her smooth skin as she drove herself over the edge of ecstasy. She
gasped for air and held me tightly to her budding bosoms, trembling with
the voracity of her release.
Inexperience took its’ toll as all I could think of doing was to rub my
hands gently over the silky skin of her thighs. After several minutes she
gently lifted her body away from my chest, and shrugged off the tube top,
revealing two small mounds of developing breasts, and a red flush of
arousal across her chest that was peppered with dark freckles. The smile
on her face could easily have written several volumes, but it was the
small goose bumps that began to emerge that offered the body language I
needed to hear. I began to move my hips, feeling my manhood slide deeply
into her. With a quick motion, she pulled us on to the floor and guided my
manhood back into her warmth as she lay on her back with her legs tightly
wrapped around my own.
Once again, instinct took over, and I soon found myself pumping my hips
against her furiously while watching the expression of her face change
from fulfillment to lust. Her breasts were gyrating wildly, and her moans
were becoming breathless gasps. Our bodies knit together as a unit, until
I could feel the powerful spasms deep in my groin, as my remaining seed
staged itself for the impending orgasm. Faye came first, arching her back
and locking her legs so tightly that I felt as if my spine would be pulled
apart. Even so, the contractions in her pussy pushed me over the edge, as
our orgasmic excretions flowed from her throbbing pussy to form a sticky
pool under her firm cheeks.
I collapsed on top of her, marveling at the beauty of sexuality, as her
body periodically spasmed beneath mine.
We had several more similar encounters before she went off to college,
where she supposedly married some young artist who swept her off her feet
and took her to Paris. She may still be there today. Michael and I
continued our wonderful relationship until one night, while asleep in bed,
a would be thief somehow imagined he was a threat, and shot him several
times. Overnight my best friend became a resident in a distant hospital
that nurtured him with machines until he silently expired in the arms of
his Mom. She never did recover from the loss, and eventually lost her
home, and our beloved battlefield, to an unforgiving bank.
But as I strolled home, seduced and satiated, I knew I would never
experience the sexual act with the same intensity ever again; albeit I
tried for many years. And that night I also knew that the battle lines
were drawn, and the war had begun. I was now one of the millions of
experienced warriors in search of a higher plateau on a domestic
battlefield of where the rules are constantly changed. Even now, as I walk
the busy streets, and silently survey the many warriors around me, I
wonder just how many have experienced the joys and the losses I have in
their own private domestic battles for sexual fulfillment. |
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