On 10/03/06, a Dear Reader <email@example.com> wrote:
Thursday, October 05, 2006
I knew my first real boyfriend since fourth grade. Regular readers will remember him as the first guy I slept with. I will always call him Keith in this blog because when he is holding a guitar he looks like Keith Richards from behind. The resemblance fades when you walk around to see him from the front, when he starts to look like Matthew McConaughey with hat hair. He was a real sweetie in school, but he was kind of geeky and shy and girls picked on him a lot. As a result he wasn’t very good with girls. We were close friends from the moment after I tackled him in 5th grade flag football during PE and my team got penalized for it.
“Where did you learn to tackle like that?” he asked.
“I have an older brother and three other male cousins,” I said. “It’s the only way I can get seconds at dinner.”
We were friends up through high school. He didn’t even know how ask me out on our first official “date”, so I tricked him into it.
We were walking home from somewhere; it was getting cold and he let me wear his coat over my sweater. It was 1995, October, I think, and the wind blew from the north pretty hard. This was in central Kansas, where when the wind blows directly out of the north in the fall, it comes straight in off of the Arctic Circle with nothing to stop it except for the occasional farm house and some barbed-wire fence. I was 14 years old. He was 16. I kept re-applying that cheap lipstick I used to wear all the time to avoid chapping my lips. He was in a Tool t-shirt. He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets and shivered every time the wind blew. He looked like such a dork that he was irresistible. At this time, he hadn’t even kissed me yet. Such a dork.
“I was, um, gonna, well, I don’t know if this is the right way to um, you know…” he began.
Poor guy, I felt so bad for him
“C’mon, doofus, it’s just me,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’” he said.
We walked on.
“Well, look, if you want, you can asked me down at Braum’s. I’m hungry and broke, and there’s nothing to eat at my house. You got both a driver’s license and twenty bucks. Run me over there in your dad’s old truck, buy me a burger and ask me there. You can swing a burger.”
“‘Kay.” he said.
After we were at Braum’s and I ate my Junior Burger and most of his fries, I asked him what he wanted to say to me earlier.
“Oh, nothin’,” he said.
“No, really,” I said, “what did you need to know?”
“I don’t remember,” he mumbled.
I punched him in the arm. “Bullshit,” I teased him. “You were going to ask me out, weren’t you?”
“No!” he said. “You’re only 14.”
“Don’t lie to me, dorkus,” I said. “I’ve known you since 4th freaking grade. You can’t take a punch and you can’t lie. So don’t try.”
“Well, whatever,” he said.
“Where are we going out next?” I asked him.
“Ya, next. This was our first date, you know.” I wiped my lips with a napkin.
“Is this a date?” he asked me.
“Sure, it’s a date,” I said.
“Do you kiss on the first date?” he asked.
“Nope, not if it’s just a burger at Braum’s,” I said.
“I bet if I took you to Larkspur’s I’d get a blowjob,” he said, chuckling.
I waited till he smugly took a big swig out of his root beer, then I punched him in the arm, sending crushed ice into his face and down his shirt.
So, I tricked him into asking me out, because he didn’t know a good way to do it himself. He also didn’t know a good way to break up with me when he wanted to see someone else. He still feels bad about it, and often mentions it on the rare occasion I run into him if I go back home. Good, I think. He should feel bad.
But while I was still a high school girl, I played with him, making out, teasing, etc.
Eventually I’d get to seen him naked. A few times, after intense make out sessions, he was so turned on he couldn’t stand it anymore. Usually what he did was to excuse himself, go to the bathroom, and come back all flushed with his hair messed up. I knew what he’d been doing in there, and I wanted to see what it looked like. So once after he and I had been heavily humping each other, and he said something about “going to the bathroom,” I said, “I want to see you pee.”
“I’m um, well, you can come with me but if you do I might not be able to pee,” he said.
“Why?” I asked sweetly. “Are you going to jack it off instead?”
He looked mortified.
“If you do, can I watch?” I asked.
His eyes lit up, and he and I went to the bathroom, where I sat on the toilet lid, he lowered his pants and went for it. I enjoyed watching his face, and seeing his hand go so fast, and our eyes met when he came. It was very intense, and made for a nice little stroke-off for me later when I was alone. Because, I wasn’t about to do that in front of him. I’m a good girl.
One thing he taught me was that, if girls don’t know anything about what turns a guy on, guys know even less about how to ask for what they want. I realized that when I was 16 and I found a porn picture on his computer.
“Hey, what’s this?” I asked him.
“Oh, that, uh, that’s, uh… ” he stammered.
“It’s a blowjob, is what it is,” I said, smiling.
“Uh, well, someone sent that to me, I think,” he said, turning red.
“Oh, quit lying.” I looked at it. She looked like she liked doing that. It looked sexy. “I’m gonna close it, if you don’t mind,” I said quietly.
He didn’t say anything, so I closed the file and went back to doing what I was doing before.
We didn’t mention it. But later, when we were on the phone, flirting and turning each other on, I said that I’d like to learn how to do it. To him. Like, tomorrow.
We made plans. I was scared to death. I was a nice girl, and nice girls didn’t even do that to their husbands. But I also knew what boys liked. And I also thought to myself, it looks like fun. All day, and all night, for days, I thought about having him in my mouth. I couldn’t get it out of my mind.
One afternoon we had free time. It was a teacher service day, so a school holiday. My mom worked for the district, and wasn’t going to be home for another three hours. I seized the opportunity and called him, told him to meet me at his folks’ barn, in the old feed loft.
It was stuffy in there. There wasn’t any feed in there, since I don’t think they had any livestock. There was an old horse blanket, and a few bales of hay.
I was suddenly very nervous. So was he, I am pretty sure. I made some noise like “uh, well, here we are.”
“If you don’t want to, it’s OK – ” he began.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to. It just feels … I dunno, weird, to be here. I wish it weren’t so hot in here,” I said as I looked around.
He saw the loft vent fan switch, and went over and turned it on. A breeze began to blow through the loft, and cooled us off. He smiled at me.
“OK,” I admitted. “I’m nervous.”
“Let’s not do this,” he said. “Maybe we could just, I dunno, treat this like it’s our own place.”
“Our own place?” I repeated.
“Sure,” he said. “You know, we never really have a chance to be alone together. There’s always people around. This is nice.”
He went on, talking about nothing for a long time, telling me jokes, and not calling attention to me or my body. He didn’t try to kiss me. He made me laugh. His voice broke a couple of times, though. I could tell he was nervous, too, and when I realized that, it was like the ice melted.
I threw my arms around him at some point, and kissed him, hard. It surprised him, but after a minute he forgot his self-consciousness and started putting his hands on me. All over me, his hands went, trying to get me out of my pants or get up my shirt. After a few minutes of that I got on his lap to keep kissing him. I could feel how hard he was, and at some point I wiggled on it and smiled and said something like, “Is that for me?”
“Is what for you?” he asked.
I wiggled again.
“Oh … yes. I mean, yes, that’s for you. If , um, if you want it.”
I wiggled again. “Let’s see it,” I said, “and maybe I will.”
He stood up and slipped his pants down to his knees. I looked at his lap. It looked … well, like it was just a part of his body. Skin. Wrinkles, veins, pores. Hair. It looked perfectly normal.
“That doesn’t look so bad,” I said, half to myself.
He kind of rubbed it, and I wanted to touch it. I reached over and he moved his hand away.
It was smooth, and felt like, well, like skin. I looked up at him, and his eyes were completely glazed. I ran my finger up and down its length. He gasped, and his eyes rolled back a little.
I had no idea what to do so I just leaned over and took it in my hand and pointed it in my mouth. I licked it a few times, and sucked its tip like a Popsicle.
“Ungh,” was his response.
I kept going till my jaw hurt. Looking back, I was awful, resting my head on his lap, not giving it consistent suction, ignoring the rest of him, and not pacing myself. My mouth was sore and snot was starting to run down my nose, I felt like my hair was all tangled and I just felt gross. Hey, I was 16 years old, remember.
“I have to stop,” I finally said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK,” he said. “But I can’t stop.”
“I know,” I said.
I leaned back and he kind of licked his hand and then his hand went to his cock. He started to rub it, his hand a blur. I thought he would hurt himself, he was going so hard. Still, watching it turned me on, the way his stomach muscles tightened and flexed, and then suddenly something appeared on the tip of his cock, and then flooded out onto the floor of the feed loft. He moaned.
“Wow,” I said, impressed at the quantity.
He didn’t say much, but wiped his hand on the horse blanket. “Sorry,” he said, “I just can’t go then stop like that.”
I nodded, saving the information for future reference. I wished I could rub one out really quick, but didn’t want to do it in front of him. I waited till I got home, got into the shower and rubbed myself raw for a good twenty minutes.