was it october or november? i want to remember because it seems like an important date. it is october as i write this, but Dale’s birthday is in november.
i had a crush on her, or whatever. i liked her as much as i was able to, my old self. she was blonde and blue eyed and curvy and way older than me – sixteen! and i loved the way she smelled. love’s baby soft and her own natural odor. and she gave me my first kiss! i think it was october.
a week ago circumstance led me to a street adjacent to my old high school. i looked at the buildings in the dim illumination of outdoor florescents refracting through autumn mists and had to laugh out loud! something about the chill in the air and the joyfulness of my childhood memories….
the kiss was after a rehearsal for the musical that our school district ran every year. good thing for that district musical–how else would i have been exposed to a sophomore? i was in grade–we walked home together, our neighborhoods in the same direction away from school.
we walked across the tennis courts on a night not unlike last wednesday, the night of my reverie of recollection, all misty and amber-lit, dark and bright simultaneously.
it was in the years I spent hanging out with Dale that I came to know myself more, as if the association with someone older inspired a leap in consciousness.
(she took my face in her hands, that sweet smell of love’s baby soft and her owm musky odors in a cloud around my head. and she tasted the inside of my mouth, moving her tongue in delicate spirals. i learned what a kiss could be that night.)
several weeks passed. we saw each other briefly in rehearsals, but with me on stage and her on the gym floor painting flats for the set, and so many others around, there wasn’t time for any intimate fun.
she called on a monday evening. i was watching letterman, eating pizza-for-one.
“My Dad’s beating up Lea,†she said, her voice trembling, she was close to tears. Her father was a humongous drunk, a big bully. “Can I come over?â€
it was raining really hard.
I had been beaten up enough by intoxicated parental units to understand that it was no joke, so i invited her over. Minutes passed.
she arrived at my back door dripping wet, wearing my red flannel–I’d lent it to her-dripping, dripping wet. so beautiful.
we went into the living room to watch television and she began dropping hints. and she laid me down on the floor, the big easy chair towered to the side of us. how long did it last?honestly maybe five minutes, maybe longer. from her reactions it seemed like long enough. we ended up doing it again several times after that. inspite of or maybe because of her boyfriend (who incidentally got her pregnant the next year)
it lasted forever. it is my fondest memory as I masturbate now. I haven’t seen her in s…
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