Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Prologue - Being tall has its advantages, but when trouble strikes, it's how you handle adversity that matters.

My name is Kyle Richter. I was born August 12, 1986 in Midland, Michigan. My dad, Dave, was a chemical engineer and middle manager at Dow Chemical headquarters. My mom, Barbara, had been a school teacher, but retired when Dad got a promotion and she no longer needed to work. I was almost nine at the time, and pretty rambunctious as a kid.

I wasn’t an only child. My sisters Olivia and Shannon were older than I. “Liv” was nearly six years older and “Shan” was two years older. I was outnumbered two-to-one. Luckily, I wasn’t the forgotten kid, thanks to my dad. The girls naturally gravitated toward Mom. They didn’t often give me a hard time or anything like that. For the most part, they just ignored me ... like I wasn’t there. To tell the truth, generally I was grateful for that.

Dad and I had a really good relationship. I guess since we were the only two males in the household, it was natural. But Dad had a special skill that I benefited from. He was really good at teaching me things, especially things mechanical. He was restoring a very old motorcycle and sidecar and I was right there helping him. I learned an amazing amount about mechanical things and how they worked from him. I thought my Dad was the greatest dad ever.

My dad was a pretty busy guy, often flying off to one place or another to solve problems. I was too young to understand what the problems might be, but I know he was always happy to get home to Mom and the family. His two main hobbies were golf and fixing things. Mom played golf as well, and he and mom played each Sunday, weather permitting. He was also a big baseball fan and encouraged me to play the game. I played Little League until I was twelve, then went on to Babe Ruth ball before I played high school ball. I could hit, and my fielding was solid, but my throwing could be a bit erratic. I was left-handed, so I played mainly in the outfield, with occasional emergency duty at first base.

Mom was very insistent that we take piano lessons when we were young. I wasn’t very enthusiastic, but I did like music. I would much rather have spent more time learning to play my guitar. I had found a used one in a pawn shop and bought it for ten bucks. Olivia and Shannon both took piano lessons, but Liv didn’t continue when she went to college. Shan couldn’t escape any more than I could, so she was stuck with the lessons. Once in a while, I would play my guitar while she played the piano and we’d make a duet. It was fun and made the lessons a little easier to get through.

The summer before my thirteenth birthday, I had a growth spurt. At first I didn’t notice it, but when Mom wanted to see what I had to wear when I went to Middle School that fall, I could see that all my pants were too short ... by a lot. My long sleeve shirts were too. I had to get all new clothes or be labeled a total dork when I showed up on the first day.

Thirteen turned out to be a difficult age for me. After my growth spurt that summer, I was six feet tall and skinny. When we lined up to enter class that first day, I was taller than just about any kid in my class by quite a bit. Wouldn’t you know it, when I went to my first PE class, they announced that we would be taking dance lessons once a week. Oh brother, just what I needed. It was bad enough that I had to take piano lessons, now I had to take dance lessons.

I wasn’t looking forward to it, but every other kid, including my buddies, had to take dance lessons too, so it wasn’t like I was being picked on. If I was taller than my pals, I was taller than almost every girl; by at least a foot. It came to a head on the first day of PE when we were told who would be our dance partners that fall. How they picked Bonnie Thurman I do not know, but she wasn’t even five foot tall. She took one look at me and in a voice that could be heard all over the gym, announced,

“I’m not dancing with him. He’s too tall.”

That’s how kids get nicknames. By lunch time, I was known as “Too Tall” Richter. Apparently, there was a Dallas Cowboy lineman with the same nickname. I looked him up in a NFL magazine one day and discovered he was six-foot-nine. Wow. I hoped I wasn’t going to end up that tall.

It wasn’t long before my size and nickname brought about some changes. First of all, thanks to Bonnie’s complaint, I had been given another girl as a dance partner. It was a dark day for me when I learned my new partner was Gloria Castleman. Gloria was almost as tall as me and probably fifty pounds heavier. She was about as dainty as a hippo and just as pretty. She was no happier being paired with me than I was with her.

We didn’t have a choice, it seemed. Gloria and I were just going to have to live with it, regardless of how improbable a couple we were. My sister Shan thought it was hilarious and made sure every one of her girlfriends knew about my embarrassment. She went to great lengths to ridicule me at home as well, making sure Olivia knew of my shame. It took my mother to intervene and give them both a stern lecture about picking on their “little brother.”

I was grateful to Mom for sticking up for me, but it didn’t make any difference. Out of her earshot, I knew they were laughing their heads off over my predicament. If I even had remote thoughts of dating some of the girls in my class, I could forget them, probably for several years to come. I pretty much withdrew from any hopes of finding a girlfriend and sought out other avenues of relief.

There weren’t many options open for me. I was hopeless at basketball. As an uncoordinated thirteen-year-old, I couldn’t shoot worth a damn, and my dribbling was equally pathetic. I didn’t even try out for the freshman team, despite my height advantage. I didn’t know much about soccer, but it didn’t look too difficult, so I tried out for that. My lack of leg strength made my shooting and passing ability pretty weak. The coach suggested I do some exercises to strengthen my legs and try out again next year.

Meanwhile, back in PE class, we were subjected to some fitness tests. They amounted to running, jumping, and lifting weights. It was there I discovered my one talent. I could run. I wasn’t a sprinter, but the longer the distance the better I was. My leg and upper body strength weren’t great, but my wind and endurance were better than most other kids. When they asked us to run a half-mile, I was first in my group by quite a bit, and I wasn’t that tired at the end.

“You should try out for the track team next year,” Mr. Reid, the PE instructor said. “You’ve got a nice long stride and you are in pretty good shape. Some endurance training and you’d be a good middle distance runner.”

Wow! Something I could do besides baseball that might allow me to be a success. I decided that I would begin to train immediately. The running track around our football-soccer field was exactly a quarter mile, and I began to time myself as I ran. The only time I could have the track to myself was in the morning before school I told my mother about my ambition, and while she didn’t exactly encourage me, she agreed to provide breakfast earlier ... namely when my father was up and heading for the office at six-thirty each morning.

My running shoes were conventional canvas tennis style, but they would have to do for now. A visit to our local sporting goods outlet introduced me to what real runners wore. Nike, Adidas, Asics, Saucony, and others, took up a good part of the wall of the store. They were horribly expensive (to my inexperienced eye) but I only had to lift one of these shoes to know what they represented. They were feather-light; far lighter than my shoes, and far more flexible. In addition, the sales representative told me that they all had hi-tech foam in the sole to cushion heel-strike. I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I would soon.

I announced my choice of a main Christmas wish that year should be new running shoes. My mother thought that was a very modest request ... and besides ... what was wrong with the ones I had? I explained the difference and the benefits, making sure she understood this was no ordinary request. My father nodded and said he knew what I was referring to and would guide my mother accordingly. That pleased me no end. But Christmas was still almost three months away.

It wasn’t long before my training plan proved unworkable. First, by early October it was dark at six in the morning and there were no lights on the field. Second, it got cold ... very cold that fall. Central Michigan was known for its winters and I could see I would have to find an alternative if I was to continue my training. It was months later that I learned I wasn’t really training. I was just running and building up some lung capacity and leg strength. But I had no plan that would lead to my goal of being a good distance runner.

I found a couple of books in the library on the subject and discovered a training plan for someone with my ambitions. It was very complicated, but it had been written by some guy in Oregon who had coached some very famous runners to success. A couple of them had won medals at the Olympic Games. That was good enough for me.

The problem I faced was the weather, but my father came up with a solution I hadn’t known about. A fitness center had opened in our community and it was equipped with a running track on the second level of a very big building. It wouldn’t matter when you were there, there would be light and it would be room temperature. Since it was on his way to work, he could drop me off and I could catch the bus to school from there.

My dad must have wanted me to find something that suited me and that I could succeed at, and if that was running, he would support me. In fact, he went one step further. He enrolled both of us at the fitness place and he would get in a workout while I was running. Then we would shower, change into our work or school clothes, and head off from there. I was really happy that he would support me in my ambition.

Christmas came and I got the usual gifts from my parents and grandparents, along with a couple of minor items from my sisters. There were no shoes under the tree, so I guessed I missed out on that gift. My last present was an envelope marked “to Kyle from Santa” and the notation, “push hard.”

I didn’t know what to expect when I opened the envelope, but out fell a card from the sporting goods store I frequented. It was a gift certificate for enough money to buy the shoes of my choice. I couldn’t believe it. I not only got what I truly wanted, but it would be my choice which brand and color and style. I made sure my parents knew how happy I was with this gift.

I remember slipping on my new Asics Tigers for the first time, lacing them up and walking gingerly toward the track. I could barely feel them on my feet, they were so light. Five minutes into my run I knew they were the answer to my prayers. Now I realized how much more comfortable they were when I ran. I was no longer “ground pounding” but slipping along the track with ease.

When spring arrived, I was out on the outdoor track at school in my white and blue shoes. Very few other kids in our school had shoes like mine. Dad was still going to his workouts every morning, but I was only there when the weather was bad.

In April, a man I didn’t recognize approached me.

“You’re a very dedicated young man,” he said with a smile. “You must have ambition to be a runner.”

“Yes sir,” I answered, wondering who he was.

“I’ve been watching you from my living room,” he said, pointing to a nearby apartment building. “I bet those shoes really helped you.”

“Oh yeah, they’re great,” I agreed.

“Who is your coach? I don’t see anyone out here with you.”

“Well ... I don’t have one. I’m just trying to get myself into condition to try out for the junior track team next year.”

“I didn’t see you doing any stretching exercises. You should, you know. You could pull a muscle and that would really put a crimp in your plans,” he warned.

“I’ve got this book about running and I’ve been trying to follow the training that it recommends, but it doesn’t mention stretching,” I said.

He nodded. “I’m sure that it would if it was a training manual, but it’s probably just about how runners can get better and not how to start out running.”

“Yeah ... I think you’re right. Do you know any books about stretching?” I asked.

He chuckled. “No ... not off hand. But maybe I can help you. I used to coach track some years ago before I retired and maybe I can point you in the right direction.”

“That would be great! Thanks, Mister ... uhhm. I don’t know your name.”

He smiled. “Just call me Coach. That will do for now.”

“Okay. I’m Kyle, so what should I do first?”

For the next half hour he showed me stretching and warm-up exercises, explaining about why I needed to do them and what muscles I was working on.

“Never start or finish a session without stretching. It doesn’t matter which sport you are involved in. You’re young and have very supple muscles, but as you grow and get older, they need to stretch to begin a session and then stretch again when you are done to prevent cramping. It’s especially important in both cold and hot weather.”

He sounded like he knew what he was talking about, so I followed his instructions. I also did the stretching exercises before I played baseball too. Baseball Coach Miller wondered what I was doing, so I explained who my running coach was and how he was helping me. Coach didn’t say much, but he didn’t tell me to stop. I learned later that the pro football and baseball teams did stretching exercises before each game.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Coach’s advice was going to lead me in a very good direction. From that day onward, he was there when I ran outdoors. He even convinced me that good runners learn to handle bad weather. He told me what to wear and how to take care of my shoes so they would last. There was no one on the middle school staff who had his knowledge, and as a result, my progress as a runner outstripped anyone else in the school. By the time I entered high school, I was well ahead of my classmates. I was both taller and fitter.

By my sixteenth birthday, I was six-foot-four and thought I was pretty much finished with growing. I towered over most of my contemporaries, including my Dad, although there were a few guys my size. I’d put on some muscle as well, doing some weight training as suggested by Coach. The old man, who I learned was Robert Fuller, was actually a very well known track coach in his day. I never realized until much later just how lucky I was the day he walked over to talk to me at the middle school track.

I’d had a few dates in the past couple of years, but they were awkward. None of the girls I was interested in were anywhere near my height and I think I might have intimidated them. But the summer before I started my junior year, things changed dramatically.

“Kyle, I have some news for you,” my dad said one evening. “I’ve been promoted and we’ll be moving soon. I’m sorry if it’s going to upset your plans, but I’ve been given a great opportunity and I don’t think you’ll be disappointed when you hear where we’re moving to.”

“Moving? Where? When?” I asked, totally surprised by this turn of events.

He smiled ... no ... grinned when he announced, “California, after the school year.”

I could see my mother’s smiling face as he made the announcement. My surprise was almost immediately replaced with delight. California! Land of sunshine and warm weather. This was every kid’s dream, wasn’t it? But it was a big state.

“Where in California,” I wondered.

“Dow has an agricultural chemical operation in Davis, near Sacramento. I’ll be the assistant to the general manager. They expect he will retire in a couple of years, and I’ll be ready to replace him then.”

“Wow, that’s great for you, Dad. What about Liv and Shan?” Olivia was in college already, entering her third year at Central Michigan. Shannon was a senior in high school and a cheerleader. This was going to be hard on her.

“Olivia will remain at Central Michigan, living in the dorms until she graduates,” Mom announced. “She’ll be with us in the summer unless she has a summer job elsewhere. Unfortunately for Shannon, she will be moving with us. She’s too young to be on her own. She’s pretty unhappy right now. She’s giving up a very active social life here, but I have a feeling that a few weeks in California may help her get over her loss.”

I shrugged. I didn’t relate to her social life, other than she had a boyfriend and a passel of girlfriends that were always around the house. Me, I had the guys I hung out with, but no special girlfriend. I’d miss my teammates on the ball club and the guys I hung out with, but when I mentioned living in California, they were all pretty envious. The one person I was going to really miss was Coach Fuller. I knew he looked forward to working with me and I’d miss him as well. I just hoped I could find another coach who could help me as much as he did.

“You keep up the steady training and you’ll do well, Kyle,” he said with a smile. “I’ve really enjoyed working with you and I wish you well in your new home.”

“Thanks, Coach. I would never have got this far without your help. I’ll send you an email and let you know how I’m doing,” I promised.

I got a pat on the shoulder, a smile, and a handshake as we parted.

We moved when school ended in June, and it didn’t take any of us long to realize this was a very different place to live. Temporarily, we were living in a hotel suite, with Shan and Liv having their own room, while Mom and Dad had a nice room with their own bathroom. I was sleeping in the living area on a hide-a-bed. Mom and Dad spent a lot of time with a real estate lady looking for a home to buy and finally settled on a nice place on the north edge of Davis. It was a four-bedroom rancher with a three-car garage and an outside work shed. It wasn’t new, but it was very nice and had a big yard. Dad must have received a pretty nice raise when he was promoted.

The moving truck arrived from Michigan the week of July 4th, not the most convenient timing. However, we were all anxious to get out of the hotel and back into a proper home. We skipped the festivities in Sacramento and concentrated on getting our new home organized. We checked Mom’s piano carefully and it seemed to survive the trip without problems. Her china and crystal all arrived in good condition too, so she was relieved at that.

I would be a sophomore in the local high school and I decided that I would see about trying out for the track team. I had no idea what the competition would be like, but I was going to try anyway. I found a pick-up summer baseball league and I talked my way onto the team. We had some pretty good players and the grounds were much better than we had in Michigan, so I was happy. I also kept up my running, making sure I was ready for the school track team tryouts ... assuming they had tryouts.

I was still the tallest guy on the team, but not by as much as I was before. It looked like some of the guys in my class were catching up to me. I didn’t mind. I was curious about what the girls would be like, though. After all, what’s more famous in American legend than California Girls? I was about to turn sixteen and definitely interested in finding a girlfriend. The first thing I wanted, however, was a driver’s license.

With my parents’ permission, I signed up for Driver’s Ed at school. I didn’t have to wait until second semester since I would turn sixteen in August, just before school started. Hoo-ray! Shan already had her license and was lobbying for a car. Good luck with that, girl. On the other hand, I discovered that California had a graduated licensing scale that went on and on forever. I wasn’t going to have the total freedom to drive that I was hoping for. However ... one step at a time.

My three years of high school in California were pretty much ho-hum. I passed, of course. No less than B’s would do, and more importantly, A’s were expected of me. I met and made friends with several guys, some of whom were on the high school baseball team. I made the team, but not as a regular player. The competition was tough. However, the track coach was glad to have me, thinking I would be a field athlete because of my size and my developing body. I disappointed him when I told him I was a middle distance runner. When I won a couple of local competitions, he decided I might be all right after all.

I had a few dates with various girls and lost my virginity in one girl’s pool shed in November of my first year. Well, we’ve all got to start somewhere, don’t we? Apparently, it was important to score with the girls, so in that regard, I did very well. I found out much later that the reason I had no trouble both finding dates that were willing was because of the silly “size of your feet” business. Apparently, the bigger the feet, the bigger the equipment ... if you know what I mean. I’m still not sure how I stacked up, but I never heard any complaints and got quite an education out of it that would serve me well in the future.

I had a decision to make as I neared the end of my high school career. Which college was appropriate and what was I going to choose as a major? I know what I was leaning toward – mechanical engineering. Dad was a chemical engineer, but with a strong inclination toward mechanical things. He had restored a 1940’s era Matchless motorcycle with a sidecar from a barnyard wreck and turned into a showpiece. I helped him along the way, and with his instruction, I learned a hell of a lot about internal combustion engines and mechanical design.

With Dad’s advice, I decided to take the basic required courses the first year before choosing a major. First, however, I needed to decide which college suited me. I was lucky to find a part time job at a local motorcycle shop thanks to my Dad’s restoration and us being well known at the store. I didn’t earn enough to go to a top school, but Dad didn’t want me to think I had to pay for it all myself. We thought about it long and hard and finally decided on a two step approach. I would take two years at Sacramento State before deciding if I wanted to transfer to a more specialized school. That made sense to me, since Sac State was not far away and I could commute. With my father’s and mother’s blessing, that was our plan.

Chapter 1 »

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