Chapter 3

The advent of the Sixties came as a bit of a shock because it ushered in an atmosphere of carnal awakening for even the most well-behaved citizens of a divided country. Half the country was falling into line and gearing up for yet another war, and the other half was telling the authorities to,

“Stick it up your ass and don’t talk to me if you are over thirty.”

In 1960, I had reached the ripe old age of 28 and my outside appearance was of a typical fourteen year old girl. I moved to a new city and registered in a high school as a junior whose fourteenth birthday had only recently past. It was exciting to walk in my schoolgirl clothes and pretend to be ultra-young and innocent about all things related to sexual matters. Several “uncles” and older married men I met were eager to “show” me things that they were certain I had never seen before, but I had been humping non-stop for the last ten years and probably knew a lot more than any of them.

One of my new male friends was a beat cop that made a point of looking after mostly high school girls in their teens to protect them from the nasty sides of life outside the fence around the high school. It was just like a cliché, but I met Patrick crossing the street and he held my hand in his huge paw like I was a delicate vase and prone to getting accidently dropped on the ground. It was easy after that to cultivate him into a closer acquaintance simply by scraping my knee and crying like a baby looking for its mama. He wrapped those oversized arms around me and I disappeared inside his hug like a tiny insect inside a Venus fly-trap. I didn’t object when he offered to walk me home because the boarding house was respectable and I knew he was too smart to go inside not knowing the lay of the land. Just before we got to the front door, Patrolman Patrick pulled me into a deep doorway of an “out of business” storefront and pressed me flat against the mirrored glass of the deserted store. I could see my tiny figure coming only as high as his broad chest medals and my shameful look of expectation because I knew better than most exactly what the horny cop had in mind.

Fortunately, there was a slight rain falling on the sidewalk outside and there were no pedestrians risking getting splashed by busses or autos whizzing past and spraying the walkways with torrents of dirty water from the dusty streets. We were safe and protected in the doorway and looked innocently taking shelter from the elements and out of the mess outside. I saw the reflection of my depraved eyes growing bigger as my short skirt was pushed up into my waistband in the back and Patrick pulled down my white undies below my heart-shaped bottom. I couldn’t see what he saw right in front of him and exposed to his waving shaft. I could tell it must have been most appealing to him because his excitement had made his pecker as hard as a rock.

I was a bit disappointed that he chose my feminine channel instead of my dirt-hole because I had grown increasingly favorable to rear door activities in my guise of a minor and it seemed appropriate to be sodomized by a person in authority because in a certain sense, it was just following orders. I hid my feelings and did my best to be as cooperative as possible whilst still keeping up my guise of complete ignorance of what was going on.

Patrick had me hooked deep and hard and all I could do was to push back into his bulk and hope for the best. It didn’t take him very long to hit my trigger spot and after that I lost all semblance of pretense and just used my best filthy vocabulary to express my delight. That seemed to push poor Patrick into a frenzied response because he lifted me right up off the ground and stroked me so deep that I feared he would go up into those areas where most men are unable to go. It was probably lucky for both of us that his spending came at the same time the rain stopped because I was flooded on the inside and nice and dry outside. That was certainly the best of both worlds and I helped adjust my panties and smooth down my skirt before the first pedestrian passed on the street outside. I promised patrolman Patrick that I would sit on the bench outside the play area with him for lunch the following day. It would be seem appropriate because I was a well-behaved young lady more mature than her advertised years and the patrolman was a familiar figure around the school grounds and his uniformed presence gave all the grown-ups an increased sense of a safe environment.

Still, later that afternoon, I was called down to the vice-principal’s office for an unspecified reason and suspected it might be related to my close contact with a grown-up. Even with the more liberal attitudes toward sexual matters, pedophiles were still the most hated segment of society and parents and teachers were adamant about protecting the youngsters from indecent exposure. Of course, in my case, I was a young girl in her twenties and more than able to fight my own battles. Only, I had chosen the route of pretending to be what I looked like and having a lot more fun than a girl should be allowed to have, all things considered.

The Vice Principal was younger than I expected and he was one of those young men with hair that seemed nicer than most girls. I truly envied his tresses and wished I had that shade as my natural tone without the necessity of applying it straight from the bottle.

The chair I was pointed to was up on a sort of platform in front of his desk and I wondered why he insisted on such an arrangement when it would be a lot more comfortable to just sit in a chair next to his desk.

After I was sitting down and had crossed and uncrossed my legs a couple of times, I realized he had a bird’s eye view of my inner legs and dreadful white panties from the level of his desk and he seemed overly interested in scanning my lower body secrets for signs of nubile interest. I wondered if he could see the wet spot where my Patrick had groped me until I couldn’t resist squirting a string of liquids into his demanding hands. I grew immediately weak just thinking about my defenseless position and I had this urge to fall back and lift my legs for a standard missionary route to satisfaction. It was spiritual confirmation of my lack of proper regard for ladylike behavior and in a sense I regretted my base instincts. In a way, it was the fourteen year old version of me that was making those decisions and not my almost-thirty true self. In retrospect, I must confess that my weakness in acting out my impulses by behaving like how I looked to the rest of the world was the easy way out and I had little motivation to be a “grown-up”.