An All-American Teenage Sex Life
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2018 by Max Geyser

Coming of Age Story: Chapter 1 - Navigate the dangerous curves of high school in the early 90s with Jake Parker as he overcomes a tragedy with friends, sports, sex and love.

Caution: This Coming of Age Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft   Teenagers   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual   Fiction   Sports   Spanking   Anal Sex   First   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Petting   Big Breasts   Slow  

My name is Jacob Gabriel Parker. You can call me Jake, Jakey, JP, Parker, Park-man or just J. I’ve been called worse, and I’d say I’ve been called much better.

I was born on the Fourth of July, 1976; America’s 200th birthday. A patriotic baby, no doubt. But while my story starts in the 70s, this story is not about the 70s, or even the 80s. No, this story is about an all-American boy growing up in the Midwest in the early 90s.

This story starts in the spring of 1991, just before I turned 15 and my life turned around completely. Something terrible and tragic had happened on Christmas Day, and as the long winter began to thaw and turn to spring, so did the funk I’d been living in since that day.

I awoke to my alarm clock blaring a staticky “She Talks to Angels” from The Black Crowes. I rubbed the sleep from eyes with a frown, as I liked the song but I had decided suddenly that it hit a little too close to home.

“Says they all knooow her naaaame...”

I clicked the off button, shutting Chris Robinson up for the moment. I didn’t bother with a snooze, even on a Monday. I blinked, scratched, rolled out of bed and trudged off to the shower to get myself right for the day, gradually waking up to water as hot as I could handle it. I kept it quick with the shampoo and the soap, then exited. Taking a little extra time with my hair, I even used a little product. I brushed my teeth, got a couple of sprays of deodorant and wrapped in a towel, trudged off to my room to dress.

“Morning Jake.” Mom half-whispered, cheerfully.

I turned, gave a brief wave and took a step toward my room again.

“Your hair, Jake?” She said, cautiously, stopping me in my tracks. “You styled it this morning?”

I turned my head blankly, ran my fingers up through my short locks, a bit of gel already drying my bangs in a sweep to my right.

“Yeah, I guess.” I shrugged.

Mom gave a small smile and I turned and finished the trek to my room, quietly closing the door. I got dressed, picking out a long-sleeved t-shirt, then picked up my dark gray hoodie. I suddenly looked at, turned it over in my hands and took a breath. Without much more thought, I balled it up and tossed it into the hamper.

I’ve been wearing that too much, I thought. I picked up my school bag, double-checked my baseball bag and brought both out of my room to the bench by the front door. Today would be the first day of baseball practice for the spring.

The smell of breakfast brought me back to the kitchen, where mom had hash browns crisping, and a waft of bacon brought my nose up slightly.

“You’re out here early, Jakey,” mom quipped, pointing the business end of her spatula at me. “Have you thought about Grandpa’s proposal from the family meeting?

“Yeah, you know I want to,” I replied, stretching a bit and blinking.

“Right, Jake, but we gotta plan out your summer almost to the hour then.”

“I know,” I said reflexively. “I used to dream about this when I was a kid. Uncle Tim was my hero. I never understood why he quit.”

Mom’s eyes narrowed a little. “But you have to make some sacrifices to have time for it. Your grandfather expects some commitment from you on this. You’re going to have to put in some hours. Make some decisions on what stays and what goes.”

“I’m fine with that, but is dad fine with that?” I returned. Even at only 14, I’d spent a few summers helping dad around the farm. “Oh, and are you sure you’re fine with it, mom? I’m a little surprised you’d let me do this.”

Mom turned back to stovetop, idly stirring and flipping. “You know your dad is at least a little thrilled. I don’t have to tell you how dad and I met. Of course I’m worried about my baby boy, but that’s why I’m going to be there every time making sure your safety is taken care of.”

“Moooom, I’m not your baby boy. Josh is,” I whined.

“I’m your what?” my little brother yawned, still in his PJs.

“Joshie! Good morning,” mom cooed. “You’ll both always be my baby boys!” mom cheered, with wide eyes.

“OK then,” I drawled. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yes, Jake. Set the table for me. Thank you. Dad will be in soon.”

As if on cue, the door to the garage opened and dad popped in, a little of the cool spring air invading our warm kitchen. He’d already kicked off his muddy boots in the garage, and was unzipping his light coverall when my little brother ran to him, jumping up. Just in time, dad caught him, dropping a foot back.

“Hey buster! You’re getting too heavy for that,” dad rang out, dropping the five-year-old on his heels and messing his already messy hair. “Let’s see what mom has for breakfast!”

I’d just set the table, dropping forks and grabbing orange juice and milk. An odd habit I’d picked up watching “Part of this complete breakfast” cereal commercials, I’d demanded to drink both with my breakfasts. Dad returned from washing his hands.

Mom grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the oven door open. The sizzle and light smoke of oven-fresh bacon filled the kitchen. I hadn’t been particularly hungry, but I was ready to eat now.

Dutifully, all her boys lined up with plates in hand at the stove, and mom dished each of us some freshly scrambled eggs, hash browns, strips of bacon and a slice of wheat toast. Serving herself, she sat at her spot at the round table.

I helped Josh, pouring him a glass of milk, glancing at the clock. It was 7:05. I had ten minutes to get to the end of the long driveway before the bus arrived. I was the first pickup of the day, meaning what would be a 12-minute drive to our rural school became a nearly 45-minute odyssey as we wove through rural gravel roads, picking students of all ages from the farms.

“Jake styled his hair today,” mom said, cutting through the sounds of forks on plates.

Dad took a quick glance at me, a light twinkle forming in his eyes. “Is he not allowed to do that, Donna?

“Of course he is, Johnathan,” Mom teased right back. “You know, he just hasn’t in a while,” she offered pointedly.

“I’m sitting right here, guys, at the table with you,” I groaned. Snapping off a big bite of crispy bacon, my eyes rolled back, nearly forgetting the affront.

“Of course you are, Jake, we just have worried about you, you know? We know it was a really – difficult thing you went through, and we’re happy to see you coming around.”

“I know,” I said reflexively, looking at what was left on my plate. I dug back in and finished the last of hash browns, downed my OJ and got up, grabbing my plate, fork and glasses. I dropped them in the sink and headed for the door.

“Heading out already?” mom asked, checking the clock.

“I’ve got a bag full of books, and bag full of baseball stuff (complete with catcher’s gear), and I have to get my coat on,” I shrugged.

Mom tucked her robe together and walked over, arms outstretched. I made a show of putting my light jacket on, grabbing for my backpack when the hug came unbidden.

“You know we love you, Jake?”

I exhaled, relaxing in mom’s embrace.

“I know, just, just time to move.”

I probably meant move on, but move was true as well.

Dad would head back out to, well, do farm stuff. Mom would finish getting herself and Josh ready, then head to her job, which just so happened to be office manager of her father, my grandfather’s, construction business. Both my parents worked with their parents, which seemed odd to me. Dad still farmed with his father.

So with my backpack squared over my shoulders and my baseball bag slung over my left shoulder, I started the expedition to the end of the driveway.

“Bye Jake, have a good day at school,” mom called out. “We’ll talk more tonight at supper.”

Oh, it was maybe a quarter mile driveway, but I always bitched about it when it was snowing or exceptionally cold with a wind chill. Today was pretty mild, if a little gray. I was a short 40 steps from the end of the driveway when the bus pulled up, brakes groaning. I did not hustle those last steps, to the annoyance of the driver.

I groaned and lifted my bag, carrying it over the top of every empty seat on the bus, stopping to drop my bags and my backside into the second-to-last seat on the right. I had owned the very back seat for many years, but I couldn’t bear to sit in that seat again.

My school was a K-12, a combination of four rural towns, each complete with a farmer’s co-op. For political reasons, the combined school was constructed in the country near the midpoint of those towns back in the 70s. My bus would pick up farm kids and then make a stop in town to pick up the “town kids.”

We’d just rolled up at the town park bus stop and I spotted my best friend, Mike Scholz, queuing up for the bus. About a dozen kids got on, filling the bus to about three-quarters full, and Mike paced back and plopped into the seat next to me with a wheeze. As some of the oldest kids on the bus, we could hold court in the back seats.

“I hate Mondays, dude.”

“I know, but you don’t even have baseball tonight. Wrestling is over, you don’t run track and you don’t have a single extra-curricular until August, when football starts. You’re in the clear until then,” I grinned smugly.

“I work, slick.”

He was right. He was 15 and due to turn 16 in the fall. He worked in the kitchen at the local steak house, but he didn’t have a car yet. He was saving up.

“Come on out to the farm. I’ll show you work, pussy,” I grinned.

Mike was growing up to 5’8, about my height, I thought, but he was a stockier boy. He let his light brown bangs hang straight down, and he generally wore some kind of concert or comic book T-shirt. He had a faded homage to the Justice League today. He didn’t come from money, but his father, a single parent, kept him and his siblings fed with a roof over their heads and he made sure their grades were up. Mike’s mom had passed some years ago.

“So, a little extra time in front of the mirror today,” Mike queried.

“Why is everyone obsessed with my hair today?”

“I dunno, you’re, you’re dressed differently today too,” Mike gaped. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing, it was just, I don’t know, it was time to move. To move on, I guess.”

“That, uh, that’s really good, man,” he added, hopefully, but didn’t press further, for the moment.

“Baseball got you that excited?”

“Nah, it’s something else. Maybe,” I shrugged. I narrowed my gaze and looked at him squarely.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“I’m terrible with secrets, but we’ve been best friends since kindergarten, spill!”

I eyed him suspiciously, then leaned in.

“My grandfather wants to get back into sprint car racing.”

“That’s a big secret?”

My eyes widened and I pointed to my chest. “He wants ME to drive it.”

“Noooo shit!”

I tilted my head meaningfully to quiet him. He already had a deep voice, and I’m not sure he possessed an “inside voice.”

“Can you race at 14? I mean, is that legal?”

“No, but I can at 15, so we would put the car together now and race after my birthday.”

We were about to make one of our last stops in the country before reaching school. The western part of the county was formed by steep hills along the riverside. This was not farmland. This was ranchland. A whole different breed of people worked this land. They were ranchers.

I really had two best friends, and they both knew that. And they were both fine with that. And they were both about to be a few feet apart.

Shelby Ray scooted her cowboy boots by and bounced into the seat directly behind me, depositing her book bag. Just because I wouldn’t sit there anymore, didn’t mean she wouldn’t.

“Morning boys,” she smiled.

“Morning, Shelby,” we said in unison.

“OOOH! Someone has gelled his hair today,” Shelby giggled, tentatively running her fingers through it from behind. “Smells nice too!”

I sharply sat forward, then whirled back around and swatted playfully at her hand. There was no real malice in my tone when I told her to “Fuck off.”

She giggled, her sharp blue eyes sparkling a little before her tone turned more concerned. “Seriously, it’s good to see you like this. Out of your funk, and stuff.”

I looked her in her piercing blue eyes, really not sure what to say. We had a long history together. While I was an oldest child, she was a youngest child. Her parents were neighbors and close friends with my grandparents, who were also sort of into the ranch lifestyle. Grandpa had horses and traded with the Rays for breeding and breaking on occasion, providing some of the hay the Rays might need over the winter. We’d been together countless times outside of school, riding the hay rack, riding horses during a cattle drive, or hanging out together at a family function the Rays might be invited to. My grandparents loved to throw barn parties, even over the Independence Day holiday, my birthday. Shelby and I had been fast friends since we could walk, even sharing a first kiss when we were five. That event even caught on camera. We could be seen holding hands well past the “cootie” stage so many kids had with the opposite sex. Our families always had hoped for more from us, but we were content to be close friends these days.

Puberty had been fairly kind to both of us. I’d shot up in height, thin at the waist, but with broad shoulders and a lean but muscular build. I had the dark brown hair of dad’s that would lighten to the near-blond look of my mom in the summer. My eyes were mom’s for sure, a deep blue. “BIG EYES,” I was told. Thankfully mom shared her nose with me as well. Dad was a fairly handsome man, thin and muscular at just under 6 feet tall, with a darker complexion, but he had a pretty big nose I was happy not to share.

Shelby and I had been about the same height until junior high. She was stuck at a fairly skinny 5’3, but she was filling out very nicely. A horse rider’s bubbly butt and a budding B-cup caught attention at times. She had a mostly clear complexion, long brown hair, with big curls reaching nearly the middle of her back, a slender nose, thin lips, high cheekbones and those piercing, light blue eyes. And she looked just fine without a hint of makeup on her. She had tight jeans tucked into her boots and a long-sleeved button down shirt. She tended to look fairly laid back, but she was quick to anger, with a hot temper and she was fiercely loyal to her friends and her animals. Seriously, she’d punched a boy’s lights out when he’d pulled her ponytail one too many times. She wasn’t wearing one of her many cowboy hats today, but she would on occasion, particularly outside of school. Belt buckle the size of a dinner plate? Yeah, but she probably earned it at a rodeo competition. She was an accomplished barrel rider.

“Parker has a secret,” Mike chimed in.

My eyes wide, suddenly pulled from my reverie. I popped him in the shoulder sharply.

“OOOOOH, who is she!” Shelby giggled.

“Guys!” I glared. Both of them instantly cowed. “You.” I said, pointing at Mike, “Are terrible with secrets.”

“And you!” I glared at Shelby, “Need to know it’s not a girl.”

“I didn’t say WHAT the secret was, dude, I just said you HAD one.” Mike grinned.

I held a hand up at his face and looked to Shelby. In a measured tone I said “It’s not a big deal, I just don’t want it going all around the school in case nothing comes of it. My grandpa, my other grandpa, wants to get back into sprint car racing. And, and he wants me to be the driver.”

Shelby rocked back into her seat for a moment. “Wow!”

Gears were working behind her pretty eyes before she spat out, “That’s the reason you aren’t wearing that stupid gray hoodie, and you did your hair?”

“No! Why is everyone obsessed over my damn hair?”

She pulled my shoulder as I turned away, making me face her again. She moved forward into my personal space and tilted her head to the side. She looked up at my hair, slid her hand from my shoulder down to my bicep and puffed a stray lock of hair out of her face in annoyance, then looked me in the eye again.

“There’s something very different about you today. I guess I don’t care what it is, but I’m happy to see you like this again.”

I turned my gaze down and nodded.

“I dunno, it’s time to move on.”

“He said the same thing to me,” Mike deadpanned.

“OK, good. Great even,” she beamed, then playfully flicked me in the ear. “Mike and I don’t have to walk on eggshells around you all day anymore.”

I frowned, grabbing my ear. “You never had to.”

Mike and Shelby exchanged a knowing smile as the bus pulled up to the school.

“Who wants to help me carry all this crap?” I grunted as I stood up on the bus.

“I’m not your pack mule,” Shelby shrugged.

“I’m not your bitch,” Mike grinned.

“You’re both my bitches,” I growled, to the laughter of both.

We walked together through our freshman entrance to the school, where I took a quick detour to the empty boy’s locker room, dropping off my baseball gear in my locker for after school. Shelby and Mike scooted ahead to their lockers in the hallway.

The general noise of teens in a hallway quieted slightly as I made my way to my locker, looking to deposit my book bag, and grab what I needed for first period.

Some pointed looks, whispers and even a barely audible “Jake Parker is back,” could be heard. I picked up my pace, and looked forward just in time.

“Jacob Parker.”

That almost frosty tone froze me in my tracks, as she had intercepted me and stood barring my path. Alexis Hunter was stretched to her full 5’6 height before me, holding her books over her chest. Alexis had moved to our town just before 5th grade. Her father had taken the job of co-op manager, and her mother took a job as the kindergarten teacher right here at County West. The pretty girl fit in very quickly. These days, she was smart, popular, very driven and maybe the hottest girl in our class, perhaps in the entire school. Not bad for a freshman. She was wearing a skirt with low cut tennis shoes and a thin, preppy sweater. She had just enough eyeliner and lipstick to make a difference, with her shoulder-length jet black hair in her ubiquitous ponytail. She had green, almost unworldly eyes that could hard to look into.

I looked forward, taking her in for a moment. If the hallway had quieted slightly before, it was like a library now.

“Lexie,” I replied, taking a bit of a rebellious chance. She generally only let her close friends call her Lexie.

“You look good today, JP.” She moved to my side, willing me to walk toward my locker. Her best friend, Deedee Vant Hull listening with a smile on her lightly freckled face in step behind us.

“Um, thanks,” I gulped.

“Today is the first day of baseball practice, right Jake?”

“It is,” I affirmed questioningly as I pulled my backpack from my shoulders and set it at the bottom of my locker.

“Well, I need a favor from you, Jake.”

“OK,” I responded dubiously.

“You’re likely going to be JV starting catcher, right? And your job is to make the pitcher look good, right?”

“Um, yeah, I’ll likely pitch as well,” I said as I picked up my algebra book.

Alexis turned and guided the three of us up the hallway, glaring to the right and left as everyone in the hallway suddenly became quite interested in their own business once again.

“Take good care of my boyfriend for me. You’re the catcher. Make Mitch look good, JP.”

“Uh, OK.”

“I’m planning to make it worth your while, Jake,” she said, giving her fellow cheerleader friend Deedee a bemused grin on her bee-stung lips.

Deedee blushed lightly and walked on ahead, her books clutched against her impossibly-big-for-a-freshman’s chest. This girl had a bit of baby fat on her, but it took nothing away from her looks.

Alexis stopped us and turned to me. “And you can call me Lexie any time, Jacob. It’s good to see you back,” she said, appraising me from head to toe once again before pirouetting and bouncing down the hall, leaving me with a look at her shapely legs and tight backside.

I was more confused than ever.

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