That title is a little strange, I know. I'm Lisa, and now I'm a sophomore at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville. I think my dad recently told you a very fanciful story about what might have happened one night when I was in high school a couple of years ago. How do I know it was my dad who wrote that story? Because he left a draft of the story where I could see it, accidentally, I think, and because I know his pen name. Maybe he doesn't think I read this stuff online?
The truth about Dad's story
At the time of that story, I was 17 years old and a varsity cheerleader in my junior year at a small high school in northern Virginia, never mind which one. I was the only girl who'd been on the squad since my freshman year. Monica, my best friend since third grade, and Carla were on the squad with me.
Well, just about the only true part of that story is what Dad said at the beginning, that he was taking me to National Airport one morning really early not long ago, and when we passed the Pentagon I told him how Monica, Carla and I were at the Pentagon one night late after we got back from a game in central Virginia. We were still in our uniforms. I told Dad I didn't remember exactly why we were there. Dad made up the rest of the story all by himself.
Actually, he did get some other parts of the story right, but don't tell him, OK? I think about all I'm going to say about that is, yes, we all left the Pentagon happy that night. You know the best part? Monica's dad works there, at the Pentagon, I mean, and he told us who to call at the security force operations center. You can bet we didn't tell him why we wanted to know that. Anyway, we called them and Rick, the cute tall guy who fucked me just perfectly that night, burned us a couple of DVDs of the tape their buddies made while we were getting taken every which way. Awesome! I've played my copy I don't know how many times, and I come just about every time I watch it.
I know I said (well, that was my dad talking, remember) we were sluts when I (my dad, I mean) told you that story, but please take that in a good way. None of us has ever had sex against her will, and we know how to defend ourselves when we meet a guy or a girl who doesn't understand what "no" means. Cheerleading combines dance and gymnastics and, believe me, we train hard, we're flexible and we're strong. Plus, when it comes down to that, we can run really fast and we always get away, especially if we've just kicked the guy in the balls. Not fighting fair, you say? Hola, dudes! I mean, Hello? What's fair about a guy trying to rape you?
Just letting you know where things stand with us, so you don't get the wrong idea.
The other thing Dad got more or less right in his story is that I really am a tomboy, sort of, if by tomboy you mean a girl who likes sports, who likes rough-and-tumble, who gives just as good as she gets, and tries as hard as she can in everything she does. There's only two kids in our family, my older sister and me, and Dad told me once that he and Mom considered me the boy they never had.
I kind of liked hearing that, to tell you the truth. Especially from my dad. It made me feel special then, and it still does even now.
That was Mrs. Jones, the playground monitor.
"Principal's office. Now."
She helped Tommy to his feet.
"Tommy, I'll take you to see the nurse."
Hah. That was ridiculous. He had a couple of scrapes and he's crying like a baby? What's the matter with him?
It was the usual thing with Principal Samuels.
"Lisa, how many times have you gotten in a fight since school started?"
What? How was I supposed to know? Did he think I was keeping count?
"He pushed me, Mr. Samuels. Hard. I fell down and hurt myself, see?"
I pulled my sleeve up.
Samuels looked quickly. He wasn't impressed.
"Lisa, it doesn't matter. In this school, we don't settle things by fighting. If it happens again this week, I'll ask your parents to come to the school and meet with me."
That wasn't good news. I knew Mom and Dad wouldn't be happy about that.
"I'll try, Mr. Samuels, really."
I put on my best cute-little-girl look. The one my parents rolled their eyes at when they saw me do it. I'm afraid it didn't work on Mr. Samuels, either. He'd been a principal too long to fall for that.
"Back to class, Lisa."
The funny thing was, Tommy and I were buddies, sort of. He was a boy, of course, so even in third grade we couldn't be real buddies like I was already with Monica, but we liked each other. The thing about pushing wasn't true, either. I liked to wrestle with Tommy, and we were pretty evenly matched, too. Sometimes he won, sometimes I did, and that was OK.
We were pretty good actors, also. Tommy would be laughing when he left the nurse's office, but I knew he'd be careful not to let her see him when he did.
I hated to lose, that was the long and short of it. I don't remember when I started running, racing or whatever, but by third grade I was one of the fastest kids in school. Boys, girls, didn't matter. At recess sometimes, and almost every day after school, we'd race.
I won't claim I won every time, because I didn't. I won a lot, though. I loved the winning, that's for sure, but it was that feeling at the end of the race: trying to get enough air back inside me, every part of my body tingling, legs tired and a little wobbly, but still feeling really really good. I didn't know what a "rush" was then, but that's sure as hell what it was.
Is it competition that makes a tomboy? Fearlessness? Foolishness? I don't know. Maybe, more than anything else, it's just plain gender expectations. These days no one is surprised by a girl who likes to compete in sports, but the expression lingers from the days when girls were just as strong and just as fast as they are now, but most people didn't expect a girl to go all out.
Not so much then, maybe, but later, I blessed my parents for expecting the most from me and from my sister. In addition to his comment about tomboys, my dad more than once pointed out that girls could mow lawns and rake leaves just as well as boys could, and he put that into practice around our house with my sister and me. Crap. He was right, even if I hated doing it.
Soccer was great. You get to run, you get to kick, you get to block, dodge and jump. What's not to like? Monica and I always played on the same team. Same for basketball. Well, no kicking there, of course. Our coach in fourth grade was just absolutely super. He was fat, really fat. How could someone that fat coach? I don't really know, I mean, I can't put it into words, but he was excellent. He could show us how to pass, shoot, dribble, but it was more than that. He had a way of encouraging us to do everything as well as we could, demanding it, in fact, but in a way that made us want to do it. That's the best way I can describe it.
I did a year of gymnastics in sixth grade, too.
And there was the swimming. Oh, my. There wasn't any real swim team at school, especially for little kids, but we did belong to a swim club during the summer, and our club competed with others in the area. I'm not sure which I liked more: running or swimming, but whenever I was doing either one, it was the best.
We had a pool at home, too, and I'll tell you more about that later.
Summer before eighth grade
I was 13 years old when it happened.
My scream was loud enough to wake the neighbors, if not the dead. It got Mom and Dad to my bedroom door in about three seconds.
One part of my mind noticed that Dad was nude, and Mom was in her panties, no t-shirt or nightie.
"Mom! Just you, not Dad. Please?"
Mom turned to Dad and made a shooing motion. A quick wave and a smile and he was gone. Before I knew it Mom was beside my bed. She leaned over and kissed me, her breasts swaying.
"What is it, sweetie?"
I pushed my panties down a little so Mom could see. There were some red spots in a funny pattern. Not too gross, just a little, kind of like when you have a cut that bleeds for a little while.
Mom smiled and kissed me again.
Huh? I knew what this was, I was pretty sure, but "congratulations"?
I didn't have time to think. Mom lay down beside me and pulled me to her. I could feel her breasts against me and I buried my face in her neck and it was like I was a little girl again. Right then, like a little girl was exactly how I wanted to feel.
Mom was rubbing my back, her hand warm on my skin under my t-shirt, and that felt good, too. She kissed me on the cheek, and then on my lips, just a quick and light kiss.
I had my hand on Mom's bare back, her skin warm and smooth.
"Lisa, you're getting to be grown up, sweetie. Your dad and I love you so much."
I held Mom even tighter when I heard that.
"Mom, I love you."
She held me tight for another moment or two, then I heard her giggle.
"Want to go tell your dad with me?"
I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that, even though I love Dad. But tell him about this myself?
"Um, I don't know, Mom."
"I know, sweetie. It kind of feels funny, doesn't it? But I know your father would really like to hear this from you, if you want to tell him yourself."
She hugged me again, and she kept rubbing her hand slowly up and down my back, still on my skin, sometimes going all the way down and rubbing the top of my butt. Her hand warm and soft and I liked what she was doing a lot.
I tried to stifle a giggle, but I know Mom heard me.
"Tell him myself? Really, Mom?"
"You bet, sweetie."
Then I laughed. Mom did, too.
Mom helped me up and we went down the hall to their bedroom. Dad was lying in bed with the covers up to his waist. His chest was bare. He was smiling.
"Lisa has something to tell you, Brian."
Dad looked at me, still smiling, and I decided to just go for it.
"I started my first period, Dad."
He jumped out of bed and hugged me tight. That little part of me that noticed such things saw that he was wearing his boxers now.
Mom was right behind me, so for a moment I was a Lisa sandwich between them, and that felt really good, too.
Mom stepped back as she said that. Dad kept hugging me.
"Good for you, sweetie!"
He kissed me and let me go.
I ran back to my room and hopped back into bed. So much to think about. Then I remembered my panties, and I went to the bathroom to get the pads Mom and I had practiced with. I took a quick shower, dried off, and put on fresh panties with a pad and a clean t-shirt. I got back into bed, feeling really overwhelmed.
I guess I'm lucky. My Aunt Rebecca told me earlier about how she got her first period at camp. That would have been OK, sort of, except that she felt a little crampy when it started and so she couldn't take the special horseback ride she had been promised. She was still angry and sad about that, I could tell. At least I was at home and it was a weekend.
I was still lying there when Mom knocked lightly on my door and came in. She was wearing a t-shirt now, too, and shorts, her regular Saturday morning outfit. She came over and sat on the side of my bed.
"Hey, sweetie. How are you doing?"
I managed a little smile, but really my thoughts were all a jumble. I guess it must have showed, because Mom kicked off her sandals and swung her legs up and stretched out beside me on the bed.
"What is it, Lisa?"
I started to speak and I couldn't get the words out. I coughed, and then I started crying. Mom hugged me and began rubbing my back again.
"Does this mean I can't swim with you anymore?"
I don't know where that came from, exactly. It just popped into my head. I love swimming and I love swimming without my suit in our own pool, and I love swimming with Mom and Dad.
"Oh, sweetie! Of course not. You can swim any time you like with us. You don't have to start wearing a swimsuit unless you want to. It's OK with us either way.
"Even, like, right now?"
"Sure. Lots of women swim during their periods. You need to wear at least your swimsuit bottoms. Wear a pad or a sponge and be sure to change it often. I'll show you. You'll be fine."
Mom laughed again. She stroked my cheek and drew her finger across my lips. I felt a little tingle when she did that. Then she was rubbing my back again, little circles this time, first between my shoulder blades, then lower down, and then practically on my rear end, too.
"You are such a pretty girl, Lisa. I love to watch you playing soccer. Swimming, too."
"You know something? Your dad kind of likes looking at you, also."
I blushed, but I couldn't stop another giggle.
"Does that bother you?"
"Uh uh. Well, sometimes, maybe. I'm a little embarrassed."
I thought for a second.
"Sometimes I kind of like it."
Another hug from Mom. Another pat on my butt. I was kind of liking that, but it was also a little weird, you know?
"You can tell him if it bothers you, sweetie. Or I will, if you want me to."
"I know, Mom. It's OK. I know why he sometimes turns away, too."
Another laugh, or maybe a giggle, sort of. Then Mom grabbed me and hugged me once more.
"I know that, too, sweetie, and I'm not surprised. I told you before, you're a very pretty girl, Lisa, and you're growing up. You're not a little girl anymore."
Mom kept on rubbing my back. It felt just as good as before, but it was making me relaxed and a little sleepy, and I yawned.
"Take it easy, sweetie. Sleep in a little more if you want to. I love you. I never get tired of telling you that. Your dad loves you, too."
"I know, Mom."
I think my eyes closed before Mom shut the door behind her as she went out.
Maybe no self-respecting tomboy would allow herself to be slowed down by her period, even her first one, but I confess that I was, at least for a couple of days. Mom told me not to worry about it, just take it easy and do as much or as little running around as I felt like doing. She showed me again how to use the pads, but I didn't feel like swimming right then.
"God! You really told your dad?"
Monica and I were talking a few days later, sunning beside the pool.
"Yeah. He laughed and hugged me. It felt really good, too."
"Your parents are so cool. I wish I could talk to my dad that way. He'd freak out if he even knew that I was having periods."
I knew Monica's periods had started a couple of months ago. Her mom was OK about it, maybe not as cool as my mom was, but OK. I guess her dad didn't know anything about it yet. That felt a little sad to me. I love my dad, and I want him to know just about everything about me, even if this was something a little, well, funny, to be talking about with him.
"Your dad's pretty sexy."
"What? Monica! That's my dad you're talking about."
"Well, he is."
Monica was smirking a little, but I've known her for a long time and we don't have any secrets from each other. I looked at her closely. There was something there, I wasn't sure exactly what.
"You're kidding, right? You don't mean that, really, do you?"
"Yeah, I do."
I looked at her again. Her expression was a little funny.
"You're excited thinking about it, aren't you?"
Monica blushed and looked down.
"Sort of. I'm not saying I want to do anything, you know?"
She looked around for a second.
"I look at his thing, sometimes, you know?"
She must have realized how she sounded.
"You're not going to say anything to him, right?"
Inside, I felt another little tingle or flutter. Was this my period, or something else?
I looked at Dad, too, sometimes, I admit it. It didn't feel gross, though. I didn't stare, either. I mean, that would be gross. I looked at Mom sometimes, too.
Then I drifted off, thinking about the water flowing on my skin earlier and how good the warm sun felt now, and we dozed for a little while, until Mom called us for dinner.
Monica was pretty quiet while we ate, but I saw her kind of sneaking looks at my dad. I wondered if Mom saw that. Mom didn't miss much, that's for sure. I was trying to watch everyone at the table and talk and eat at the same time, and that was a little tough.
If Mom did notice Monica looking, she didn't say anything, at least to us.
Starting to learn about stuff
About the swimming thing, we have a pretty neat pool, not too big, but long enough so you can stretch a little even if you can't do real laps like at the rec center or the swim club. We have a pretty good fence, too, so it's private.
I don't know how old I was when I noticed that my parents often swam without their suits. So did I, at least after I learned how to use the toilet, and I don't think I noticed anything different about that maybe until kindergarten, when I started going over to the houses of other kids. They always wore their suits.
But I didn't really think about this very much, at least at first. I loved the feel of the water all over my skin, even in those special places, or maybe even especially there. Mom and Dad were just Mom and Dad, and my big sister was just my big sister, and it wasn't any big deal that when we were alone we usually swam nude.
By the time I was in fifth or sixth grade, Monica and I were figuring things out. Monica was such a good friend and she spent so much time with me at our house that my folks didn't mind if she didn't wear her suit when she swam with us. She was the exception, though. I always wore a suit when any of my other friends were over, and Mom and Dad always made sure they had their swimsuits on then, too.
So, we were starting to sprout little bumps on our chests, and maybe a bit of hair down there and under our arms and, it won't be a surprise, the whispers and giggles and "Eeww" comments in our little gang were more and more frequent. Plus, of course, health class at school. This wasn't the dark ages anymore, so our instructors were pretty straightforward about everything. No drama, although there were some blushes and sometimes we didn't really want to talk with the boys immediately after class.
I felt sorry for a few kids who weren't allowed to attend the classes. Their parents wouldn't give them permission. Don't tell their parents, but at least a couple of those girls wanted to know what we learned, so we told them.
Monica and I had been pretty much constantly tingly since maybe toward the end of sixth grade last year, at least. I mean, it wasn't like we woke up one day all horny or something. It was gradual, but over last summer and then back in school for seventh grade, it was like our skin was on fire, or something. Everything was sharper, clearer, more intense. Not to mention the times when our bumps were sore. Rubbing helped, sometimes, and it won't be a surprise that we'd figured out other things that felt good, too. Boys aren't the only ones who talk about this stuff, you know.
So we pretty much knew where and how to press and rub.
Even today I'm not entirely sure what Mom and Dad were thinking when I started seeing things that summer before eighth grade. Maybe they weren't thinking about it at all, I don't know. I mean, we'd all been swimming nude at home as long as I could remember. I knew Mom and Dad kissed now and then, too, and that they obviously enjoyed putting sunscreen on each other, also. They liked putting it on me and my sister as well, I could see that.
I don't remember seeing anything really sexual when I was little, at least I don't think I did. Maybe a hand lingering here or there? Maybe I just didn't notice, or didn't have any idea what that might have meant.
Anyway, by the time my period started, Monica and I were pretty much hypersensitive about everything. That's why her comment about my dad was a surprise, yes, but not totally out of the blue. So, did my parents change, or did I get more observant? I don't know, but I sure remember the first time I saw them fooling around. It was around the middle of the summer.
I'm not a sneak. Really, I'm not. That Saturday afternoon I came back from the library a little earlier than my folks expected. Walked through the house and I was about to yell, "I'm home!" when I looked out the patio door.
Mom and Dad were lying on the grass. Mom was on her side, facing Dad and away from me. Dad seemed to be lying on his back. They were nude, nothing unusual about that, and there were no tan lines on my mom's smooth back and her firm butt.
Mom's hand was moving and I kind of had an idea of what she was doing, but I wasn't sure. I mean, Monica and I knew a little about this stuff, pictures and whispered stories here and there, but we'd had no direct experience ourselves.
Then Dad was grunting a little and Mom's hand was moving faster and I heard my dad sigh, and Mom's hand slowed. Then I heard a laugh, and Mom's voice.
I figured I'd better make an official entrance about then, so I went back to the front door, opened it, then shut it firmly. Walked straight over to the patio sliding door and opened it.
"Hi Mom. Hi Dad."
Mom looked back over her shoulder and smiled.
"There's sandwich makings in the fridge if you're hungry."
I looked at Dad, but he was just lying there with his eyes closed. I think he was smiling a little.
Tommy last summer
Tommy and I never stopped our fights and our races. We were having too much fun for that. In the last year or so things had begun to get a little strange and a little awkward, though. We both knew the reason but didn't want to talk about it, at least at first. I mean, what am I supposed to say when his hand rubs over my boob? Well, my bump, anyway. I'm wearing a t-shirt, haven't even started with a bra yet, so there's no way I didn't notice, and I'm pretty sure that after a couple of times Tommy figured out there was something different going on there, too.
And that lump between his legs. It's not like I groped him or anything, but when you're grabbing anywhere you can and you're pushing and pulling, your hand is likely to end up almost anywhere. You can probably guess that neither one of us had ever had any wrestling training, but since when did that ever stop a kid from wrestling?
"Did you feel him?"
Monica and I were in my room late one night.
"Yeah, sort of."
"What did he feel like?"
"Not like anything, really. I mean, it was quick. Just kind of a lump, you know?"
"Did he say anything?"
"Uh uh. I felt him tense for a second, that's all."
Monica fiddled with the teddy bear she was holding.
"So, um, did he feel you?"
"Yeah. He rubbed his hand across me a couple of times."
I felt a little tingle as I remembered.
"What did it feel like?"
"Not like much of anything, really."
"Lisa! How could it not feel like anything?"
"Because we were wrestling, that's why, dummy."
Tommy this summer
My parents were pretty much OK with friends over, and now that I was 13 they even left us alone sometimes in the afternoons. Like I told you, Mom and Dad and I always wore our suits when anyone other than Monica was visiting.
It was a little further along in the summer, after I had my first period and after I saw my parents that time, when Tommy came over for a swim. I don't know where Monica was, maybe the mall, or something. Anyway, my folks were there for a while earlier in the afternoon and we were all in and out of the water, just enjoying the sun.
"Lisa, Tommy. We have a couple of errands to run. Will you be OK while we're gone?"
Tommy and I watched them go into the house. In a minute or two we heard the car start and they were gone.
"Want to wrestle, twerp?"
I knew that would get Tommy going. It always did.
His answer was to launch himself at me, and we were in a tangle before I knew it. It was different this time, no question. For one thing, instead of regular clothes we were wearing swimsuits, me in my two-piece, not even a bikini, really, and Tommy in his board shorts.
I had Tommy down for a second, sitting on top of him, when he threw me off. I jumped up and ran for the end of the pool and around the other side. All it took was that one slip, I swear, and he tackled me. I squirmed and wriggled and tried to buck him off me, no luck.
I don't know how it happened, I really don't. One second we were struggling, and the next we were kissing and holding each other as tight as we could. I think it was as much of a surprise to Tommy as it was to me.
It only lasted a second or two. I mean, it's not like we ripped our swimsuits off or anything like that. In fact, before I knew it Tommy was back on his feet and running for the pool. When I think about it now, that seems really funny and I laugh when I remember it, but at the time it left me lying there trying to figure out what the hell that was.
I was into the pool then, and we started a water fight that must have left half the pool water on the deck. We were covering up our confusion, I think. Neither of us quite knew what was happening. Oh, I don't mean about the kiss. We knew what that was, at least I did, and there was no doubt that my lips remembered what had happened very well. No, it was trying to figure out what, if anything, this meant to the two of us.
A few days later