[This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male and perhaps some female fantasies as well. As such, the story may or may not conform entirely with reality. But isn't that the whole point of fantasies--what could be? With historical exceptions, all other locations, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]
I do not practice nor do I condone any of the sexual acts about which I write, other than straight, heterosexual relationships. Beside the fact that most other forms of sexual behavior are illegal, I still don't judge consenting adults for their sexual preferences except where such behavior is hurtful/harmful to others, such as pedophilia.
None-the-less, many people have FANTASIES of such taboo laden behavior to achieve sexual gratification or whatever, but have no intentions whatsoever of carrying out such behavior in actual practice. That said, if I have struck a particular fantasy of yours, read and enjoy.
Karen ... lead female character, twenty, longtime wallflower
Joe ... secondary male character, eighteen, high schooler, jock
Timmy ... lead male character, early twenties
Will I ever really love? Will another ever love me? I dream of love. I fantasized about love. I want love--a true love, a real lover. But me, the shy wallflower? All I can do is hope.
My twentieth birthday was yesterday, January 31 and mother asked, "Karen, are you going to the Valentine dance next month?"
"You're kidding. I don't even have a boyfriend, let alone a date to that annual town dance, mother, you know that."
"Why don't you have a boyfriend, Karen? You goin' to be an old maid on me?"
I stormed out of the room, tears streaming down my face.
All through high school, now two years over thank God, I was the studious one. I didn't like or participate in sports or much of anything else for that matter. I was straight A for all four years. I guess I was the female version of a nerd. I even had the ugly eyeglasses to go with the image.
Boys scared me to death. They also teased me to death. How could I like one of them, let alone love one of them? They made snide remarks about me and my frumpy clothes, like: "Hi, Granny." or "There's the ugly duckling again," or "That face would sink a thousand ships." or worst of all, "There's our favorite hillbilly." The girls were even meaner in their comments than were the boys. More than once, I fled to the bathroom in tears.
One boy, Carl, tried to be nice to me. He once even apologized for the behavior of the others. Just when I thought he might be really nice, he quite talking to me. I think some of the others got to him and told him to back off--or else.
I did look odd, I guess. I wore loose fitting dresses while other girls were skirts and blouses. I covered up with more loose clothes like sweaters. I wore "granny" shoes and laces. It was what my parents could afford and it wasn't "in style" of the time. I was also well aware that my southern accent in central Iowa was considered "Hillbilly," especially when everyone knew we had moved into the area from a hill town in Kentucky coal country my freshman year.
We'd moved to a small town south of I-80 in central Iowa to a farm. We were fifteen or so miles east of Des Moines. The high school population was about three-hundred and fifty students and their behavior was typical of teenagers towards "outsiders" moving into "their town" and "their school." This was especially true of outsiders as different from them as was I.
In the fall of my sophomore year, I finally gave in and accepted a date. One of the football players asked me to the soc hop after the game. I reluctantly agreed. Since I didn't attend the game, he had to drive out to our country farmhouse to get me. He pulled into the lane and drove up to the house. He honked his horn, but stayed in the car.
Not much on chivalry, I thought.
I climbed into the passenger seat and sat halfway between Joe and my door. I was very nervous and trembling. I still wore a dress, but one of my Sunday ones. It had a tight collar around the base of my neck, long sleeves, and buttoned down the back. I had a loose, wool sweater over that along with nicer shoes than the ones I wore to school, but still much too "Granny" with laces for the teenage crowd.
Joe looked my way, really more like leered my way and said, "What's the matter, cold? I can warm you up plenty if you slide over here with me."
I sure hope that's not an indication of how the rest of this date is going to go, I thought.
Unfortunately, it was.
There was lots of snickering from kids who observed our entrance into the gym. I had my arm through Joe's for support. My knees were so weak, I needed the support just to stand. But that put his arm into the side of my left breast and he took full advantage of that by rubbing and pressing into my clothing covered flesh.
That action sent shivers through my body. Don't get me wrong, I liked those shivers, but they scared me half to death. I'd scarcely touched myself let alone allowed anyone else to touch me. Joe noticed the shivers. I feared he'd misinterpret them.
The record was a fast song, too fast for Joe. "We'll wait for a slow one and then dance," he said.
Within minutes, a slow song floated out of the phonograph. Joe led me out onto the floor and pulled me into his arms. His right hand dropped to my waist, but an instant later, it was on my butt. He pulled me tightly into himself. I should say, into the bulge between his legs and ground my crotch into it.
Although I didn't know a lot about sex at the time, I knew enough to know that I was up against a blatant example of a long, hard, vertical sample of raw manhood. I was like a frightened deer in the headlights of a car. Somehow, though, I kept my cool. I reached down and placed his offending hand back on my waist. I was then free to back off enough to leave some space between us again.
"Don't do that again, Joe."
"Awe, Baby, you know you liked it."
"No, I certainly did not."
Yes, I really did, but I wasn't going to tell him that. My female intuition told me all he was after was sex. He wasn't really interested in me the person. I wasn't really interested in him either, not that way, anyhow. All I wanted was to try a date and so far, I found this one very wanting.
Of course, I had to fight him off the rest of the time at the dance. I'd slapped his hands away from my breasts more than once. He pulled me in close a couple of more times again and I had to fight that. He leaned in and kissed me. I bit his lip. It wasn't a love bite. He just couldn't keep his hands or his mouth off me. Finally, I had enough.
"Take me home, Joe, now."
"Awe, Baby, come on, dance with me some more.'
"Now, Joe, or I'll walk off and leave you here in front of your friends."
Sullenly, Joe walked me out and to the car. I was trembling again, but not from nervousness. I trembled with anger and frustration. But I didn't need Joe's arm to stand or walk. Not this time. The adrenaline did that for me. We got halfway to my house. There was a turnoff that led to a favorite secluded spot for lovers.
"Joe, I want to go home, not here."
"Awe, just for a moment, Baby."
"Don't, 'Baby' me, Joe, take me home, this minute!"
Before I could say more, the car stopped and the engine went quiet.
Joe looked my way as he leered at me again and said. "Come here, Bitch, you've been begging for it all night."
He grabbed my arm and roughly dragged me over to him.
"Ouch, Joe, that really hurt. Now let go of me."
Instead, he grabbed both shoulders and pulled me into a tight, hard kiss that really hurt. At the same time, he dropped one hand to my breasts and squeezed really hard.
Uncharacteristically, I hollered, "Ouch. Damn it, Joe, that really hurt like hell. Let go you sex maniac."
His answer was to drop his hand between my legs and dig it in really hard. I was getting nowhere trying to get away from him. He was hurting me, not loving me, even if that is what I had wanted, which I didn't. I momentarily relaxed. I could "feel" his leer.
My left hand dropped between his legs. I reached for the bulge at the apex of his legs and squeezed gently. He really was erect. I wanted to disarm him and yes, I really did want to see what one felt like, even through his jeans and underwear.
"Oh, Baby, yeah."
It was then I balled my fist, moved it forward and then quickly and very hard, into a backhand jab. I landed squarely on my intended target. I got a real howl of pure pain for my effort. And, I was free of Joe's grip as he grabbed himself and howled yet again. Before I pulled away, I repeated my jab, driving his own hands into his hurting tender parts. I got still more howls of pain.
I slid away from him, opened the door, and stepped out. Before gently closing the door, I whispered quietly, "I'll walk home from here. Don't bother calling me again, I won't be home."
The walk on the gravel road back to the tarmac road was relatively short. I was even a fair bit of way down the tarmac before I heard Joe's car throwing gravel all over the place and then screech rubber for some time as he roared back toward town to I assume, nurse his hurt, both physical and mental.
That ended my dating career for well over a year.
.... There is more of this story ...