Chapter 2

I felt someone rubbing my cock up and down. I stretched and opened my eyes as the hand was quickly jerked out of my boxers and the sheet was thrown back across me, and I opened my eyes. “Good morning, Brother. Mom said it’s time to get up.” My little sister lifted up off the bed and ran out of the room. This was not the first time I had the suspicion that she was checking out my dick, but I had never caught her doing it until now. I looked around the room. The walls were filled with posters of rock bands and big-chested movie stars. On the desk were trophies from my track meets, and my high school letter was taped to the wall. I had a bronze pin on it from track and field, and another for band. The window was open, and the box fan was blowing warm summer wind across my sweaty body. My sister had probably come in to wake me up to find me out from under the covers with morning wood and decided to go treasure hunting in my shorts. If she had been a little older, I would have let her, but she was only about 12, flat-chested, a tattletale, and a brat. So, no air conditioning, brat little sister, posters on the wall, where was I? No, I knew where I was, the real question was when? I still had my morning wood. I reached down and wrapped my hand around it. Wow! I didn’t remember it being this big or this hard. I guess it had lost a bit of its starch over time. I stroked it a couple of times and felt that tingle in my balls that said this was going to be a good one.

I heard my mother shout, “Marty, if you don’t get up now and take your shower, you are going to miss your flight. Well, shit, and I let go of my rock-hard 17-year-old disappointed cock. Now I knew the answer to when. It must be late June, 1971, and I was going to Europe on a high school trip to study French. I had never taken French. I had taken two years of Spanish One and failed both times, but this was the only school trip this year, so I had signed up. I showered, dressed, and carried my heavy bag to the living room. I ate a bowl of my mom’s oatmeal (yuck), and loaded my bag into the big Buick station wagon for the 1-½ hour drive to the airport.

On the way, I was taking stock of who I was in ‘71, where I was, and where I was going. I was a Boy Scout, and I loved to take long hikes in the mountains on the weekends. I had taken three weeks off of work just before school started to hike 100 miles of the Appalachian Trail. My shoulders were wide and strong, my waist was trim, and my legs were bulging with muscles, which the girls liked when I started the 11th-grade wearing shorts. I worked at the cotton mill during the summers and on holidays to make the money for my trip. All this time, I felt a nagging feeling that something in my life was missing, but I wasn’t quite able to put my finger on what it was. I was saving up for a car, and I had a little over $900 in the bank, but when I found out about this trip, I put off buying a car for one more year. The total trip for six weeks of travel from London to Athens, including three weeks studying French and a one-week cruise around the Greek Islands was only $1100. My dad had loaned me the other $200 and a little spending money, and I was off.

I was not a good student. I made straight As in math, and in the fall, I was going to take my first Physics class; I made As in PE and Band, but only Cs, Ds, and Fs in everything else, mostly Ds. I had been tested, and the school system didn’t know what to do with me. My IQ had blown the top off of the chart, but I couldn’t learn how to read. I only passed classes because I could memorize what the teachers said in class. I knew somehow that I would later be diagnosed with severe dyslexia in the Navy and would teach myself to read well enough to go back to college when I got out and earned my Bachelor’s degree.

On the long drive to the airport in the back of the station wagon, I was suddenly acutely aware of my memories from my past life and especially Katie. I started making plans for my life, something I had never done the first time around. Priority one: Learn to read and pull up my GPA, so I could get into a better college. Priority two: Earn enough money that I could retire early and enjoy my life, instead of living off my social security check in a dingy little apartment. Priority three: Find Katie, give her that first orgasm, and marry her as soon as possible. Priority four: Never ever speak to my prudish ex-wife.

At the airport, we walked all the way to the gate to meet our group. The last time I had flown, I had to go through a long line at security, carrying my shoes, before I was allowed anywhere near the departure gate. The group of about 20 students, along with a couple of chaperones and our French teacher were gathered around gate 23, along with all their families. On the far side of the group, I saw Katie, standing with her little brother, worse than my bratty sister, and her parents. Her father was a pleasant man, but her mother was like mine, always cross and demanding. I wanted to run to her and wrap my arms around her. I loved her so much, but that was another lifetime. Now, we were just friends, and I would have to take my time. About that time, she spotted me and my family. She broke out in her big smile with those sexy kitty cat lips, and I melted inside, except for my cock which quickly slid down the leg of my pants. Just the day before our accident, we had been remembering this trip, and she had told me that she wished I had taken her cherry on the cruise ship and we had become a couple then instead of waiting 50 years to fall in love. Now, there she stood, smiling warmly at me. I wondered if she remembered our life together and had been sent back, or if this was her first time through. I couldn’t just walk up and ask her, because if this was her first time through, I would sound like a nut case, and we would never get together. I, followed by my family, made my way in her direction, hoping that she would give me a hint. Our parents knew each other and began to talk, but Katie just smiled at me, no holding hands, no wink, nothing. Okay, so I had my answer. It was her first time through. We said our goodbyes to our families out on the tarmac and climbed the steps, disappearing from their view at that point. I sat a couple of rows back from Katie on the plane and could tell this was her first flight, as she was holding onto the armrest for dear life and was as pale as a sheet. I wanted to reach out to her and comfort her, but I knew I couldn’t.

We landed in New York to meet up with the rest of our traveling companions. One group was from an all-girls Catholic school in New York. They were being chaperoned by a nun, Sister Mary, wearing her all-black habit from head to toe and a face that would crack open if she ever smiled. Her skin was almost blue since it had not seen the sun in years, and she carried a ruler as an instrument of discipline and her symbol of authority. The other group was from a Catholic school in California, but with a mixed group. The nun was Sister Ann, a pretty 20-something young woman wearing a flowered miniskirt, and she had a guitar hanging over her back. She was laughing when I first saw her, and I remembered her laughing throughout the whole trip. I met several of the guys from California, football players, and large like me, and we quickly became friends. I tried to sit with Katie on the flight to London, but she was sitting with her roommate for the trip, Teresa, a not-so-pretty girl who was a year behind us in school. I saw her with her parents at the airport, too, and she was clinging to them and had already started crying that she didn’t want to go, and she was already crying on the plane saying that she wanted to go home. Poor Katie. She was going to have her hands full on this trip. I remember from before that Teresa cried the whole trip because she was homesick, making Katie miserable. During our week in London, it seemed that there was a conspiracy going on. Every bus trip we took, Katie was put on another bus or tour group, and I didn’t get to see her except in passing. Every time I did see her, she had that smile for me.