Your Zee

by Uther Pendragon

Copyright 2010, Uther Pendragon

Sex Story: Dave admired Zee, who had to be the adult in her family when her parents wouldn't be. He liked her. He also wanted her.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Teenagers   Heterosexual   .

Tina had a guest for dinner. Although she was two-and-a-half years younger, she had guests. Guys who visited me were just Dave’s friends even when Mom fed them. Anyway, Zee was not entirely awful. She didn’t giggle, she didn’t simper, and her hair was long and clean and black. I was polite to her, having had that fight with Mom before. After dinner, it was raining. Dad drove Zee home.

“Zee, dear?” Mom asked when they were out the door.

“Please, Mom, don’t call her Zenobia. She hates that. Her parents are awful hippies, and she has to live with everything they do, including her name.”

“And what suffering do you tell her you bear from your parents? No! Don’t answer that. You tell me often enough.”

“I have to put up with Dave.”

“I said not to answer that. And, occasionally, having a big brother is an advantage.”

Well, occasionally having a friend’s big brother is a help, too. Sometime later, I saw Fred and Joe playing keep away with Zee’s backpack. Well, she’d been nice enough, they were both total shits, and they were seventh-graders ganging up on a sixth-grader. I waited until Fred swung the bag back to toss it to Joe. Then, I grabbed his arm in both hands and twisted -- hard. He dropped the bag.

“Zee, get over by Mr. Jenkins.” She had brains enough to do as I said, grabbing up her backpack as she went. “Real big guys, aren’t you? Picking on a little girl!”

“What’s it to you?” Joe asked.

“She’s a friend of Tina’s. Do I need a reason?” There was bragging and threatening talk until a teacher came over to tell us to break it up, but I knew that they weren’t going to fight. Fights in the school yard start at once. And I was a year older. They could both take me, but the first one to attack might have had problems if the second one hadn’t joined in.

Then, I graduated. I didn’t see Zee for two years. I heard about her a couple of times. She and Tina were best friends, enemies, and friends again. I may have missed a few shifts; I tried to ignore what Tina said.


At the start of my junior year, Zee got to high school. I noticed her hair. It was even longer, and she stood out.

“Zee?”

“Dave. My hero. You remember me?”

“Well, sure. And I’m not anybody’s hero.”

“You protected me from Fred.”

“Once.”

“He stopped picking on me for the rest of that year. Went back the next year, though. I suppose he’s here now.”

“Yeah. I see him now and then. He’ll be busy bullying somebody else. Look, I’ve got to run.” Though, of course, I didn’t run. Running in the halls was not only grounds for suspension, it was impossible while classes were changing.

I spoke with her twice more, except for occasional waves when we were going opposite directions between classes, in the next month. After the third conversation, Carol challenged me over lunch. Carol was my steady, and we always ate lunch at the same table.

“Why were you talking with that dweeb?”

“Which dweeb?”

“That freshman girl. Hair like a witch.” I thought Zee’s hair was pretty. My guess is that Carol did, too. It was jealousy talking.

“Zee? She’s a friend of my sister’s. I know her, and we talk once a week if that.” But I had enough problems with Carol just then. I didn’t stop by Zee’s locker any more. I was taking driver’s ed that term. When I got my license, Dad put me through a second exam -- he was much pickier than either Mr. Schwartz or the guy at the licensing facility. Before he let me drive her to dances Carol’s father -- Mr. Garretson -- put me through an inquiry which the FBI would envy. Then, Carol and I were driving to and -- much more important -- back from dances. I had too much on my mind to worry about Zee. I still thought of her as Tina’s friend.


It was late in spring when Carol broke up with me. She had to do it in front of the whole cafeteria. It was Wednesday, and the next dance was on that Friday. Any girl I asked would know that she was definitely second choice, and so would everyone else. Nobody would accept. I had the choice of going stag and watching Carol dance with Warren -- I knew who was waiting in the wings -- or of staying home. Then I thought of a third option.

Zee was a freshman like Tina. Tina had won the right to go to dances after a long battle. Maybe Zee had, too. And Zee wouldn’t mind being the second choice of a junior. I figured this all out during algebra class. Luckily, Mr. Zelinski was too nearsighted to notice that I wasn’t paying attention. I went by Zee’s locker at the end of the day.

“Zee?”

“Oh, hi Dave.” She didn’t smart-mouth me about how I’d been ignoring her like Carol -- even Tina -- would have done. On the other hand, I could tell by her tone that she’d noticed.

“Zee, do your parents let you go to dances?”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t have a date to Friday’s dance do you?” Which was a stupid question for a girl who only ‘supposed’ that she was allowed to attend. I was more nervous than I had any right to be.

“No.”

“Would you like to go with me? I mean, Zee, would you be my date for the dance Friday?” The words were the ones Mom had drilled into me. With Carol, I’d become less formal, but Carol expected the invitation.

“Yes.” Which didn’t say she was thrilled, but was what I’d wanted.

“Should I come by your house at 7:00? And where is it?” She gave me her address without quite answering the first question, but permission was implied. She had two days to tell me that she wasn’t allowed to come, and she didn’t take the opportunity. I expected a third degree like Mr. Garretson had put me through -- maybe worse, although I couldn’t imagine how it could be worse. I was, after all, a junior whom he had never met dating his freshman daughter. I showed up at her door five minutes early. A boy about nine or ten let me in immediately.

“Are your parents here? I’m Dave Benton. I’m Zee’s date to the dance.” Two other kids ran into the room. The girl was small -- five or six. She had pigtails half-way down her back. The other boy was a year or two older than his brother. Both boys had more hair than their little sister. They were followed by their parents. Her mother had much more hair than Zee did, down to below her waist. It was dark brown. The man was the source of Zee’s black hair. He also had a black beard. And what remained of the hair was also longer than Zee’s. Anyway, he was going to grill me and lay down the law on when his daughter had to be back. I’d been through it all. What I didn’t know was his name. If I’d ever heard Zee’s last name, it had escaped me.

“Sir, I’m Dave Benton. I’m here to pick up Zee for the dance.”

“Zenobia!” her mother yelled. “Get down here! You have a visitor.”

“I’m Robin,” the man said. “Nice to meet you, Dave.”

“And I’m Marian,” said the woman. “Do you want to sit down?” She took a chair, and I did too. Zee came into the room, and I immediately rose. She was pretty in the dress, but it wasn’t quite what the other girls would be wearing. We spent ten more minutes there talking with the parents until I could extract us. In that time, both parents took pains to show me that they were with it. They were decades out of it. Nothing was said about my driving or Zee’s curfew. She called her parents ‘Robin’ and ‘Marian’; they called her ‘Zenobia.’ I opened the door for Zee and closed it behind her before getting in the driver’s side.

“Well,” she said, “now you know.”

“Everybody has parents. Nobody has parents they want. Did they tell you when you have to be home?”

“They won’t notice unless I’m not there to get Yo’s breakfast. The boys can feed themselves.”

“You look pretty.”

“Surprised?”

“No. Seeing you in school, I can tell you are pretty. You look prettier in a dress.” One thing that the dress made clear was that she had tits. They were small, but they were there. She, and most of her classmates, carried books in front of their chests. Some of them were hiding their tits; some of them were hiding their lack.

“I don’t really dance very well.”

“Well, watch what others do, and you’ll see it isn’t hard. I’ll help you.” She wasn’t bad, and got better as the evening went on. She was graceful, which helped. She was fun to watch during the fast dances. I held her against me during both slow dances. Then you had to really know the steps, but I moved her with much more force than Carol would have tolerated. We looked like we were both dancing, but I was really moving her in the steps. If that didn’t give me the pleasure that comes from dancing with a partner who knows what she is doing, it did give me the pleasure of feeling those small tits up against my chest. When the dance broke up, we went out to the car. I drove her most of the way home, but stopped in the parking lot of a closed hardware store.

“You know, it wouldn’t do for you to get home too early after your parents gave you such easy rules. They’d think you didn’t appreciate them. Worse, they might think I didn’t either.”

“What are we going to do?” This was horrible. Zee’s parents had set no limits, and now Zee was asking me what the rules were. I was a boy. My entire macho identity depended on pushing against the girl’s limits and her parents’ limits. Now, there weren’t any. Well, Zee wasn’t likely to tell, and I was certainly not going to.

“Let’s talk. First thing, and I’m an idiot for not having found out earlier, what’s your last name?”

“It’s Sherwood.” She told me about her brothers, Tuck, 12, and Geraint, 9. Yolanda was 5. I didn’t ask how Tuck lucked out in a family with Zenobia, Geraint, and Yolanda. Zee was sensitive about her name. We talked about her teachers and what I knew about them. This would have been a hell of a lot more helpful to her in the first month. We talked about my classes.

“And you’re still friends with Tina?”

“Pretty much. Doesn’t she tell you?”

“She tells me too much. I don’t listen. I’ll listen for your name from now on. We’ve been here nearly an hour.” She started to ask what that meant, but I popped both our seat belts. I reached over to her face and moved it into range for my kiss. The kiss was sweet. Both our mouths were closed. I took her shoulders to move us a little closer. This time I licked her lips until she opened them. The thrill when our tongues touched let me know why this kind of kiss was special. I had thrust my tongue into Carol’s mouth many times, but this was the first kiss that ever had this effect on me.

I think Zee felt something, too. She didn’t seem as surprised as I was, though. I’d left five minutes of the hour after the end of the dance for the kiss and to drive her the rest of the way home. When I looked at my watch again, ten minutes had passed. I put the car in gear. I drove her home.

“Stay there until I come around.” I opened her door, walked her up on the porch, and kissed her good night. Our mouths were closed for this one, but I held our chests close enough together to feel her new tits pressing against me. I held my ass back so she couldn’t feel my hardon. I waited until she’d walked in the door, then drove slowly home. I’d have to think about Zee. I asked her as an emergency backup, but that kiss had been more exciting than any I’d had with Carol, and I hadn’t even copped a feel.

I realized the next morning that there were two other sides to dating Zee. Carol had been doing me favors: going with me, dancing with me, parking with me -- all of these were things she did for me. I was doing Zee the favor, although I didn’t know whether she realized that. I’d been her hero for a casual playground event; was I her hero now for raising her social status? If not, it would balance out. The other issue was what I’d done without thinking at her door. I’d told her that I’d open the car door for her. Zee didn’t know the rules. I was her instructor. The temptation to lie was strong; how far could I get her to go? But the pleasure of teaching her was very real. When I asked, Tina told me that she and Zee were still friends, although she had another best friend now -- Deb.

Monday, I stopped by Zee’s locker again.

“Thanks for the date Friday. I enjoyed it.”

“Thank you for asking me.” We talked for a few more sentences before we went our separate ways. At lunch, Gary pretended sympathy as a way to put me down.

“Nasty of Carol to dump you like that. Only girl you could get on that short notice was a freshman.”

“Carol did me a favor. Zee is much prettier,” [Zee was pretty enough to make this claim believable.] “but I owed Carol. If she wants to set me free, that’s fine.”

“Nice face, nothing upstairs.”

“Worse than that, I have to play by freshman rules. Playing with Carol’s was fun, but that’s not the only reason I date.”

“It’s not? There’s another reason?”

Now, this conversation got my side of the story out in several ways. Carol may have dumped me, but I had already wanted to move on. Those last dates were favors I’d done her, not favors she’d done me. Zee was my choice, not an emergency backup. Carol had let me hold her tits -- the girl who dumped me is a slut. Zee didn’t -- the girl I’m currently dating behaves properly.

And, having got that story out, I was almost obliged to ask Zee to the next dance, which I did the Monday of that week. Before then, my brain had kicked into gear: Robin -- Marian -- Sherwood. Robin Hood and Maid Marian had led the outlaws in Sherwood Forest. Could that be a coincidence? Maybe that was what drove them to their weirdness -- and they were weird even for parents, especially for parents. On the other hand, hippies would do anything; even I knew enough ancient history to know that. I couldn’t ask Zee, though; she was sensitive about her parents. Anyone could understand that.

After the next dance, I parked again. This time I planned to spend the hour kissing. We did until I found my hand on her young tit. It felt great, but I soon moved back.

“Look, are we playing by freshman rules or junior rules?”

“What’s the difference?”

“I’m a junior. You’re a freshman.” Which wasn’t what she’d asked. “Do we obey, do I obey, the rules that a junior boy obeys on a date or the rules that a boy dating a freshman girl obeys?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Am I allowed to touch you there?” I pointed to her tit.

“As long as it feels good.”

“Were you enjoying the kiss? Did you mind my touching you there?” I’d never asked the first question, never dreamed of asking it. The second one was light years worse.

“Yes. No. I was enjoying it very much. I’ll tell you when I don’t want you touching me.” This was Zee in a nutshell. She could bitch about her crazy parents all she wanted, and she certainly had reason. But there was one adult in that car that night, and it wasn’t the one with the driver’s license. That had something to do with having to be the adult in her family.

The rest of that night, and after the next two dances, I kissed Zee and petted her through her dress above the waist. Those were junior rules. I was tempted to push for senior rules. That would mean her naked tits and even going below the waist. School was drawing to a close, though, and I enjoyed Zee’s trust almost as much as I enjoyed her tits. The last dance before the prom, I had serious issues to discuss. Zee had worn the same dress to every dance; that wouldn’t do for a prom, had barely done for those dances. Back in teacher mode, I even cut the kissing short.

“Look, do you think you could get your mother to buy you a prom dress?”

“Marian? I buy my own clothes.”

“Do you get enough allowance to afford a dress by the prom?”

“I don’t get an allowance. I’ll go into the cookie jar.”

“I hope you have a friend that has gone to a prom who can help you pick it out. Look, this means I’m going to invite you to the prom. I’ll do it in public. Don’t say, ‘but you’ve already invited me.’ It’s part of the dating game.” She smiled.

“And you know the rules. I’ll trust you.” I didn’t want her to trust me. I wanted to push her and have her resist and set the rules. That was the way the game was played. That was the way I’d behaved with Carol, and, if we had stuck together, I’d have gone all the way with Carol by graduation -- on prom night our senior year, likely as not. On the other hand, having Zee’s trust was exciting. My cock was throbbing and we weren’t even holding hands.

“One more thing. I’m not supposed to know what the dress looks like until I see you in it on prom night. On the other hand, I’m supposed to bring you a corsage. So, I’ll have to know the color.”

“Okay. I trust you.” And with my cock throbbing in my pants because of this complex girl’s simple trust, I went back to kissing her. Days later, at her locker, I asked her to the prom; she accepted. In the week before the prom, she handed me a sliver of cloth. I took it to the florist’s and got a corsage -- also a compliment from the girl at the counter.

“You don’t know how many guys come in here saying ‘pink’ or ‘green’ or ‘blue.’ There’ll be a million dresses at the prom colored a million shades of blue. And we’re expected to guess the shade from the word.”

“I’ll be dancing with the smartest girl there.”

“And the one with the corsage which matches best.”

Zee was waiting for me when I drew up to her house. Her dress had spaghetti straps. I thought her tits looked bigger in that dress. I pinned on the corsage under Tuck’s eyes instead of her parents’. For some reason that made me feel more nervous. The back of my fingers pressing into her tit made me more nervous, not in the least turned on. We escaped, though. She had one of the more sophisticated dresses at the prom. She matched the style of those senior girls who were specializing in elegance and money instead of cleavage. There were more slow dances than usual, but pressing against her tits was less exciting than it had been. When I parked on the way to her house, the kiss was just as exciting. When I moved my hand to her tit, though, I didn’t feel the aliveness that I was used to.

“Look,” she said. “That doesn’t do anything for me, and I don’t see how it could do anything for you.” She turned away from me. “Undo that, will you.” I zipped her dress down. When she said nothing else, I unsnapped her bra. Before she could turn around, I had slipped both hands inside her dress and bra. I handled my first bare tits ever while kissing the back of her shoulder. She leaned back towards me. The tits felt wonderful, but the outside of my fingers felt the padding of the bra. Well, I wasn’t going to say anything.

“No,” she said after a while. “I need to turn around.” When I let go and sat back in my seat, she pulled the dress straps off her left shoulder. Then she sank back and looked at me. I kissed her while stroking her bare tits with my left hand. With my right hand, I played with her hair. After a while, I broke the kiss to kiss down her exposed chest to her nipple. That kiss was all the sweeter for her holding my head against her tit. Finally, she pushed me away.

“Look, I have to go.” Yeah. I looked at my watch. We’d been there almost two hours. She opened the door. Before I could say that I’d drive her home, she said, “Can you get the bra?” With her help adjusting it in front, I got the bra clasps refastened. Then the two of us got her back in her dress and it zipped up. She swung her feet into the car, fastened her seat belt, and closed the door. “Sorry,” she said when we were almost to her house. “I should have gone before we left the gym.”

We spoke in school a few times after that -- okay, I stopped at her locker at the end of every day and on the mornings I got there early enough -- but the year was drawing to a close. A week into vacation, I was missing Zee quite badly. Tina and I were washing dishes when I asked my best source for information on Zee.

“Your friend Zee...”

“Isn’t she more your friend?”

“Does she have a bike?”

“I think so ... Yeah, rides it to school.” I waited ‘til late the next morning to call.

“May I speak to Zee?”

“Zenobia! Phone!”

“Hello.”

“Zee? This is Dave. I wondered if you’d like to go bike riding with me.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll come by a little after one?”

“Okay.”

“See you then.”

Chores done -- lest Mom get insistent at just the wrong time, lunch eaten, I biked out to her house. She came out in tight jeans and what looked like a man’s shirt. We rode out of town to a field I knew. It was weedy and ragged, but nobody could see us once we were over the low hill that bordered the road. We kissed for a minute. When I started to touch her tit, she pushed my hand away.

“Don’t. I’ve got my period and they’re tender.” Now, I officially didn’t know that Tina even had periods. Dad had threatened me if I ever so much as mentioned it. Here was a girl telling me that she was having a period right then.

“Kiss or talk?”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Look, if this is a sore subject, we’ll talk about something else. But Robin and Marian Sherwood? Is that a coincidence?”

“Robin and Marian don’t have coincidences. They have blunders. When Jerry Sherman married Starchild Atwood, they figured that their name should be Sherwood. The rest followed.”

“Starchild? And you thought they did you wrong.”

“You know about Zenobia?”

“They call you that.” I didn’t mention Tina. It had been long ago, and I wanted those two to be friends. Who knew when I might want another piece of information? Besides, brat though Tina was, telling Mom wasn’t her fault. I’m not sure Zee would see that with her family.

“I think Starchild was her own idea. Anyway, Tuck came soon after the wedding. I think they’d already talked about Robin and Marian.” Now, Tuck was two years younger than Zee I don’t know how soon “soon after” meant, but Zee was telling me that she’d been born before her parents were married. I let that alone. The conversation trailed along. We got to know each other. When it was time to go, we had a short kiss and I rode behind her until we got to her house. She waved as she turned into her driveway. She didn’t want me to see any more of her family, and I didn’t blame her. I called her, though, two weeks later.

This time when we got to the field, she made no objections. The kiss with our mouths closed was long and sweet. The kiss when our tongues met was longer and sweeter. I was holding her tit for the last five minutes of it. I put my hand on a button when we backed apart.

“May I?”

“Sure.” When I had parted the shirt to the waist, she turned around. I unfastened the bra. This one had shoulder straps. She took her blouse and bra off before turning around.

“They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.” And she was. Soon we were both bare above the waist. Her shirt was protecting her bare back from the grass stems, and my tee was trying to protect her lovely hair. We kissed with skin touching skin. Then I kissed all over both lovely tits. ‘All over’ wasn’t a hell of a lot, yet. Still, I thought they were larger than they’d been on our first date. I stroked and kissed. She participated in the kisses that were on her mouth and sometimes held my head against her. She shoved me away when I kissed her belly button, though.

“That tickles.”

“It’s cute. All of you is cute.” Then, though, she wanted to go back. I helped her on with her bra. She put the shirt on herself. She unbuttoned the waistband to push the shirt inside. I saw only a glimpse of the top of her panties, but the glimpse and the matter-of-factness raised hopes for later. “Look,” I said as we were wheeling our bikes out to the road, “I love these dates, but I’m going only by my schedule. What are good times for you? Maybe, what are bad times for you?”

“I can push lunch around, but I have to be back to make dinner.”

“You guys eat this early? We don’t eat ‘till six -- sometimes even seven.”

“We eat when Robin gets home. Usually about six thirty.”

“But we have hours yet.”

“Cooking the meal takes hours.” Now I knew that Zee cooked dinner. She fixed breakfast, too, at least for herself and Yo. (Never Yolanda from me, even in my thoughts. Zee was often angry at her baby sister, but she was protective of her, too. And the names were a sore point with her.) If both her parents were at work, she must fix lunch, too.

“You cook except on weekends?”

“No ‘except.’ Robin, at least, taught me. Marian can’t cook worth shit even when she is straight.”

“So, as early in the afternoon as I can make it, if I warn you. But you have to get back?”

“Yeah, and I’m late now.” So we pumped hard. Then I cruised back to my house. I was no longer so sore about the chores I had to do.

To those chores, I added making my own lunch Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I’d finish eating, including rinsing off my dishes, by 12:30. I’d ride over to Zee’s house, and we’d go riding. We did damn little riding, really. She’d be gone three hours, no more than half an hour of which was on our bikes. I rescued an old, ragged, towel that we could put under Zee’s back -- much more comfortable than a shirt. I bought a comb for her hair. I’d keep both in my bike pack. I loved to comb out her hair. That not only got out the twigs and bits of grass, it allowed me to play with all that beauty.

“I like doing this. I love your hair.”

“I hate it.”

“I can understand why, but it is truly lovely.” Not all, or even much, of our time was spent with my combing out her hair. Most of it was spent petting. I didn’t go into her jeans, but I stroked over them.

“These jeans are too tight,” she said towards the end of summer.

“Look great in them.”

“Maybe, but I can’t ride a bike in them worth shit. I’m growing.”

“I know.” I stroked one of her tits. The faithful nipple stood up for me. Before I could kiss it, I had a thought. “Maybe you should buy shorts instead of jeans.”

“You think they’d be cheaper?” I had no idea what women’s clothes cost. Too much, Dad was always saying. I stroked her thigh, scratching with the back of my fingernails up from her knee to the juncture. The last involves too many layers of cloth in jeans. She shivered -- a frequent response to that caress.

“I’d like to do that to your skin.” Then I bent to the nipple. The next week, she came out for our ride wearing shorts. They weren’t particularly daring shorts, coming to mid thigh. They did, however, have wide legs.

By summer’s end, I was stroking her panties through the leg hole of her shorts. When I sucked her nipple while stroking there, she lay back. She would grab my head and pull it into her tit while bucking upward with her hips. Then she would push my head away. I removed my own hand. I’d watch her breathing go from gasps to evenness.

“I love you,” I’d say. For the rest of the afternoon, which was often not much, we would kiss but not pet so strongly. I took to beating off before lunch on days I’d be with Zee. The temptation of her body was a little less after I’d done that. We both got quite a tan that summer, and her tan covered her tits.

She called me begging off one Friday. “I have to go shopping. How about Saturday?” Saturday was almost as good, although there was a tractor within hearing distance. It never came within sight, but it made me nervous.

“I love you,” I said when she had come. She looked at her watch.

“I love you, too, but I’m late. And I have to do the lunch dishes before I set the dinner table.” She dressed and got her bike.

“Well, it’s my fault.” She said something about not really, but I cut through her. “I can’t cook, but I’m an expert dishwasher. Let me do yours.” What I really would rather have done was to teach Tuck how, but it wasn’t my business. I was in the kitchen drying -- they didn’t have a dishwasher -- when Marian wandered in. She was visibly pregnant. She got a cookie jar down from the top shelf.

“It’s empty.”

“I went grocery shopping,” Zee said. “I didn’t put the change back, yet, but it isn’t much.”

“I’m strung out.”

“I said I went shopping for groceries. Anyway, smoking isn’t good for the baby.”

“I carried you high for nine months. Didn’t seem to cause you any problems.”

“Let’s take the risk ‘til it does?”

“Are you the mommy here? I’m strung out.”

“Robin will have some weed. He’ll be here soon.” Neither had taken the slightest interest in me. When Marian went out on the porch to wait for Robin, Zee turned to me. “Sorry. You see how it is.”

“Not your fault.” Indeed, Zee was the adult of that family. “Does Tuck know how to cook? What happens in three years?” Less than three, really, until she graduated.

“He’s their son. Doesn’t worry about three days ahead. Robin’s working overtime, at least. But payday is a week away. She’ll be strung out for six days.”

“Look, the dishes are done. I shouldn’t be in the middle of this. See you Monday.” Before then, I had a lot to think about. Marian was pregnant. I didn’t know any other high-school girls whose mother was pregnant. I didn’t know any families with five kids. I didn’t even know another family with four kids, although the kids I knew might well have been in larger families than I knew about. I didn’t visit more than a half dozen homes.

I did see her Monday, though. We went through the rest of our vacation doing everything we had been doing -- except talk about her family.

When school started, it gave us a chance to talk every day -- two chances to talk since I made it a point to get to school before the doors opened. We didn’t have much chance to do anything else, though. I took to going to visit Zee both Saturday and Sunday. My family expected me to be in church Sunday morning and at dinner afterwards, which cut the time in two. I did homework after dark, which cut down my TV watching, but Zee was much better than TV. When we went to the first dance, she wore a dress with -- of course -- a skirt. I developed a hatred of pantyhose, but -- even through the nylon -- I stroked her to completion after every dance. Then it turned rainy and too cold to go out to our field on weekends.

We still had every dance. We parked longer and longer after each. I had access I hadn’t dreamed of in the year before, but I felt deprived. I took to calling her on the phone. After he learned of a call from work that hadn’t got through though his boss called several times over a two-hour period, Dad banned me from the phone for a month. I still think my call wasn’t the whole problem; Tina was talking to someone then, too. But the ban was final; Dad didn’t ease up on that sort of punishment. I explained some of this in a letter which I handed to Zee in the morning. I still have her response, which she gave to me that night.

{break}

Dear Dave, very dear Dave,
I understand. I’d love to hear your voice, but having the letter is even
better in some ways. I like to hear your voice in the calls, but I only
hear it once. I can keep your letter and reread it. Don’t, however, put
anything private in a letter. Geraint is an awful snoop.
All my love,
Your Z

{/break}

The signature letter was huge, covering half the page. From then on, I wrote each night. Most of them were short. Those I gave her on Monday mornings tended to be long ones written in several segments over the weekend. She responded, or at least wrote me a note, every night. Hers were even shorter than mine. We didn’t do much business in the letters. I asked her to dances verbally, for example. After one dance, she pushed my hand away from her thighs.

“It’s my period. Should I have said no to the dance?”

“Only if you didn’t want to dance. Dancing isn’t something I do for you; it’s something we do because we both enjoy it. This isn’t something you do for me, although I enjoy if very much. It’s something we do because we both enjoy it. Usually, that is. When you don’t enjoy it, we don’t do it. Do you want to go back, talk, or kiss?”

“One kiss, at least for that.” We had a nice, sweet, kiss without my touching anything below her mouth. “You are a wonderful guy. What do you want to talk about?” Which was nicer than saying she would rather talk than kiss, but conveyed the same message.

“I address your letters z-e-e. Should I just use the letter?”

“No. That’s how I write my name when I’m heading a homework assignment. This is only to you. Keep up what you’ve been doing.”

We talked for a long time. You’d think that, with brief notes and two short conversations five days a week, we wouldn’t have anything left to say. We could have talked the rest of the night. I could have told her that I loved her for the rest of the night, for that matter. That, though, was only a tiny piece of our conversation.

We suffered through the winter with only the letters, the public conversations, and the dances to sustain us. After Christmas break, Zee’s sister was born. Robin and Marian had a daughter named Guinevere. Zee had a sister named Gwennie.

When the weather turned warmer, but still wet, I managed to borrow the family car most Sunday afternoons. (The secret with my old man was to always return it with the tank full.) We could go somewhere semi-private and pet like we did after dances. She still had to get back to cook supper, though. My family’s supper on Sunday was much less important than mid-day dinner.

“Look,” I said on a Sunday towards the end of the year, “you have to cook supper. Do you have to eat it with them?”

“What’s the sense of not doing that?”

“Hows about I invite you out for hamburgers some evening. I’d call. I’d have to clear it with Dad first. Would that suit?”

“That sounds great.”

“It still depends on some things.” Well, for my plans, it depended on the weather, Mom’s temper, and Dad’s plans. “But don’t be surprised at the call, and I won’t be hurt if you have to say no. It will be short notice.”

The weather stayed dry. Wednesday, Mom didn’t cook anything special, and Dad expressed an interest in watching TV all night. I was able to suggest that I might have a date with Zee if I could have the car. They were willing; she was willing; I picked her up from her driveway a little before seven. The sky was still light.

“Look,” I said. “we can go in and eat. We can get takeout at the drive-through and find a private spot to eat by ourselves.”

“And all you want to do is eat?”

“Well, something else might occur to me if you’re willing. I want to be with you. When I’m with you, I want other things, too. But I want to be with you. If you say eat in the place, I’ll enjoy the evening.”

“You’re sweet. Let’s get takeout.” So we did. I then drove to a place not far from our old field where the car could park without drawing attention. I got the picnic blanket from the trunk, and we had a Big-Whopper picnic.

“Oh, Zee,” I said as we kissed. The sun was already down but the light from the sky let me see her tits as I slowly removed her shirt. “They’re so beautiful. You’re so beautiful.” I stroked them and kissed them. In between, I looked at them. As it got darker, my petting got more serious. I was sucking on one tit when I started stroking over the crotch of her jeans.

“No,” Zee said. She rolled away. Well, I’d said I wanted her company more than the petting. If she said no, it was no. Then, I saw that she was unzipping the jeans. She had jeans and panties down around her knees when she rolled back.

“Oh, Zee darling!” I’d never seen her below the waist. A lot of feeling, sure, but no seeing. And her mound was as beautiful as her face and her tits. In the last fading light, her tits and thighs seemed to glow with heir own light. The triangle of hair was a dark mystery. I went back to sucking on her tit while my hand explored between her thighs. I’d never actually had my hand directly on her there, not without cloth in between. I played with the hair on her mound, played with her lower lips. When I parted these, my fingers touched her moisture directly, not simply the moist cloth of her panties. Then I touched her clit. I found what sort of strokes got her strongest response.

“Oh, Dave,” she groaned. She had stiffened and pushed up against my hand.

“Oh, Zee,” I answered. I left my hand there and kissed her forehead while her breathing eased. “You are a darling.”

“Well, it’s something you do.”

“It’s something you do. I just help you. It’s delightful to experience.”

“That’s my line. But I think I should get back.” And, so I drove her back. On my way home, I got the tank filled. I was coming up on graduation, and both of us were busy, but I got another evening with Zee.

Right after we got the burgers, I told her to start eating in the car. Out in our field, sitting on the blanket, I wrapped mine again and put it aside as soon as she finished hers. I wiped my hands on two napkins while we had our first kiss. I didn’t want to get grease on her blouse; I didn’t want anything to spoil what I had planned. Instead of taking my time easing her into the next step, my usual pattern and something which increased my pleasure -- let alone hers, I removed the shirt and loosened the bra immediately. She didn’t object. While I was kissing her and holding her tit, she pulled off shirt and bra. Then she pulled my head down as she sank back to lie on the blanket. I kissed both tits before sitting back up to look at her.

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