Chapter 5

On the 25th of July, 1942, it rained. There was no picnic but their father still had to work. Their mother went to the train station to pass out sandwiches to “the boys” on the troop trains that came through town. Jennifer and Herb had several hours to spend together.

Aunt Jennifer wrote that getting naked for him this time seemed easy. He was more reluctant, until she told him she wasn’t angry “about before”. He told her it might happen again, and she said she didn’t care. Any part of him is something I love, she wrote. They lay on her bed together, “without a stitch on.” Herb talked about “Corrine” who was Jerry’s belle. They were to be married after the war. Herb wondered if Jerry and Corrine had done this before he left for the Navy.

“I wish we could lie together like that,” whispered Bobby.

“Maybe some day,” I whispered back.

Bobby put his arm around me and fondled one of my breasts. I didn’t chastise him, because it felt good.

Her penmanship looked stressed again, as she wrote that Herb ended up on top of her again, “moving in a depraved way” but that was it.

“He was dry humping her,” said Bobby.

“Yeah,” I breathed.

The last part of the entry was simple. “It did happen again, and this time I could enjoy the warmth of it on my skin. I love him so much.”

“We got ahead of them,” said Bobby.

“No we didn’t. We haven’t done anything they didn’t do.”

“Yes, but we did it before we read about them doing it,” he said.

I looked at him.

“Are you suggesting something?” I asked.

“No. Not really. But there’s a lot of diary left and they’re already dry humping naked. I’m pretty sure I know where this porn is headed.”

“Bobby, we’ve only been doing something for a few days, and you’re ready to jump ahead to that?“

“I didn’t say that,” he said. “I’m just saying I think that’s where they’re headed. You said we don’t have to do everything they did.”

“But you want to,” I croaked.

He just looked at me and blinked.

“I’m in a lot of trouble,” he said.

“You’re not the only one,” I whispered.

We stopped reading and he went to his room. I knew he had a boner and I knew what he was going to do with it. I was pretty sure I knew who he’d be thinking about while he did it. I didn’t think it would be Cindy and Chris Turpin.

That left me in my room, ragingly horny. I rubbed until I was sore, but it never seemed like it was enough. I did have an orgasm, but it didn’t seem as good as the one I’d gotten when I pushed my finger in me with Bobby’s issue on it.

The next day Dad cornered Bobby and they did a bunch of chores and repairs together that Mom had been keeping a list of. Daddy called it his “honey-do” list, and he said Bobby needed to learn to be proficient at taking on such a list. Both Mom and Dad used to ask us if there was someone special in our lives, but after years of us saying there wasn’t, they stopped. I told Mom I didn’t want some boy to think he owned me, and Bobby said girls were too expensive. We both wanted to go to college, but that was partly because they expected us to want to go to college. A college degree was “the thing to have” in the current work force, though that was beginning to change a little. Technology had produced a lot of jobs where you didn’t necessarily need a bachelor’s degree, as long as you had the specialized training to work in that field.

That afternoon, while Bobby was on his way from point A to point B for something, he stopped and pushed his nose into my hair. He inhaled deeply and said, softly, “I love the smell of your hair.” Then he was off before I could even react. It made me a little horny.

Mom followed through on her plan to teach me to expand my cooking repertoire. She started with meatloaf. Dad bought this thing that was billed as being for use in an outdoor grill. It was a stainless steel rectangle, which had projections stamped/cut and then bent upwards that raw potatoes could be stuck onto. The idea was that the stainless steel heated up and cooked the insides of the potato while the heat in the grill cooked the outside. Supposedly you didn’t need tin foil any longer. She said we’d try it in the oven so we could have baked potatoes with the meatloaf.

Life didn’t seem so strange that day.

Saturday night life got strange again. Or, maybe they returned to the new normal for Bobby and me.

We lay on my bed again, side by side, and read seven pages. Very little was mentioned about their earlier Saturday, or that fact that Herb dry humped to completion.

Bobby made me proud when he noticed she said not a single word about her own orgasmic situation.

“Didn’t she have them?” he asked. “You’d think if she had them she’d have said something.”

“I read an article in a web mag that said the majority of women didn’t even know what an orgasm was until the sixteenth century,” I said. “Most women back then didn’t have them because most men were too quick on the trigger to go long enough for the woman to get off.”

“Then what’s the point?” asked Bobby.

“The point, dear brother, is to make babies. That’s what sex is all about. It’s not there to make us feel wonderful, or fulfilled or any of that. It’s just to make babies, and as long as the guy gets off inside the woman, then mission accomplished.”

“That’s no better than what apes do,” said Bobby.

“Why are you complaining?” I asked. “In either scenario you get off.”

“Ahhh, but women do know about orgasms, now,” he said, “and if you want to keep a woman, and not lose her to another guy, then you’d better give them to her.”

“I always knew you were smarter than you look,” I teased.

“So do you think she ever had one?” he asked. “If I’d been there, I’d have given her one.”

“Bobby, what you know about women’s orgasms would fit in a one-page doll-house book.”

“I gave you one, didn’t I?” he preened.

“Don’t be too proud of yourself. It may have been a fluke.”

“Oh, so you’ll be happy if I never touch you again,” he said.

He was smarter than he looked.

“Let’s read now, and talk about orgasms later,” I said.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “I should go.”

He didn’t get up to leave, and I should have noticed that. I was in a bit of a panic, though. Bobby was the only male I wanted to explore all this with. And while it was true that he and I didn’t know each other well enough, sexually speaking, so that orgasms flowed like water into a sink, he had rubbed me to an explosive one.

I knew he could learn, and I wanted him to learn. I wanted my life to be as impossibly romantic as my great aunt’s life seemed as I read about it.

“Don’t go,” I moaned. “Yes, you gave me a doozy of an orgasm, and I want a hundred more like that.”

He turned my head with fingers on my chin that felt like iron. His lips brushed mine.

“I’m going to learn how to give you orgasms until you beg me to stop,” he whispered. “I’m going to ruin you for any other man. I promise you that, Jennifer Crenshaw.”

“What about you?” I asked, weakly. Man, did he know how to push my buttons.

“I can get off just thinking about you in the shower,” he said. “Don’t worry about me.”

We went through three more pages of talk about not getting any mail from Jerry or Phil. In a little more than a month Herb would be seventeen, and they talked frequently at the dinner table about him joining up. Their mother was against it, saying their family was already doing enough. Their father was all for it, saying it was his patriotic duty. I got the sense, between the lines, that Jennifer’s father wished he was there, fighting, so his sons didn’t have to, but she never explained why he wasn’t.

Then we got to the entry for August the first.

It was another beautiful day, and they rode together to Bogg’s Creek, where they planned to fish. Rather, they planned to put baited poles under rocks on the bank and roll around on the blanket together. Jenn didn’t expect anything crazy, because Jennifer’s penmanship was perfect on the entire page. There were no wavers, or sags, no indication that her passions were high as she wrote.

I heard Bobby gasp, and realized he must be ahead of me again. Then the words of the woman I thought of as just “my aunt” struck me like a hammer blow between the eyes.

“We were rolling around, laughing, enjoying the sun on our naked bodies, and he began lunging against me. I couldn’t wait to feel his issue on my skin again, but suddenly there was a sharp pain between my legs and I felt a fullness I had never experienced before. Herb gasped my name, lunged twice more, and just as I realized that his beautiful, hard member was inside me, he stopped. He was breathing as if he’d just run a race, and his eyes were turned up in his head. It was then that I realized he had spent himself inside me.”

“They did it!” I whined.

“It was more like he did it,” said my brother. “She was just there.”

“He didn’t know that would happen,” I said.

“What did he think would happen?” growled Bobby.

My eyes went back to the page. There were still several lines left on that page.

“At first I was confused, but then a peace came over me that was so beautiful, and so calming, that I wished it to go on forever. He tried to get up, but I held him with arms made of steel. He began crying - a grown man crying! - and I cradled his head, shushing him like a baby. It was the best day of my life.”

I threw my arms around Bobby’s neck and buried my head in his shoulder, crying tears of happiness for a woman dead at least five decades.

Bobby just put his arm around me.

He didn’t say a word.

Bobby was acting strangely. I had cried for maybe five minutes, but all he did was lie there and hold me.

“It really is like porn,” he finally said. “Even I know that the sounds women make in porn videos are all just acting. I know the woman gets nothing out of it. She’s just there, an actress who is paid to let some guy basically jack off in her. The guy always gets to cum, but I bet the women never do. I mean, could you get off with ten people standing around watching you, with lights and cameras and them yelling at you to do this and do that? I don’t even get how the guys can do it!”

“This wasn’t like that,” I argued. “They loved each other. True, they didn’t know what they were doing, but it was all still done out of love. She sounded happy. She even said it was the happiest day of her life!”

“That’s like you saying Cheerios is the best thing you ever had for breakfast, and didn’t know about all the other possibilities,” he snorted.

“Listen to us. You’re defending the woman, and I’m defending the man! I think that’s kind of cool.”

“All I know is that you deserve to have the best man in the world, who treats you better than any other woman is treated. I want you to be happy.”

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The Summer of '42

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