Chapter 1

‘depravity’

NOUN

Moral corruption; wickedness. “A tale of wickedness and depravity”

SYNONYMS:

corruption · vice · perversion · pervertedness · deviance · degeneracy · degradation · immorality · shamelessness debasement· debauchery ·decadence- dissipation - degeneracy - degenerateness - degradation - demoralization dissipation - dissoluteness - libertinage - libertinism - perversion - rakishness - turpitude

I was a bit precocious early on; my uncles, Francis and Joseph, ten and nine years older than me, referred to me in mixed company as “The Professor,” because I read voraciously, and spoke to adults about worldly subjects such as politics and current events that most children had little or no knowledge of.

There was a simple reason for it of course: My parents both worked; this necessitated my early entry into school—kindergarten if you will, but school nonetheless. And as it happened, I lived next door to the public library a block away from my public school. The Librarians’, led by Tina, a vertically challenged woman who happened to be my mother’s second cousin, adored me; and with my mother’s help and kindly assistance from Tina and the others on staff there I was taught to read well before my peers and fell in love with books on all subjects.

Puberty: It either sneaks up on you, or hits you between the legs like a sledgehammer. In my case it eased in ghost-like, stealthy and caught me totally--well almost totally unaware--well I had been to two birthday parties at which I’d kissed a couple girls and I had my text book versions of what the birds and bees was all about, but of course those materials were tempered for the young and left many gaps out assuming they would be filled later in life.

The first real initiation into any sexual encounter of consequence came on a certain St. Patrick’s Day when it snowed and made the annual bar hopping parties difficult. This resulted in someone having the idea to throw a big Irish bash at my grandmother’s house—it was large enough and centrally located so that many family members and their friends could reach through the snow covered streets.

I was there because my parents were. My uncles and their girlfriends along with several of their friends found their way to the house as well and in short order a party of some forty or fifty people was in full swing. As an observer and not an imbiber, I noticed that A. the men were drinking not dancing, and B. the women were drinking and dancing with one another. I had no idea what was about to befall me when my Uncle Francis started regaling everyone with his version of my kissing the girls at the birthday party, (My mother having told him about it.) and assigning me the nickname, Hot-Lips to the delight of the women at the party. That was all it took for three somewhat inebriated females (all single, mind you) to capture my fourteen year old body between them and begin teasing me by kissing and fondling my body—my ass, shoulders and neck with wild, drunken abandonment---while the other party goers laughed and shouted encouragingly at their antics.

“Welcome to being a grown-up,” the recently Florida tanned Sissie Julien crowed as the threesome sandwiched me between them while Michael Jackson’s Beat It screamed from the speakers. The other two, blonde haired Karen Majewski and dark tressed Maureen O’Connell sealed me in against their breasts and thighs, and I smelled the comingling of cheaply perfumed bodies along with the perspiration they were blissfully unaware was cascading from them onto my young body while sharing delighted shrieks with their beer goaded collusion against me.

All three kicked off their heeled shoes and hitched up their dresses to accommodate their dance moves, Maureen more so as her garters flashed the boys holding bottles of beer and or whiskey. Sissie humped my left thigh briefly, but stopped when I respond by responding by driving it against her cunt; at least I think that’s what I found on responding to her humping. All three women had a clear sheen of perspiration on their skin. Not that I didn’t. I was sweating like a pig from my own exertions.

I noticed Karen checking out Sissies’ gyrations while improvising her own, shaking her estimably contoured ass and going so far as to bump it daringly against my hip, following up with an impudent smile at one of the men standing on the sidelines watching wide-eyed and spilling some of his beer on the floor.

“I love this song!” Karen yelled into my right ear as Sissie pressed a breast into my left shoulder while undulating to Beat It’s insistent rhythm. They came together, entwining outstretched fingers and hands, and then when Karen extended her tongue, Sissie stretched to meet it. The contact between their tongue-tips is Earth-shaking as far as I’m concerned. Women kissing women—yes, but like that?

I don’t forget seeing that. I still do on occasion.

Afterwards they dissolve into shared laughter, tightly hugging each other’s dampening body. Maureen’s eyes were closed and her small fists were clenched above her head. “Ish dis a great party or what?” she bawled, slurring her words somewhat to my Uncle Joseph who was standing next to his wife.

“She’s right, you know,” Karen yelled albeit at a lower volume; and when I nodded in agreement, she grabbed my ass with both hands and began laughing. “Now I’m the one doing the groping! Don’cha just luv it?”

I retaliated by reaching out and squeezing Karen’s right breast through her brasserie. Her only reply was, “You don’t waste any time do you, lover boy?” I gave it a few more squeezes before leaving off and heard no objection at all from her.

Both girls back onto me at one point, Karen grinding her ass full into my crotch, while Sissie competed by wriggling tightly against me in cheek-to-cheek fashion. Still the dressed-meat in their sandwich, I laid a firm hand on the pelvic bone of each of them, moved with them while they squealed, clapped and hugged me from both sides, trailing fingers over my chest and thighs as they laughed wantonly.

Their lipstick colors popped--their features seem more pronounced–and their curves whether subtle or obvious seemed more striking even than ever. Every move, every look, every flick of their disarranged hair was now charged with erotic energy and meaning.

It was the touching—all that touching that swept the four of us up into the frenzy that ensued.

I was well aware of my own body as well. Each part of me alive and sensitive to the touch. Shivers of ecstasy careened through me at each playful female touch--the closer to my groin, the more intense the sensation. I found myself unable to refrain from touching myself as well–-tracing beads of sweat on my throat, brushing my chest as I danced with the sirens, and of course, letting my fingers sweep over the erection yearning for release as the three nymphs laughed, hugged and kissed one another and me while dancing around and against me.

The others near us appeared to pay scant attention to what was going on between the women and me at

first, but as Beat It came to an end only to be followed by Phil Collins’ In the Air Tonight, a buoyant, middling inebriation settled in on them.

The three vixen’s continued fondling me and I them while we all laughed and shrieked happily as a Kaleidoscope of carnality overwhelmed me and I went for the gold, reaching between their legs, hitting mostly girdled thighs, but hearing two softly moan in surprise when I stabbed their cunts with an extended finger.

Karen’s features lit up. Her eyes were wide, as was her smile. She reminded me of a child ogling candy. Only it was me she wanted to devour, and I believe to this day she might have, had she the opportunity. Maureen’s eyes were also wide, her pupils dilated; but she knew exactly what she was doing when her pretty mouth formed into a near perfect O as she reached out to touch my ever hardening erection; her way of countering my cuntal jab. I can still hear her accelerated breathing over the music; and I certainly felt her fingers as they gripped my dick and gave it several strokes.

“Ohhhh, Hot Lips,” she squawked into my ear. “You’ve got something there, don’t cha?”

To be sure, she released my penis quickly enough---but the electrical charge she caused remained with me until later that night when under the covers of my bed I repeated her movements over and over until I ejaculated for the very first time. The feelings she loosened in me didn’t pass; more to the point, they never completely went away. Thank you again for the thousandth time Maureen.

Yet the trio of femininity held me more or less in place as the teasing continued us all down Depravity Boulevard as they became even bolder in their actions. For example, Sissie began shimmying against my rear-end while sweeping the damp hair from her face like a stripper showcasing her C-cupped tits to one and all, evoking whoops and hollers from the on-lookers. Maureen abandoned any concern she might have had about repercussions for her actions and recaptured my dick while feigning interest in Karen’s moves by improvising her own; shaking her lovely contoured buttocks and going so far as to bump them daringly against Sissies’ hip, while bestowing an impudent smile in my direction.

“So hot...” she gasped over the music.

“Turn around,” I heard Sissie say, “lemmie help you there.”

Maureen dumbly acquiesced. And running her tongue over her swollen lips, turned as requested. Sissie plucked at the spaghetti strings holding her top up and teased two undone. I wondered how far her betrayal would go.

The bodice collapsed and only instinctual panic prevented Maureen from standing before us in her brassiere, with her top clinging to her waist in front of some forty or fifty people.

But her reflexes saved the day as she clutched at the bodice and pulled it back up covering her chest, but not before I caught a grateful glimpse of pale cleavage first and then a radical glimpse down her brassiere at her pert sweat tinged boobs and just maybe a slice of nipple.

“You bitch!” she snarled at Sissie. “Fix my top or I’ll yank your dress right the hell off you!”

I would point out that Karen and I were still dancing, with Karen doing her best to protect Maureen’s tits from public view. I tried to help too, but didn’t do much except stare at those tits until the top was back in place.

“Sorry ... I’m so sorry,” Sissie said repeatedly as she fumbled with Maureen’s straps until getting them back in place.

To my surprise, Maureen hugged me to her breasts as if it were been me who rescued her from having them exposed in front of the leering, hollering crowd surrounding us. When I managed to look up at her I found her pupils dilated and she hugged me even tighter. My cock, never less than granite since feeling the first breast and thigh rub against me, reasserted its hardness in response.

BOING! BOING! Take that! I thought as my dick pressed against her groin for a fleeting moment, and then I was laughing my ass off as Sissie and Karen snaked their arms while swaying their bodies sinuously against me, writhing and wiggling as Phil Collins insistent drumming rhythms built inexorably in momentum; shaking out their hair and their early twenties booties and grinning at each other like loons.

I recall Karen sliding her palms down the curves of her body from the upper ribcage all the way to her hips and back, clearly delighting in the sensation; equally so when she traced fingertips over her neck and face and into her thick hair, bunching it upward until the tresses tumbled and scattered all around her. I realized she was drunk and no longer knew she was dancing—if one could call it that—with anyone else.

Sissie continued brushing her lithe body against me although the humping had ended or seemed like it had. Maureen was undulating front-to-front with me then close-up back-to-back with Sissie. Seconds later the well tanned Sissie ran a hand ever so slightly over my groin and on touching my erection whipped the hand away as if having touched the hot surface of a stove.

Had she watched Maureen touch me? I wondered briefly.

At any rate it all ended when a minute later I was unceremoniously yanked from between Karen and Sissie by Barney St. George, who thought his girlfriend, Karen was getting to rambunctious in public. Or as I later comprehended, he may have thought that she was hot enough at the moment to give him more than usual if he could get her out of the party and into the backseat of his car, now covered in a camouflaging blanket of snow.

I saw very little of the three nymphs of the night after that. Although two years later I would meet Maureen again. But we’ll get to that in due course, of that you can be assured.

COATROOM ADVENTURES

After this I began looking at the girls in my class a little differently. Although most ignored me and the other boys, a few found any show of interest in them compelling and put on performances for my benefit—like Mildred, a pretty, seventh grader, who looked horny without really meaning too. She was also fourteen, with short brown curly hair, and I still remember her pink woolly sweater that showed off her small but perky tits; and she fancied short skirts as most of her girlfriends did. My friend Andy told me that she’d given him a blowjob, but he lied about a lot of things, so I never knew if it was true. But I recall dropping a pencil during a test in class and looking up her skirt only to find she wore nothing under it. That’s when I saw my first pussy.

As most of you know, vaginas are all essentially the same, as are penises. However, just as penises come in various lengths and thicknesses, a vagina’s lips, or labia, come in various shapes from the tight, ‘peachy’ type to the raggedy flapping lips that Mildred possessed. I can still visualize the longish flaps of her outer labia as they drooped between her legs and recall going on to enjoy a series of vivid masturbations thinking about her pouty lips.

The thing is I never touched Mildred in any way, for Calvin Masters became her boyfriend and they were together until she became pregnant in her junior year and left town to have the baby. I never saw either one again, but life is like that, a person drifts in and out of one’s life, and then they are gone, never to be seen or heard from again.

In the second half of that term the girls—well not all of them, but enough to count—suddenly decided to dress as close to sluts as possible. This meant tight tops or sweaters to show off their newly acquired tits—even those with hardy anything to flaunt except for little nubs made by their nipples. Of course those with something to show gave all of the boys’ seemingly perpetual hardons, which pleased the girls no end, and I imagined them comparing us as to which one had the biggest penis among them. Then too, the short skirts they all wore ensured the boys got a good look at their undies when they sat down carelessly or crossed their legs.

Then some discovered the class coatroom afforded undreamed of opportunities to be unsupervised and alone, or almost alone with the opposite sex. At first, we gathered there on arriving at school shortly after eight in the morning. Our Teacher, Mrs. Abernathy, was usually a little tardy in arriving as she had three small children herself. Left to our own devices in the coatroom it didn’t take long before there began a ritual of brushing against girls breasts and having our erection’s brushed and even squeezed slightly in return. To my knowledge there was no dissent in these actions by either girls or boys.

Still locked in what I thought was a perennial state of horniness I wondered about the girls in my class. For example: Cathy Lee’s lissome smoothness wrapped up in tight clothing day after day, and with those occasional glimpses of her pert tits via her cleavage. Christ ... I almost came just thinking about her.

And Vicki Pardo: Did she wiggle her way into those jeans, and what did it look like when she peeled them off? What kind of panties was she wearing underneath? Did she have a thick bush down there? What about Cathy Lee—what does have on at night when she goes to bed? Is she like Marilyn Monroe in that she only had the radio on? Or was she wearing something filmy that skimmed her slender thighs? Did she reach beneath it to touch herself? What about showering–where did her hands explore when she soaped herself?

How far did Jeanette Bonfiglio go with her boyfriend Eric? How many cocks has she sucked? (You know she’s done it, Thomas swears she did him at least twice when they went to the movies.) What about Vicki? Does she have a boyfriend yet? Are they fucking? Does she suck him off?

Fuck!

But it was an incident between Willie Smith and Corander Washington that changed my sex life from pondering about others to actually getting laid. Willie was at least a year and a half older than me, having been left back a time or two, while Corander was already fully developed into womanhood with the biggest breasts in our class (including our teacher, Mrs. Abernathy, and all the girls in the eighth grade.)

I know this because I came across them in the aforementioned coatroom one morning before the usual stampede to hang up coats began that spring day. They were engrossed with one another and failed to notice me enter the coatroom.

“Turn around,” Willie was saying to her., “Let me help.”

Corander giggled and ran lasciviously ran her pink tongue over bright red lipsticked lips then proffered her back to Willie who plucked at the thin strings holding her dress up and released the top of her dress which fell to her waist, leaving her standing in her brasserie.

She giggled again as Willie took a step back to better admire the twin brown mounds heaving before him. “Show ‘em to me!” Willie said breathing heavily. I myself had yet to breathe since seeing her tongue lick those red lips.

Neither Willie nor Corander had taken notice of me yet. Corander reached into her brasserie and scooped her tits out. To my eyes they were huge, crowned with areolas the size of a fifty cent piece and thick, half-

inch nipples already hardened with lust. I remembered to breath and did, quietly.

Willie moved quickly like a mongoose striking at a cobra, grabbing her tits in his massive hands while kissing or licking the side of her neck. I stood there spellbound and I’m relatively certain this was the moment I became a voyeur for life. Of course they became aware of me then, but to my surprise Willie laughed and turned Corander toward me so that I had a full frontal view of her generous chest.

“Don’t you go thinkin’ you can touch ‘em, James, these babies is spoken for,” Willie said in a friendly enough tone. “Yeah, don’t you be spreadin’ no stories about us, you hear?” Corander added, not bothering to cover her chest.

I nodded, wide-eyed at seeing her fantastic tits pointed straight at me. “I—I won’t. I swear, Willie,” I said fearing for my life.

Corander’s features lit up; her eyes wide, her smile showing off her white teeth to their best advantage as she moaned her pleasure at having Willie’s hands roam over the topography of her upper torso.

And so I was stunned when she said, “Come here James, have a feel for yourself.”

I did, but only after Willie nodded his assent. I expressed my awe at the firm, yet squishy feeling the sampled globe provided me.

“Now,” Willie said ever so gently to Corander after I took a step back. “Open your mouth and reach out your tongue.” The dark-skinned girl smiled openly at his challenge, moving to him, her soft glistening tongue extended, and then presented her thrust-out tongue to him, the gesture sweet but with an inescapable air of lewdness.

I looked on as Willie licked his lips a split second before bringing them into contact with Corander’s, and as she ground her loins full into his crotch, I backed away from them knowing danger was all around us and discovery eminent. The lusty couple ended their embrace just as two girls hurtled into the coatroom so busy yammering to one another that they failed to notice Willie and Corander at first.

I put myself in their path distracting them long enough for Corander to put herself right. How she managed to get her tits back into the brasserie so quickly is still a mystery to me. But then again, woman have mystified me most of my life in that regard.

Later that afternoon Corander approached me and warned me not to mention what I’d seen them doing. And that was that. I said nary a word to anyone about it.

As it happened, Willie hit sixteen early the following semester and left school. Corander also left our eighth grade class when her swollen belly became so obvious that the school arranged for her to receive maternity care elsewhere. They vanished from my life, never to be heard of or seen again as so many have and continue to do, much to my regret.

Tricia Lombardi

A week or so after the coatroom incident, I had a brief encounter of my own in the coatroom when Tricia Lombardi, a girl that I had kissed at a birthday party earlier that semester, followed me into the coatroom and unmistakably pressed tantalizingly close to me.

Of course I had witnessed other classmates do this and more—Willie and Corander notwithstanding. But this was my first encounter, and I did have that Spin-the-Bottle kiss with Tricia, so there was that; and I would later learn that Tricia had discovered her sexuality at an early age.

She was normal in that puberty brought forth the idea that boys had something to offer other than cooties. But like most girls she felt awkward about her new found sexuality and her explorations were limited to what she could imagine in her mind or what she gleaned from other girls.