Chapter 2A

I believe that Martha Jane, like me, was mostly curious at first. And it seems that my surprise and delight at our intimacy was matched only by her own surprise and delight at my enthusiasm and cooperation. But we never mentioned our secret to each other when she visited my Mom, nor when we greeted on the front porch on our way to school in the mornings that followed.

Several weeks later, a few days after Christmas, the city was inundated by a heavy winter snow--something Southern cities seldom experienced. The whole town knew the weather was coming and Mom had a date to go to what had been set up as a White Christmas dinner at one of the fancy hotel ballrooms that were popular in the late 1940's. It was a Friday night. After Mom left, Martha Jane darkened our bedroom and sat on the bed with me, watching the snow. The bed was in its usual place in that little room, pushed lengthwise against the wall alongside the big double window. We leaned on the window sill and talked and watched the falling snow. I don't remember what we talked about, but she had told me a story about something-or-other and I was astonished and said, "Really?", and she said "Yes, it really happened like that!", and I squealed "REALLY?", and she made a wide-eyed face back at me and said, "Yes, REALLY!", and we were both giggling. I have no idea what the subject was, but I remember the essence of the moment as playful, trusting and warm.

She settled her chin atop one hand on the window sill, and I did the same. She said in a hushed tone, "Listen. Be very, very quiet, and listen."

"Okay," I said loudly, smirking.

"Shh!" she said, and we giggled again, and then we sat very still. Soon I whispered. "There's so much snow comin' down, but it's so quiet."

"No," she whispered. "You can hear it falling. Listen."

We stayed perfectly still. In the night outside the window the entire project was covered in a thick, globby blanket of white. The snow fell with a dreamlike lazy slowness, but so densely it made the buildings seem dark gray instead of dark brick red, and it completely obscured the contours of the access driveway that ran behind our building. I strained nearer the window and listened. After a short time I could indeed hear it: the muffled, barely audible hissed of falling snow.

"Hear it?" she asked.

"Mmm. Yeaahh."

"Oh, you're just playing along with me. You really hear it?"

"Yeah," I breathed, fascinated. "Really."

We leaned on our chins and listened more. I turned to her in quiet excitement at this revelation of the noise of snowflakes falling. But as my eyes met hers I melted into speechless jelly. She was watching me with a look of warm, affectionate, captivating tenderness. All I could do was look back into her eyes helplessly until, embarrassed at my own startling feelings, I made a funny, scrunched-up face.

She wrinkled her nose at me. "And 'that' to you too," she said, "silly-face." Then she jumped off the bed.

"Bubble time!" she announced, and off we went to the bathroom. She undressed down to her slip, bra and panties, and she held up the bubble-bath pack and let it go. I hopped into the tub to splash around and build my usual nose high mountain of bubbles. I didn't notice until slightly later that she stood there for quite some time after reaching back to the hook on the bathroom door to fetch her skirt and blouse; after thinking about it she returned her clothes to the door hook. Then she removed her slip and knelt by the tub again in her undies. I got out of the tub and dried off. Once again, after a long hesitation, she put her fingers around my cock.

Remembering this from before, I stood still and watched her play with me. Tickles spread through my tummy, and my cock hardened quickly. I looked at her and grinned, and her eyes met mine with a widening look of recognition and pleasure.

"That's good," I murmured.

"Yeah? You still like it?"

I told her I did, and something made me shove my pelvis slightly forward (a totally unconscious movement toward her fingers, the source of my pleasure), which caused her to look up again in surprise and with a strange, mischievous glee. The two of us seemed urged on by some outlandish, mutually shared impulse to make the gestures and to use the words and sly grins we used

As she played we watched my cock harden and twitch. She said we would be more comfortable if I sat on the edge of the tub as before. I did so, and we both watched as she gently pumped me erect. I reached inside her bra and found a nipple, and we exchanged mutually knowing smiles as I gently teased her secret flesh. She was still amazed at how my "teentsy" young organ became so enlarged. Soon I was thoroughly hard and she was grinning lewdly at me, a delicious and tantalizing grin that I quickly learned to return.

These mutual glances and simultaneous eye contacts occurred so often it seems they never ceased. They were another integral part of our communication with each other. It was part of the continuous pattern of feedback and feed-in and feed-on that united us. Often it replaced thousands of words that might have been used to describe a feeling or a moment. This, too, began happening quite early in the relationship.

Of course, I didn't climax. The incident soon ended and we returned to the bedroom. We continued watching the snowfall for a long time. I leaned sleepily on the window sill, and listened to her magical voice. She was talking about something she was doing at school. I was soon overcome by the languorous peace of being with her, something entirely absent from my relationship with my mother.

When I opened my eyes again it was Saturday morning. My Mom was back home fussing around the house, and Martha Jane was gone.

Several months went their course, and I passed my 7th birthday. It was around that period, near the end of Spring 1949, that several more interludes occurred. By this time I would get out of the tub and Martha Jane would be kneeling and waiting, and I would stand up and say, "Do me." She would set me on the edge of the tub and pump me to a strong erection, which she learned to maintain for longer and longer periods. I don't have a clear memory of what I physically felt at that time, but I recall that she and I kept finding ways to make it feel better.