I've been accused of being a dirty old man.

I shouldn't take that kind of accusation lying down, but it was made while I actually *was* lying down, and she was sitting on me, so I took it lying down. Of course I was standing erect while I was lying down, and she was sitting up as she was sitting down on top of me.

She was smiling as she made the accusation, and I watched her lips curl while she was smiling. Her lips surrounded me, of course, and as they slid up and down around me, I knew that her smile was forced because she was pointing her finger at me as she sat on me while I was standing up. She was squatting down as she sat down, and I was angry that she forced me to take it lying down. Just ten minutes earlier I'd been kneeling down and then I wouldn't have had to take it lying down. So she was laying me as I was lying there, even though I was standing up and she was squatting down as she sat up.

Uh, maybe I should start this over again.

I've been accused of being a dirty old man.

I was never accused of being a dirty young man, and nobody ever even thought to accuse me of being a dirty little boy, but I was.

In fact I think that's why I turned out to be such a voyeur. I was the youngest kid in the class. I'd started kindergarten when I wasn't even five; they allowed that in California. Of course my parents didn't know that I'd also be late to mature, which also made me the smallest in the room.

When it was time to choose up the baseball teams at school I'd always be one of the mopes to be chosen last. They let me play second base, cause hardly anybody ever hit the ball there. When it was time to play football I was absolutely the last person chosen. Then they let me play the part of the football. Just kidding. Actually, my position was Left Out.

So I naturally gravitated to individual sports like swimming and diving and gymnastics. I was small, and coordinated, and I actually got pretty good. And during the summers I would practice my diving, and the girls would watch.

It wasn't my stunning physique they were looking at, and it wasn't my boyish and oh-so-cute face, trust me. But girls are apparently interested in a variety of different things having to do with boys, and when I found one of those thing, man did I work at it. My best dive was a one-and-a-half gainer in pike position from the 1 meter board, and a forward "two" from the 3 meter.

I almost killed myself learning the dives from the high board, but it was worth it. The girls looked.

Occasionally they even talked to me, but I was such a fumbler it never went any further. So as I say, I started to watch. No pressure, no expectations, and no pussy, but what the hell, it was a living.

The first experience I can remember happened one night when the pool had closed. Judy was one of the female lifeguards, and all the boys lusted after her. We begged her to teach us the fundamentals of rescuing someone, but only because we knew you had to swim with your arm across her tits and under her armpit to drag her back to the side of the pool. She pretended not to know what we 13 year olds were up to.

The pool closed each night at 8PM. They usually let me stay around while they stacked the chairs so I could practice my diving without waiting in line behind 11 kids who wanted to jump off the high board. I had about 30 minutes of uninterrupted time, and I used it most every night.

One Tuesday Judy and her boyfriend were stacking the chairs and I was diving. After maybe 20 minutes I noticed that they had disappeared, and having done a perfect one-and-a-quarter onto my face from up high, decided to call it a night. I walked toward the clubhouse. It was twilight and the place was deserted.

I remembered my towel and walked back to the pool. I heard her giggling and him entreating, and I slowed down my pace. It took me a few moments to figure out where they were, and when I did I didn't think, I just sort of walked quietly around the edge of the pool.

They were in the filter house room down behind the embankment by the deep end. I'd been in that room a couple of times; typical teen-age boy curiosity kind of thing, and I remembered it as an industrial cavern the size of our living room at home, except with giant metal containers and pipes and valves.

And I heard her giggle again.

"He's gone," I heard him say. "Come on."

"You're terrible," she chirped. "I'm at work, thank you."

"You're in a tiny little bathing suit and you're hanging out all over the place and I can't stand it," he said.

There was a metal grate directly under the business end of the low dive. You hardly ever noticed it because the room wasn't usually lit and the metal pipes holding the diving board camouflaged it, but from the right angle you could just see into the front half of the place.

And I saw.

They were playing and they were kissing and he suddenly took her in his arms and her arms wrapped around him and they embraced and started making out with the passion that 17 year olds have.

And I watched. I saw his hand reach up and pull her shoulder strap to the side and then down. I watched as her breast popped out of the top of the stretchy material, and I unconsciously imprinted the scene so strongly that I can still "see" it today, as though it was a 35mm slide that my father had taken during some random summer vacation.

His hand covered her breast, and then he was tugging at the other strap and lowering it and I watched with a 13-year old's fascination as he pulled down the other side and her other breast came into view. And they stood there, kissing and fondling for at least 20 minutes, and I watched.

I had an immediate reaction, but I was standing in public view, and even though there was no public I didn't touch myself.

I've learned as I've gotten older this early part of the sex ritual gets shorter and shorter, to the point where once you're married you're not allowed to make out or do much of anything but stick your dick where the sun don't shine. It's a rule, I think.

But 17-year olds are more eager and yet perversely take more time in petting and foreplay, and I eagerly drank the scene in, wondering if such an event would ever happen to me.

He was moaning and she was sighing, but the scene went no further, at least while I was there. Because I stupidly shuffled my feet and happened to kick a pebble and it made a noise and they both jumped back with a start. I quietly raced out of the pool before they could compose themselves and come upstairs for a look. But I'll always remember Judy and the filter room. I'll bet I remember it better than she does, and she was there!

About a week later I was spending the night at my friend Tom's house on the other side of town. I'd ridden my bike there, because it was becoming very uncool to have to be delivered everywhere by Mom, and anyway I was 13 and had plenty of excess energy.

Tom's folks were very hip, and didn't mind a bit when we took off on our bikes at nearly 10PM. In my house it was practically lights out, but Tom's folks were looser. So Tom and I took off for the "bend", where we knew teenagers went parking after the movies.

We fairly flew up the deserted road, picked a spot and rolled our bikes into the brush. We climbed up a small hillside and sat down.

"Now what?" I asked.

"Well, there's this..." he said with a grin. And he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboro's.

"Cool," I said, trying to be cool.

He lit one and took a big drag, expelling the wispy smoke in a steady stream from his mouth and his nostrils. He handed one to me. I lit it and took inhaled deeply.

"Arrgh. Huuuh. Awhooo. Chhwz! Huuuh. Hoh, hoh, hoh. HOH. Whooof."

Tommy laughed out loud at my discomfort. "Never smoked one before?"

"Uh, no, not really." No point in trying to be cool when your face is redder than a third-degree sunburn and you're about to puke.

"You'll get used to it," he said.

"Of course," I said, taking a tiny drag on the cigarette and pushing the smoke immediately out from between my lips. "Hoh. Awhooo." I gulped. "That was better."

"Yeah," he laughed.

We finished those two, then talked for a while, then smoked another one each. About 11:00 we saw the cars start to come down the lane. They never drove in together, and they never parked too close to each other, but we were lucky and watched as two of them parked within sight. And the ambient light from the full moon was enough to be able to see.

And we watched.

The car farther away had two couples in it; a double date, apparently. And they wasted no time in getting to business. The two people in the front seat merged into one larger unit, and the couple in the back seat did the same. They were far enough away from us that we couldn't really discern any details, but it was clear what was going on. Heavy making out. Maybe some petting. Like I say, it was tough to see.

The car which parked directly in front of us had just two people. We could see her clearly through the large glass window; he was hidden by the heavy dark roof. But as he slid from behind the wheel and across the bench seat that was popular in those days, he came into view, and we watched as they melted together in an embrace of teenage passion.

And we had a perfect sight line as his hands began to wander across her front, grasping and squeezing at her breasts, and fumbling with the buttons as she acceded to his desires. In the dark my own hands slipped to the front of my trousers and I surreptitiously squeezed myself while I watched. I didn't dare glance at Tommy, but I suppose he was doing the same.

At last the front of her blouse was completely unbuttoned and we could see her heavy white brassiere, and we watched as he pushed her blouse down her arms and off her shoulders in his eagerness. He fumbled with the bra clasp behind her for probably five minutes, and finally she must have gotten as frustrated as he was and reached around behind and undid it.

Her lacy white support fell away and her nudity was revealed to him and unknowingly to us and then he moved back toward her for a deep kiss that hid our newly found treasures from view. We could see his hands dancing across her chest, and while the view wasn't perfect, there was not an iota of doubt in our minds what was happening.

"You gotta buy some binoculars," I said absently.

"I know," he replied.

It was our only conversation for the next half hour.

We watched as their petting continued, and then suddenly she bent down and disappeared from view. Her face was now hidden behind the heavy door of the passionmobile, but it was obvious what was going on.

Either she was trying to read the word "Talon" on his zipper in the dark, or she was sucking on his dick. I figured it was the dick. I was squeezing my own, now, by trying not to be obvious about it, and I figured Tommy was too. I never actually found out. And I never actually came that night, although I'll bet the guy in the car did.

I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. Well, obviously it was the guy in the car who was in heaven. I was sitting on a hillside amid the poison ivy trying to play with myself through my heavy blue jeans without having Tommy think I was being queer about it. 13 year olds are like that.

Just a couple of weeks later I had my first real sexual experience. Once the hormones start running, they don't rest, I've found out. I'm still waiting for a breather, frankly.

I was at Jimmy Vertis' house, and his parents were gone for the night. A movie maybe, or cards at the neighbors, I don't really remember. I was telling Jimmy about my two experiences so far, and he said "Want to see something?"

"Sure," I replied with all the savior-faire a barely teenage boy can muster.

He went to a bureau in his parents room and returned with a deck of cards. The box that held them was frayed, and had a strange design cheaply imprinted on just one side. It looked like there was a German word in big letters. Maybe Polish or Dutch. Foreign, for sure.

"So?" I said.

"Let's play cards," he smiled, extracting the deck from the cardboard housing and giving them a quick shuffle.

"Fine," I responded.

He dealt us each 5 cards, face down on the rug where we were sitting. "Straight poker," he said, "one-eyed tits are wild."

"Huh?" I said. I picked up my cards. It was a real deck, with aces and kings and everything else. But in the center of each, instead of those boring diamonds and spades was a picture of a naked woman.

"Holy shit!" I said, actually dropping three of the cards in my excitement. Jimmy howled.

"Come on, pick them up," he said.

"Holy shit!" I said again. I stared at the cards. My young penis went from zero to sixty in 3 seconds. "Holy shit. Holy holy holy shit."

I studied ever millimeter of every card in my hand. Whew! The only naked women I had ever seen to that point were a couple of saggy titted African ladies in an issue of National Geographic and Judy-through-the-grate and the brassiere girl at the bend with Tommy. Whew!

I focused in on a brunette with beautiful breasts. She was sort of hidden behind a gauze top which actually hid nothing at all, but was all the more exciting for the tease it created in the "now you see me but now you don't" pose. Whew!

"Uh, what did you mean, one-eyed tits are wild?" I asked.

If you can see both her tits, then it's a regular card. If you can only see one tit, then it's a wild card, unless you can't see the nipple. Then it's also a regular card," he explained patiently.