Chapter 1

Forgive me if this part of my story is dry and lacks immediacy or emotion. It's being told from a perspective of many years and cannot help but be altered by the passages of experience. My memory is also unclear because events moved swiftly and I did not feel in control. Even the first glimmer struck me like the blast of tropical heat which envelops you as step out of air conditioned comfort, when your clothes are instantly laden with moisture, when every breath reminds you of the sun's awesome power.

Eighth grade for this boy was a social nightmare which both repulsed and thrilled me. If moths felt this way as they are drawn to the light, rather than following their instinct without awareness of the end which we see looming for them, then we would know there is a God. We would know that suffering is part of a plan, not merely the pain we each endure in bouts of loneliness and that oh so very strong feeling of being completely alone while surrounded by people.

I hated riding the bus. Some of the kids were my friends but the milieu, the world contained in that yellow rolling thing was nasty and forbidding. When I could escape the bus monitors, I would walk home, winding through lanes past houses that always looked nicer than my own, if only because they were older, with real trees and bushes that weren't necessarily clipped.

I'd explore my feelings, wandering down those misleading paths of jealousies and adolescent insecurities, thinking mostly of girls I would never have the nerve to speak to and, if I managed that great feat, would definitely not know what to do next. My favorite walks were in the fall, when I could kick the leaves and watch them swirl or drift. I'd pick up a stick and sweep it across the pavement or kick acorns high in the air. If I weren't so unhappy, it would have been a golden time.

Being a boy, I would judge the quality of my walks home by the girls I glimpsed. There was Sue with her huge tits riding in some high school guy's car. There was Cathy with her short blonde hair and extremely round butt, always walking with her books held to her chest, which wasn't so large it needed hiding. My favorite was Colleen and I can't tell you why. She wasn't that pretty, had frizzy hair and strong legs which were shapely but not elegant. Her boyfriend was a big jock idiot and she didn't impress me, in my limited exposure to her, as much of a brain. Still I would pick the route past her house in hope that she might be walking home at the same time and I might be able to watch her legs move in her cheerleader skirt.

If young girls knew what young boys think about, they'd run screaming into the night. If the average adult male thinks about sex for a flash every minute while not absorbed in a spreadsheet or football game, the average adolescent boy thinks about sex at all times, at every moment, even while playing a video game. A boy running in a track meet will out of the corner of his eye identify, catalogue and evaluate every glimpse of female around the oval until sheer lack of oxygen starves the brain and focus locks on the finish line. As soon as the red haze of exertion lifts, sex is again at the front of the mind.

I think I remember Colleen standing at the edge of her driveway. She held two text books in her arms and had a small bag slung over one shoulder. She was wearing her cheerleader costume. I think I remember saying to myself "Please wait for me" or words to that effect because I desperately wanted to get near her - while at the same time was terrified of actually getting near her. I don't know if any of these details are true. Even now, I see images, almost unconnected pictures, and I hear a storyline that I have trouble accepting is my voice in my head talking to me about me.

As best I can recall, Colleen stood at the foot of her driveway. A voice in my head started yelling something I couldn't understand and that made me even more self-conscious than usual, as if Colleen could hear my thoughts. I turned my eyes down as I neared her and she spoke to me. I stopped. She asked me into her house, I think, but the yelling in my head was so loud I can't remember if she said that or if I imagined her talking. I remember walking around the side of her house. She opened the wooden gate and I followed her around back to a patio. She opened that door and I followed her into their downstairs rec room, which had two couches, a ping-pong table, a cabinet-style television and a small bar with three bar stools. I can picture it like I'm there now, the ugly orange and yellow of the couches, the fake leather of the bar stools, the knobs on the television.

Colleen must have told me to wait because she went upstairs. I remember turning in a slow circle, taking in the pine panelling, the fireplace with its light brick surround, the tile floor, the flokati rug, the mirror over the bar, the antenna on top of the television. I remember fixing on the floor pillows, three of them, big and green, stacked in a neat pyramid against the wall.

Here is where things get particularly hazy. Colleen came downstairs, I know that. She took two floor pillows, put them between the couches and lay down. I know that too. As she lay down, she must have motioned or said something because I was suddenly lying next to her and, then, even more suddenly, her cheerleader skirt was hiked up, her panties were down at her knees and she was rubbing my hand all over her pussy and clitoris. We were kissing and she was pulling up her sweater and she lifted her bra right up off her tits and she was undoing my belt and reaching into my pants - I almost came or maybe I did - and in a minute my pants and underwear were off and all she was wearing was the skirt and her socks and sneakers.

It may surprise you that my memories are both confused and yet full of detail. I had never kissed a girl before. The closest I'd come to touching a breast with sexual intent was posing on the dock for a family picture with my sexy older cousin pushed next to me in her bikini.

I can taste Colleen's lips to this day and my first ever touch of a girl's nipple, my first ever suck on a breast other than my mother's when she breastfed me, the first touch of a girl's pussy, the smell of her hair, the slight sheen of perspiration on her neck. Why are these memories so strong when I can't remember or even imagine any context in which they could have occurred? What in the name of heaven was I doing naked on the floor with Colleen, her mother maybe her brother upstairs and likely to walk in at any moment?

I know this happened, that she somehow told or physically encouraged me to fuck her and that I was on and in her and coming inside her all within ten seconds. My first experience lasting not quite as long as writing that sentence took. I know that Colleen did not stop, did not show disappointment, and within minutes I was hard and in her again and this time we fucked for a few minutes and I came again and still she didn't stop and I got hard again in a few minutes and this time we fucked for ten or more minutes and I came and we stopped. That moment I remember with perfect clarity, her face flushed and her breath heavy and then her words as she kissed my neck and nose, "My first time was so good."

The spell I was under did not match the intensity of whatever gripped Colleen. First time? With me? I doubt she knew my name. I saw her tongue lick her lips and her hands were again guiding mine to places on her body - her breasts, squeeze her hand over mine, her pussy, revolving my hand under hers in slow, firm circles. Her other hand pulled on my cock and it was soon hard and she raised both arms straight over her head and wrapped her strong legs around me and we fucked. I held myself up and looked at her bucking her pussy against me and when I lowered my chest to hers she held me tight and pulled on my butt to draw me deeper into her.

After our fourth fuck - which all together had added up to one very good fuck - Colleen had led me into the downstairs powder room, where she'd taken a towel and dried us both off. Then, with no ceremony other than a hug and kiss, she'd let me out the back door. I remember standing fully clothed with my arms around her naked body, feeling the skin of her back so smooth, the curve of her butt as she wiggled closer to me, the faint freckles dotted with darker that covered her. And stepping back, the red hair between her legs and the whiteness of her thighs, strong and shapely.

My mind reeled as I walked home and by the time I stood waiting to cross at the last traffic light I was fairly convinced that it had never happened, that I'd been hit in the head or suffered a stroke or had merely allowed my imagination to run away with me so completely I'd literally lost my mind. I I locked myself in the bathroom and inspected my body for signs. My cock was covered in a sticky, smelly substance. My pubic hairs were matted and crusted. I reeked of what I now know is sex.

The next day was the same as every other day, except I kept wondering if I was going insane. I passed Colleen in the hallway between 2nd and 3rd periods and she didn't appear to notice me. As the day wore on, I started to hear a gabble of voices in my head. "Oh God, I'm going schizo." After 6th period, I went to the office, complaining I had a headache, so they let me sit in the library for the last period.

My first instinct was to block out the voices. That didn't work. The words were unclear, like the low buzzing hum heard through a wall where you can tell the sound is words but you can't make them out. "Is this what it's like to be crazy?" I tried to listen, scared that if I were able to tune in and comprehend I might never regain my sanity. The words kept moving away each time I'd bend my mental energy toward them, hanging just out of reach. Frustrated, I stopped trying. I put my head against the side of the study carrel and closed my eyes. A picture appeared of Colleen bending over naked, her face staring back at me - must be a mirror - and I could see my hands holding her ass and I could feel my cock hard in her wet pussy. I must have gone to sleep.

I was worn out from fighting my mental battles, so I packed my book bag and headed for the door to the buses. Instead of joining the crowd, I found myself ducking down the hallway toward the gym and then out the side door and then across the parking lot. My feet moved of their own accord and I followed, over the lawn, across the street, down the first road, left at the corner, up to the next street and then right toward Colleen's house. She was standing at the edge of her driveway. I walked toward her and as I neared she moved toward the side gate and motioned for me to follow. Inside the gate, she took me in her arms and kissed me. I remember thinking how I wanted her to suck my cock and she put her books on the path, kneeled, unzipped my pants, pulled out my dick and started to suck. My first blowjob, if it were real. I touched my hand to her hair and exploded in her mouth. She swallowed. I picked up her books and she kissed me and led me by the cock into the rec room.

Colleen stood in front of me and stripped, her eyes locked on mine. She was far prettier at this moment than I'd ever imagined her before. Her nose was small, almost a button and her cheeks were slightly rounded. Her lips had a light red color, like you'd draw with a crayon. Her eyes were soft green and her expression was of eternal innocence even as she ran her hands, which were large and not pretty, over her ribs and down to her pubic hair.

As Colleen undressed, I touched her all over, from the curve of her clavicle to the indentation of her waist to the crack of her ass to the underside of each breast. Naked she then took both my hands and walked backward, leading me into the powder room. She turned around, reached one hand back between her legs and stroked her pussy. I moved closer and she grabbed my cock, yanking on it, and then pressed the head to the opening of her vagina. I began to fuck her and the picture I'd seen in my head came to life, her face looking back at me from the mirror, my hands holding her ass, my cock swinging into her. The sensations were so new that even though I'd just been sucked off I only lasted a few minutes. We fucked again on one of the ugly couches and then, like the day before, she toweled me off and let me out the back door.

That night I had a terrible headache, a real one, a migraine in which giant waves of pain beat on me until I was nauseous. I tried to clear my brain of every thought until only one remained floating in a sea of nothingness and all was peaceful until that one thought doubled or split and those thoughts doubled or split and the sheer mass of thoughts became a giant wave which bore down on me like a giant breaker smashing into the rocks as thousands and millions of thoughts poured over me creating excruciating agony.

I couldn't go to school the next day. I was wiped out, clinging to my bed as the room shook, barely breathing, afraid to stir without causing the vast nightmare to begin again. By noon, I was stirring, my eyes still sensitive to the light, and my mother suggested I take a walk. I wandered into all that was left of the woods, now that houses extended farther into the farm land, touching the trees and, in the heightened sensitivity of the migraine's wake, seeing everything as though it were new.

It all had such significance. The path spoke of bicycles and the lives of kids. The fallen branch told me who had stood and jumped, who had played a game of king of the hill. I almost understood the Cardinal and the Bob White. The play of shadow, the rising hum of the cicadas, it all made perfect sense.

If only my life in my head in my pants were as clear to me. Had I really fucked a cheerleader who didn't even know my name, who didn't acknowledge my existence during school, who had a huge, stupid boyfriend? Had I actually kissed a girl? Was any of this real? How did a picture of me fucking Colleen become the real act of me fucking Colleen? I was incredibly confused.

My feet led me toward school, no toward Colleen's house. She was standing in her driveway and I followed her down the path and into her rec room and we fell on the couch and kissed and she pulled up her cheerleader's skirt and I took off her panties and she yanked down my pants and we fucked in our clothes. Colleen bucked and moaned.

I heard a voice from upstairs, her mother calling Colleen's name. She yelled back that she was studying with a friend and we'd be right up. "Better come now," she said as she more urgently pumped her pussy on my dick. We got dressed, wiped the sweat from our faces and combed our hair. As we started up the stairs, Colleen stood on the stair above me and put my hand under her skirt and touched it to her pussy.

People often say they felt like they were sleep-walking, that life flowed past as if they were in a dream. I felt instead like an actor in a play that I'd been cast in without my knowledge, like I was following a script written by someone else, like I had no control over what was happening.

Colleen excused herself and I was left alone with her mother. A voice, a single voice clear as a bell said "I want you to touch me." Colleen's mother was washing a pan. She put it down and wiping her hands on her apron walked to me and put her hand on my chest. "Touch my cock. Take it out and get it hard." I couldn't move. I know I didn't say these words out loud. I can't imagine saying anything like that out loud, especially not to a girl's mother. Without changing her expression, she took hold of my pants with both hands, unzipped me and fondled my cock. "Suck it," the voice said. Colleen's mom sat in a kitchen chair and started to blow me. The voice said, "Say you want to fuck. Say you want his come in you. Take off your pants and fuck him hard."

I heard the words come out her mouth. "I want to fuck you now. I want you to come in me." Then she stood up, took off her belt, unzipped her pants and pulled them and her panties off. I must have pulled down my pants because I realized I wasn't wearing them. Colleen's mom pushed me down on the chair and mounted me, guiding my cock into her sopping wet cunt. I'd never been ridden before. I didn't do a thing. She fucked me, bucking like a bronco, holding her upper body still and thrusting with her pelvis. I realized she was still wearing her apron. I came. The voice said, "Colleen's room is down the hall. Take your pants with you." Her mom, panting, breathed in my ear those very words, then got off me, dressed and went back to washing dishes.

Colleen's door was partly closed, so I pushed it open. She was lying on her back naked, legs spread wide, gently rubbing her clit. She smelled fresh and it was clear she'd showered. The same force that led my feet to Colleen's house pushed my face into her pussy. I licked and tongued her as Colleen gave explicit instructions on how to eat her - that's right, keep doing that with your tongue, now put your finger in, try two fingers, feel around, yes, yes press there, press there, now suck my clit, spread the lips apart, run your tongue over the lips, stick your tongue in my pussy. Colleen's breathing grew heavier and she thrashed from side to side, legs kicking and reaching behind me. She pulled my face into her hard with both hands and then relaxed. "Come here," she said. She licked my lips gently, erotically, kissed me and said she needed to take a nap. She fell asleep a few seconds later.

I closed the bedroom door behind me and headed downstairs to the rec room, intending to let myself out. Colleen's mom was waiting for me, wearing only the apron which she then untied and let drop. I had never seen a woman of her age naked. She was in good shape with what I now know are the usual signs of aging for a woman in her mid to late 30's who has had three children. Her breasts were small so they had flattened but not sagged. Her belly was puffy and her thighs were thicker and softer if not flabbier with light blue patches and marks of veins and capillaries.

She raised her arms and I went to her and she momentarily held my shoulders and then drew me to her. We kissed and then she lay on her back on the couch. I undressed and mounted her. "Fuck me hard," she said. We fucked. I pumped her hard. As my cock pounded into her, I heard for the first time the thwap-thwap-thwap sound that two bodies make.

I looked at her face. I was fucking this woman. I was a kid and I was fucking this woman who was probably as old as my mother. I didn't even know her first name and I'd fucked her daughter on this very couch not long ago. The voice in my head said, loud and clear, "Please her." I had no idea how to do that. "Ask her." I asked how I could please her and she told me to roll my hips to one side and then the other, which brought a huge moan, as my pubic bone rubbed against her clit. She asked for it harder and I gave it to her. She asked for it soft and sweet - she used those words and lightly ran her fingers over me and played with my hair as my cock softly and sweetly fucked her. She told me to come and I did and then she told me to hold her, to let her feel me grow soft inside her and I did.