Chapter 2

In those last few steps I had many questions to answer, but all of them practical. Should I remove my top? Who should I talk to? Should I stay near Krys or Rick? Was I thirsty (yes!)? And just how did one get involved in a conversation whose endpoint was both of you naked on a blanket?

There were other considerations; the temperature always dropped after dark. If we stayed outside, we'd freeze, and that didn't sound sexy. I wasn't going to rely upon body friction to keep me warm. Second, what about bugs? Lakes attracted noseeums and mosquitoes like crazy, and swatting and scratching didn't sound conducive to intimacy. And what would a guy do if a mosquito landed on the end of his dick? Did you slap it? Wouldn't that hurt? And with the sun still up for several hours, weren't we risking sunburn on parts of our bodies that didn't get much sun? True redheads always have to ask questions about the sun because we seldom tan, but we do burn. I began to look around for answers, and was relieved to see that my grandparents had put some thought into things.

First, there were heat lamps under the deck, so we were going to be warm. Second, the rec room had plenty of space. That was good to know. Third, I saw something I'd only heard about, these electronic bug things that set up walls of sound or something that kept flying pests away. And there were plenty of bottles of sunscreen on a table. I watched a girl putting it on a guy, and that suggested one way to 'break the ice'. Having a guy put some on me would give him a very good reason to fondle and caress my body, and vice versa.

I saw Krys standing to one side, pale and uncomfortable. There was even a little confusion on her face. That empty head of hers probably hadn't noticed how this whole place was set up for sex and seduction in the outdoors. Call it the practical redhead in me, but I saw it, and I wasn't looking that hard.

So the first step in this adventure was in getting the sunscreen on. Correction, the first step was in cutting out a boy to do the sunscreen. I'd have to hope for the best, but if they were here, and their parents were swingers, then they had to have some idea of what they were doing. Right?

I began looking around for guys who were Rick's age. I figured they'd have come to these parties—and come at them, heh—enough times to have some idea of what to do around a girl's body. I'd be in competition with a number of other girls, but this is where the big boobs came in handy. Tell a guy he can fondle nubs the size of Krystal's, or mine, and she won't get much action.

I was immediately faced with a question, and with it, an epiphany. Krys and I used to joke about the lines guys used when they were trying to get to know us better. Ask any teenage girl and she could fill your ears with all of the lame lines she'd heard. We wanted someone smooth, suave, and good-looking, someone who would sweep us off our feet before we knew what was happening. The trouble was, and this was my epiphany, guys didn't know how to do it. Oh, sure, they saw it happen on the movie screen just like we did, but that was a script, carefully written so the girl was swept off her feet. And because we saw those same scenes, we knew what the guy was going to say even as he said it.

I'd never considered this from the guy's point of view. There are times I wish I was like Krys, simple, straightforward, and not blessed with tons of thought. I tended to over-analyze and over-think what was going to happen, and so I poked and pried at everything, and didn't just walk up and let nature take its course.

The guy was supposed to make the first move, and this was when I realized that I had to let him know I was willing to have him make a move. The girl, I concluded, really makes the first move. The guy is on autopilot up until then.

"Don't think, do." I muttered that as I picked out a likely guy, studied him for a few seconds, and then made my approach. I would try to be like Krys and not go in weighing every word carefully, and constantly thinking about every single word he said, and the way he said it.

When the guy I was after was next to the sunscreen table I made my move. "Be blatant," I reminded myself. I pasted a smile on my face, tried to ignore the knot in my stomach, figuratively crossed my fingers (and reminded myself to uncross my legs), and walked right up to him.

"Hi." I reached back and pulled the string at my neck that held my top up. The cups dropped, and for the first time in my life I was bare in front of a guy. It was enough to make my toes curl

I had to swallow. "I'm afraid these will get burned without some sunscreen. Can you help?" There, that was about as blatant as I could get. I was cringing on the inside, hoping and afraid that he'd say yes.

"That would be a shame," he said. His eyes took in my boobs, and I saw the interest in them. Oh, sure, at this party he'd handle plenty of boobs, but this was the beginning. Here they were, fresh, and untouched. If only he knew how untouched!

He squirted some sunscreen into the palm of his hand and started in, first one breast, and then the other, caressing them, sliding over them, feeling them,, doing everything I wanted him to do. Except it was in public and outside, this was what I'd imagined it would feel like ever since my buds went from lumps to woman-flesh.

I was still worked up from what Rick and whoever it was had done, and this just made it more so. I could almost swear I felt wetness on my thighs. I probably didn't, but I wouldn't be surprised. And when I began to cover his chest with sunscreen—turn about was fair play—I definitely felt warmer all through my middle.

I got to stroke and run my fingers over the muscles of his chest and shoulders, and he got to play with my boobs. Definitely a win-win for both of us. I tried to picture what he was: wrestler, football player, something involving a lot of muscle. And he was solid, too; I really felt that as I edged in closer. And then my head spun. I was so aware of his whole presence, and that's when I knew I was being swept off my feet. But physically, not mentally. My body was in control, and the rest of me was just along for the ride.

The next few minutes are unimportant. I think he sensed my desire for privacy, because as the rest of the people stood around, talked, flirted, or even danced a little, we went inside. There were bedrooms in the downstairs, and he made right for one of them. In no time at all I was on the bed with my bathing suit on the floor right next to his.

Somewhere in there I learned that his name was Jerry. My body didn't care, but the thinking part of me did. My sex life was going to start with a guy named Jerry. I'd keep that in my memory for the rest of my life.

He took his time. This wasn't like Rick and that girl, where they got it on fairly quickly. Jerry explored my body with his tongue and fingers, and left me quivering and wanting it long before he braced himself over me. But finally the big moment arrived, the precious few seconds in my life that would separate the girl from the woman.

I felt the touch between my legs, my stomach wanted me to clench and keep him out, but the rest of me wanted him in, and then I felt him. There's no way to describe how it feels when a man slides into you. Partly that's psychological, but partly because if you've never done it, you don't know, and if you have, you don't need it described because you do know.

He paused when he got it all of the way in. Things felt weird. This wasn't at all what I expected, but every girl I've talked to says it never is. I felt stuffed, but in a peculiar way. I think I was more surprised at how easy it had gone in. Oh, he'd pulled partly back out a couple of times, but there hadn't been that hang-up, that building pressure, and then the breakthrough. He'd just worked himself deeper and deeper into me. Then I felt his balls against my bottom, and he was all the way there.

There's supposed to be a great psychological moment when this happens. I didn't feel it. Instead, I wanted him to keep moving. He pulled out, well, most of the way, and then went in again. That was much better. I wanted it again, and he obliged. Then, on his next stroke, I pushed up against him. I could almost feel how that pleased him.