Chapter 11

When I was in Mr. Killeshan's English class, we read a lot of stuff. I don't remember any of it except the poem by Robert Burns titled, "To a mouse". There's more in the title than that, but I can't remember it, except it has "plow" in it.

It's pretty long, but I remember this one line really well. It was: "The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley." It's English, though there are a bunch of words like "agley" that none of us could understand. Mr. Killeshan translated that line into modern English as "The best laid schemes of mice and men go often awry." Several of us guys tried to memorize a bunch of those old English words and use them in everyday speech. Other than "aft agley" the only one I remember now is "foggage" which means coarse, green grass. I got a real kick out of it when my dad told me to go mow the lawn one day and I said "What, destroy the foggage?" Teenagers. Go figure.

But the point is that I understood the significance of that line immediately, and have never forgotten it. You can plan, and scheme and set things up just so, but that doesn't mean things will go like they're supposed to.

Such as buying a dozen condoms, and then having sex four times without ever opening the box.

I'll save you from having to go back through all this to find where I bought the condoms, and then see who I had sex with next. It was Danni first, then Beth a few minutes later. If you remember, Phee and I didn't let ourselves get in the situation where we could make love. That's probably why we forgot all about the condoms until I was already balls deep in Danni ... and then Beth ... and spurting them full of baby makers. Out of sight ... out of mind.

Now, the most clever of you will have noticed I said four times.

Well, number three was about three in the morning, when who I thought was Phee slipped into bed with me naked. Almost immediately, though, I recognized the scent that meant "Danni". We didn't speak. Instead we made out, lying on our sides, and after a dozen long, sensual kisses, and me sucking on her nipples for ten minutes or so, we kind of ended up with me on top of her and I kind of ended up sliding into her and she kind of professed her undying love for me and I never thought even once about the condoms under a stack of T shirts in my dresser, ten feet away.

And number four was later the next day when I was taking a shower after a run. I had slept late, and when I got up Mom said Phee and the girls had all gone out somewhere together. So I went for a long run, and when I got back I took a shower. The next thing I know, Phee got in with me and whispered "Danni snuck into your room last night, didn't she!"

"Are you crazy?" I gasped. "Mom and Dad are in the living room!"

"Didn't she?" insisted Phee, who was behind me, which meant I could feel her naked breasts pressing into my back. Her hands had already slid over my chest and found my dick, which had inflated like an airbag in a head-on collision.

"Okay, she did," I confessed. "Now get out before they catch us!"

Instead, she turned me around.

"Did you fuck her?"

"Please get out now," I begged. I couldn't turn the water off, because it was covering the sound of our speech.

She kissed me. She was so full of emotion that I was shocked to my core. It was like she was trying to eat me. When she broke that kiss, she left her wet face half an inch from mine, and held it there with her hands on either side of my face.

"Did you fuck my best friend last night?" She said it in a measured cadence, and she spoke very softly.

"Yes," I said. "Okay, yes. I was sleeping and she showed up and we made out and I thought it was you, at first, but then realized it was her and ... it happened."

"Did you use a condom?" she asked.

I blinked. That was the first time I thought of the condoms hidden under the stack of T shirts in my dresser.

"Uh ... no," I said. I felt, suddenly, like I had to come up with an excuse for not doing so. "It was dark," I said.

I guess it was a good excuse, because she kissed me again. That turned into a five minute kiss, with her writhing against me. You have to understand that Phee, being a redhead, was very intense, and had these moods where she was ultra-emotional. After thinking about it, I decided that was why we had made love that first time. She'd bottled up her feelings for so long that they just went on a rampage inside of her and broke out and she lost control. And that's what happened again, now.

While she kissed me she lifted one of her legs in a move the cheerleaders do every so often. It's the one where they leave one leg on the ground, and stick the other one straight up. Sometimes they bend over sideways, so they look like they're doing the splits sideways. Sometimes they hug the leg sticking straight up and stand there. It looks impossible, but with all the stretching and working out they do, it's easy for some of them. We were in the bathtub, so she had plenty of room. She brought my hand up to her ankle, and even a simpleton would have known she wanted me to hold it there. So I did, and her hand went to my penis and got it started in her pussy. I was at least a simpleton, so I knew what that meant too. I went up on my toes and slid deep into hot pussy.

Then it was hard to breathe, so we stopped kissing. I didn't pay attention to her leg and it started down. What with me being busy trying to jab my prick upwards, her leg fell, but that was okay, because I was already in and all that did was squeeze my cock tightly. I bounced and she panted and pretty soon she covered her mouth with her hand and her eyes got real big and that invisible squeezing hand started jacking me off inside her.

I didn't think about T shirts then either.

I just went up on my toes and gave her every drop I had in me.

So that brings us up to date on the mice and men thing, and the fact that I was a very loose cannon when it came to spewing teenage semen around inside unprotected teenaged pussies. Sounds like the best of all worlds, doesn't it.

After all that I just described, Phee wouldn't speak to me for almost two weeks. She was mad because, from her perspective, it was my fault that the condom box was still in pristine condition. Then, the first time she did speak to me, it was to inform me that Danni's period was late by three days. After she told me that, she said "What are you going to do?"

This is both classic sister, and classic teenaged girl. They drop something like that on you, which you have absolutely no control over, and then ask you what your plans are to resolve the situation. Of course I didn't have an answer, and of course that made her mad at me again.

Two days later Danni had her period, which was great, because Beth had had one too, except now it was Phee who was late again.

And this time she was so late it turned into what is technically called a "missed" period.

As much as girls complain about their periods, you'd think that missing one would be an occasion to be happy.

Not so much.

There were tears and emergency meetings, and nobody touched my penis with a ten foot pole. At least nobody asked me what I was going to do. And, as young girls will, Phee decided to wait, and not tell our parents about this little burp in her menstrual cycle.

Which actually turned out not to be as insane as it seems, because exactly twenty-eight days later, she got her period right on schedule. About five years later, Phee (and therefore I) would learn from our mother that missed periods weren't all that unusual in our family. Mom had thought she was pregnant half a dozen times when all it was was a missed period due to stress.

Of course that would happen five years later, so the girls, in their mission to understand what had happened ... and not having access to a real, live doctor ... used the internet to try to figure out what had happened. And they even arrived at the right conclusion, that worrying about being late had caused them both to be late. In Phee's case, they found one citation that said stress could cause a missed period. They jumped on that with all ten feet, because that solved the problem.

Now the curious thing about all this is that in deciding to believe something they read on the internet, without any testing verification or anything like that, things somehow got translated into the idea that the dangers involving Tut and his penis were manageable after all.

In other words, they put all those ten foot poles back in the closet or wherever, because they didn't feel like they needed them any more.

Phee was the first, which might tend to blow your mind, seeing as how she'd been put through the wringer, thinking she was pregnant with an incest baby for a month. You're thinking about it the wrong way, though. Think "Get back on that horse and conquer your fears!"

The condom box was broken open, of course. Too much had happened to even be able to forget about condoms again.

You know how you never, ever hear somebody ranting and raving about how great it is to use a condom? There's a reason for that. Our first clue was in just getting the damn thing on. It's easy, right? Mrs. Hollister demonstrated that in Health and Human Sexuality class every year, using a banana. Mrs. Hollister isn't a bad looking woman, by the way, and I suspect she and her banana have been responsible for literally gallons of semen being brought into the world and deposited on hundreds of towels, or dirty underwear.

But the point is she made it look easy. Of course she'd done it dozens of times. And she didn't have to worry about the banana going soft on her because there's just nothing sexy about stopping in the middle of things and fumbling around with slippery latex. And you can't even begin to use a condom until things are "go for launch" so to speak. The first person who comes up with a condom that can be applied to a flaccid penis and still be where it's supposed to be when that penis is erect, will be a billionaire overnight.

Then there are all those claims about how natural this or that brand feels.

That's just bullshit. I've tried ten different brands, and they all feel like I'm fucking a bicycle inner tube.

Okay, maybe it's not quite that bad, but it's nothing like "natural."

But we used the damn things, and we got the job done, except it seemed more like work than having fun.

I know I'm making it sound like all pleasure was gone. That's not really true. There were some advantages. For example, the worry wasn't there any more. We didn't read the paper that came with them, and nobody remembers the statistics Mrs. Hollister faithfully reports, in an effort to scare kids into "just saying no." And, to be honest, I could go a lot longer when I was sheathed. The loss of sensation meant I didn't go off so soon. At one point we tried to see how many orgasms Phee could have in a row and we got to six before she got sore and we decided to stop.

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