Ron Taylor: High school hot pants

She came in torrents, moaning and whining and beating her fists on the polished deck of the sloop. I stroked myself as I read, knowing how she felt when the orgasmic explosion rocked her body, for hadn't I just experienced the same thing myself? Well, almost the same thing, and I was sure that it was close enough.

Ned was obviously very impressed by her sexual responses, for that night he took her to dinner, then to his private cabana on the hotel grounds. Jill's parents were still away and she accepted his invitation to stay the night. A night of apparent ecstasy. She described it in bursts of fiery prose, every stream of consciousness, drifting from fuck to suck to – good Lord! She even let him stick it up her ass? I shivered as I read that paragraph over twice, strumming myself furiously even as I doubted my own ability to perform that particular act. My finger slid into the crack of my butt and stroked tentatively at the super-tight back hole. I dug curiously, but I didn't even try to stick myself there. Unh-uh, I thought. Not for me. No matter how much Jill grooved on being buggered.

There was more, but she'd finished the hot parts and I put the letter down. Hmmmm, I pondered. Maybe she had a point. Didn't it stand to reason that a mature male would know a lot more about sex than some boy wet behind the ears? God, Rocky was in my class at school.

But nothing serious. I wasn't damaged, just deflowered. So what was next? Well, Jill was charting a pretty good course for me. I'd be foolish to ignore it. We'd have some far-out things to talk about in the future, especially once I'd gone out and tried a man on for size just like she'd done. And why not tomorrow?

I suppose I could have tried it in Albany, but I was afraid that somehow it would all get back to my parents. Albany isn't a very big town and a little gossip goes a long, long way. Besides, by the time school started in September, everybody in junior and senior high would know that Rocky had busted me dining the summer. Surely I'd contributed enough to the gossip mills already.

So I bought a bus ticket to Columbus. Round trip is only a couple of dollars, and the trip is just forty five minutes, thanks to the Interstate. I told Mom I was going shopping, maybe to see a movie, too, and she allowed as how it sounded like a good idea and I should have a nice time. Uh-huh, I thought a very nice time, if everything worked. The bus left at 10:00 the next morning and I was on it, my ass itching to get into the game Jill had already tried. It was sorta like going to work, you know? The last bus for home evacuated Columbus at 6:00, so I had eight hours to make a score.

The only big handicap was, I didn't know how or where to begin. I walked along Broad Street, window shopping for clothes and men alike, and I must have seen dozens of guys I thought were the type I was looking for, but how in the hell did I go about letting them pick me up? Did I just walk up to that gray-templed, super distinguished-looking man with a briefcase and a three-hundred-dollar suit, flash him my pearliest smile and say, "Hi, my name is Didi Sayers, and I really think you could do me some good in a motel room. What do you say?"

All the way up on the bus I'd been rehearsing how easy it would be. I'd see him, he'd see me, we'd get together, and fifteen minutes later he'd be showing me the ropes, the way Jill's Ned had done. But there were so many people. I couldn't accost somebody on a street corner while we were waiting for the light to change. I tried, damn it, but the words froze in my throat and the man, who looked rather like a state official of some kind, just walked on while I stood behind blushing for shame.

I even tried my hand at cruising the cocktail lounges and bars which looked ritzy enough to attract the right clientele, but I got thrown out of two before I could even ask for a drink, and in the third the bartender let me order but then he asked me for an I.D., so I just got up and left. How had Jill done it at the poolside bar? She didn't look a bit older than I did. Or maybe at the hotel they just didn't give a damn. Could that be it? All I knew was, I was sure striking out, every inning.

Maybe the OSU campus would be a good bet. I'd read a dirty novel about a couple of freshman girls and their first year at a big university, and in it, all the male professors – not to mention most of the lady profs, too! – were constantly on the make for hot girl stuff. If real professors were half as horny as the ones in the book, I might be in luck.

Admittedly I was beginning to have second thoughts by the time I'd walked up to OSU. My legs were sore, and my cunt didn't burn with quite the same degree of hunger, and it really looked as if I'd blown the bus fare. Well, I rationalized, anything Jill could do, I could do.

It was interesting to walk around Ohio State, because if I make it through high school I'll probably end up as a student here. My sincerest wish, though, was that I'd know more about picking up men when I was eighteen than I did now. It was summer, and the campus wasn't exactly over-populated, but there were plenty of guys and all of them looked like older men to me. However, each time I thought about making a pass, I just froze in panic. Talk about depressing! I couldn't get experience not like Jill's, without sampling a lot of action, but I couldn't get the action because I wasn't experienced enough to know how. So I just walked.

There was the stadium. It doesn't have a gold plated statue of Woody Hayes yet, but it will someday. If he ran for President, he'd carry Ohio. I stepped into the street, framing the stadium with my hands so I could describe it in case Daddy asked any questions, and that was when I heard brakes squealing like hungry pups and felt something give a hell of a jerk at my waist.

I thought at first I'd been hit and was being thrown toward the sidewalk, but that was only panic. A university maintenance truck was still braking on the street, and the driver, a rat-faced guy with a beard, was shaking his first at me through the window. I suppose I'd walked right out in front of him.

"Are you okay?" said a voice at my ear, and I turned around to see who had dragged me toward safety.

"Yeah," I told him, because it was a hint. Very small – two or three inches shorter than I am – with a face like a leprechaun, he was steadying me with a hand on my waist, and that was fine because I had begun to shake uncontrollably as I realized how close I had come to being smeared by the truck.

I just collapsed against him, holding on for dear life and sobbing rather hysterically. "Oh, thank you!" I told him again and again. "That guy would have killed me!"

"You were asking for it," he said. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to look both ways?"

I just smiled, straightening a little and taking a closer look at him. He wasn't at all the distinguished type I'd planned on meeting today. He had a tobacco and whiskey aroma hovering close to his body, but it wasn't unpleasant, and there was a friendly, lived-in look to his face that rather attracted me. Jill probably wouldn't have even him a second glance, but she seemed to be drawing constantly a higher class of man than I could find. "Wow," I said, "I think I'd like to sit down and get my head together again." In ten minutes his Pinto had shuttled us to his front door, on a quiet side street not far from the campus.

We exchanged names. His was B.E. Courtney. I asked what the initials stood for, and he told me "B.E.", which seemed pretty definitive. His house was small, rented, and sparsely furnished. Like a good host, he allowed me the sofa and took the floor for himself.

The shock of the near-accident was wearing off. When I finished my coffee I felt a lot better, so he poured me a jolt of Canadian Club, which really hit the spot. I felt a whole lot better. My shoes clattered to the floor and I stretched on the sofa, wondering if he'd noticed that I had a prime body. Like I told you, he wasn't outstanding, not like any of Jill's males. His hair was receding and he was short and kinda skinny-looking. I guess he could've been anywhere from thirty to forty years old. But his eyes were nice and he'd saved my life, and it didn't look as if I were going to turn up anyone else. So I'd make do with B.E. Mightn't be too bad.