Ron Taylor: High school hot pants

Well, I had to get back, because the folks were expecting me for supper. Of course, I'd drunk of the wellspring of life itself, and mere food could never satisfy my needs again, but I had to put in an appearance lest they get the cops out looking for me. Kerry and I bid a passionate, tender farewell, and he's invited me to come swimming with him tonight, when the moon is up and the stars can shed a canopy of twinkling lights for our love. And – Didi – tonight, I'm going to let him fuck me. I know I am. I can't chicken out again. Not the way I feel now. How have I lived this long without knowing the joy of raw, hot sex?

I'm writing this in the hotel room. Mom is getting out of bed after her nap, and we'll be going down to supper very soon, so I'd better knock off now. There will definitely be further word, as soon as I have further word to send you, dear Didi. I hope you don't resent me for taking this really giant step without you, and I feel so sorry for you, trapped in Ohio with no one to give you what Kerry is going to give me, and so soon – so soooooonnnnn!

Goodbye for now, Didi. I'll write again.

Love, Jill

It certainly wasn't your proverbial cold day in July, but I was shivering and trembling as I sat on the bench. Jill's letter was in my hands and I was staring at it, but my eyes were all blurred, as if a mist had settled across them. If that Frisbee had bopped me on the head then, if it had taken off the whole top of my skull, I probably wouldn't have noticed until the blades of grass tickled my nostrils.

Jill and – and a boy! God in heaven! It was as unplanned and as irresistible as a sex scene in one of the porno books we used to read to each other, but this – wow, this had actually happened! And to my very best friend in the whole world!

She'd asked me not to feel hurt because she'd gone ahead without me, but I couldn't help it. I did feel hurt, and left out too. But it was silly. Jill and I were only friends, even though great friends. She had a life that belonged to her, and so did I, and neither of us could live the other's. If she wanted to throw herself away on some guy she didn't know from Adam twenty minutes before they met, wasn't it her business?

And wasn't I showing my catty little claws, too?

I thought, very angry with myself. I was jealous.

Jill had sucked a guy's prick to throbbing, gushing orgasm in her tight-lipped little mouth, and she had obviously dug the hell out of doing it. I hadn't, and I was jealous. It was that simple.

Well, it wasn't because nobody had ever asked me. Freddie Miller, the last guy I dated for any length of time – six dates, all told – had begged me to just kiss the tip of his dick. He'd even taken it out and showed me how stiff and red it had become as a response to Freddie's hands roving on my body. I had told him by way of answer, "Not in your fucking life!" Freddie wasn't my type, even if he did care enough to ask me out. But I thought that letting him kiss me and feel my tits was payment enough for his consideration. Dating the tallest girl in ninth grade certainly didn't entitle him to all the ass he could digest. Besides, he was a nerd, and I was waiting for Prince Charming to come along and charm the pants off my hot, but unconvinced bottom.

So it looked as if Jill's Prince Charming had finally shown up. Where the hell was mine? I felt more alone than ever as I folded the letter, put it into my hip pocket, and rose from the park bench. I'd walk home the long way, to give myself time to think about all these new developments. Jill wouldn't be the same Jill now. She'd be someone I didn't really know any more. Like she'd said in the letter, she had been a silly girl; now she was a woman. And that meant I was still just a silly little girl. What would it do to our friendship? God, when Jill got home, she wouldn't want anything to do with me! She'd only want to talk about this guy Kerry, and what she'd done with him in his van.

"Tonight," I said in a half-whisper. "Tonight she's going to fuck him!" But it wasn't tonight. The letter had been mailed two or three days ago. Last night, or the night before, Jill had experienced her first fuck. As far as she was concerned, the letter I'd just read was all past history. What else might she have done since writing it? Goddamn the Postal Service and their dead-ass, draggy mail delivery! The news I'd gotten today was stale and decayed by now. "Shit," I grumbled, kicking a small rock out of the way.

My shoe came unlaced and I knelt to retie it. I heard giggling on the path behind me, and I turned my head in time to see a couple of kids walking along, holding hands, red-faced from chuckling at some private joke.

Just as I finished lacing my tennie, they stepped off the path, into the woods, and disappeared. Hmm, I thought. The only thing in that tangle of trees and close-growing underbrush was the old memorial to the County's Civil War soldiers. A towering shaft of granite, topped by a statue of a mustachioed Yankee, the memorial had been dreadfully neglected in the past thirty years or so. With the local G.A.R. post closed down indefinitely, the city didn't even bother cleaning away the forest growth around it, so that you had to be Frank Buck if you wanted to go in and take a look. One very nice thing about it was its isolation, though; the difficulty of access meant that only the determined would visit it. During school term you could always luck into a pot-smoking gaggle around the base of the monument, and maybe somebody would sell you a cap of speed.

I wondered if these kids wow intending to blow a joint in the seclusion of the memorial. Probably. Maybe I could even bully my way into a few tokes. Or maybe I was just nosy. At any rate, with my shoe firmly tied, I started into the woods myself, my nose pointed like a compass needle toward the spire of the monument.

I heard them before I saw them, the woods being so thick in there, and there was a good bit of moist smacking mixed in with the giggles and soft talk. It didn't sound like weed-smoking to me. Maybe they were just discovering their body changes and had come out for a little petting party. Giggle, giggle, I thought: How does the bubble gum generation respond to the first urges of sex, anyway? I crept closer, parting bushes with my hands.

"Gee, Audrey," the boy was saying in a voice that was halfway through the change, "either your titties are getting bigger or my hand is getting smaller. Wonder which it is?" She laughed in the silly manner of little girls.

Laugh she might. The kid had pulled down her tube top, allowing her little boobs to spill over its upper edge, and he was tickling them with his fingertips. Audrey took in a deep breath, which made her titties lift for him, and she gave her shoulders a little shake to make the cupcakes bob as much as they could.

"You're getting bigger, too," Audrey chirped, and I saw that she'd already unzipped him. Her hand was a lump inside his pants and he was twitching from foot to foot as her fist moved around in there. His face got so red I couldn't see the freckles. God, I thought, has the sexual revolution gotten to seventh grade already?

It had, definitely. These were only kids, strictly speaking but there was nothing childish about the way they related. In a moment Audrey was on her knees, telling him, "Jimmy, why don't you sit down on the base of the memorial?" It was awkward for him to move with her hand jammed inside his pants, but he got himself seated, and she guided his stiff cock into the open air.

"Oooooooohh!" she exulted. "Look how big and hard it is! It's even bluer than last time, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh," he agreed proudly, undoing his belt buckle. As soon as he was unfastened, Audrey pulled his jeans all the way to his ankle. The little snot wasn't even wearing underwear, and he squirmed his ass on the granite as his girl friend began once more to fondle his cock.