was too embarrassed to call me again.
There were several dozen of us in the mountainous woods. There was also a lot of beer and as night fell those who hadn’ t paired off had either passed out by the fire or were nervously weighing their options.
I sipped a beer , trying not to grimace over the taste. It had never really appealed to me. A friend of Fred’s sat on the other side of the crackling fire, idly strumming a guitar. I knew him to be a moodily quiet philosophy major with a good body.
“You play very well,” I lied.
“Hmmm,” he examined his fingering and didn’t look up. After a few moments Amber, a leggy brunette, sidled up to him and whispered in his ear. He grinned and they disappeared into the darkness together.
I sighe d and returned to my beer, figuring if I wasn’t going to have any success I could at least get piss drunk and see what that was like.
“You can stay in my tent, Angela.”
Matthew was a fellow history major with an eerily intense passion for ancient Greece. The eager way he surveyed me was a little depressing since although he seemed a nice sort, behind his green eyes there wasn’t much passionate fire. But at that point I settled for smoke.
“Sure,” I smiled prettily and let him lead me back to a very low tent like structure which looked like it was meant for a child.
Once we got inside things got interesting. Matthew rolled backwards out of the tent when he tried to wrestle my jeans down my hips. And then he battled with the little foil pouch for a while before tearing a corner with his teeth and unrolling the damn condom, looking perplexed.
The earth didn’t move. It didn’t even twitch.
Still, I was rather pleased to have finally divested myself of my vaunted virginity. Never mind the fact that I still didn’t have a clue what all the fuss was about. Matthew and I screwed exactly three more times that week until he ran out of condoms. And on the last time I felt the vaguest twinges of what might have been the precursor to actual pleasure.
Despite the vague sting I felt when Matthew found a n eager art history major offering to give him head, I congratulated myself on my success. Until I finally returned to my bleak dorm room and sat on the edge of the narrow bed. Then the memory of Matthew’s awkward fumbling and my quiet acceptance revolted me.
As I tore off my clothes and bundled myself into the terrycloth robe which had been a Christmas present from my parents, I padded down the hall to the bathroom. I was grateful the showers were empty and as I stepped under the steamy spray my mind wandered.
I thought about full crotches and tight asses, of broad shoulders and tanned muscles, of all the varied male specimens I had ever encountered who coaxed that peculiar pull of want in my belly.
And I knew, with certainty, that there was more to it all than that sorry pup tent humping.
As the steam rose around me in clouds I let the water run through my hair, closing my eyes and thinking about the silver glint of handlebars over black wheels, of hard legs straddling either side as man and motorcycle rode on by, bristling with sexual energy. The rider paused long enough to glance back with a knowing stare and with a jolt I knew him. He looked exactly like my half-forgotten childhood neighbor, Marco Bendetti.
And that was how I discovered that my own hand , and a wild daydream, could be extraordinarily satisfying.
***
The house was quiet. I expected my father would be down at the store. There was a note on the kitchen chalkboard in my mother’s plump handwriting.
Ang ie,
Gone for a walk.
I’ll be home by 4 to make dinner.
X0X0X0X0, Mama
My stomach burbled with loud neglect and so I began poking around in the cabinets for something to eat. After considering for several moments I finally sat down with a simple bowl of cornflakes. I chewed slowly, trying not to think. The kitchen was
There were several dozen of us in the mountainous woods. There was also a lot of beer and as night fell those who hadn’ t paired off had either passed out by the fire or were nervously weighing their options.
I sipped a beer , trying not to grimace over the taste. It had never really appealed to me. A friend of Fred’s sat on the other side of the crackling fire, idly strumming a guitar. I knew him to be a moodily quiet philosophy major with a good body.
“You play very well,” I lied.
“Hmmm,” he examined his fingering and didn’t look up. After a few moments Amber, a leggy brunette, sidled up to him and whispered in his ear. He grinned and they disappeared into the darkness together.
I sighe d and returned to my beer, figuring if I wasn’t going to have any success I could at least get piss drunk and see what that was like.
“You can stay in my tent, Angela.”
Matthew was a fellow history major with an eerily intense passion for ancient Greece. The eager way he surveyed me was a little depressing since although he seemed a nice sort, behind his green eyes there wasn’t much passionate fire. But at that point I settled for smoke.
“Sure,” I smiled prettily and let him lead me back to a very low tent like structure which looked like it was meant for a child.
Once we got inside things got interesting. Matthew rolled backwards out of the tent when he tried to wrestle my jeans down my hips. And then he battled with the little foil pouch for a while before tearing a corner with his teeth and unrolling the damn condom, looking perplexed.
The earth didn’t move. It didn’t even twitch.
Still, I was rather pleased to have finally divested myself of my vaunted virginity. Never mind the fact that I still didn’t have a clue what all the fuss was about. Matthew and I screwed exactly three more times that week until he ran out of condoms. And on the last time I felt the vaguest twinges of what might have been the precursor to actual pleasure.
Despite the vague sting I felt when Matthew found a n eager art history major offering to give him head, I congratulated myself on my success. Until I finally returned to my bleak dorm room and sat on the edge of the narrow bed. Then the memory of Matthew’s awkward fumbling and my quiet acceptance revolted me.
As I tore off my clothes and bundled myself into the terrycloth robe which had been a Christmas present from my parents, I padded down the hall to the bathroom. I was grateful the showers were empty and as I stepped under the steamy spray my mind wandered.
I thought about full crotches and tight asses, of broad shoulders and tanned muscles, of all the varied male specimens I had ever encountered who coaxed that peculiar pull of want in my belly.
And I knew, with certainty, that there was more to it all than that sorry pup tent humping.
As the steam rose around me in clouds I let the water run through my hair, closing my eyes and thinking about the silver glint of handlebars over black wheels, of hard legs straddling either side as man and motorcycle rode on by, bristling with sexual energy. The rider paused long enough to glance back with a knowing stare and with a jolt I knew him. He looked exactly like my half-forgotten childhood neighbor, Marco Bendetti.
And that was how I discovered that my own hand , and a wild daydream, could be extraordinarily satisfying.
***
The house was quiet. I expected my father would be down at the store. There was a note on the kitchen chalkboard in my mother’s plump handwriting.
Ang ie,
Gone for a walk.
I’ll be home by 4 to make dinner.
X0X0X0X0, Mama
My stomach burbled with loud neglect and so I began poking around in the cabinets for something to eat. After considering for several moments I finally sat down with a simple bowl of cornflakes. I chewed slowly, trying not to think. The kitchen was
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