Summer School Ch. 01

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Eighteen was an interesting year for me.

Oh hell, let me start that over.

Eighteen was the year that changed my life.

Yeah, that’s more like it.

I like to think it was the year that changed my life for the better. I leave that for you, gentle reader, to decide.

A little background.

I was raised by a single mom. As I would find out later, mom was an alcoholic and what we would call today a party girl. I looked at my summers in a small town in Eastern Colorado – never mind which one – as a treat. Kind of my extended summer camp where I had cousins to play with and uncles to teach me important things like how to shoot, smoke, and drink whiskey in the front seat of an old pickup truck. As I learned later, it was mom’s vacation too, when she could party to her heart’s content and fuck anything with a hard dick.

But as happens, puberty struck. And so here I was, eighteen, a recent high school graduate, and still a virgin. I noticed that mom, as she walked through our small house barely dressed, had interesting parts. Sometimes at night I would sneak into her room and peek, captivated by the shape of her breasts and wondering why she had that towel between her legs after she came home from a date.

Any man reading this understands. My dick was always hard and after a friend taught me about masturbation, well, my hand was always down there. George Carlin did a bit on that once, and I laughed until I couldn’t breathe. In part, I suppose it was the pot I had smoked, but in part, it just hit so close to home. He told of how a bursa escort friend had taught him how to masturbate. Part of that, though, had been a warning that there were only a half million of those available. The punch line – – “so, as I hit four hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred, ninety-nine,” dramatic pause, “four days later.”

So anyway, here I was, it was 1961, I was 18 years old with absolutely no knowledge of sex beyond draining the old dragon about every hour. Remember, this was pre-internet. I had exactly one Playboy magazine that I pretty much wore out, kept carefully hidden between mattresses, and a friend once regaled me with his pictures of legs, clipped out of the Penney’s catalog. Ignorant is the word that described me as we drove east on Highway 40.

Mom was in good spirits. Her two breakfast screwdrivers had mellowed her out and her hangover seemed broken. She was singing along to the radio.

“Looking forward to summer?” she asked, flicking the butt of her Kool cigarette out the window.

“Sure,” I said, although not as happily as I might have in the past. I had gone to the public swimming pool a couple of times and discovered that girls in my classes looked quite wonderful in their two-piece bathing suits. I wasn’t looking forward to a summer away from the girls I knew.

What had my attention right then was that she had obviously not put on a bra that morning before we left the house. The car, a 1957 Cadillac with intermittent air conditioning, was warm on this early summer day so the windows were open. It bursa escort bayan was blowing her hair, making her look like something out of a movie. I found the dark sweat circles under her arms fascinating.

“God, Davey,” she said, giggling and patting my arm, “take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

I blushed in my embarrassment.

She chuckled, that throaty whisky (well, vodka) and cigarette coarsened deep throated soft laugh.

“It’s okay honey,” she said, “just put your eyes back in your head.”

We made our regular stop in Deer Trail, a tiny little berg on the way east from Denver. She had a screwdriver and I had a Coke. She flirted outrageously with the bartender as I sat quietly. I went to the bathroom, peed, and jacked off, ready for the second half of the trip.

At my great-grandmother’s house, we were greeted, as we always were, with kisses and hugs. She was one of those fat grammas, almost a prototype, and, again, my newly hypersensitive body reacted when she pulled me to her so my face was buried between two immense pillow boobs. We made the rounds then, aunts and uncles, well, my great aunts and uncles, moms aunts and uncles, and as any 18-year-old, I was bored out of my skull.

As soon as I could I went walking up to Betty’s house, my best friend since the time her half-nuts older brother had threatened to cut my dick off and she had rescued me.

Damn, she had those interesting curves too, now.

She didn’t seem as glad to see me as she had been in the past and, for the first time, it was awkward between escort bursa us.

I made my way to the town library, two blocks from my great-gramma’s house, and checked out a couple of science fiction books, the only two Robert Heinlein novels they had on the shelves. Back at her house and feeling kind of out of sorts after Betty’s greeting, I tried to read but couldn’t get interested. So I took a walk, looking around, getting reacquainted with the little town, so different from Denver.

When the sun went down I sat with gramma on her porch swing. As I had a thousand times I leaned against her and she wrapped that big soft arm across my shoulder. I was more aware of the big breast I was snuggled against than I was ever aware of anything else. I guess I was moving, kind of nuzzling, because she giggled, a very soft sound, and patted my head.

“Easy, Davey,” she said.

She was always early to bed so it was about 8:00 when I found myself in bed, once again trying to concentrate on my book.

I heard the window slide open and was not surprised to see my cousin Margie crawling through it.

She was a couple of years older than I was, and we had always been pretty close. She would often sneak into my room like this and scare me with spooky stories or we would read things together.

And damn if SHE didn’t have those interesting curves too.

She kissed me, giggling, shushing me when I tried to say anything.

“Shhhhhh,” she whispered very quietly in my ear, “I’ve been told we’re too old for this now.”

She kissed me again, real man-woman, well, boy-girl kisses. Certainly more than the pecks cousins shared.

And her hand slipped under the elastic of my tidy whities and brushed against where I was so hard.

She giggled and whispered, “maybe they were right.”

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