(Author's Note: this is one chapter in my on-going sexual self-examination. Theoretically each part should stand on its own and their chronological order is irrelevant.
"Kael's Diary" is a work of fiction and the people and situations described herein and from the imagination of its author. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.)
Please feel free to send comments to Kael.
I was fifteen, going on sixteen. Reagan was gearing up to win reelection, MTV was still considered a novelty and the second installment of the Indiana Jones movies had only just come out the previous weekend.
I was only just beginning to develop any form of self-esteem -- I had recently changed my hair style from that long, stringy mop that used to conveniently hang in front of my eyes to that popular, short and neatly parted style all us young republicans were into those days. I had even risked all forms of abuse by tinting it a shocking blonde, the very first of my forays into alternative hair color. It's normal shade is a dirty kind of blonde, so one might think it wasn't such a radical alteration, but in that closed suburban community, in that high school, well, you would fare well never changing the kind of shoes you normally wore. God, were they cruel.
Sophomore year was at an end. The deathly Cleveland winter was long past and summer was on its way. Soon we would all be hanging out at the lake or the swimming pool, enjoying the poppy sounds of Cyndi Lauper, Huey Lewis and the News, and of course, the hottest single out was the theme to "Ghostbusters". I started getting used to standing straight up, all six feet, taking a little pride in myself -- I was a teenager of the eighties, I was young, I was healthy, I was even going to Spain that summer for some of that "studying abroad" people talk about.
And, of course, I was in love.
Did she know it? Sure she did. At least, I thought she did. I did walk over to her house on her birthday to give her a long stemmed rose. I did (and I still don't believe this one) slip an anonymous (but not too anonymous) note into her locker telling her how cool I thought she was. And she must have loved the attention. But I wasn't for her. Just a little too geeky.
Today we were part of a car wash for Youth League, this ridiculous high school Christian association we both loved going to every single Tuesday night to share our love for Jesus Christ. Well, that's why she was there.
Michelle. A freshman, just about to turn fifteen, strong Nordic features, she had a round face, silky white (with a bright, rugged blush in the cheeks when horsing around or embarrassed) with longish, bright blonde (real) hair, and full, red, bubble gum lips. And though I had always considered myself above ogling anyone, it was difficult not to notice (as I did for the first time that day) how abnormally large her boobs were. Water gets all over during a good old fashioned car wash and her T-shirt was adhering itself to her in the most appealing way.
I don't know what was up this particular day, I must have been acting far too nonchalant for it not to have been ridiculously obvious that I was in so much fear of saying something stupid that I chose to rather say nothing at all.
"Hey, Kael!" she said as I rode up on my ten speed. God, she said Hey! like I was a friend or something. "I didn't know you wanted to waste your Saturday doing this thing." She walked towards me with her hands behind her back.
"Oh yeah," I said, dismounting (the bike -- this isn't your father's porn), "I've always really liked...washing...cars."
"Ah," she said, and swiftly whipped a juicy, soapy sponge at my face. I ducked rather awkwardly, and fell backwards in an attempt to retrieve her soggy missile. Already I had gotten very excited at the idea of some kind of playful water fight with her, to, you know, show her I was cool and all, but by the time I turned back she had already become reengaged in what was already a massive garden hose, mop bucket, wet rag bonanza which I had apparently just ridden into the outskirts of.
Michelle didn't care about me. I was just another target.
***
That night I found myself in the same old position. Sitting in a movie theater. We were watching "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" and it wasn't as good as the original. I attended with my good old freshman buddy Don, and two completely unattractive girls named Margo and Fran. Okay, that wasn't fair, only Margo was unattractive, and luckily she was hitting on Don. Margo was just a bit too pudgy, her hair was frizzy and she had moles in the most unappetizing of places. Fran, while no prize winner, was at least quite intelligent and I had a great time talking with her.
There was still absolutely NO excuse for bringing them all back to my house.
True, my folks were out of town for a week. I had always been such a model son, never drinking (or getting caught), never taking drugs (or getting caught), never staying out late without permission (this is true), they felt I could be trusted. And so pudgy Don and his pudgy date Margo, and Fran and I ended up on the scratchy shag carpeting of the family room, frantically kissing, rolling around, wrestling, and basically letting all of our hormones do the talking.
But if Don was going to start prizing Margo out of her parachute pants, I didn't want to be there. I scrabbled across the family room to the kitchen, skidded across the linoleum and collapsed in the living room on the other side of the house.
Fran was close behind.
Fran's hair was that kind I still hate, unless the woman (or man) knows how to wear it well. One word -- bangs. I hate them. Hair cut straight across just above the eyebrows, it's just so Frankenstein. And then it just fell straight down either side of her flat face. Her face though, now that was nice. High cheeks, a small but well defined chin, lots of exciting angles to her face and little exciting freckles and lots of them. No real lips to speak of, but I was dealing.
"Hello, Kael," she said. She brought her face up to mine and began to nuzzle at my neck. Her thin lips pursed and kissed just under my chin. She let her fingers play about my chest and she drew a small line down to my navel.
"Hiya, Fran," I said, and with trembling fingers I began undoing the buttons on her short sleeved, plaid patterned, cotton shirt. She kept kissing me as I freed all of the little buttons. Underneath she was wearing an adorable, soft cotton bra. I was amused at why someone with no chest to speak of wore one, but why be insulting?
My lips (I am now very proud of my lips -- they are quite sensual, women love them, they are neither too thin nor are they too large and slobbery. I can pout -- if I want to) found one of the shallow ravines of her neck and I began drawing up toward her ear with my tongue, while also deftly undoing the latch waiting in the front of her bra. The one hand I wasn't using to support myself touched her chest just above where her rib cage started. I was surprised. Her flesh wasn't like any I had ever touched. It was so soft, it was like tightlypulled cloth.
"Oh, I have waited a long time for this," she whispered.
"Yeah?" I asked. My hand slid up and I carefully drew my thumb across her left nipple.
"Yeah," she said. "I always knew the two of us would get together like this." She laid a hand across my thigh and began massaging my leg.
"Oh yeah?" I said. I was honestly, overboardedly infatuated with another girl. Fran didn't need to know this.
"Yeah," she said, and flipped around suddenly, turning to face me, crouched as though ready to pounce.
Amazing. If you asked anyone about Fran, the first words might be nerd, brain, geek. She wrote for the school paper, she was an intellectual, she had no fashion sense or she didn't care.
Here she sat, her hands on the floor, her knees just behind, the street lights of that hot June evening came through the windows throwing sexy shadows and light onto her body, that awful shirt just dangling from either naked shoulder, her pointed face glaring at me with excitement and hunger, her neck taught, her chest heaving, two small pale nipples erect and waiting.
"Let's go upstairs," she said.
I turned and ran, and Fran followed close behind.
***
Whump, she tossed me, flat on my back, onto my parents queen size bed. I squirmed slightly, wriggling back over the polyester bed cover towards the headboard to sit up a little. Fran stood at the foot of the bed. It was real dark, no light in the room, only the stray beams of a suburban streetlight catching her skinny shoulders and arms as she removed the dangling, nasty shirt and flung her bitsy bra wherever. She dropped her face, peering at me in the gloom from under those bangs and began crawling up on top of me.
She reached for my T-shirt and began to peel it off. I put out a hand to stop her.
"What?" Fran asked.
"Oh, uh," I said, "I just, uh, leave my shirt on, okay?"
"Hmn," she said, looking down at herself, kneeling over me. I put out my hands, playing with the soft, soft, almost cotton-like flesh of her arms and leaned up a bit to touch my tongue to one of her nipples, the left one. It was soft and salty and she pressed her hands to either side of my head. I suckled for a few moments before she tried lifting my face up to hers to give me another one of those...this is way difficult.
Her kisses were so wrong. She didn't know how to press her lips together or anything, she just didn't have the knack. And I was too immature to take control of the situation. She knew what she wanted, she wanted me, on my back, naked and hers and very, very badly. I wanted to fool around, sure, but it was all getting so confused. I'd never fucked anyone, let alone engaged in advanced sexual maneuvers with anyone I hadn't been dating for a few weeks first.
I ducked and kissed her neck instead. She loved that and let me know it. Her fingers touched the drawstring of my shorts and began fiddling with the knot. Seconds was all it took, she had successfully loosened them and was pulling the shorts and my comically precummed underwear, down around my hips and right on off my legs. My terribly swollen (and also confused) penis snapped back as the undersized underwear it had been constrained in and stuck to pulled free leaving it to bob and pulse, its gummy tip resting against the bottom of my T-shirt.
Fran carelessly tossed my pants aside, gave me a smirk and leaned over my groin.
"What have we here?" she said.
What have we here? Well, that was a cheesy thing to say.
I peered awkwardly down at the top of her head. She was gently kissing (or at least pressing her lips against) my penis and using the tip of her tongue to lick all remnants of precum away. She took long strokes at it, licking and kissing, and I began to ache horribly. A pain that began deep within my balls and spread out to the tip of my dick and it just made me want to curl up and just be left alone for a while, except for that fact that every time she hammered her tongue against my fleshy underside it all went away, and the fraction of a second she detached, it slammed back with even more venomous force.
I wanted to come, very badly, all over her face, only I didn't even know it. I had never orgasmed in anyone's presence before, I was horrified to try it.
She threw her head back and looked up at me.
"Please take your shirt off, Kael," Fran said.
Please understand I had a scary case of acne that only affected my chest and back and virtually (but not completely) avoided my face. I was understandably sensitive about this, but it was dark, and maybe she wouldn't notice. I lifted my shirt up over my head and off and flicked it into a far corner. I was now naked on my parents' bed on hot summers' evening.
"Should I take my pants off?" Fran asked. What she meant was, 'would you take my pants off?' and I knew it, so I sat up, reach forward, and undid her jeans. They came down and off rather simply and there we lay, side by side, naked and alone, the bedroom window open, letting a light, sticky breeze flow over our light, sticky bodies.
She placed a hand to the side of my face, and leaned in to kiss me.
"Please, Fran," I said, "Don't."
"What?"
"Look, just don't, uh, don't kiss me. I know it sounds horrible, but, uh, I'm not like really dating you and," her face began falling fast, "I mean, I really like you and I like being here," OH, was that a lie, "but I just find it difficult kissing someone I'm not in love with."
What? What was wrong with me? I just opened my mouth and a turd came out. I blame it on guilt-ridden Christian upbringing, fear of ridicule, just being a dork, I dunno. I could have shown her how to kiss, maybe we could have made love right there, my first time with a girl who truly adored me...maybe I should just face facts and realize I didn't really like her that much, our situation was a matter of circumstance and if I weren't so pathetically horny and fucked up over Michelle I would never have taken advantage of this parents out of town thing to get someone, ANYONE to pay attention to me.
"You're kidding," she said.
"I feel very awkward."
"You're being an asshole.
" "I'm sorry," I said, "Here, just lie back, let me pay attention to you for a while."
"Hmn," she said, and laid back against the slippery bedcover. Her head rested against the pillows, her hands fell to either side of her slim hips and she slowly slid her legs apart. I hadn't noticed before how strong a scent was beginning to come from her -- I was laughing ignorant of how aroused women can become, I was at that stage of development where it never dawned on me that girls could actually be more horny than boys could. They don't have penises, so they can't get erections, so there's no obvious physical evidence of arousal...unless you happen you have a vagina sitting right in front of you on your parents' bed, wide open and waiting.
I stared for a moment, and then laid a tentative hand over the tuft of hair above her sex, and drew my finger down and through the hot, moist folds of skin. She shuddered slightly and let out a moan that was a little more than what that unskilled action should have provoked. My middle finger, back and forth now, I never, shit was Fran, there was just so MUCH liquid there. She was dripping with the stuff.
"Inside me, Kael, yes, inside me," she breathed.
I shoved my finger up and into her.
"Yes!" she cried, "Yes, Kael!"
I looked up at her face. Her eyes were closed and her head rocked backwards, arching her chest in the most appealing way, if only --
"Go exploring, Kael," she hummed, "explore, Kael, Just like Indiana Jones!"
Oh, this was just wrong. I don't think I'd ever, nor would I ever, hear anyone say anything so lame during intimate relations in my life.
"Explore," she uttered, humping my hand, "Explore, like Indiana Jones!"
"Please," I thought, "don't speak." But I'd already told her not to kiss me, now I was going to demand she not speak? What was I doing there. What was she doing there?
I finger fucked her for a few minutes. I'd had enough. I'd made a terrible mistake and needed to get out. My left hand was wet and smelly, I withdrew my finger and lay down next to her.
"I'm sleepy," I said.
"Wanna take a shower?" she asked. "Play some water sports?"
"Really, Frannie," I said, "I'm not feeling very well now." This was true. I had a case of blue balls so criminal I just wanted to curl up and die.
"No, Kael," she almost cried, "you can't. Don't do this."
"I'm serious, Fran, I hurt." I pathetically crawled off the bed and started collecting my clothes. She sat up in bed and stared at me as I crept around, her whole, pale, shimmering body staring at me with greater intensity than her eyes could alone. Her young, teenage, lithe and naked body, a physical incrimination of what I was walking away from, sitting there, not saying anything.
I put my T-shirt on first.
"Fine," she said, finally, defiantly, not letting me know she was terribly hurt. "Where shall we sleep?"
"Oh, I, uhh," terrible cramp, "I was gonna go downstairs and see how Don and Margo are getting on."
"Better than we are, I'm sure," she said.
I slithered out of the room and downstairs. Don and Margo were nowhere to be found, but the den door was closed. I drew my own conclusions (which were right) and flopped onto the couch. The discomfort in my crotch had grown to governmental proportions and I stayed there in a ball for an hour without getting to sleep. Don and Margo never emerged from the den, and Fran never came downstairs.
What I thought as I tried to lose consciousness, apart from OH GOD WILL THIS PAIN AND/OR EMBARRASSMENT EVER STOP was, why couldn't it have been Michelle? I could have asked her out at the car wash, right? And then she would have come back here, oh sure, that would have happened, my life sucks.
My erection had subsided and a I put one hand into my shorts and twitted around with my little, sticky penis. Blue balls. If only I jacked off or something this pain would go away, but I didn't know that yet. If I had only jacked off...or let her satisfy me. And then satisfied her. What was I, saving myself? Afraid of Hell? Afraid the other kids would find out I'd been messing around with dorky Fran? That was probably closest to the truth. I promised myself I would never, ever, ever get into a situation like this ever, ever again.
At least, not without coming first.