Part 1 (2/2)

Sara was twelve also! For over fifty years that girl had filled my mind with fantasy and regret, because when I was twelve the first time, I had lost her. It was all about s.e.x. We had been such close friends, playmates since before we could remember, that we took each other for granted, a.s.suming that our childish world would remained unchanged.

Sara became s.e.xually conscious a year before me, and when we were eleven, I noticed a change in her that I could not comprehend. She played more physically with me, rough housing with increasing frequency, subtly inviting me to touch the nubs of her incipient b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

I was a shy boy and too unsophisticated to realize the possibilities. Ritchie, my closest male friend, eventually became her first boy friend, while I remained just pals with the two of them.

On my second chance at youth I resolved to have Sara, and it would be easy, because behind her tomboy facade, I knew, lurked a s.l.u.t who was ready for anything. I went out to find her immediately. Ritchie and she were on her back porch, heads together, whispering something.

She looked up and smiled when she saw me, suggesting, aHey, Tim! Letas go up to the field.a We had often played in that vast acreage of tall gra.s.ses and weeds, so fragrant in spring, where children could sit on the ground and be lost to the rest of the world. It was a notorious place in which teenagers enjoyed s.e.x hidden away in the lush vegetation.

But Sara was far from the sultry houri my fantasy remembered. She had a plain, somewhat mousy face, and her limbs were spa.r.s.e, almost skinny. I had imagined over the decades that she was a beautiful pixie, but the truth of it was that she looked more like an undernourished waif. I found Ritchie, who was far prettier than she, to be more s.e.xually attractive. It was a great disappointment, seeing her the second time around. A lifetime of daydreams suddenly became absurd. Yet I still wanted her, if only because I had invested so much of myself, emotionally, in my elaborate memory of the girl.

aLetas go up there by the railroad tracks,a Ritchie said, suggesting a slight detour.

aSure,a I responded as I came down the steps, and Sara agreed with a smile.

The tracks, two blocks away, were those of a little-used spur that penetrated the field and served a few industrial buildings along its route. We had played there forever, learning to walk the rails without teetering.

Sara seemed to be rather excited that morning. aLetas go into the field,a she insisted as soon as it was in view, taking our hands in each of hers.

We ran into it, the weeds slapping around our bare thighs, the houses of our neighborhood in the far distance. Sara suddenly fell to the ground, pulling Ritchie and me down with her. We rolled about to make a secret s.p.a.ce for ourselves. Only the birds and b.u.t.terflies could see us.

aDo you want to practice kissing?a she asked with a naughty smirk.

Sara was an inch taller than the two of us boys, but this time I refused to be intimidated by the bold girl. I rolled over to her and placed my palm on a small breast. I kissed her like an adult. She endured me for a while with scant response from her lips.

aItas Ritchieas turn now,a she said and pushed me off her.

He was eager for it and so was she. They kissed like lovers, although as far as I knew it was their first time. Perhaps not: I could tell that their mouths were open. I realized I was too late, that I should have reverted weeks earlier. Ritchie had Sara again, and she would probably let him f.u.c.k her, if I were not there. Suddenly I realized that it wouldnat be their first time.

aIam going home,a I said as I got to my feet, but they seemed not to hear. Ritchie was on top grinding his body at her as they kissed.

I waded through the weeds towards home, disappointed somewhat, but not too much. My long fantasy had been shattered by reality. The scrawny girl had not aroused me in the least, because what I truly wanted was a female older than she with more heft both in body and mind.

And at that instant I thought of one: Phyllis Schaefer, a sixteen year old who lived in the next block. Phyllis had a plain, blond face and was a bit heavy, although not fat. She was a studious girl, very intelligent, and we often talked like old friends despite the difference in our ages. The old man in my head could seduce that lonely girl, I thought callously, and achieve for my young body its first complete s.e.xual release.

Did I want to give Phyllis this bodyas cherry? I had to laugh. Was I saving myself for Marilyn Monroe? Phyllisas youthful freshness seemed easily preferable to the wh.o.r.e who would finally get it without my older coaching.

ah.e.l.lo, Timmy,a Mrs. Schaefer greeted me at the back door after my knock. aWhat brings you here?a She was a stout matron of about forty, a war widow in an ap.r.o.n with flour on her hands and a twinkle in her eyes. Mrs. Schaefer was one of my favorite persons.

aIs Phyllis home?a I inquired with a grin.

aYes, of course, Timmy. Sheas upstairs in her room. Tell her the cookies will be done soon.a It was as easy as that. Phyllis had once been my baby sitter and I had the run of her house. I climbed the stairs two at a time and burst into her room, surprising her as she lay on the bed reading a book.

aTimmy,a she exclaimed and sat up. aYou startled me.a aSorry,a I said with calculated sheepishness as I gazed at her friendly, homely face.

aWhatas up?a she asked in a chirpy tone.

aIam bored, Phyll. Sara and Ritchie got all mushy out in the field so I left.a Her eyebrows rose. aWasnat Sara your girl?a I put on a hangdog expression. aNaw. Iave never had a girl.a aIam surprised. Youare such a good looking boy.a aI suppose Sara likes Ritchieas looks better than mine.a aWell, he is really rather pretty, if one prefers dark haired boys.a Her eyes twinkled. aIam partial to blondes, myself.a She regarded me with a weak smile of yearning. I remembered, when I was eight and she twelve, how she often kissed me in a playful manner and touched my soft legs. I knew I could have her if I just reached out the way a normal twelve year old could never imagine. I did not have to conquer the girl; I only had to make myself available to her. It was so easy, so easy that I felt guilty for an instant. But this was an intelligent female just at the start of her adulthood; fair game for a h.o.r.n.y young boy with a skilled coach to guide him. My guilt was misplaced, I thought, and I sat on the bed next to her.

aWhat are you reading,a I asked casually and picked up her book.

It was Untermeyeras volume on American literature. I thumbed the pages. aI like his treatment of Dreiseras Sister Carrie,a I said as I handed the book back to her.

aYouave always been a bookworm, Timmy,a she said gaily and tousled my hair. aI canat imagine you understand much of what you read.a aWhy do you suppose I read?a I replied in a testy voice. aI understand more than most kids my age. Sara doesnat read much, you know, nor does Ritchie. Theyare just kids. Thatas why I like talking with you.a I thought the lonely girl was about to embrace me. Her arms were ready and her mouth was open in excitement, but her mother interrupted us.

aKids,a she called from downstairs. aI have cookies and milk for you.a I placed my palm on her cheek as I got off the bed. She uttered a choking sound and her eyes grew moist. I pulled her up with my hand. She suddenly comprehended the possibilities, but the illicit reality of it made her extremely nervous. It was so easy.

After our snack Phyllis and I went for a stroll. She was clearly troubled by her deep infatuation with a twelve-year-old boy who was two inches shorter and 20 pounds lighter. Her feelings for me had always been there, primly repressed. It was the nasty old man who exploited them, the old man whose young body enslaved him. p.u.b.escent hormones overruled the cranky professor who thought that Phyllis was a sweet young thing bereft of any s.e.xual allure.

I took hold of her hand and she shook it off.

aThe neighbors will see!a she protested.

The street was empty except for a few cars at the curb, but one could imagine snoopy housewives peering out windows.

aIave always liked holding your hand,a I complained.

aBut youare not a little boy any more,a she retorted, vainly trying to stay in charge.

aNo, Iam not,a I agreed. aIn some ways Iam a lot older than twelve, you know.a aYes, youare very precocious.a I let fly with a zinger. aI could even get you pregnant.a The girlas face turned beet red.

aPlease, T-Timmy,a she stuttered.

aLetas go to the field,a I said, looking up at her. This was not the same field where I had left Sara and Ritchie. For a moment I had been tempted to take her there, but Phyllis hated to ride bicycles.

She did not reply though we continued walking in that direction. She took my hand as we crossed the road, and she seemed to hurry when we pressed into the tall weeds. We went deeply into the field trotting hand in hand. As the world behind us became dimmer, we grew more elated. Finally we fell to the ground and lost the world all together.

aDonat get me pregnant, Timmy. Promise me,a she implored as we grappled to each other on the fragrant soil and weeds.

I paused.

aThereas no hurry,a I said calmly. aWe can have pleasure without making a baby.a aBut I want you to be my first boy,a she almost whined.

aIall pull out in time,a I promised. aDo you want to get naked with me?a Phyllis raised her head above the level of the weeds and looked about.

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