This isn't one of those fantasies from the letters section in a skin magazine. No stewardesses invited me back to their apartment, and the school cheerleaders did not invite me to take a bath with them in a tub of whipped cream. I do not have a foot-long penis, and the girl involved was neither a porn star nor my favorite hot teacher.
It is just a story of two teenagers on a hot summer afternoon 30 years ago, and how the memories of that afternoon have lasted.
Kris, the girl in question, and I had little in common, other than that we had lived in the same neighborhood all our lives. She was two years older than I was, and was two years ahead in school. We knew each other slightly from school choir, but had never been close.
One hot summer afternoon when I was 15, and a year too young to drive myself, I was walking home from my part-time job when Kris drove by in her little green car. She stopped to offer me a ride, and I accepted.
I was your average teen, not too tall, not too short, not too fat, not too thin, not too ugly, not too handsome. Kris was on the short side, had short dark red hair, was a little pudgy, and wore dark-rimmed glasses. That day, she was wearing white tennis shorts and a loose yellow pullover sleeveless shirt.
I can't recount all the conversation. I remember that neither one of us had to go straight home, so we decided to go to a park on the lake just outside town. Not many people were there, it being the middle of a weekday, and a hot day at that. But the lake looked appealing, and soon we were wading in it.
We thought we were mature teens, but I guess we still had some kid left in us. Kris splashed me. I splashed her. Soon, we were laughing and we were soaked. That loose top was suddenly clinging to her body, and I could see her nipples had been hardened by the chilly water.
We were around a bend from the main beach, and no one could see us, a good thing, because Kris pushed me down into the water, and I pulled her down after me. We kept laughing, and we started wrestling around. I'll never know exactly how or why, but at some point in the proceedings, Kris grabbed my penis. She could tell what she had done.
'Oh, Doug, I didn't mean to,' she said. 'Don't be sorry,' I said, meaning only that she didn't have to feel bad. 'Who said I was sorry?' she answered, and then, without saying another word, reached back over, pulled down my shorts and took my penis in her right hand.
With her left hand, she pulled up her top and began massaging her nipples. Emboldened, I reached under her shorts, felt around, and, for the first time in my life, placed my hand in a girl's center of sexuality.
I didn't know what I was doing, but it seemed to be working. Somehow, I found what turned out to be her clitoris, started rubbing it, and she began to pant. Excited, Kris wrapped her hand around my penis even more tightly, and began pumping it harder and harder.
I had been masturbating alone for some years by then, and I knew what would happen if Kris didn't stop. I didn't care. I didn't want her to stop, and I didn't want to stop rubbing her. Her breathing grew deeper, and she climaxed first. I could tell by the way her vagina spasmed, and by the way ripples ran across her stomach.
As she finished, I let go; my orgasm was like nothing I'd felt alone, starting deep down, and rising up as semen burst out of my penis and into the water. I can still see a mental image of that white material, floating away on the lake's surface.
We looked at one another, didn't know what to say, got out of the lake, dried off as best we could, and got into Kris's car for the ride home. It was a quiet ride, and we really didn't say anything about what had happened.
There should be some great finish to this, about how it led to greater things. It didn't. I think we were both a little shocked by how we had lost control, and there was the age difference, and things were never going to be the same. We both left town after high school, and I've long since lost track of Kris.
Sometimes, though, I wonder if there's a middle-aged woman out there somewhere who remembers an afternoon when two kids began experiencing the sexuality of adults.