Five Times: First Time

This is the first of five accounts I’d like to share with you about my experiences between 2008 and 2016. The first couple of stories are fairly tame, but they are true stories and they occurred when I was a lot younger and less outgoing than I am now.  October 2008. I was sixteen years old, newly enrolled at college, a bit of a geek, and I hadn’t yet had a serious girlfriend. Look, there I am, sat on the bus beside my best friend, Martin, sharing a pair of headphones and listening to NINE IN THE AFTERNOON by Panic! At the Disco on my iPod. People who didn’t know us thought we were brothers: we had the same wavy brown hair and cleft chin and weedy build; we finished each other’s sentences and shared our packed lunches and had similar interests – old-school Doctor Who, Hellboy comics, Call of Duty, and girls. Always the same girls. (Even when we’d first met in the school playground several years before, our first words to one another had been about a blonde fifth-year student who had just walked past us on her way to the canteen – her skirt was caught up beneath her backpack, revealing her underwear and cute butt. Martin and I had grinned at one another. ‘Hungry?’ I asked him, and with that we’d hoisted our bags on our shoulders and trailed after her. From then on, we were inseparable. We sat together in all our classes, trailed after the same pretty girls during breaktimes, spent evenings at one another’s houses discussing the girls we fancied and sharing our fantasies about them.) So, in October 2008, on the bus home from college, Panic! At the Disco was singing at us, Martin had his sketch pad open on his lap and was staring out the window for inspiration, and I was thinking about Kathy. Let’s picture her for a moment: She has incredible eyelashes. (Whenever I thought of her, that was where I started, always.) With such pale skin, her dark eyelashes are vivid, almost severe. Her hair is brown, shoulder-length, loosely curled; she might laugh, or tilt her head, or reach down for her schoolbag, and her hair tumbles in front of her eyes, but it can never hide those eyelashes. She’ll reach up and, with the back of her forefinger, push the escaping curl to one side; and in that moment the severity of her eyelashes is diminished because all attention is on her eyes: wide soft brown eyes, keen, thoughtful, warm. Martin was suddenly jabbing me in the arm with his pencil. ‘Who are you thinking of?’ he asked. He knew me well; he could tell I was thinking of a girl and he wanted to know more. ‘You don’t want to know,’ I told him, but he jabbed me in the arm again, albeit playfully, so I sighed heavily as though relenting and said, ‘Esme’. Martin smirked, then looked back out the window. ‘Yep, you’re right. I don’t want to know that you’re fantasising about my little sister, thank you very much.’ And he left me to my thoughts. Without doubt, he knew me well – but I knew him well too, and I knew this wasn’t the right time to mention Kathy. We had always liked the same girls and we’d always been open in sharing our fantasies, but this time things were different: Martin didn’t need to fantasise because he had the real thing – he had been dating Kathy since the start of term. *** When I got home, Mum told me that she and Dad were going out for dinner, so Martin and I would have the house to ourselves. ‘Martin’s not coming over tonight,’ I said. Mum frowned but she didn’t push it, and once she and Dad had left, I went straight up to my bedroom and took all my clothes off and masturbated to Kathy’s Facebook profile picture. I was in no rush. I glanced at myself in the mirror. I was slim – lanky, really, certainly not toned – average height, with dark wavy hair which was unmanageable and always out of style. I reached down and fondled my cock. I wandered around my room for a couple of minutes, idly staring out the window or scanning the titles on the spines of the books stacked beside my bed, stroking myself until I had a full erection. Then I found Kathy’s picture on my phone – it had been taken about three months before, during the summer, and she was wearing a thin white shirt which was unbuttoned, showing a sliver of her bikini top beneath. She had a wide smile, her head was tilted to one side, and she had her hand across her forehead, holding her hair out of her eyes. I led on my back in my bed, on top of the covers, with my phone in my left hand, and the fingers of my right hand cradling my cock; I used my forefinger to gently caress the underside of the head through my foreskin. If I relaxed the muscles in the tops of my legs and in my butt, I could masturbate like that for hours without coming and, when I would finally reach orgasm, it would be incredible and would leave me shuddering and breathless. Twenty-five minutes in, Martin knocked on my bedroom door. I knew it was him straight away – he had once inadvertently interrupted one of my epic masturbation sessions, and ever since then we’d always knock the drumbeat from WE WILL ROCK YOU and wait for a reply before entering one another’s bedrooms: twice with your fingers, then once with your palm, and repeat: KNOCK-KNOCK SMACK, KNOCK-KNOCK SMACK. ‘Hang on a moment,’ I shouted, and I rolled under the bed covers before telling him he could come in. (The proper response we used to indicate that it was safe to enter was meant to be ‘It’s fun to smoke marijuana’, but I wasn’t in the mood this evening.) Martin raised an eyebrow at the bulge in the bedsheets and asked me if I was still fapping to his little sister, Esme. ‘Yeah,’ I said. And then, ‘Actually, no.’ He picked up my phone from where I had left it on the pillow, then sat down next to me on the bed beside me. ‘I know who you’re thinking of,’ he said. The phone screen was still on, still showing Kathy’s profile picture. Martin shrugged. Martin shrugged, and he smiled, and he told me that it was okay. He liked Kathy so it was no surprise that I would like her too. We’d always liked the same girls. And this girl, she was amazing – MIND-BLOWING, he said – and having spent the last few weeks with her, well... his mind was totally blown. He didn’t apologise, but I didn’t expect him to because he had done nothing wrong. I had been the one who had been in a bad mood. All the same, I didn’t apologise either. ‘You want me to tell you about her?’ he asked me with a mischievous grin. And just like that, things were back to normal again. *** When flaccid, my cock was four-and-a-half inches long, a good inch bigger than Martin’s; however, although mine only grew another inch when erect, Martin’s would almost double in size; whereas Martin’s foreskin would retract by itself as he stiffened, mine was tighter and needed encouragement to reveal the glans. We’d never been ashamed of being nude in front of one another, and we’d often masturbated together when fantasising about girls. Martin stripped naked, and we streaked down the stairs and out into the back garden. It was getting dark, and cold, and the decking felt icy underfoot. We manhandled the cover off of the hot tub and plunged gratefully into the warm water. We didn’t bother switching the bubble jets on because they would be too noisy and I wanted to hear everything Martin had to say about Kathy. ‘She’s, what, five foot four? Brunette, brown eyes, usual number of limbs.’ (That was how it always started, no matter what girl we talked about, no matter that we knew exactly what she looked like: Always ‘usual number of limbs’ – it was traditional, part of the ritual, part of the build-up to the fantasy. And this time, when Martin said it, I was wide-eyed, shivering despite the warmth of the water, holding my breath in anticipation; because this time, he wasn’t sharing some fantasy with me; this time, he was describing his actual girlfriend.) Five-four, brunette, brown eyes, usual number of limbs. Sweet sixteen. Slim: it makes her look taller than she is, and she’s small enough that we can wrap just one arm around her waist to pull her close to kiss her. She’s wearing skinny black jeans with grey suede boots. A tight, wine-red vest-top beneath a vintage velvet frock coat, closely fitted. The colour of the coat changes depending on the light – sometimes dark brown or dark red, other times so dark it’s almost black – and it’s unbuttoned, and it flows around her as she dances. (‘Her hair falls in front of her eyes,’ I added, ‘and she sweeps it out of the way with the back of her finger.’ ‘EXACTLY,’ said Martin, ‘exactly like that.’) The song ends and another one starts, one she doesn’t know. She looks slightly uncertain, unsure whether to keep dancing or not, but then we lean forward to kiss her again and she smiles, and her tongue touches ours, just for a split second. She tastes sweet, like apples. Then we’re helping her to remove her coat (‘We’re in my bedroom now,’ Martin said as an aside) and she sits in front of us, cross-legged on the floor, her back to us so we can give her a shoulder massage. The straps of her vest top are getting in the way, so she lowers them, and yet they're still in the way; she turns her head, glances at us, unsure for a moment; and then in one quick movement she hoists her top up over her head and flings it on the floor beside us, revealing a black bra. (‘We totally have a hard-on by this point,’ Martin said, ‘and Kathy clearly knows because it’s pressed against the small of her back.’) We carry on massaging her shoulders and upper arms, reaching further forward and pressing harder against her. She starts to shift slightly, gently rocking from side to side, rubbing against our cock. Then she suddenly stops – pulls away, shuffles around to face us, and then reaches behind her back to unclip her bra. (By this point my flag had returned to full mast – it was literally pulsing, begging for attention – and it took all my will-power not to attend to it. I was longing to hear Martin describe Kathy’s breasts. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, held it for as long as I could, then exhaled. Hold on, hold on, I told myself.) Kathy looks away, suddenly shy, and she pauses – then she glances at us out of the corner of her eye, smiles shyly, and removes her bra. Her bra is padded to make her bust appear bigger than it is. But, oh man, she doesn’t need to worry, we’ve always loved small breasts. ‘They’re slender,’ Martin said, ‘the perfect size to cup in our hands. Her nipples are the softest, palest pink; delicate and puffy, but they quickly harden when we lean forward and gently kiss them. We reach up, touch her chin, gently tilt her face towards us so we’re looking directly into her eyes. You’re beautiful, we tell her.’ The back door suddenly opened and Mum poked her head out to announce that she and Dad were home. ‘We didn’t bother with dinner,’ she said, ‘just a few drinks, so I’ve brought pizza home if you want some?’ I glanced down and noticed that Martin was sporting an erection even bigger than mine. I quickly reached over to the controls and switched the water jets on so that our enjoyment was hidden in the bubbles. ‘Uh, yeah, thanks Mum,’ I said. ‘We’ll be in shortly.’ She nodded and went back inside. ‘Dammit,’ said Martin, as frustrated I was. ‘And I was just getting to the best bit, too.’ ‘Quickly tell me,’ I said, ‘have you seen her pussy?’ (I had never really liked that word, ‘pussy’, but my cock was fit to explode and I just wanted Martin to tell me as quickly as possible.) ‘What does she look like?’ Martin gave a massive grin and nodded, but all he would say was, ‘Oh, yeah...’ *** We dressed, ate pizza, and played a couple games of Call of Duty. Then, as he was ready to leave, Martin asked me if I wanted to see Kathy naked. ‘What, she let you take a picture of her?’ I asked. Martin shook his head. ‘No. Well, yes, I’ve got nude photos of her. But what I mean is, would you like to see her naked? For real?’ My mouth had gone dry. ‘What, what do you mean? I mean, yeah. Yeah, I do.’ Martin grinned mischievously. ‘Come over to mine tomorrow night,’ he said. ‘Don’t ask questions. About six o’clock, alright?’ ‘Yeah. Wow.’ I didn’t know what else to say. Martin laughed. ‘Wow, oh yeah. Are you looking forward to seeing what my girl has to offer? She’ll be totally nude for you. Full-frontal, dude. You’ll see everything. I’m so excited for you.’ ‘Wow,’ I said again. And then: ‘But won’t she mind? Don’t YOU mind?’ Martin laughed again. ‘We share everything, buddy. You know, we tell each other what girls we’re fantasising over, that sort of thing. We don’t have secrets.’ He punched my arm, playfully. ‘You’re gonna see everything. Kathy’s going to show you her beauty.’ After Martin left, I lay back on the bed. I didn’t need a picture this time. I imagined Kathy’s small breasts and her soft pink nipples and my lips on her skin, kissing her body, kissing her beauty. I didn’t bother taking my time, didn’t even try to relax – I just tugged on my cock, hard and fast, and I came, violently and voluminously, all over my bedsheets. *** When we first started sharing our fantasies about girls, Martin and I set some rules. Well, not actual ‘rules’, but we started some traditions that would continue throughout our friendship, even to this day. For example, we’d always start by describing the girl (height, hair and eye colour, ‘number of limbs’); our stories were always told in first-person-plural (for example, ‘we did this to her’ and ‘she did that to us’) not because we were describing a threesome, but because in the fantasy we were a single unit; and during these sessions, we would usually masturbate together (though we would never touch one another). One thing we spent some time deciding upon were the best words to describe anatomy. We were comfortable with cocks and dicks and penises, but the female counterparts were more troubling. ‘Vagina sounds so clinical,’ I remember saying once. ‘The word just doesn’t excite me.’ Martin agreed. ‘It’s not actually correct, anyway. The vadge is just the main entrance, where you stick your cock in. The whole thing, the lips and clit and everything, that’s called the vulva.’ I liked that even less. ‘And I don’t like the word pussy.’ Martin disagreed. ‘I dunno. I quite like pussy. Maybe not to start with, not when we’re first describing a girl, not when we're setting the scene and explaining exactly what she looks like. But, towards the end, when things are hotting up – you know, when you just want to get down to business – the word pussy sounds good to me.’ So, what to call that particular area of a girl? Minge was too nasty-sounding, cunt did nothing for us, and all of the other terms we could think off were either too obscene or colloquial. ‘It needs to be something pretty-sounding,’ Martin said. ‘It’s our favourite part of a girl so it has to sound inviting, has to sound beautiful.’ ‘That’s it, then,’ I told him. ‘Beauty. That’s what we’ll call it.’ ‘Her beauty,’ Martin said, and then he whistled. ‘I like it.’ *** To this day, I don’t know how Martin persuaded Kathy to show herself off to me, to touch herself in front of me. I asked him about it recently, the last time we met at the pub before the Covid-19 lockdown started. ‘I don’t remember,’ he told me. ‘It was over ten years ago. Alcohol, probably.’ I pointed out that we didn’t drink back then.  ‘I don’t remember,’ he said. *** This is what happened. That day at college lasted forever. I couldn’t concentrate in class. The bus journey home felt like it took a week. Martin barely spoke to me on the bus; we just listened to my iPod and stared out the window. I kept thinking that he would withdraw his offer, or tell me it had been a joke; but occasionally he’d wink at me, or punch my arm, and say under his breath, ‘I’m so excited for you, man.’ When I finally got home, Mum had made lasagne or pasta or something for dinner, but I wasn’t hungry. I had a raging hard-on at the thought of seeing Kathy that evening, and I couldn’t relax. I had a shower and jacked off. Got dressed, tried to read a comic. Scrolled through Kathy’s Facebook pictures. Jacked off again. Finally, finally, it was six o’clock and I was standing in Martin’s porch. His younger sister, Esme, answered the door. She was wearing a thin dressing gown. ‘Martin’s upstairs with his girlfriend,’ she said. ‘And I’m just about to go for a bath.’ ‘Where’s your mum?’ I asked her. ‘Out with friends,’ Esme replied, and she smiled. Her and Martin’s mother was Japanese; their father (who had left several years ago) had been British. And although Martin resembled his dad, Esme took after her mother, with delicate pale skin and wide eyes and a narrow chin, and wonderfully soft, straight black hair. ‘Um, enjoy your bath,’ I said, and I made my way up the stairs to Martin’s room. Oh my god, I kept repeating to myself as I climbed each step. Oh my god, I was going to see Kathy. Naked. Breasts and beauty. Oh my god. And in my excitement, when I reached his bedroom door, I forgot the KNOCK-KNOCK SMACK, KNOCK-KNOCK SMACK, and I just went straight in. Kathy squealed and crossed her arms across her chest. But she wasn’t naked, not even topless. She was stood beside the bed in her underwear, a pair of black panties and matching bra. Martin was sprawled on the bed, fully clothed, with his erect cock sticking out above the waistband of his shorts. ‘Oops,’ I said, turning my back out of decency. ‘Sorry, guys.’ Martin laughed. ‘Hey man, no worries,’ he said, ‘it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.’ ‘I sort of meant about Kathy,’ I mumbled, and as I said her name, I glanced quickly at her and smiled. She had taken a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her. She smiled back, looking slightly embarrassed. Martin stroked his cock a few times, casually, as if not really aware he was doing it. ‘It’s fine, isn’t it, babe?’ Kathy nodded. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You just surprised me, coming in the room at that moment. But yeah, of course it’s okay.’ I looked at her for a long moment, not sure of what to say. Her blanket covered her top half, but left her legs uncovered, and I couldn’t help but stare. There was a long pause. Then Martin cleared his throat. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘things are feeling a bit more awkward than I imagined. I think I’m going to nip down the road and pick us up a kebab or a Chinese or something. Sort of give you two a little while to get to know one another.’ He stroked his cock again, then suddenly noticed what he was doing, and shoved it back in his pants. And we all burst out laughing, and just like that all the tension was gone. *** Kathy still had the blanket draped over her shoulders. I was sat in Martin’s gaming chair, and Kathy was sat cross-legged on the bed, with her back against the headrest, and we were chatting whilst Martin was fetching something for us to eat. It was nice, just talking about stuff like college, music, stuff like that. Although she was in her underwear, Kathy seemed totally relaxed. Occasionally Kathy’s hair would fall in front of her eyes and she would reach up and move it, and each time the blanket would fall open and I would get a glance of her body. I didn’t want to look like I was perving, but when she reached up to stretch her arms above her head, the blanket fell away altogether, and I couldn’t help it – my eyes were immediately glued upon her chest, watching her small breasts rise and fall as she stretched. My cock lurched and, without thinking, I cupped my hand around it and gently rubbed it through the fabric of my jeans. Almost as soon as I did it, I stopped, swore aloud, and tore my gaze from Kathy’s bosom. She was staring at my crotch. My hand was still there. Dammit. Kathy looked up, made eye contact with me. She was chewing the side of her lip, shy-looking, but then she smiled. ‘It’s fine,’ she said. She pushed the blanket away and dropped her hand to her lap, resting it over the front of her panties. ‘I touch myself too. It’s alright.’ I nearly came in my pants right then. Visions of Kathy fingering herself almost tipped me over the edge, but I took a deep breath, moved my hand away from the bulge in my pants, and said, sort of quaveringly, ‘Uhh, yeah? That’s cool…’ Kathy laughed. ‘You’re blushing!’ she told me. She climbed off the bed, took a couple of steps toward me, then stopped, facing me in just her underwear, her legs slightly apart. Without any doubt, she was the most attractive girl I had ever seen. And she was stood in front of me, giving me permission to stare at her half-naked body. Her head was tilted slightly to one side, her fringe falling in front of her left eye, almost hiding her beautiful dark eyelashes. Her hair gently curled around her cheeks, brushing the tops of her narrow shoulders. I noticed she had a red blemish, maybe a birthmark, like a crescent moon just beneath her collarbone. Her black bra was perhaps a little big for her; with each intake of breath, her breasts rose, almost swelling to fill her bra; but as she breathed out, her breasts would fall slightly, leaving a gap between the fabric and her soft pale skin. I wanted to reach out and slip my fingers inside that space, wanted to touch and caress her. I lowered my gaze, passing over her navel and her hips, and focussed on her panties. They were simple, black, no frills or lace or anything. Behind that think piece of fabric was her beauty. So close. So close. My cock throbbed again, visibly – Kathy saw it and gave me a wide smile. ‘Wanna take care of that?’ she asked. ‘I don’t mind.’ As she said that, she gave a sort of half-shrug, and her breasts rose and fell again. God, I was yearning to see more of her. ‘Go on,’ Kathy told me. ‘Take off your clothes. I dare you.’ My mouth was dry, but I somehow managed to say that, yeah, I’d undress if she wanted me to – but only if she took off her underwear. ‘Deal,’ she said promptly. ‘You first, though.’ This was it. I rose out of Martin’s gaming chair and quickly peeled off my t-shirt and chucked it on the bed. My eyes were fixed on Kathy’s face, watching her watch me. I reached down, unbuckled my belt, unzipped my jeans, and pulled them down quickly. As I stepped out of them, I was suddenly conscious that I was now stood in front of a semi-naked girl in just my trunks. I was nervous, more nervous than I’d ever been. ‘Go on,’ Kathy said again. And again, that huge smile. So I did. I tugged my shorts down, let them fall to the floor. I was surprised to find that in my nervousness, my cock had gone soft. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, making my dick sway. ‘Nice,’ said Kathy. Just that, one single word. She stared at me, up and down, then reached forward and downward and, just for a split second, ran her forefinger along the underside of my cock, along the shaft from base to head, in a ‘come here’ motion. And within the next moment she had already stepped back, as though nothing had happened. I gasped, and my cock jumped and felt warm, and rose quickly, filling out, and within about ten seconds I was sporting what was probably the strongest erection I had ever had in my life. My skin felt so tight, and a crazy tingling sensation was pulsing from my balls through to the tip of my cock in glorious waves. Kathy was staring at it, but she didn’t say anything. I glanced down, saw my foreskin was still stretched over the head, with only the very tip poking out. I reached down, wrapped my fingers around the shaft, and pulled the skin back, revealing the bulbous glans. Kathy looked like she was about to reach forward again and touch me – she kind of leant forward, then rolled back again on the balls of her feet. She briefly bit the side of her lip, as if making a decision. And then, slowly, she reached behind her back to unclip her bra, slipped it over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. And then, even slower, she hooked her fingers beneath the waistband of her pants and carefully lowered them, turning slightly so her side was towards me. I held my breath as she stepped out of her underwear and stood up straight. Her profile was a series of gentle curves: the neat swell of her small, firm breasts, tipped with her soft pink nipples; the slightest protuberance of her belly; her mound; her butt; her thighs and her calves. She looked at me, as if seeking approval. My mouth was hanging open. I was trying to take in her whole body, but I didn’t know where to focus my attention. Our eyes met for a long moment. Then I blinked, glanced down, then returned to her eyes. She smiled. Oh, that smile. She whispered something but she was so quiet that I couldn’t hear her, and her smile was so intense that I couldn’t read her lips either. No matter, because then she turned toward me, face on, and my eyes instantly dropped to her crotch. My cock lurched again, and a hot sexual feeling – a sort of yearning – spasmed up through my whole body, and my vision blurred for a moment. I blinked, blinked again, and then I took a step forward and knelt before her. Kathy had a neat triangle of brown pubic hair. It was straight and trimmed short. She suddenly adjusted her stance, as if shy, and she reached down with one hand and brushed her pubic hair downward with her fingers in one fluid motion; it was like she was smoothing it down, making sure her hair was tidy. I felt another spasm of yearning inside me and I knew the simple image of Kathy stroking her bush like that would remain with me forever. I looked up, over the gentle swell of her stomach and breasts, and Kathy was looking down at me. Her smile was gone, replaced with a nervous look. She bit the side of her lip again, and her hair fell forward over one eye. Back down, my eyes taking in her delicate nipples and the tiny bumps on her areola, the tiny swirl of her belly button, back to her beauty. Her legs were pressed together, but she adjusted her stance again, and her legs parted, and I saw her lips, slightly darker than the rest of her skin: they met at the bottom, separating as they rose, revealing the excitement of her warm pink inner lips, meeting again at the bulge of her clitoris. I wanted to touch those tender lips, gently part them and feel inside her with my tongue. I wanted to take in her scent, her taste; I wanted to feel her beauty swell and buckle against my touch. *** ‘No touching,’ she whispered, somehow knowing what I was thinking. I almost told her that wasn’t fair, she had touched me – but I didn’t, I just watched her stood before me, naked, both vulnerable and yet somehow totally in charge of the situation. ‘You gonna sit down there all night, mister?’ she asked me. I dragged my gaze away from her pussy and looked up, past the small, gorgeous globes of her breasts, and said something like, ‘Do I have to?’ She laughed, and put her hands on my shoulders, and gently shook me. ‘Up you get,’ she said. I leant forward as I climbed to my feet, my face passing even closer to her beauty, close enough, for a fraction of a second, to smell her – warm, salty, but sweet at the same time. And then I was on my feet in front of her, eye-to-eye. I wanted to kiss her, but I somehow knew that wasn’t right, it wasn’t appropriate, even though this was by far the most intimate and sexual moment I had ever shared with anyone in my life. ‘No touching,’ she said again. Then she grinned, and said, ‘You can touch yourself though.’ She sat down on the bed. ‘Touch yourself,’ she said again. I watched as she led back. She rested her left hand on her stomach, and with her right hand she gently cupped one breast, caressed it, rubbed her nipple. Her fingers trailed across her skin, crept across her hips, down her right leg as far as she could reach. There she paused for a few moments. And then, slowly but inexorably, her fingers reached up, and she opened her legs; just before it was hidden from view by her hand, the tender inner lips of her cunt parted and I caught a tantalising glimpse of hot pink. I slumped in Martin’s gaming chair. My cock was throbbing, craving attention. And why not, I thought to myself. I knew I couldn’t just jerk on it – I would come far too quickly – so I held the base of my cock with my left hand, rested the thumb of my right hand on the top of cock, and gently massaged the underside of the head with my forefinger. And I watched Kathy intently. *** There isn’t much more to say. It felt like we masturbated together for hours, but it probably lasted no more than five minutes. But it was, up to that point, the most amazing time of my life. It is still vivid in my memory, the way that Kathy touched herself. She didn’t actually put her fingers inside herself, but she stroked her beauty from her opening to her clit, and then delicately moved her fingertips in a circular motion around its nub. Her breathing was deep, slow, and occasionally she would shudder – her fingers would stop moving, and her lips and clit would pulse, once, twice, maybe three times – and then her fingers would start again. Martin returned at some point with food. I remember that he knocked on the door before he came in (KNOCK-KNOCK SMACK). To this day, that sticks in my mind. He could have barged straight in – it was his own bedroom – but he knocked. I didn’t come. I’m not sure If Kathy did or not. When Martin entered, he smiled at us both and said something like, ‘Alright kids, time to get dressed, dinner is served.’ We dressed, and we ate, and we spoke about comics and movies and college. I left around ten o’clock, walked home, thinking of Kathy, but thinking of Martin too. I remember being so grateful that he was my friend, my best friend. I hoped we’d share everything, always. And when I got home, and got into bed, I masturbated slowly, picturing Kathy so clearly in my mind; her vivid eyelashes, her wide smile, her breasts, and all her beauty.