"Twenty-one," I moaned, trying not to lose everything into the washcloth.
"No, I mean really. It's okay. I won't tell," she assured me.
"Well, sixteen, then," I lied, really embarrassed to tell her I was only thirteen.
"Your first time, huh?"
"Yeah, sort of." I was thinking of telling her about Donna, so she wouldn't think I was totally without experience.
Lotta finished washing me. "Has anybody ever told you that you've got a real nice one?" she asked, smiling at me.
"Uh, not really." I wasn't used to having my cock talked about in such familiar terms.
"Well, you have. A real nice one. Big and nice and juicy," she said. And then it happened. Kneeling in front of me, she lifted my cock in her hands and before I knew what was going on she put her tongue at the base of my balls and licked all the way to the top of the head. Instantly the whole head and part of the shaft disappeared into her mouth. Never had I felt or even imagined anything so voluptuous. She ran it slowly in and out of her mouth a few times. I could feel myself tensing up, ready to come, when she suddenly stopped and got to her feet. I was actually thankful that she had stopped. One more lick and it would have been all over.
"Let's get into bed, honey," she said, kicking off her mules and shedding her robe. She was naked underneath, and from the way I was looking at her she must have guessed that I had never seen a naked woman before, because she stood still for a minute, smiling at me and letting me take it all in, before she got up on the bed. Her skin was olive, with breasts drooping just slightly, and small nipples. Her hips were larger and her waist smaller than I had believed when she had her robe on. A triangular mass of black pubic hair curled up from between her legs.
I removed my shoes, pants, and shirt, leaving on my argyle socks, and joined her in bed. She put me next to the wall, joking that she wouldn't want me to fall off of the high bed. She smiled at me gently and ran her hands all over my body, as I began doing the same to her, pushing and squeezing her breasts. I slipped my hand between her legs, which she obligingly opened, feeling her hair and having trouble again because of those confounded folds of skin. I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever get my finger into a cunt. Lotta reached down, took my index finger, and guided it into something warm and slippery. God, finally I had my finger in it, and in a few minutes it would be my cock. Even though Lotta didn't hump as Donna had, I was pretty damn pleased with myself. I was really about to get laid. It was wonderful.
She turned me over, facing the wall, and began to kiss my back and the back of my neck, while caressing my chest, stomach, thighs, and then my cock. I could feel the front of her pressed into my ass. Lord, what a feeling! She stroked my cock and suddenly I knew it was going to be too late. I pushed away her hand, back to my thigh, but the feeling wouldn't stop. I shot off all over the wallpaper and the side of the bed, trying not to move, hoping she wouldn't notice. I watched large gobs of my white ejaculate run down the wall. Turning onto my stomach, I pushed Lotta onto her back and started to mount her. The feeling of lying on top of her was unbelievable, much better than the best pillow in the world. She reached down and grabbed my still semierect cock. I thought she was going to put it in, but her dark eyes only twinkled up at me.
"You wouldn't be trying to kid an old friend, would yon, sonny?" she said, smiling.
I smiled back weakly, knowing that I had hoisted my own petard. She gently pushed me off of her. I was surprised how flat her breasts looked when she was on her back, and how wide her thighs seemed. "If you could just wait a few minutes… " I began gamely.
"Maybe some other time," she said.
I dressed hurriedly and Lotta told me to leave by a rear stairway at the back of the house. All the other guys were waiting. "What took you so damn long?" Hank's brother demanded.
I smiled knowingly. "She liked me, so she gave me a french for free and then it took me a long time. I really fucked the shit out of her," I lied. "She was great," I added, sticking the finger that had been in Lotta's cunt under Hank's nose. He made a face and we all laughed.
Actually I was mad as hell. There I was, in bed with a real woman, her beautiful cunt just waiting for me, and I had crapped out. I thought I was probably the only guy in history who had been in bed with a whore and still didn't get laid.
On the way back, with all of our juices gone, we began thinking about clap. Hank's brother said he would try to get some pro kits from a sailor friend of his. He explained that a pro kit was a long glass tube that you put down your prick, and then poured some awful medicine into it that burned like crazy. I shuddered. We talked about gonorrhea and syphilis, which had been explained to us by our gym teacher. Now, suddenly, I was scared. In spite of the gruff, blustery comradeship of four guys who had just been laid, and one who pretended that he had just been laid, I think we all were scared. I told myself it was only her mouth, but then she must have sucked plenty of guys. Suppose one of them had the syph?
For weeks after, I examined myself.carefully each time I went to the bathroom and when I awoke in the morning. I even went to the John many times when I didn't have to go, just to pull it out and look for that telltale drop of goo or a sore. When my underpants would bind up, making me uncomfortable, I would break out in a cold sweat and dash to examine myself, sure that this time I would find myself dripping. It was really hell, but as time went by I became less concerned and finally forgot about it.
The experience gave me great memories to masturbate by, but that was my first and last trip to a whorehouse, and my next-to-last time with a whore. The next time would be quite different.
Chapter 3
Betty was probably the only real girl friend I ever had, in the boy-girl sense. She was a tall, well-built girl with long blond hair and sturdy bones. Her breasts were well developed and she had a way of wearing tight sweaters that said she knew that she had a real nice pair. Her pale complexion was accented by a mild case of adolescent acne and her hazel eyes gave the appearance that she was about to cry. She was a popular girl in school, popular with the "in" group, of which I was not a member. Yet for some unknown reason she was crazy about me, a no-body, instead of the school sports heroes.
She caught me at just the right age, not yet fourteen, and an eighth grader. I was old enough to know a little and still young enough not to have been really fucked. We were normal in every way. We held hands in the halls at school, walked home with our arms around each other, went to shows, dances, and school affairs together. I brought her home to meet my parents on several occasions and they thought we were awfully cute, even though Betty was a shiksa. And, of course, I spent all of my efforts trying to get into her virginal pants, without success.
Looking back, I wish that I had known more virginal little Bettys. I never got a chance to go to a high-school dance, or to rent a tux for a prom or to buy flowers for my date. After Betty I never held hands in the hallways again. I never had to worry about what I would say to a girl on the phone; never had to make up speeches to ask her out, or be crushed if I was refused. These were just some of the disadvantages of learning too much too soon, of growing too old too young.
While I was going with Betty my drumming talents were discovered by older, high-school musicians, who often played dances at private clubs and parties. Everything was kept quiet because both the people who gave the dances and we scab musicians were afraid that the union would find out. Union goon squads had been known to crash dances where scabs were playing and bust up expensive instruments, not to mention noses. As time went on I was contacted more often to play with groups around town. This meant that I had to arrange to borrow drums from a friend or from the school, and then arrange to be picked up and driven home, since I was still too young to have a driver's license. It also meant that my hours were becoming quite late and irregular, a source of constant friction and bickering at home.