At first my new life was difficult. The loneliness bit into me with long, hurting fangs, and I played as many jobs as possible to avoid it. For one thing the quiet of an apartment is deadly, and takes a lot of getting used to. I had to learn to cook for myself, and while my diet was limited to hamburgers, hot dogs, lamb chops, and sandwiches, it didn't appear to do me any harm. I got into the habit of reading with my meals, or of watching the small, ten-inch TV I'd bought. My loneliness always seemed to be exacerbated at mealtime, and I found that this was one way of making it more agreeable. Too, I ate out a great deal.
Bedtime was what I dreaded most. Once you get used to sleeping with a woman, her absence is felt far more than if you had always slept alone. I jacked off every night, and often several times a day, using erotic memories of Mora alone or with her girl friends in some of the wild, three-way orgies we had enjoyed. Also, I would use mental pictures of good-looking girls from school, imagining their bodies in every tiny detail, and doing to them all of the things that Mora had taught me. I went back to using sweat socks because I didn't want to stain my landlord's sheets.
I still visited my parents on Sundays, and made up stories about Al and Mora. My mother always wanted to meet them, but I kept thinking up excuses to put it off. I phoned Mora and gave her my number, so when Mom would call Mora would phone me and I would phone Mom back.
Occasionally I would go out to the Tenderloin, or down to lower Fillmore, and walk around. But my duck's-ass cut had been replaced by normal hair styling, my pegged pants, faded Levi's, and Price's maroon shoes had given way to well-cut slacks, jackets, and suits. Dude's, the mecca for black clothes buyers, saw me no more. My friends all were gone; it was hard for me to find anybody who I knew. And the final insult: girls hustled me on the street, "Hey, good lookin', you wanna date? Make the price right."
It galled terribly. Me, they were actually hustling me. Didn't they know me? Know who I was? Did I really look to them like some fucking John from Dubuque?
The colorfully dressed barkers who had always stood in the doorways of strip joints, pounding feet and clapping hands and giving me a cheerful, knowing wave as I passed, now the bastards were giving me the line: "Step right in, sir. New show just startin'. No cover charge and lots of pretty girls. Step right in." And they would hold back the black velvet doorway curtains with one hand, in case I wanted to take a daring peek inside. Didn't they know? Couldn't they tell somehow, some way, that, not too long before, I had been one of them?
Winos and bums hit me for spare change on every block. Doorways reeked of piss and stale vomit. The "new" people on the street looked right at me without a glimmer of recognition. And why should there be, I told myself. When I was around, they hadn't even hit the street yet.
The whole scene was depressing; I felt like a retired general who couldn't get onto-his old post because he didn't have a gate pass. Sadly, I realized that my time for the street had come and gone.
For lack of any part of life to really touch, I began trying to take an interest in school activities. It was a lost cause; I was beyond it, and I could never go back. I just couldn't generate any interest in football rallies or proms, or wondering if so-and-so "put out." I suppose I was regarded as an oddball. I had few friends, outside of Herb, Ed, Gary, and a few other guys who were musicians. They seemed to fit better into the school social structure than I did. Ed even served on a student committee.
Girls always looked at me differently from the other boys, and I knew they were curious about me, probably because I dressed like a man Instead of a kid. At the beginning of the semester a couple of new students even stopped me to ask directions, thinking that I was a member of the faculty.
It wasn't that I was unfriendly; I would always wave and smile at people. But still, when I passed a group of girls in the hall (teen-age girls always seem to travel in groups) I would get the unmistakable feeling that they were talking about me, making comments after I had passed, and it wasn't paranoia.
Finally I decided, what the hell, I would try it with the schoolgirls. One girl in particular attracted me. Her name was Faye, and she sat next to me in Spanish class. Out of desperation I asked her what she was doing on Wednesday night. She said her parents didn't let her out on weeknights, but she was free on Friday, so we made a date.
I should have known when she said she couldn't go out weeknights that it was bad news, but she was terrifically cute, about five feet tall and beautifully built. My X-ray mind had surveyed her naked body through her plaid skirt and cashmere sweater. She had short, black hair, framing a delicate face, and thick, sensual lips that looked like they would be exquisite to kiss, or to have suck me.
I took her to the Jazz House, a famous West Coast jazz emporium (I was to play there the following year). They had a section for minors in which no alcoholic beverages were served and they gouged you four bits for a Coke, with a minimum of two Cokes per person per set. I really impressed the hell out of her. First, I had my own car. Second, I took her to a real grown-up place, and, most important, I knew the doorman and he knew me. When I waved hello to the owner, one of two brothers, I thought Faye would go into orbit.
"Hiya, kid," he yelled over the crowd.
"Hiya, George," I yelled back.
Faye squeezed my arm and shivered with excitement.
When we left the club she asked me if we were going to park somewhere. The question surprised me.
"If you want to, we will," I answered, throwing it back to her.
"Well," she said, "it's okay, I guess, if we park a little while, but I don't pet or anything."
I held back a smile.
"Pet?" I knew very well what it meant.
"Yes, you know, touching around and stuff like that. I went with Steve Shapiro for six months. We were going steady, so I let him pet a little, but I'd never think of doing it on the first date."
Poor bastard, I thought. He takes her out for six months and all he gets is a feel of cashmere-covered tit, and he was probably happy to get that.
I decided then that I was going to seduce Faye. I had never really seduced a girl before and, remembering Betty, wasn't sure that I could. Every time I had made love it was done with mutual consent. Screwing a girl who goes in thinking she's just going to get kissed a little was entirely different. I drove to the Marina Greens, a large area facing the Bay that was used by kids as a make-out spot, and parked. The fog had come in and there wasn't much we could see, just the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge sticking through the grayish murk, with their red lights rotating slowly.
I killed the engine and looked at Faye, sitting across the seat. Her expression, a kind of weak smile, left no doubt that she was apprehensive with me and was probably having second thoughts about asking me if I wanted to park.
After some wild urging, she snuggled hi my arms. I decided to cool it awhile and let her get comfortable. Meanwhile my cock had grown hard, and had caught the wrong way in my pants. It was killing me, but I didn't want to squirm around and get her uptight again. We lay there and talked, but as we talked I caressed her back and stroked her hair almost absently. I felt the back of her bra through her sweater. It had a wide strap, a good indication that she was carrying a fairly heavy load up front.
After about fifteen minutes I had her somnolent, so I figured that I had better do something before she fell asleep on me.
Teen-age girls are used to being kissed directly on the lips by fumbling, eager boys. The way we were laying, my lips were on her forehead, so I began to kiss it and her hair. I could feel the small bumps where expensive medication had smoothed out the pimples. Stroking her back, I kissed her cheeks and nose. She was still relaxed and her eyes were closed, a good sign. I slipped a forefinger under her chin and lifted her face to mine. Her eyes stayed closed, and I wondered if I had hypnotized her. I kissed her lips lightly and slowly, as I had kissed her cheeks, not really kissing. Then she parted her lips and began to kiss me back, trying to use the "Hollywood special," as I had done, seemingly centuries before. I pulled back my head slightly so that she couldn't do it, took just her lower lip between mine, and sucked in on it gently. She shivered slightly and her arms, still around me, began to caress my back. I moved one hand to her cheek, and stroked her face and hair as I kissed her. Frenching, or soul kissing, was a big thing to schoolgirls, almost the equivalent of letting a guy feel your tits, so I didn't attempt it directly.
I kept at her lips, gently, softly, slowly. And as her breath came harder and her passion stirred, it was she who increased the pressure of the kiss, she who held me more tightly, moving her hands on my back. Our lips were open and I put my tongue into her mouth slowly, touching hers for just a second, as if by accident, then withdrawing it, then again, and again, each tune a little longer. She was breathing quite hard,.so I ran my, tongue around the inside of her upper Up and she moaned softly into my mouth for the first time.
My cock was still caught in the crotch of my pants, and I thought it was going to be cut in half at any second, but I dared not move. Teen-age virgins are paranoid about their breasts being touched, so I avoided moving my hands around to the front, for fear of instantly ruining the whole thing. I remembered from Betty how abruptly a girl consumed with passion and a throbbing clitoris could stop, if she really wanted to. My object was to get Faye past the point of no return, to get her so hot she wouldn't-have the will to stop, no matter what I did, and I didn't want to fuck it up by touching her breast.
I shifted myself slightly, bringing my right leg up next to hers, which was on the edge of the seat. We had slid down until we were lying almost flat. Shifting weight again, I rolled my right leg under hers; so that it was now between her legs and she was lying almost full on top of me. Then I concentrated on kissing her again, sucking her tongue into my mouth, in and out. She was holding me tightly and panting hotly.
I raised my right leg slowly until I could feel light contact with her crotch through her skirt. She didn't seem to notice. After all, there's no rule that says you have to use your hands when you're going after a girl's cunt. Inexperienced girls, while they may be very wary of wandering hands, can be turned on by a leg or a knee, or even an elbow, and not know afterward how it happened. I raised my leg once more and fitted it tightly into her crotch. I stroked her back, her arms, and the back of her head with more pressure, pushing her body closer into mine. Then, ever so slightly at first, I began to raise and lower my right leg, almost imperceptibly, increasing and decreasing the pressure on her cunt.
It was working; she was thrusting her tongue far into my mouth, and I could feel her belly responding to the pressure of my leg, breathing in to meet it, and out when it went away. Carefully, I applied still more pressure against her, bumping her hard enough to move her body just a little, and, wonder of wonders, she started to pump herself slowly against "the pressure of my leg. I don't know if she was even aware of it. My hands on her back pushed in such a way as to encourage her to pump against me harder, and she did. I made her feel better and better, until she was sliding up and clown my leg and actually rolling her ass as she humped. I had succeeded in pushing Faye through into the never-never land of sensation, where thought is sublimated by feeling.
Now came the most dangerous part. Somehow I had to get my hand between her legs. I couldn't bring her any farther along until I could get her to the point where she was almost crazy with passion. I moved down my right hand to the left side of her ass and got a pleasant surprise. I couldn't feel it through my pants, but her humping had moved her skirt, a loose, pleated job, up around her thighs. I don't think Faye knew it, she was getting so hot, I don't think she knew much of anything. I turned up my palm and went over my own leg until I felt the bottom of her skirt. Every time she moved her ass up to hump, I would push her skirt bottom a little higher, being careful not to touch her leg. Finally, her crumpled skirt and slip were bunched up around my belly on the bottom, although the top of it was still covering her a'ss and the backs of her legs. I put my hand, palm up, on my side, and slid it over still more until it was on my own belly, palm up against her belly. I moved it slowly, putting no pressure on Faye, until I felt the elastic top of her panties hitting my index finger each time she slid forward on me. Then I put my left arm fully around her and held her tightly to me, kissing her as hard as I could. When she slid forward again, I slipped my hand under the elastic and ran it onto her clit. Gone were the days of searching, lost in folds of vaginal skin. By now it was almost instinct that brought me to the right spot,
"No!" she said with alarm, as I began to rub her clit. I caressed her back to reassure her. "Don't!" she said more weakly.
But my finger kept at her nerve buds, sapping her will and enveloping her in pleasure. "Please," she moaned… Then, "Oh," as I kept up the friction on her.
"Oh," again. And she took her arms from around my back and encircled my neck. She stopped kissing me and moved her face tightly into mine.
She began moving faster, and I let my finger go into the mouth of her cunt, which was very wet, to get lubricated, and then moved it up again onto her clit, to get that soft, slipper-sliding motion mat girls love so well.
When she began to moan in tune with her pumping I knew she was too far gone to put up a fight, and I wanted to suck her.
Using my left hand, I swiveled her until she was lying with her back against the back of the seat, so we were on our sides and my leg was free. I rotated my body until my face was on her belly, and I was kneeling on the floor of the car. Again, with one quick motion and before she knew what I was going to do, I rolled her pants down around her knees and put my head between her legs, getting my tongue onto her clit right away.
"What are you doing?" she moaned, "Oh, no, please, don't, don't, "
And then my tongue began loving in the silky, warm wetness of her. When I had her humping against my mouth again I knew I was home free. I got her panties the rest of the way off and spread her legs wider.
By now she was wild, with her hands rubbing my head, pushing into her. I unzipped my pants with one hand and freed my cock, which sprang out gratefully. Moving myself a little, I took her left hand and put it around my shaft. I'm sure Faye had never felt a man's cock before, but she started stroking it the second I put her hand on it.
By this tune her whole cunt was a wet mess, and my tongue had put her far past the point of no return. I shifted around again, lying next to her on the seat, kissing her and rubbing my rod between her legs. I had to reach down and put her top leg over my ass so that they would spread enough to let me get it into her.
But now my troubles started. I massaged her breasts through her sweater. She was moaning and panting so hard, and I didn't know if it was from the head of my cock rubbing against her slippery clit or from the new sensation in her breasts. I pushed her sweater up to her armpits, only to discover that she had on a full slip, and I knew there was no way I was going to get it off without possibly ruining the whole thing. I reached over the top of her slip and put my hand inside her bra, rolling her swollen nipples between my fingers. But the position was uncomfortable for my hand, and it didn't seem to be doing as much for her as I had hoped it would. The last thing I wanted was for her to cool off on me. I forgot her tits and reached down, grabbing my cock to insert into her. I found her cunt and began to push it in, but was met with tough resistance. Faye was, for sure, a virgin. As I pushed, trying to be gentle, the rhythm of her pelvic thrusts changed, and her face became contorted in pain.
"Oh, no," she cried. "Please, "
Worse still, I could feel her starting to dry up. I was about to blow the whole thing unless I did something fast, so I shifted around quickly and got my tongue onto her clit again. In a minute she was wet and thrusting hard into my face, faster and faster. She started chanting "oh-oh-oh" in a regular rhythm. I slid my finger into her cunt, and could feel her membrane on the side. The toughness and resiliency of it surprised me. I licked faster and harder against her.
Suddenly she stopped pumping. "Something's wrong!" she cried. "Something's happening! I feel… "
I kept licking at her, rolling my tongue around her bud to get her going again.
"I have to go to the bathroom!" she screamed, and tried to pull back my head. But I kept at her until I pushed her over the edge. She started pumping into me at a furious pace. Her legs began their involuntary opening-and-closing motion around my face, and in another second she was going off as I pushed down hard on her belly to increase the intensity of her orgasm. Her head rolled from side to side and her arms flailed, knocking against the steering wheel and beeping the horn.
She collapsed in a relaxed heap back down onto the seat. I ran my ringers through her soft, black pubic hair and kissed her belly, which was moistened with tiny beads of perspiration. When I moved back up on the seat to kiss her, she had one arm thrown over her face, and she was sobbing softly.
I'd been at her for almost two hours, with a gut-busting hard-on. My cock and balls ached to be relieved, but I tried to ignore it. "Sit up," I told her, "so I can lie down. Then you can lie on me and rest."
Dumbly, Faye did as she was told, leaning on me heavily and shedding her tears all over the shoulder of my shirt.
"Do you hate me?" I asked.
"Yes," she sobbed, then for emphasis added, "you bastard."
"For what? What did I do to you besides give you pleasure?"
"Y-you know what you did to me." Her voice was broken as she tried to stop crying.
"I didn't do anything to you, except give you the very first orgasm you've ever had. You didn't even know what was happening, did you?" She didn't answer. I don't think she even knew what an orgasm was, until she had one. "It was the best, nicest, most wonderful feeling you've ever had," I continued, "and here you hate me for giving it to you. You're still a virgin. I didn't put it into you. I didn't even satisfy myself, it was all for you."
"You tried, you tried to put it in," she said.
"Yes, because I didn't know if you were a virgin. But as soon as I saw that you were, I stopped, didn't I?"
"Yes," she admitted grudgingly.
"Because I want the man who takes your virginity to be someone you love, someone you want to give it to willingly," I lied. I couldn't tell her that I was just afraid she'd quit on me if I kept trying to put it into her. "So all I did was give you the first sexual pleasure you've ever had, and I didn't harm you at all, did I?"
Faye started to cry again. "I just don't understand how it happened," she bawled. "All we were going to do, I just thought we'd be kissing a little. I don't know how it went so far. And what I let you do to me, Oh, God, what I let you do to me."
"And what you did to me," I reminded her, so she'd think about her little hand wrapped around my cock, jacking it for all she was worth.
Faye cried harder. "I'm so ashamed. I'm just so ashamed… "
We were quiet awhile. Finally I said, "It's all my fault. I live in a world of adults and you live in a world of kids. And it's a wonderful word, but I guess it doesn't belong to me anymore. I'm not used to nice girls like you, Faye, I don't know how to handle you."
I figured that if I made her feel like a child, it might help. It did, and, borrowing my handkerchief to dry her eyes, she stopped crying.
We sat up and she picked her panties off the floor of the car. "Turn around," she said, adjusting her skirt and sweater.
"Faye, my God… "
"Turn around," she repeated forcefully.
I got a rag from under the seat, and was going to wipe off the steamed-up windows when I remembered that swollen cock was still out of my pants. I put it in and zipped up, noticing that Faye was averting her eyes.
While I was driving her home I began to get cramps in my balls and lower abdomen. I was so congested it was killing me. We parked in front of her house at one-thirty and I could see an anxious Jewish mother in the window.
"Please don't be mad at me," I said.
Silence.
"I didn't take anything from you, I gave to you. There's a big difference." More silence.
"I don't play games, I play for real," I told her finally. "You'd better stick with the little Stevie Shapiros from school, because I don't care about necking and petting."
"Promise me you won't tell anybody about tonight?"
Christ! Was that all she could worry about, her lousy reputation? "I'm disappointed that you thought you even had to ask that," I said.
She said good night and got out of the car. I drove to the next block and parked. The pain was killing me. I jacked off hurriedly into my handkerchief and in a few minutes had blessed relief.
On the way home I had to smile. I hadn't even gotten a good-night kiss. But then, it was our first date.