Chapter II — Mark
For the first few days after I returned from Houston, I often pleasured myself. Most of the time, I would simply rub my clit until I reached orgasm. Usually, I would do it twice, and rarely more often. I would imagine it was Amys fingers rather than mine, but it only took the edge off.
Mark had lived next door to me all of my life. We were very good friends even confidants but I had never had any sexual thoughts toward him. I had never had any sexual thoughts toward anyone before Amys visit. Mark was twelve, and was away at a tennis camp when I returned from Amys.
Mark was taller than I, and slim in a strong-looking way. Raw-boned would be an apt cliche. Four days after I returned from Amys I saw Mark in his back yard in the morning. I yelled at him to come over and swim.
He nodded his assent, and was soon at my pool in his Speedo suit. He looked good. I noticed, as I had never before, the small bulge at his crotch. We swam for a while and roughhoused a little, then we went to sit on the porch.
I really had a hard time imagining it, and the idea really scared me. My idea of the size of mens penises was pretty much correct, and I didnt see how one of those could fit inside me. However, I couldnt stop thinking about Mark and me. Maybe joint masturbation would work.
I had to think about this. I excused myself to use the bathroom. This was a new idea, which I hadnt considered until Mark got over here. In the bathroom, I thought: I have heard of date rape.
I dont think Mark would ever do that, but I know that boys can be pretty hard to handle after they get turned on. They might even think they have a right to sex if a girl leads them on. What I had in mind went beyond leading him on. I wanted to stop at mutual masturbation.
I didnt know if Mark would. I was afraid that a penis would rip me open. What if I bled everywhere? What if I had to go to the hospital? I would be permanently grounded. I would be done with sex until I was out of my parents home.
Not only that, Mark would certainly be blamed. Even if I tried to take the blame, and I certainly would, everyone knows that its the boy that initiates these things. I decided to go back outside and tell Mark I wasnt feeling well, and excuse myself. The downside was too bad.
I went outside. I didnt have to tell Mark right away that I was sick. In fact if I did, it might look suspicious. I sat down and looked at Mark.
He looked so good. I said, do you masturbate? Mark couldnt have turned any redder. Why are you asking, he stammered. Because I do, and I want to know if you do, I replied in my most authoritative, bitchy voice.
But how do you do it you dont have anything to. . . hold onto he said.
I asked my question first. Do you masturbate, I replied. I was really controlling the conversation, now. Sometimes, he said.
I laughed. I knew you didnt do it all the time. I said, and I immediately regretted the sarcasm. Yes, I do, he said, embarrassed.
. At that point, I observed the change in his Speedo. Although he was trying to hide it with his hands in his lap, I could readily see the outline of his boner. Okay, he said, I answered your question, now you answer mine.
. . . .