Copyright 2017, Jenelle Watson
I was completely uninterested in sex until just after my eighteenth birthday. More than uninterested, I was opposed to it. The last time I saw my father was when I was seventeen, and he’s the reason.
When I was twelve, my father, who I had never seen before in my life, tried to rape me. Fortunately, my mother stopped him just in time. He knew she had trained in judo, so he should have known better. He left our apartment crying, bleeding, and with what appeared to be a dislocated shoulder.
Some people just don’t get it. He returned when I was seventeen. My mother wasn’t home to defend me that time. Fortunately, she taught me many things as we grew up, including some judo basics. As my drunken mess of a father approached me, I turned sideways and helped him right on past, as my mom had showed me. If someone is approaching you rapidly, all you need to do is step aside, and give them a little shove. On his way past me to the wall, he broke our TV set, the fucker. When he hit the wall, he made a pretty good dent in the plaster, and left our house crying again. That was the last I saw of him.
The problem was that he inadvertently taught me that sex is just something bad men want, and it represents danger. I wanted nothing to do with it.
Poverty seems to run in our family. My mother’s sister, Aunt Janie, also a drunk, was becoming a permanent resident on our sofa starting right around my eighteenth birthday. Some birthday present, eh?
One day, right before I graduated, a kid showed up in my school with a gun, and the whole place went on lockdown for an hour. It turned out to be a plastic squirt gun, but everyone was freaked out. So school let out early and I came home to what has to be the crappiest apartment in San Francisco, dented wall, broken TV set, and all. But it was home.
What I totally didn’t expect to see when I unlocked the door and stepped into the tiny living room was Aunt Janie, totally nude, holding one oversize tit up to her face while she licked her nipple, and her other hand on her crotch, rubbing away. She must have been certain she was going to have the house to herself. Not so!
She turned white as a sheet, couldn’t speak, and just stared at me with her lips forming an O, and frozen like a deer in the headlights. When she regained a little composure, she ran into the bathroom clutching her clothes in one hand.
Not knowing what to do, I said, “Oh, excuse me, I can come back,” and then I walked back out the door.
The goofy thing is that something about seeing her doing that, set off a slow, but sure chain reaction in me.
My mom, loving though she is, was very religious, and taught me that masturbation is ‘the work of the devil.’ Her attitudes about sex and masturbation in particular were ingrained in me since before I could remember, so I never doubted the wisdom. Until I saw Janie, that is.
I looked up “masturbation” on Wikipedia, and to my absolute surprise, it wasn’t something bad. That was a real eye opener. I can’t tell you how many times I had felt horny and just didn’t know how to deal with it.
It wasn’t until a week or two later that I tried masturbating for the first time in my life.
Nothing happened. I might as well have been washing dishes. Yet, I felt there was something more to it. Way more.
At the time, I had three fairly close girlfriends, and a guy who wasn’t quite my boyfriend. Just a guy I hung around with. I liked Frederick, who everyone called “Will” for some reason, because he wasn’t always trying to get into my pants like every other boy my age.
It probably doesn’t help that I look like Drew Barrymore. Well, I’m not as pretty as that, but everyone says there’s a strong resemblance.
I guess Will felt like a harmless brother. He said he was a ‘gay rebel,’ but I never saw him with any boyfriends or anything. We talked about everything from basketball to the president of the United States, but I never asked him about his sex life.
The idea of masturbation was burning a hole in my brain. I wanted to know more about it. I didn’t feel right bringing up the idea with my three best girlfriends, or anyone else, for that matter. It just seemed too weird. But somehow, with Will, it seemed safer. Plus, I gathered that masturbation is a big thing with guys.
“Will, can I ask you something?”
“Well, it might be kind of personal.”
“A couple of weeks ago, I accidentally walked in on Janie.”
“She was, um… masturbating.”
“Your aunt Jane, really? What did you see exactly?”
“Everything. She was stark naked.”
“She’s pretty hot. She kind of looks like you, you know, just older.”
“I thought you didn’t like women.”
“I never said that. I’m a gay rebel, that’s all.”
“One of these days I’m going to ask you what that means. But anyway, this masturbation thing. What’s that all about?”
“Jen, what exactly are you asking?”
“Well, according to my mom, people shouldn’t do it. But according to what I read online, it’s totally fine. Some people even recommend it. Do you know anything about it?”
“I’m an expert!” Will laughed.
“You mean, you do it?”
“Of course. What do you want to know?”
I was shocked, thinking of Will masturbating, and had the weirdest reaction. I felt a twinge in my lower stomach, and it seemed even to be partly in my vagina. “Will, what’s your take on the whole thing? I mean, is it OK?”
“Hell, yes! Here’s the thing, if you masturbate a lot, it keeps you balanced. Otherwise, you’ll want to have sex with anyone and everyone all the time. You’ll tell bad jokes at the wrong times, you embarrass yourself trying to ‘conquer’ narcissists and other people you shouldn’t even be with.”
I thought about it, and didn’t really understand. I think I was missing the whole point of masturbating somehow. When I tried it, I didn’t really get anything out of it. I told Will that.
“Really?” he asked. Then he went on to explain that I probably didn’t do it right.
I felt comfort in the way he was talking about this with me. He wasn’t laughing, or calling me an idiot, or snickering, or even raising an eyebrow. He was a great friend. And this was good, because I felt this was somehow a very important thing for me to learn about. I couldn’t have told you why at the time, but it just felt like my life was about to change.
Much like when I took up the recorder. It’s such a simple little instrument. You can buy them for seven bucks. Most people learn the basics, and that’s that, Yet, when I started playing, I really got into it, and became fairly good. I knew right away that my life was going to change, at least musically.
Now, I was feeling there was something about this masturbation business that was going to be similar. I knew already, that even though I hadn’t experienced anything, something special to it yet to be discovered. Just like when I picked up the recorder the first time, all I could do was make a series of horrible beeps.
Will tried to explain some things to me, but it was like trying to explain “blue” to a person who was born blind.
His voice became sort of strange. Whispery. Conspiratorial. He said, “Look, maybe I should show you.”
If it was anyone else but Will, I would have been disgusted, or, at least I would have terminated the discussion.
My response: “You know, I think I’d like that,” I said nervously.
His face turned red, he hesitated, then he said, “Yes, I think I’d enjoy it too.”
I don’t know if we consciously realized how sexual that moment had become. Well, maybe he did.
“Meet me at my house at seven tomorrow. Both of my parents are going on their weekly date, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”
“What about your sister?”
“She’s at college, remember?”
“Right. OK, I’ll see you at seven.” Oddly, as I said that, there was a catch in my voice. I didn’t know why.
For the rest of the evening, I was all goofy. Kind of nervous about the the next day with Will. I played my recorder, jamming to some Justin Bieber stuff on Youtube, on my old, half-broken laptop. You had to press the spacebar just right, or it won’t work. Playing music always settles me down. I played until the neighbor banged on the wall and said “Hey!” It took forever to get to sleep. At one point, I kind of half-tried masturbating again. It did feel nice, but not magical or anything. Will had said it can be magical. I was wondering exactly what he meant.
I got to Will’s house just as his parents were leaving. “Hey, Jen,” they both said. His father added with a wink, “Kids, don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”
His parents were kind of permissive, and always joking around. I liked them.
We sat on the sofa and talked a bit. He offered me a soda, which I accepted. He asked me if I was still interested in masturbation.
“Yes!” I said, perhaps too enthusiastically.
“OK, what I’m thinking of doing, if you don’t feel it’s too crazy, is I’ll show you how to masturbate.”
“Um, OK,” I said, being surprisingly nervous about it.
“But look,” he continued, “I’m not going to kiss you or anything.”
“I certainly hope not!”
“Good, because I’m a gay rebel.”
“OK, got it. So how do you know about how girls do it?”
“I’ve got a sister, remember?”
My mind immediately went there. Did Will and his sister have some sort of experience? That gave me another one of those twinges in my belly.
At that point, we stalled out, until frustrated by the delay, I finally said, “So what do we do?”
“We have to get naked.”
I saw it coming, but somehow, hadn’t let myself think about it until that moment. Perhaps I was half hoping that he’d do this demonstration or whatever it was going to be simply by metaphorical explanation, or drawings, or something.
I was also thinking about how he didn’t have to get naked. Only me, and that seemed kind of unequal. It would be embarrassing, at minimum. But it had to be done, I figured.
Perhaps the whole thing could have been done more stylishly. I don’t know. I just started taking off my clothes, beginning with my shoes and socks. He stared at me for a moment, hesitated a bit, then took off his shoes and socks.
Then we stalled out again.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Will asked.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I answered.
“OK,” and he took off his T-shirt. Now, I’ve seen boys without shirts before, but never up close, and not in a situation like this. I have to say, the guy looked pretty impressive. Will was tall, thin, and tanned. His tanned skin went nicely with his longish, dirty-blond hair. Strangely, my heart skipped a beat.
I must have been hypnotized for a moment. I just sat there as he then proceeded to pull down and step out of his shorts, and underwear together, revealing his penis, the first one I had seen other than on the Internet.
As he removed his shorts, it kind of popped out. Kind of jumped a bit. I realized he must be erect. I certainly hoped so, because the thing looked rather large. It would have been inconvenient to have that always in front of you, I thought. But then again, I always have breasts in front of me.
Some sort of instinct in me was telling me to touch it. I wanted to reach right out put my fingers on his penis, but of course I refrained.
“Is that erect?” I asked.
“Well, um, boys get erect for a number of reasons, but the leading cause is when they are sexually excited.”
“So, you’re excited now?” I asked. “Am I exciting you?”
“Now, don’t get the wrong idea. Anything of a sexual nature gets guys hard. It isn’t you so much, although don’t get me wrong, you are pretty, but it is just that I’m expecting that I might have an orgasm, and that causes me to be erect.”
“Oh.” I had a lot to think about.
“So, Jen, show me what you did when you tried to masturbate. Get in the same position and everything.”
I reclined sideways on his sofa, and put my fingers in my slit, and started rubbing all around. It did feel rather nice. There was something about seeing him staring right at my vagina like that, which felt, well, interesting. I was not opposed to the direction this evening was taking.
“OK, I see some problems. May I?” and with that, he leaned toward me, extending his hand. But not to my vagina. He put his right hand on my left breast. I have to admit, that simple touch, as his fingers enveloped me, was surprisingly comforting. It also seemed to cause me to start breathing hard. Then he let go for a second, and then of all strange things, he ever so lightly started swirling his finger all around my nipple. After a minute of that, he did the same on my other breast.
It felt a bit ticklish, but something else. Something surprisingly nice. I felt the sensation as much in my nipples as in my lower stomach, and vagina. In fact, it sent minor shivers from my head to my toes. He kept at it for a good couple of minutes, and I felt like I never wanted him to stop. I wondered if massages, something else I had heard about but never experienced, were something like this.
Finally, he repositioned himself. He was still kneeling on the floor next to the sofa, but moved down closer to my feet. He moved very slowly, bringing his hand to my vagina.
I was expecting him to jump right in, and start rubbing down there in the slot. That’s not what he did. Instead, he just waved his index finger above my vagina, and then ever so slowly lowered it down until it was just brushing the hairs. Oh, my god, did that feel good! It was another sort of tickling feeling, but way cool!
He kept it up for a while. I noticed a feeling of liquid around my vagina, and was momentarily ready to be embarrassed until I remembered that my period ended a week ago. This was something else. I had felt it before, but never understood it. I was exuding some sort of clear fluid. He brushed his finger right in my slot, coating it with some of the fluid. Then, he started brushing his finger the length of my vagina. For some reason, I couldn’t explain, I started shivering. I wasn’t cold, but I was sure shaking! What he was doing felt awfully good. I didn’t know what the shivering was about, but I trusted Will, and I knew it was part of this experience, so I just went with it. My legs, especially, were trembling.
After a while, Will was focusing on that little bump near the top of my vagina, which I since learned was called the “clitoris,” and the shivering got worse. I started getting something like chills, but much better. I had never experienced anything like it, and although it was freaky, I liked it. I liked it very much. The feeling intensified. I couldn’t help moaning a bit, which embarrassed me. I hadn’t meant to do that. I moaned again, louder. Weird! Then suddenly, my whole body went wild. I tensed all up. I arched my back, and then I started feeling a sort of pumping sensation in my vagina. It was super-strong, and a crazy good feeling. Then, it tapered off, and it was over.
I curled up in a little ball on his sofa. I wanted to explain to him that I was OK, but my eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t say anything. If I could have, I might have told him how sorry I was for all the years I had missed out on this experience, and how much I hoped to learn more about it in the future.
While I was slowly coming back down to earth, he sat on the far end of the sofa by my feet. He put his hands on my ankles for a moment, which I found quite soothing. It was his way of saying he was with me in some sort of quiet support.
Then he let go, and with one hand, he started doing something with that penis of his. I sat up, and hoping he wouldn’t mind, I just stared at his penis. What a fascinating piece of equipment! The thing was skin colored, but showed some blood vessels just underneath. Very masculine, very attractive, I thought. It had a weird, pinkish-purple head, and the skin of the thing seemed quite loose. Then I noticed his other bit – his testicles. I didn’t understand that at the time at all, other than evidently that little sack contained glands that create sperm. I noticed he was starting to move his hand rhythmically up and down, kind of shaking that loose skin. The tip of his penis kept disappearing under the cover of skin, then reappearing. He was leaning way back, and seemed to be hypnotically enjoying what he was doing. I knew it was masturbating, but had never seen it before. All I had seen were a couple of unclear pictures on Wikipedia. I must say I was absolutely riveted.
For some reason, the strong urge to touch that thing came back. “Can I do that for you?”
“Oh, yes, please!”
He took his hand away. I came over to his feet and knelt on the floor in front of him. I noticed his penis was pulsing in time to his heartbeat. That was so cool! Reaching out, I put my fingers on it very lightly at first, then wrapped them around that soft skin of his. How interesting! The skin was remarkably soft and silky, yet the penis underneath was like a bone. I had read that it’s all blood. That there’s no bone in there at all, and found that hard to believe.
I put my hand on his hairy testicles, and was surprised how soft the sack was. With my fingertips, I started feeling around, and found the two grape-like things I had read would be in there.
“Easy!” he shouted as I immediately backed off. Then more quietly, “They’re sensitive.”
“Oh, sorry.” I resumed touching his penis, and then started moving the skin up and down like he had done.
Will’s breathing became rough, and he started leaning back even more, but curving his hips down, kind of pushing his penis toward me. I wondered if he was going to have an orgasm just like I did.
He said, “I’m cumming,” and with that, I felt a bit of a pulsation, and suddenly several spurts of thick white fluid jumped out of the end of his penis, landing on his stomach and on my hand.
You’d think I would have been grossed out, but no, I was absolutely fascinated. I knew right in that moment my life had indeed changed.
I continued to move my hand up and down, but he gently pushed me away, “Woah, that’s enough.” I was confused, but in a moment, he told me that men become sensitive after they ‘cum,’ as he called it.
I wanted to stay and talk about what just happened. Unfortunately, Will was somehow quite done. He hustled me out of his house, leaving me to walk home in a mix of bliss, wonder, delight, and confusion.
Along the way, a group of three rough-looking men whistled at me. I wasn’t concerned. I was quite sure I could introduce them to judo if needed.
That night in bed, thinking over what had happened, I became charged up, especially remembering how I had touched his penis. Without even thinking about it, my right hand went down to my vagina, and I started lightly rubbing it like Will had done. I became more and more into it, and sure enough, I had another orgasm. Even though the experience was all new, and kind of freaky, I was getting a pretty good idea how magical the whole masturbation thing could be.
You may think this is odd, but it didn’t occur to me at the time that there could be more. Of course I knew about intercourse, or ‘fucking’ as some call it, but that just wasn’t on my mind. In fact, I found the idea bothersome.
What was on my mind over the next few days, however, was thinking I might like to have another session with Will. But how to instigate it? He showed me how it’s done. What excuse could I possibly have for doing it again?
After that time I caught Aunt Janie, we never referred back to it. She couldn’t make eye contact with me for a few days, but eventually, we settled back down to business as usual. She was costing us money, and while my mom loved her sister, the household expenses were spiraling out of control. The worst apartment in San Francisco, which is what we had, is still terribly expensive for a woman who works as a waitress. Janie should have contributed, but she didn’t. I think she drank her monthly disability checks.
I was pretty sure I had to do something to bring money into the house as soon as high school was over. Maybe even sooner. But what? I had no skill, other than playing my recorder. I had already applied for some jobs, but there was nothing I was qualified for that a million other eighteen-year-olds had also applied for.
I talked with my girlfriend Melissa about that, and she suggested hula hoops. Seriously! She had this notion that I could learn to do some sort of artistic show with hula hoops, go on down to Fisherman’s Wharf, and entertain the tourists with it, passing the hat at the end.
The idea seemed stupid, but out of some sort of desperation, I thought I ought to investigate it. The idea was intriguing in a way. Melissa and I went down to Fisherman’s Wharf, and saw several street performers, but no one with hula hoops. I saw jugglers, magicians, and musicians. I saw a mother and daughter doing a hilarious tightrope-like act involving volunteers. Watching the end of the show, I was impressed with how much money people put in their hats.
I’ve always been a bit shy, but thought it would be worth the effort to communicate with some of these street performers. Mentioning my interest in hula hoops, a big, redheaded woman who’s comedy act was all about swords, told me she had seen some hula hoopers perform here, and that they practice on Baker Beach. I knew that was on the northwest side of town, but that’s all I knew.
Melissa spent the whole bus ride back home insisting that I should take this hula hooping business seriously. She comes from a fairly wealthy family, so I don’t think she realized how bothersome that one-sided discussion was.
The next morning, I set out on the bus to Baker Beach. It was still foggy and slightly cold when I got there so there weren’t many people around. I walked across the soft sand in my flip flops, then took them off, seeing only a half-dozen people along the way. There was an elderly couple dressed in jackets, scarves, hats, and the whole works, looking for seaglass or something. There was a woman my age in a bikini. It seemed to cold for that to me, but she seemed OK with it. The fog started to lift, and I was amazed how quickly things warmed up. I could see the Golden Gate Bridge seemingly so near I could just walk right up to it. So, I started walking north along the beach. Then I saw something that made look again.
There were two naked guys laying on a towel. One of the men was sucking the other guy’s penis. Right there, fully naked on the beach! I had no idea it was a nude beach. In retrospect, I should have known. I mean, everyone talks about Baker Beach, but I never paid any attention.
Continuing to walk, I saw several more naked men, but no women. Other than that couple, these men were simply sunning themselves. It turns out you can’t easily walk to the bridge, so I turned back south. There, off in the distance, was someone with a hula hoop. I had expected to see her using several hoops at once, but she was practicing with just one.
As I approached, I was absolutely flabbergasted. Her skill was simply amazing. She was making a whole series of rapid dance moves, and that hoop was rolling all over her body. Most of the moves were so sleek and quick I couldn’t describe them. Furthermore, she was stark naked. She had a few pounds on her, and a few years. I was surprised to see that she was bronzed, I mean, really deeply tanned, all over, even her vagina, which had no hair.
I greatly respected her skill, and her boldness. Standing back about two car lengths, I just watched. Then I took my recorder out of my backpack, playing a little something to her rhythm.
At one point, she made eye contact, and smiled. A few minutes later, she took a break, and although I was star-struck, I took the opportunity to walk up to her and ask about what she was doing. Her name was Cindy. I found out she was one of the performers I was told about. She practiced there on the beach during weekdays, weather permitting, then appeared at Pier 39, the Cannery and other local venues in the evenings and on weekends. At first, I had a little trouble getting past her nakedness. Then it sort of normalized. It was as if I was talking about any clothed expert about her specialty. I had remained clothed, of course.
I immediately realized the idea of learning to perform with hoops myself would be insane. It would take years to get to Cindy’s level.
I felt somewhat like I was in the presence of a movie star. This outgoing, cheerful woman was a performer, she was evidently successful, and in a way, she represented some version of a future I hoped to attain for myself.
I told her that’s what I had been considering, giving her only the most sketchy details of my financial position.
Suddenly, she asked, “Are you hungry, dear?”
I wasn’t really, but said “Yes,” being intrigued about what she was going to say.
“I live three blocks from here. Come on over and have some lunch with me.”
How could I resist? She put on her sweatpants and a T-shirt, with no bra, which I thought was rather bold considering her ample breasts. Once the T-shirt was on, it was easy to see the shape of her nipples through the fabric. I had just seen her fully nude, but still, I was shocked as we left the beach and started walking on the neighborhood streets with her dressed like that.
We got to her apartment, much nicer than mine, and while she rustled up tuna sandwiches and wine, she briefly told me her story. She had been married, got pregnant, and her husband immediately left, never to be heard from again. She had an abortion, then swore off men, turning to women. Somehow, I was not surprised. Then, she said she turned back to the middle ground. She liked women, and men, some men that is.
I shared my recent experience with my own sexual pleasure. I told her just the basics about Will, and what we had done.
She listened with rapt attention. Then the conversation turned to street performing. Yes, the apartment I was sitting in was paid for entirely by her hoops. She said it was ‘grueling’ work because one has to deal with the general public, and weather is often an issue. But, she loved it. She wouldn’t trade the way she earned money for any other job in the world.
I told her I would love to do something like that, but didn’t have a clue as to what I might be able to do.
“The answer, dear, is as obvious as the pretty little nose on your face. I heard it today. What did you call that instrument in your backpack?”
“A recorder. Do you mean, I could just play music and make money?”
“I mean exactly that! Oh, it won’t be easy, and you’ll want to give up a dozen times along the way, but if you’re patient, you can make a fine living just with that little instrument of yours. I’m sure of it.”
I really perked up, hearing that. I hadn’t been exactly depressed about my situation, but I was terribly worried about how I was going to make money, and maybe even help my mom with her expenses.
“But, how, exactly, would I begin?”
Listen, I’ll be out in front of Fisherman’s Wharf later this afternoon. Why don’t you come with me? We’ll make some money, together.”
“Absolutely. I have an idea.”
“Tell me!” I asked excitedly.
“Later. For now…” and with that, she got up out of her chair, came around to my chair and kissed me. I mean, she really kissed me, like she meant business. The funny thing is I rather liked it.
“But, now,” she said backing away just enough to speak, “There’s something else I’d like to show you.”
Pulling lightly on my sweater, she got me up out of the chair, and into her bedroom. Without fanfare, she whipped off her T-shirt and sweatpants. She was really quite a good-looking woman even though she was somewhat round. I knew exactly where this was going, and I was on board! The minute she stripped off, I felt my heart leap into my chest, and a good strong twinge in my vagina.
I just stood there hypnotized for a minute, then she pulled me to her. She sat on the edge of the bed, and sat me next to her, then kissed me again. Pretty soon we were French kissing. The next thing I knew, she was lifting my sweater over my head. I didn’t object. Then she undid my blouse and my bra, gasping as she saw my smallish boobs for the first time. I guess she liked them OK. In a moment, I was totally nude with Cindy, and it felt right.
There was a part of my brain that hung back thinking, ‘Is this too weird? Is it wrong in some way?’ I decided not to listen to that.
Cindy never touched my vagina – with her fingers. She had me recline on the bed, where she climbed all over me, first kissing my nipples which was glorious, then she kissed my mouth again, then my nipples again. After that, she worked her way down my stomach, bypassing my vagina, and kissed the top of my right thigh, all the way down to my toes. Switching to my other foot, she kissed her way all the back up to my vagina, which she called “pussy,” I felt the most delicious anticipation in my whole body, and especially my ‘pussy.’ At that point, we were in business. It didn’t take her long, licking and sucking on my clitoris, to bring me to the strongest orgasm of my life.
It took me a few minutes to recover, while she stay hugged to my side, and murmured little sweetnesses about how pretty I was. Unlike with Will, I didn’t curl up into a ball of tears. Instead, I was very interested in returning the favor to Cindy.
I pretty much copied her technique, eventually touching my tongue lightly to her tanned, hairless slit, causing her to say “Yummmm!” Pretty soon, I was dipping my tongue as far as I could get it into her, lapping up her precious and tasty juice. After a few minutes, she stiffened up, practically shouted “Holy fucking cow!” and had a crashing orgasm. I felt like I had accomplished something big.
A couple hours later found us in the hot blazing sun on the sidewalk with hundreds of people walking by. She had brought several hoops, and instructed me to play whatever I felt like, while she did her show. She said she usually brings what she called ‘canned sound,’ which was a big Bluetooth speaker plugged into her iPhone, but today Cindy thought the live music might work better. She placed a small wicker basket by my feet, and another near where she was.
Cindy started twirling one hoop all around, doing all sorts of amazing things, and I just played my little recorder, trying perhaps a bit too hard to compose music on the spot that related to what she was doing. It sounded alright, I thought.
A man walked by and dropped a dollar in her basket. A moment later, a kid who couldn’t have been over six, prompted by his parents, dropped a buck in my basket. An hour later, she said she was tired. I could certainly believe it. She was all sweaty, and my feet were tired from standing in the same place for all that time.
She drove us back to her place, and counted the money. I had $18, and she had $26. ‘Not bad for an hour’s work,’ I thought.
“Horrible money, but it was fun!” was Cindy’s response.
We kissed, and she drove me home.
It seemed every night lately, I had big things to ponder. As my mind was going a hundred miles an hour, I casually rubbed my pussy as Cindy called it, and had a nice orgasm before falling asleep.
The next day was Saturday, and she had a spot at Pier 39. She explained to me that you have to audition, and be pretty good to get an hour a week to perform there.
She did her show, which not only had music, but also some comedy, which she delivered flawlessly. I played my recorder while she did a three-minute routine. Her whole show was about forty minutes. Rather than having baskets at our feet, she and I passed baskets among the crowd afterward. I couldn’t believe how much money just flowed in.
Returning to her place, we counted ‘the take’ as she called it, and it amounted to just over $400, of which she generously gave me $100.
We went to her bedroom, and went crazy. This time, while licking me, and just before I lost myself in a huge orgasm, she wetted a finger, and slowly twisted it into my ass. It was simply exquisite. I orgasmed weirdly. It started out normal but strong. Then it diminished and I thought it would be over, as usual. But no, it came back on, and was even stronger the second time. It was a double-orgasm. I didn’t even know such a thing was possible.
As I was coming back to earth, she slowly removed that finger from my ass. I could swear it was a foot long.
Again, she drove me home.
I didn’t hear from Cindy on Sunday. I didn’t hear on Monday. On Tuesday, I called her, and she was like, “Oh, Hi Jen.” It was a little to matter-of-fact, and I was concerned that I must have said something wrong on Saturday. I asked her.
“Oh, Jen, I love you dearly. But I’m a bit quirky. After I get sexually satisfied, I lose interest. I hope you understand. I like playing the field. I hope I’m not hurting your feelings.”
My feelings were hurt, but not terribly. There’s something about Cindy that’s so genuine that I knew she was telling the truth. It wasn’t me, it was her, and that helped me feel at least slightly better.
“What about performing together?” I asked.
She hesitated, then answered carefully, “Oh, dear. That was just an example. You’ll do better on your own. Really.”
I was confused, and starting to feel more hurt. “What about all the money we made?”
“Did that seem like a lot, to you?”
“It was less than I usually make. Here’s the thing: You’ll work out your own way of performing. At first, it will be difficult. But I know you, and I know you’ll do it, and you’ll become remarkably successful.”
The part I heard was “remarkably successful,” so oddly, rather than hurt feelings, I felt kind of elated. Like I had a big new project to play with, and that project would just happen to be a way to earn a living.
She finished the conversation by telling me that she loved me, and wants me to visit her on the beach often. Then, she invited me very specifically to come to the beach the next day at eleven o’clock.
Yet again, that evening, I had stuff to think about. I couldn’t very visit her on the beach and stay clothed. I mean, how would that look? She’d think I was a prude or something. Plus, it was a nude beach. Going there and remaining clothed would be like going to a masquerade, and not wearing a costume. Just plain wrong. On the other hand, me, nude, in front of scores of people? No fucking way!
Even though I frigged myself silly, I didn’t orgasm, and had a hell of a time getting to sleep. I was quite worried about the beach thing.
Reluctantly, I took the bus to Baker Beach, and arrived just about on time. The sun was out, and it was already warm. Cindy was already there and totally nude, of course. I walked over, still undecided about what I was going to do.
I had considered going topless, but that was stupid. I’d still be showing my breasts, which was embarrassing enough, but then I’d be looking like a prude, even more embarrassing. This was the moment. I had to do something.
I decided to take everything off.
But I couldn’t. I talked with her briefly. We were all smiles, but my mind was only half on the conversation. I was terrified. I had to disrobe, I thought, but I couldn’t. Some huge unconscious block was stopping me.
As I was pondering that, a guy came up. He wasn’t much older than me, and a fine-looking guy with a well-defined six-pack. I could tell because he had no shirt. He was carrying a bunch of hula hoops, and you could tell that he and Cindy were good friends. She introduced him as George. He immediately pulled off his shorts, revealing that he, too, shaved his crotch. I liked looking at his penis.
Now, I was seriously outnumbered. Two naked people, and me. Looking around, I saw a dozen people nearby, and every single one was as nude as the day they were born. I started thinking, ‘When in Rome…’
It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. It was even scarier than getting on the freeway the first time when I was taking driving lessons. It was even scarier than throwing my stupid father against the wall. But I did it, and in retrospect, I’m very proud. Actually shaking with fear, I pulled my T-shirt over my head. Like Cindy, I wasn’t wearing a bra this time. Taking my shorts off was less difficult. Still it scared the bejeepers out of me. But I did it!
I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe the police would come out of nowhere, tromping across the sand to arrest me. Or I would be immediately raped. Or everyone on the beach would gather around and start laughing. But nothing of that sort happened. No one paid any attention at all. I was just another naked person on Baker Beach.
Cindy told George about my music, and he wanted to hear. While I had total stage fright about being nude, I wasn’t at all afraid to play music in front of people. I grabbed my recorder out of my pack, and started playing while Cindy did her hoops in time to my music. Soon, George was gyrating, too. He didn’t seem as skilled as Cindy, but it was fun to see his masculine approach to the art of hula hoops.
I had to leave after about 45 minutes. George let me know that very white people such as myself can only handle a limited about of sun at first. I put my clothes back on, and left victoriously. And horny, too, with images of George in my mind.
I was back at home by mid-afternoon, and had a good wank.
After that, remembering how easy it was to play my music for Cindy and George, and several other people on the beach who watched and listened from a polite distance, I figured it was time to go out and play my recorder down around Fisherman’s Wharf. I put on my bluejeans, my fuzzy light blue sweater, a pretty hat, and got on the bus.
Once there, I simply took out my recorder, and played a bit, while people walked by. They seemed to go out of their way to avoid making eye contact. I stopped, knowing something was wrong. I tried a more lively tune, and made a real point of making eye contact. A man and woman stopped, seemingly blissed by my tune.
The woman handed the man a five dollar bill, which he was twirling around his fingers. He didn’t give it to me. Suddenly, I understood why. He couldn’t!
I was busy playing. He couldn’t interrupt me. And I had foolishly forgotten to provide a container for money!
I stopped playing, smiled at the couple, and said a few words of introduction, and thanked them for listening. The man handed me the five, and they walked on.
I didn’t like the idea of putting my nice clean hat on the street, but under the circumstances, it seemed like the profit might exceed any possible damage to the hat. So, down it went, and I played some more music, making eye contact, nodding, and trying my best to be lively. Most people still walked past, ignoring me. Some, actually stopped and listened for a while. I played an hour, then started feeling strangely embarrassed, so I quit, grabbed my hat, and went home, walking all the way.
Once at home, I spilled the money out of my backpack. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was more than I got. I had made eleven dollars. That was depressing. About the only thing I could do was go to bed and give myself a nice orgasm.
The next day, I was back on the beach in the late morning along with Cindy, George, and some fat guy who’s name I didn’t catch. He kept staring at me, which was creepy. And, I hadn’t even taken my bikini off yet. Yes, I wore a bikini, fully expecting to remove it once I got there.
I had thought that would be easy, but the fat guy creeped me out. Still, he was naked, so that counted for something. His creepiness got one notch less in my opinion. I went ahead and removed the bikini, and all was well. The fat guy turned out to be friendly, and surprisingly good at hoops considering his shape.
Forty-five minutes later my bikini was back on, and I decided to head for town. Having graduated recently, I was still having trouble scheduling my days, trying to do whatever made the most sense with the need to make some money underlying my every thought.
Realizing that eleven dollars per hour was sufficient, I started to think about what would happen if I played music 40 hours a week, like an ordinary job. Sure, it would be hard work, but I could bring home the bacon. Besides, I might be able to get better, to learn some tricks. I figured I might watch some of the other street musicians and see what they do.
One of the first acts I saw was a female saxophonist with two guys backing her up, one on guitar, the other on keyboard. People paid attention to her. Part of it was the volume of her sound. I couldn’t compete with that. Part of it was her undeniable sex appeal. I couldn’t compete with that, either. However, she didn’t look as good as me, and I’m not much, but her skimpy costuming undoubtedly helped.
I realized I was still in my bikini under my sweater and jeans, which were becoming too warm in the early afternoon sun. Hmmm…
I set my hat on the sidewalk, took out my recorder and went to work. The bikini definitely had an effect. To my surprise, women as much as men took more interest in me. It was kind of a sell-out, in that I was using sex appeal rather than pure musical skill, but hey, if I could make enough to help my mother, well, I’d certainly put some skin on display. Besides, it made me feel proud that these people seemed to think I was good-looking. Or, maybe they just thought I was weird.
I stripped down to my bikini and played for a half-hour. Any more, and I’d be sunburned, what with having already been on the beach, and then here on the sidewalks. Some money came in. It looked like more than last time, even though I played for less time. I went home before I counted the money.
At home, I discovered $7. I thought it was more. Oh, well. When you think about it, it was $14 per hour, and that’s pretty good!
The next day, I went to Golden Gate Park. I’m light skinned. I couldn’t stand in the sun all day. Besides, my hat would be spending its time on the ground, not on my head. I found some shady places to play, but couldn’t really get people to come close or to stay and listen. I didn’t make any money at all. Not even one dollar.
The day after that, the fog was back in, for which I was very thankful. It was a bit cold so I wore my bikini under my regular stuff, and played for two whole hours. I had been more nervous the previous days. Now, I was starting to engage with the people more. I was also playing less. I’d spend some time between each song talking with the people.
Most of the stuff I had been playing was my own composition, made up on the spot. Some of the people wanted to know if I knew their favorite pop songs. Some were things I played when I first took up the recorder, like “Killing Me Softly.”
I learned a huge lesson. When people make requests, and you play them, you make way more money! After two hours, I had $32. I was getting hungry, but now I was ‘rich’ so I spent a bit on some lovely clam chowder. The weather was warming up nicely, and the sun was threatening to come out, so like any tourist in the area, I found a place to buy a big hat, stuffing my old one in my pack. Getting back on the street, I found another musician, a guitarist, had taken my spot. I tried to talk with him about it, but he got immediately belligerent.
I found another spot nearby, stripped down to my bikini, and then started playing. I played for another two hours, talking half the time, and lo and behold, I made some fantastic money. In that bikini-clad two hours, playing the few requests that I knew, and kind of improvising along the way, I had made $63.
To say I was in heaven would be an understatement. The next morning, I just had to tell Cindy. I don’t think anyone else would have understood the meaning of my success in the same way. When I arrived, she was already there, along with George, the fat guy, and a couple of others I didn’t recognize. I surprised myself by casually stepped out of my clothing like I did it every day, and told her, with the others listening, about my success. She was delighted for me.
One of the guys in her little crowd started having an erection. At least I think so. It wasn’t a full erection, but since he was looking at me the whole time, I assumed I was the cause. He was a gentleman and didn’t act on it. You’d think I might be disgusted, but in all honesty, I was strangely honored.
Months passed. I was averaging just under $40 per hour. Sometimes I’d have actual crowds, like twenty people who dropped whatever they were doing just to enjoy my music. The only drawback is that I could only work about 30 hours a week. Anything more was just too much. If I worked too much, my attitude became crappy, and the public could tell.
On the other hand, I realized they were paying me to practice. I could just play whatever I wanted. I could try new things. The worst that could happen is that people would walk away. At home, I made it a point to learn anything that was requested, even if I didn’t like it at first. More and more, I was able to handle requests. I also bought some skimpier bikinis.
One time I went to far with what was essentially a string bikini. These skimpy things were more lucrative, but I looked down one day to discover, in horror, that one of my nipples was poking out the side. Probably a hundred people saw me that way, but no one said anything, although I seem to remember some teen boys standing nearby and tittering about something. It was probably me.
I should probably mention another thing that was happening. Sometimes, guys would come up and talk with me between songs. At first, I had a hard time believing they were hitting on me. One or two wanted to exchange phone numbers or came right out and invited me to dinner.
The first one of note was a guy named Jake. He had what seemed like an English accent and was oh so cute. He wasn’t tall, but taller than me, and that’s good enough. There was something about the way he smiled. He did take me to dinner, and one thing led to another.
He was visiting from New Zealand, and he invited me to his hotel. I pretty much knew what was up. I can sense these things, and I was right, and it was great.
We kissed. We hugged. You may not think so, but I was the first one to start removing clothing. I just had this urge to have him touch my boobs, and he readily complied. My boobs, as you know, had been touched a couple of times before, but Jake was more powerful. He wasn’t afraid to squeeze them a little bit, and that sent shivers of sexual energy throughout my body. He kissed my nipples, then nibbled them lightly with his teeth. No one had done that before, and I could have orgasmed just from that.
Then he did something that I thought was weird, but I went with it. He started licking my left ear. First around the rim, then actually putting his tongue in the hole, which made loud sucking or clicking noises, as the air flow was cut off then restored. I wouldn’t have expected ears to be so sensitive and fantastic, but they certainly are. He squeezed my ass with his fingers, telling me how delightful it was. Girls like to hear that they are delightful, but you know that.
He asked if I was a virgin, which I admitted. Oh, I was so excited.
Jake stopped dead in his tracks. He said it had to be special. With him, a guy in a hotel, it wasn’t going to be special enough. The next thing you know, I’m dressed, and taking the bus back home. Thanks a lot, Jake! I mean, it was very gallant and all, but I really, really wanted to lose my virginity that night.
My old friend Will followed my success with enthusiasm. He liked it when I told him all the details of my days on the streets. I had been planning to ask him for a follow up session for quite a long time.
Suddenly, looking sheepish and doubtful, he asked, “Remember when I showed you how to masturbate?”
“Boy, do I!”
“Well,” he said, still hesitant, “I didn’t show you everything.”
As usual, I thought I knew exactly where he was going, and I was so hoping I was right.
“Will, it’s time to learn more. I’ve made pretty good use of what you taught me so far,” I said, laughing.
In a heartbeat, we were both entirely naked, and his boner was as attractive as ever. I just wanted to reach right out and grab it. Instead, he picked up his pants, and took out his wallet. I wondered what he was up to, until I saw him extract a thin square packet. Ah, a condom. I had never seen one in person. He put it on his penis and unrolled it as I took what I assumed was an inviting position on his sofa.
With his rubber-clad penis waving in the air, he kissed me deeply, climbed on top, and rather unceremoniously, and unromantically, arranged himself so his penis was pressed between our lower stomachs. I felt that shivering feeling again, the one I have had a few times when the sexuality is running super-high.
He repositioned this way and that a few times, and then I felt the tip of his penis pressing insistently against my vagina. I was getting wet, but it wasn’t quite wet enough. He added some saliva, and tried again. It still wasn’t working. I suggested we get some olive oil from his parents’ kitchen, and we tried again. That did the trick nicely, and suddenly, I felt almost a soft pop, as he got the magnificent head of his dick inside me. It kind of hurt a little too, but I ignored that. He stayed like that for a minute, then started a very minor back and forth rhythm, gradually expanding it, powering up, you might say, and that penis of his started pushing really into me. It was a hugely fulfilling feeling. Wonderful! It also hurt just a little, but I had read about the virgin thing, where we have hymens that can obstruct intercourse the first time. I knew it would go away, or wouldn’t matter. It did go away, and soon he was pounding into me, breathing hard, and then, in a moment, it was over.
He stopped, just laying dead on top of me for a moment. Will was surprisingly heavy. I felt his penis shrinking within me, and in a moment it sloppily plopped out.
“Did you orgasm?” he asked.
I would have figured he would have known. “No, sorry.”
“Oh, no, you’re not the one who is supposed to apologize.” And with that, he turned all the way around on the sofa, and started licking my pussy like a starving man. I had a very nice orgasm.
The whole experience with Will was delightful, but it left me thinking that it may not have been all it should be. I knew there was more to expect from sex than that.
Back on the streets over the next few months, I started becoming obsessed about better sex. I dated several guys. By dating, I mean, the whole thing was unfortunately unromantic. Perhaps because my father was such a jerk, I had never learned what romance is. But I sure as hell fucked these guys. One after another. Sometimes three different guys in a week. They must have been as happy as pigs in shit. Imagine, a no-strings-attached girl to fuck on a first date. They all wanted second dates. I didn’t.
One late morning, I was playing my music, and a messed-up looking guy was standing along with about six nice tourists. I was worried that he would scare them off, costing me some profit. He didn’t do that. Instead, he grabbed my hat and tried to start running. With my judo experience, I helped him out, sending him sprawling into a metal railing. I didn’t mean to injure the guy. I just didn’t want him to take my money. He fell unconscious, and there was an alarming amount of blood forming around his head. Everyone was shocked, but none more than me. I felt so guilty. Perhaps I shouldn’t have shoved him quite so hard, or at least looked where I was sending him first.
A large crowd formed, much larger than I had ever performed for. Some people formed around the guy, administering aid. After a good many minutes, an ambulance arrived. Two cops arrived a minute after that.
One of the two, a sour looking man was quite belligerent. “You kids do your fucking drugs, learn some martial arts and think you can just go around doing whatever you want.”
His partner, a much taller, and quite young man with a square jaw and dimpled chin, said “Hey, Fred, don’t get all worked up again.”
“Fuck you, Zack!”
Mr. Belligerent acted quickly, and in my opinion quite incorrectly. Before I knew it, I was face down on the sidewalk, with my arms painfully handcuffed behind me. I felt a burn and dull ache on my forehead. I think I must have bumped it on the pavement as the man took me down.
The other guy kept saying “Fred! Fred! Get a hold of yourself!” I couldn’t quite tell, but suddenly there was a huge pain in my ribs. I think the fucker kicked me. It really hurt to breathe. I tried breathing as shallow as I could. I knew I was in bad condition.
“Fred,” the other guy, said more quietly, “You’re digging your grave.”
Then more loudly, “Fred, I said stop right now!” I heard a bunch of scuffling, and some incoherent yelling, but I could see none of it, because I was trapped on the sidewalk. I couldn’t get up, or even turn my head around due to the painful way my arms were bound behind me not to mention the terrible knife-like pain with every breath.
Soon, the other cop was kneeling down next to me saying, “I’m so sorry, miss.”
I tried to stop breathing. It just hurt too much. I passed out.
In the hospital, I woke to the sight of my mother, Aunt Janie, and the cop named Zack. I almost jumped. My reaction was to get away from this horrible violence which had injured me, and he seemed to be a part of it.
Very soothingly, he said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. My partner is probably in jail right now. On behalf of the San Francisco Police, I apologize to you.”
Frankly, I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. I just wanted to go home.
The cop left, and I told my mom and Aunt Janie to go home. I’d be alright.
A doctor came in maybe an hour later. I must have fallen asleep. “Miss Watson, you’re doing just fine. You’ll make a full recovery.”
“What happened?” I groggily asked.
“You have several broken ribs, and we suspect a concussion, and I’m sure you’re going to be sore for a few days.”
“I mean, what happened?”
“Ah, from what I heard, one of San Francisco’s finest went crazy and beat you up.”
I was scheduled for release late the next morning. An hour before I left, that good cop, Zack, came by and again apologized profusely for what happened. My mom was there again, and she seemed to have gotten to know this cop, and was smiling at him.
“You didn’t do it, Officer…”
“Zachary Montgomery. Call me Zack. I feel terrible Miss Watson, because I knew my partner was a powder keg. This isn’t the first time he went off on a young person, and I should have reported his behavior. He never went that bezerk before and it was always with young men. He lost his son to a drug overdose a year ago. But that’s no excuse. I’m so sorry.”
“You can quit saying that,” and I tried to laugh, but it hurt too much.
“Are you going to be OK?”
“Well, I live with my mother, and she works all the time.” My mom nodded.
“Miss Watson, here’s my phone number,” and he handed me a card. “If you need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
This guy was the real deal. If only all policemen could be like that. In fact, if all men could be like that…
My mom had to go to work. I took the bus home alone, and I have to tell you, that was the worst ride of my life. Every start and stop, every bump the fucking bus hit, hurt like hell. Then, I had to walk a block home. I almost couldn’t do it. Then going up the stairs…
I think I fell asleep again. I don’t remember anything from unlocking the door until I woke up on the sofa evidently many hours later. I really had to pee.
If anything, I was in even more pain. Making it into the bathroom was nearly impossible, then pulling down my pants turned out to be truly impossible. I just peed right in my pants, there on the bathroom floor. Then I fell asleep again, waking uncomfortably on the cold, hard tile. I tried to get up, but I had such a sharp pain in my side, I just couldn’t do it. What to do? I realized I was in real trouble. At the hospital they had given me a prescription for pain medicine, but there was no way I could go to a drug store. My mom was going to be home in an hour. I just lay there, feeling really, really bad. Not only in terrible pain, but depressed, too.
My phone rang. I slowly dug it out of my pocket, which almost hurt too much. The phone was wet with urine. My mom left a message that she was going to go to a movie with Aunt Janie, and wouldn’t be home until late. She also said her phone would be off, so I couldn’t call her. I called her anyway, and sure enough, no answer. I’m sure she didn’t realize the condition I was in, or she would have stayed home for me.
Painfully, I reached into my pocket again, and pulled out Zack’s card. I really didn’t want him to see me like this. What a fucking mess! But what else could I do?
It was a good thing I had been too out of it to lock the front door, because it might have been a real problem letting Zack in. He turned out to be a knight in shining armor. He saw me laying on the bathroom floor, and with my permission, stripped off all my clothes. He washed me as best he could with a warm wash cloth, and then very slowly and gingerly helped me into my bed, saying sweet little murmurings the whole time. I was drifting in and out of consciousness, or at least only half-aware of what was going on.
I fell asleep again. When I awoke, he gave me the medicine. He must have found the prescription slip, and somehow managed to get it filled. He helped me to the bathroom, and I noticed that not only he cleaned it all up, it was cleaner than it had ever been.
Zack stayed and watched an old Gene Kelly movie with me, during which I fell asleep yet again.
The next morning, he was there, along with my mother and Aunt Janie. They were looking shocked, horrified and guilty. He must have told them the whole story. It turns out he slept on the sofa. Mom and Janie joked that they felt especially safe with a policeman in the house. He made French toast and orange juice for all of us. I was starting to wonder about his job.
“Oh, the sergeant knew the story, and when I asked whether I might be able to offer you some help, he said, ‘Take as much time as you need.'”
Zack didn’t tell me the part about his sergeant hoping that Zack’s personal attention might reduce the chances I’d be claiming police brutality.
It took me days to heal. Zack came and went, often bringing flowers. He spent a surprising amount of time with me. He and my mom seemed to hit it off quite nicely as well. Zack seemed more reserved toward Janie, however. He cooked several meals, and he was a good cook. It became almost routine to watch movies with the four of us on the living room sofa.
Finally, finally, the pain started going away. Oh, I could still hardly walk, but at least ordinary life wasn’t excruciating any more. In addition to the broken ribs, I had been suffering a terrible headache for days, the kind where every footstep hurts. The headache finally lifted.
I couldn’t find my recorder. I think it was lost during the ‘accident.’ I was so disappointed. Oh, it was only a $7 plastic instrument, but without it, I felt like a big part of my life was missing. Zack bought me a $100 wooden recorder. I surely appreciated the sentiment, and thanked him profusely, but had my mom go out and get me another plastic one. I liked that one much better. It was hard to play at first. The pain in my ribs was interfering. I started to worry that I’d never be able to play it pain-free again and became terribly depressed.
The funny thing is once I healed totally, and could play my music, and start going back out to Fisherman’s Wharf and making money again, Zack didn’t leave. Oh, he went to work again, but he seemed to become a permanent fixture in our home whenever he was off duty.
One day, I glanced at him kind of sideways, really taking him in for the first time. This tall guy was really handsome. He had short cut black hair, a strong, jaw, and a thin, but strong build. He looked quite a lot like Cary Grant. Sounded like him too, but without the accent. My mother started kind of nudging me, like ‘Girl, this guy is a catch.’
I was starting to think so too. Weirdly, I felt one evening when he wasn’t there, that something really important was suddenly missing.
He asked me on a date. We ate pizza and laughed. More dates followed. He was a perfect gentleman. Just knowing that Zack was hovering in the background of my consciousness put a stop to me doing all those one-night stands with random guys in my audiences. I didn’t miss it.
Somehow, a lawyer appeared. I think Zack arranged it. The guy was nice enough. I answered his questions, and signed his papers. A court date came and went. All I did was point to that horrible Fred person, and say, “Yes, that’s him.” A month later, some more courtroom stuff, and a flurry of papers to sign. Suddenly, I had $125,000. I gave $25,000 to my mom. I invested in a treatment program for Aunt Janie, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. I donated $10,000 to a place for at-risk youth, figuring that the guy who attacked me, and triggered all this mess, probably would have gone an entirely different way if he had been handled better when he was young. Finally, I read up on the best ways to invest what was left, after the shocking amount of tax I’d have to pay if I wasn’t careful.
I was surprised to discover that I didn’t need much money. What I was earning as a musician had made it so my mom could reduce her load to 20 hours a week, which she very much appreciated. I had my $7 recorder, a half-dozen bikinis, and a few nice big hats, a nice laptop, and that was pretty much everything I needed.
Zack and I grew closer. Oh, sure, we finally got around to fucking, and ended up doing it pretty much most mornings and every night. I moved into his place. He especially liked putting his long, circumcised dick in my ass, which always gave me huge, hands-free orgasms. We often managed simultaneous orgasms. Our favorite position was me on my hands and knees on the bed, with him kneeling behind me. I never knew which hole he was going to penetrate, and loved the mystery. Sometimes, if he was in my butte, he’d reach around and jam a few fingers in my pussy as well. Other times, with that long, magnificent penis of his in my pussy, he stick his thumb in my ass, which sent me over the edge with a spectacular orgasm every time.
My experience with music taught me that in one stays focused on any task, one can develop rather amazing skill. I decided to work on my pelvic muscles, to Zack’s delight. In time, I was able to rhythmically squeeze my vaginal canal down really hard on his dick which sent him into orgasmic fits of ecstasy. Then, when we butfucked, I found the same squeezing, had an even more profound effect on him.
I heard that Fred avoided jail somehow, and ended up with therapy and an anger management program. He is no longer a cop. He operates earth moving equipment now.
Will dated a couple of guys, decided he wasn’t a ‘rebel’ after all, and got married to a my cute Asian friend Melissa.
Aunt Janie actually accepted treatment, and she has been clean for a year now. I believe she has truly recovered. She and mom share the apartment, and they are both quite happy.
My mom took the money I gave her, quit her job, and started a judo school, which is quite successful. She even taught Zack a move or two.
Oh, and here’s a surprise. My mom has started dating Zack’s dad.