by Lubrican

Chapter : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Chapter One

Nobody understands. Except Chrissy and she can't do anything about it.

I'm Mallory, Mal for short, and I'm tired of people looking at me "like that" and stereotyping me. So I'm going to tell the story of how things got the way they are. Then maybe people will understand.

And if they still don't? Well, then fuck 'em. Because I'm happy about how things turned out, whether other people like it or not.

Chrissy was my best friend growing up. We weren't like other best friends, who got in fights and chose new best friends. We stuck together through thick and thin. I grew up in her house, and she grew up in mine. I bet we spent more time together than real sisters would have.

So of course I knew her parents. And when her mother got cancer and died, it hit me just as hard as it hit Chrissy. We were only eleven at the time, and it wasn't fair. It shouldn't have happened.

But it did.

People said things like "That's life," or "It's too bad, but things happen," and "We have to go on."

And that's important, because other things shouldn't have happened, but did. And nobody said "That's life," or "Things happen ... just go on with your life." Oh no. When the things happened that I'm talking about, people would have screamed and shouted and thrown a fit.

If they'd have known.

Which, of course, they didn't.

Until now. I bet a bunch of people are going to just have a cow when they read this.

Chrissy's last name was Carter, and her dad's name was Bob. It still is Bob, but I'm talking about back then, so past tense seems more nearly correct. And back then I called him Mr. C.

Anyway, we grieved together, and Mr. C. let me grieve with them. He was the only one who understood that I was feeling the same kind of pain. True, she wasn't my mother, but she had been my friend for years, the one adult who talked to me like I wasn't some stupid kid. I loved her, and I missed her.

So we grieved together and we healed together. I didn't understand it then, but I fell in love with him.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I was eleven, and too young to know what love is. And maybe you're right, except that I think an eleven year old can love her parents, and her siblings, and her dog. So why can't she love her adopted father too?

I still went to her house, and she still came to mine, and time passed, and eventually that big, fancy place they had seemed almost normal without Mrs. C in it. And that feeling I had for Mr. C. kind of sank deep into my bones.

He never did anything wrong. Not back then. He hugged me, but they were just hugs. Sometimes he kissed me on top of my head, but so did my aunt and uncle and who knows how many other people.

Before Mrs. C. died, our families had this agreement about sleepovers. I'm not talking about her staying all night at my house, or me at hers. We did that all the time. I mean when you invite five to ten girls and make a party out of it.

If Chrissy and I had had our way, we'd have slept over all the time. It wouldn't have mattered where to either of us. But our parents didn't see it that way, and they restricted us to four sleepovers a year - two at my house and two at hers. We could invite as many other girls as we wanted to, to those four sleepovers, but those were the only ones we got during the year. We had the summer and winter sleepovers at my house. So the spring and fall sleepovers were at hers.

When Mrs. C. died, Chrissy and I were scared to death that we wouldn't be able to have any sleepovers at her house any more. But nobody said anything, and when it came time for Spring Break from school, and Chrissy asked her dad if she could invite twelve girls to the spring sleepover, he just said "Sure."

So nothing changed.

Until I was fourteen. Two things happened that year that had a huge impact on my life.

The first was that I passed the certification course for babysitting and immediately got four clients. Two of them were infants, which took almost no care because all they did was eat, poop and sleep. Another family had two kids, a boy three and a girl two. The girl was trouble, but only for about an hour after the parents left. Then she calmed down. The last family had a five year old boy named Nathan. I sat for them more often than the others. Nathan and I got along fine.

The other thing had to do with the sleepovers.

At that age girls begin to be a bit more particular about who is and is not a "friend." By "friend" I mean who might get invited to a sleepover. You might say hi to somebody at school, but that didn't mean they were invited to a sleepover. And just because you had been invited to a sleepover in the past didn't mean you automatically got invited to the next one. I know it sounds bitchy or whatever, but that's the way teenaged girls are, and we were no different. So for the spring sleepover that year, when we put the list together, there were only five girls that we liked enough that we wanted to invite them to the sleepover.

It was more intimate with fewer girls.

And we were older ... our interests more ... um ... sexually aware, perhaps?

Don't get me wrong. Chrissy and I and all our friends had been thinking about sex for years. I know this because it came up at every sleepover. But by the time we were fourteen we had more and better information about things sexual, and talking about it kind of happened in a deeper, more intimate way.

For example, Cheryl Jackson just came right out and asked us all if we masturbated. Just like that!

I'm not going to say what we talked about. We had a rule about secrecy, and I promised. It doesn't matter how much time has passed. A promise is a promise.

Anyway, it was just a different atmosphere.

It's important to say here that all five girls who came to that slumber party had been to ones in the past, either at my house or at hers. So when Suzie Wilkins got embarrassed about where the discussion was going, she said "So are we playing Sardines this year?"

Sardines, for those of you who don't know, is a game of hide and seek. There are different ways to play it, but the way we played it was for somebody to be chosen "it." Then that person went and hid, while the rest of us stayed where we were. After two minutes, or whatever, the rest of us scattered to the winds and started hunting for "it." Now the point of the game was that, if you found whoever was it, they pulled you into wherever they were hiding, and you both tried to be as quiet and unfindable as possible. If somebody else found you, they were pulled in. And so on. If it was a small hiding place, you were packed in there pretty tight. And each additional person who found the hiding place made it an even tighter fit. Hence the name Sardines. You were sometimes packed in there like sardines. You didn't want to be the last person to find the sardines, because that person had to do a dare that the group thought up. Like run next door and tee pee a tree.

I know. It was a goofy game. But we were kids, and it was a fun game too. There was something special about being all packed into some closet or behind a couch or whatever, everybody trying to be quiet, which, for girls, is next to impossible anyway. And each year the dares got more and more interesting. The last sleepover, at my house, one of the dares had been for Jillian Marsh to moon traffic on the street through the bedroom window. She had to stay there, with her bare butt against the glass until ten cars had passed. It was a riot.

So Suzie, who wanted to avoid talking about masturbation that she might or might not have been engaged in on a routine basis, suggested it was time to play sardines.

But there were only seven of us. You can pack seven fourteen year old girls into almost anyplace, especially in a big house like Chrissy had.

And then Marnie Filkins said something that ended up changing my life.

"Why don't we ask Chrissy's dad to play. That might make it more interesting."

Everybody looked at Chrissy. She had a funny look on her face.

"Okay," she said.

I didn't think anything of it then. But I agreed that it would be interesting to be cooped up in a closet with him. I thought he was gorgeous.

Mr. C. was, at that time, thirty-two years old. I knew this because every year Chrissy and I made him a cake for his birthday, and we had a great time putting all those candles on his cake and then setting a fire extinguisher on the table beside it. We always called him old man, or over the hill or whatever, and he always laughed. He was the owner of the company his dad had started, and he had grown up in the house they still lived in. He had two brothers and three sisters, but of course they were all married and lived other places. But they had all grown up in that house, which was why it was so huge.

Which meant there were a ton of places for "it" to hide.

Chrissy said "Mal, go find him and get him to agree to play."

So I took off. I was wearing fuzzy bunny slippers, and my Minnie Mouse PJs, which were my favorites, but were getting a little small for me. I was going to have to give up wearing them soon. I found Mr. C. in his bedroom, lying on his bed reading a book. He looked up at me when I stuck my head in his doorway.

"What's up, Mal? You guys need something to eat?"

"No. We're getting ready to play sardines, and we need you to play with us."

He smiled for some reason, like there was a joke in there. I know now what "play with us" sounded like to him. But not back then.

"I'm kind of big to play sardines," he suggested.

"Yeah, but we need you. We only have seven without you, and it will be more fun if you play too."

He looked at me for a long time, and I got this funny feeling in my stomach. I mean he was staring at me, not saying anything. It just felt different.

"Okay," he said, closing his book. "One game."

He went back to normal, by which I mean he just looked like Mr. C., instead of a guy staring at me. I took his hand and pulled him to Chrissy's bedroom.

I'll be honest. While I can remember what I was wearing, I have no idea what any of the other girls had on. I know they were pajamas, but nothing else. I don't' know if any of them were "sexy" pajamas or not. In later years, I'd pay more attention to that, but not then.

Marnie started telling him how the game was played and he held up a hand. "Girls have been playing sardines in this house for years and years," he said. "I know how to play."

So of course we made him "it."

He disappeared and Linda looked at the second hand on her watch go around the dial four times.

Right away I knew this would be different. There were seven girls, and six of them melted into three teams of two. I don't know if that was instinctive or not. Maybe down deep each of the others thought that finding Mr. C. and being pulled into some dark, close space with him would be scary or something.

Not me, though. I wasn't scared of him in any way, shape or form.

But they sought the safety of numbers. Chrissy wasn't scared of him either, but Marnie took her arm and wouldn't let go, so there she was.

But it left me on my own.

We looked everywhere. Well, everywhere normal. We had played the game in this house for years, so everybody knew all the normal hiding places. There were a lot of them, but everybody knew where they were.

And he wasn't in any of them.

I was the first one to think of the garage. You got to the garage by going through a door in the kitchen. It was a two car garage with a work bench in it, and shelves with all kinds of interesting stuff on them. Nobody had ever hidden in there before, because it smelled greasy and was dirty and all that.

But Mr. C. was a guy ... so ... I opened the door and went in.

The only reason I didn't scream my lungs out when he grabbed me was because at the same time one arm went around my middle, the other hand covered my mouth. I struggled like crazy for just a second or two, because I was scared so bad I almost peed, but then I realized it was him, and relaxed.

"Is that you Mal?" he whispered right in my ear. His warm breath caused me to shiver once, from the tip of my head all the way to my toes. I nodded.

"Good," he whispered. "I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth, okay?"

I nodded again and his hand disappeared. He was still holding me with his other arm, though, my back pressed against him. His hand was on my stomach, his fingers all spread out. I suddenly felt like I was so small, and he was so big and strong.

"You scared the shit out of me!" I whispered.

He chuckled and the hand that had been over my mouth came to join his other one on the other side of my stomach.

"You're fine," he said.

"I almost peed myself!" I whispered.

"Shhhh," he warned.

When I told Chrissy about all this, much later, she asked me if I thought it was odd that he kept his hands on me, pulling me against him like that. I didn't. Think it was odd, I mean. It was wonderful, being there in the dark with him, with his strong hands on my belly like that. I didn't pay any attention to what I was pressed against, because his hands felt so good. I mean there wasn't any need for us to be pressed together. The garage was huge.

But I didn't think it was strange or uncomfortable for him to hold me like that.

Suzie Wilkins found us next. She opened the door and stuck her head in. Mr. C. and I were behind some coveralls or something that were hanging on the wall by the door. She was being really quiet, and she stepped down onto the floor. I felt his hands move me over to his right, away from her. Then he ambushed her just like he had me. She squealed too, just as scared as I had been. He told her to be quiet too. He told her to stand in front of me and be quiet. She whispered that Debby was going to freak out, because Debbie had told her to stay in the kitchen while she went to the bathroom.

Then he moved behind me again ... and put his hands back on me, just like before.

I didn't think anything about it then either. And I didn't think anything about it when we caught Debby, five minutes later. She wasn't stupid, and figured that the only place Linda could have gone was in the garage. So she opened the door and whispered "You guys in here?"

I don't know how Mr. C. could move that fast, but he had an arm around her and his hand over her mouth so fast that I couldn't believe it. She told me later that if she hadn't just gone to the bathroom she'd have peed for sure, because she let go. There just wasn't anything there to come out.

It was that delicious kind of being scared to death when you know nothing bad is really going to happen. And it was that way for all of us.

Chrissy and Marnie were next. Chrissy figured it out when three of us disappeared and she never heard a thing. Usually when a girl gets scared in sardines, she screams or squeals or something, and others hear it. That kind of steers them toward the hiding place. So Chrissy figured like I did, that her dad had gone into the garage. But she also knew he'd try to scare them. So what she did was open the door and stick her arm in to turn on the light. Then they charged in, making enough noise to wake the dead.

Mr. C. let go of me when the lights went on, and when I next looked at him he was standing a couple of feet away from me.

Cheryl and Suzie turned up within thirty seconds, having heard the ruckus, but we pronounced them last.

Then we had a powwow to come up with a dare for Cheryl and Suzie to do.

Mr. C. knew about the dares, but he wasn't aware of the specifics of past dares. Linda, having just spent ten minutes in the dark garage with him, and having enjoyed the excitement of it, lost her head.

"Dare them to kiss each other, with tongue!"

There were squeals as people realized Mr. C. was standing right there.

"No kissing with tongue," he said gravely.

Marnie, always the bold one in the group, said "Okay, they have to kiss Mr. C."

That got silence. I didn't know it, but every girl there had thought, at one time or another, about kissing Mr. C.

"No kissing Mr. C. either," he said. "These slumber parties are supposed to be light fun, not Bacchanalian orgies," he said.

"Bach-a-what?" asked Marnie.

"Never mind," he said. "Bad choice of words anyway. Think of something else. Something the police won't arrest me for if they find out about it."

"Well that's no fun," said Suzie.

"I have an idea," said Mr. C. Everybody looked at him. "They can sneak next door, in their jammies, and turn Mr. Wilson's bird bath upside down on his lawn."

Seven pairs of female eyes stared back at him. It was something only a male would think of to do.

But we loved it. After four or five seconds of shocked silence, there was much squealing by five of us girls, while the other two pretended to be horrified. But all of us had been outside the house in our jammies before. Trust me on that.

So we all gathered in the window, with the room lights off, and watched Cheryl and Suzie scamper over to Mr. Wilson's yard, tip over his plastic birdbath, and then roll it on its top. I could hear them laughing through the window as they ran back, but no lights came on in his house.

I did notice, when the two girls got back, that their nipples were spiked. We had discovered years ago that doing something that felt dangerous made that happen.

I wondered if Mr. C. noticed too.

We played two more rounds of Sardines that night. The second time we played, Marnie was "it" and this time everybody went alone to try to find her. I saw Mr. C. several times, going here or there, or standing and listening. I knew Marnie liked a particular bedroom on the second floor, because it had a big four poster bed in it with a roof over it. She called it the princess room and couldn't understand why Chrissy didn't live in it. I knew Chrissy thought it was old fashioned and ugly.

Marnie was under that four poster bed.

And Mr. C. was the next one to find us.

He scooted under the bed, right behind me and, like it was the most normal thing in the world, put his arm around me, with his hand on my stomach.

I remember snuggling back against him. Because it felt wonderful.

Linda found us next, and scooted in behind Mr. C.

That's when his hand slid up onto my left breast.

I held my breath when I felt it. But that's all it did ... was cover my breast. He didn't squeeze it, or rub it or anything like that. He just laid his hand on it, like he had laid his hand on my stomach.

And he kept it there until his daughter lost the game.

Chrissy got dared to eat a whole Jalapeno pepper raw, without taking a drink for one minute after she swallowed.

She couldn't do it.

The next game, it was Mr. C. who lost.

The seven of us put our heads together.

"Somebody needs to kiss that man!" whispered Marnie.

"Ewwww," said Chrissy.

"Not you," said Marnie. "One of us."

"Ewwww," said Chrissy. "Besides. He won't do it."

In the end, we dared him to take off his shirt and run one time around the outside of the house wearing one of Chrissy's bras.

Her bra wouldn't fit him, of course. Chrissy had 32 B breasts. We kidded her about it all the time. She'd been called "B-B boobs" for probably two years now. Marnie got some yarn and tied the ends of the strap together. She had help. Almost all the girls wanted to help put the bra on Mr. C..

Only Chrissy and I watched. And he stared at me the whole time.

But he did it. It was probably one of the coolest dares we'd ever come up with.

After that sleepover, it was probably three days before I ended up at Chrissy's house again. And the thing that just blew my mind was that he never said a word, and he never laid a hand on me. It was like nothing had happened. He still hugged me, but he treated me exactly like he always had. He didn't talk about it, or ask me how I felt, or if I had been scared or any of that. And after a week or two, I sort of forgot about it.

I never told any of the girls he'd touched my boob. Not even Chrissy. It was my special secret, and I didn't share it with anybody.

Six months later, the seven of us who had played sardines with Mr. C. were there again, along with two more girls, Megan Flock and Valerie Hooper. And of course, during the festivities, it came up that Mr. C. had played during Chrissy's last sleepover. Suzie and Marnie both wanted to ask him to play again, and they got no argument from anybody. I looked at Chrissy, wondering how she felt about it, but she didn't look upset at all.

The funny part is that, before Marnie went to ask him if he'd do it again, she wanted to swear us all to secrecy.

"Why?" asked Valerie. "I thought you said he was cool."

"He is," said Marnie. "But would anybody outside this room ever understand why a grown man would play a hide and seek game with a bunch of girls?"

"Good point," said Valerie. "You're sure he's cool?" She looked at Chrissy. "Sorry, but he is a guy."

"A cute guy," said Linda.

"Ewww!" said Chrissy. "Do any of you actually think he'd be interested in messing around with some fourteen or fifteen year old girl?"

He got asked to play, and he did it.

And the first time he and I were caught in the dark, he put his hands on my breasts again. He did it like it was completely normal.

You can bet your ass I noticed that. But it didn't feel threatening. Again he didn't squeeze or anything like that. He just touched me, and held me.

And I liked it. By the end of that evening ... I loved it, and followed him, because he knew how to find anybody. And as soon as he got caught, I got caught next. The last two times I backed up against him and put my hands on top of his as he touched me.

Again, though, in the following weeks and months, he gave no indication whatsoever that what had happened ... had happened. He was the same old Mr. C. and I never felt threatened or like I was in trouble with him. Chrissy never asked me what was wrong with me, because nothing was wrong with me. A man I liked ... loved ... had touched me in a way I loved. It really was just that simple.

But it affected my babysitting jobs. I knew, somehow, that this game was about sex. And I knew sex was about babies. Or at least could be. For the first time I looked at the kids and tried to imagine they were mine. It was impossible with the older ones, but I could do it with the babies. They were so cute and loveable and cuddly.

The next time we had a sleepover at Chrissy's I was fifteen. And we played sardines. And Mr. C. played.

This time, he moved his hands around. He cupped my boobs and squeezed them, and found my stiff nipples through the fabric of my new flannel jammies and squeezed them until I thought I was going to have to change panties. Rhonda Williams was hiding with us during one session and she asked me what was wrong because I was panting. He moved his hands to my hips then, and I got my breathing under control. I made some excuse that it felt like the walls were closing in on me and she bought it, because we were in a pretty small closet at the time.

The next game, he just rubbed me a little, and kissed the side of my neck once.

It was so delicious and naughty and fun. I loved every second of it. And somehow I knew that, when the sleepover was over, he would go back to being plain old Mr. C., who never did anything exciting except take us shopping or to the carnival at the county fair, or maybe take us out in the country and let us drive a little bit.

But he never touched me unless we were playing sardines.

When I turned sixteen I was allowed to date. Chrissy was too, and we doubled as often as possible. It was an unspoken agreement, and we never actually talked about it. If she had a date, she'd tell me and ask me if I wanted to get a date and go too. I did the same.

It helped with the guys, though, because all the guys wanted to push it on dates. They were all horny and ham-handed. The first time a boy groped my breasts I almost smacked him, because it hurt! He just grabbed and squeezed hard. And if one of us was having a hard time, the other would suggest that we go do something, or get something to eat or whatever, anything to break the "mood."

We did talk about that. Boys were a pain in the ass, and had to be managed most carefully. We agreed on that.

Then there was a sleepover at Chrissy's.

I knew something would happen. Our circle of friends had stabilized, and the girls who were invited had all been there before. They all knew Mr. C. and thought he was cool. Several of them thought he was cute and talked about what a shame it was that women his age were too stupid to date him.

As we got older, Chrissy said "Ewww" a lot more frequently. Eventually the girls ignored her and went right ahead talking about ... things ... they had thought about doing with Mr. C.

Marnie looked around like there might be someone else in the room none of us could see, and leaned in, conspiratorially.

"I tried something with him last time," she whispered.

"EWWWWWW!" yelled Chrissy, looking disgusted.

"It wasn't that big a deal!" insisted Marnie. "When we were in the dark I put my hand on the front of his pants. That's all. I pretended it was an accident."

"What did he do?" asked Linda, her eyes wide and round.

"He was really kind of nice about it," said Marnie. "He said I was a doll, and that if he was fifteen years younger I'd be in big trouble, but that he really thought it was a bad idea."

"Wow," sighed three of the girls.

"He made me promise not to do it again, or he would have to stop playing sardines."

"You promised ... right?" asked Valerie, who was one of the girls who thought he was cute.

"Yes," said Marnie.

"I cannot believe you tried to molest my father," said Chrissy, sounding irked, but not really mad.

"I just wanted to see how he compared," said Marnie.

"Like you've ever felt anything to compare him to," said Megan.

"You have no idea what I've felt and haven't felt," said Marnie, trying to look superior.

Suzie spoke up. "While you two are discussing who is a slut and who is not, we could be playing sardines ... with Mr. C."

"I'll go ask him," I volunteered.

Nobody objected, so I got up. This year my jammies were a pair of gym shorts under one of my dad's 2X T shirts, which was really big, but really comfortable. It was probably already eleven when I left Chrissy's room.

As usual I found Mr. C. reading a book in bed. He looked up at me, but didn't say anything.

"You up for sardines this time, Mr. C.?" I asked.

He looked at me for maybe ten seconds and put the book down on his chest.

"Are you?"

I could feel my face get hot as I blushed. We both knew what his question was really about.

I nodded once, a tiny down and up motion with my head.

He sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He was still staring at me.

"Are you sure?"

I swallowed, but managed two nods this time.

He smiled, and said "I'm glad."

I swear I felt my panties get wet right then and there!

I waited for him and we walked down the hall together. He put his hand on my right ass cheek, and "pushed" me along. I held my breath, but couldn't hold it for long. Finally I leaned to my left and bumped him with my hip.

I was sixteen, and I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't know what was going to happen. All I knew was that I was excited and I wanted ... it. Whatever "it" was. It was insane, but I felt completely comfortable with him, except for the fact that I was so excited I was sure the girls would smell my pussy.

Nobody did, though. Or at least nobody said anything about it.

He played the game like always. He looked for whoever was it, and hid with them when he found them. If I was there, either before or after, his hands were all over me in the dark. On what was supposed to be the last game of the night, Suzie was it, and I hadn't seen anybody sneaking through the house for quite a while. Then I saw Mr. C. He came towards me and put his mouth right next to my ear.

"I know where they are. Do you want to find them ... or keep looking?"

I blinked at him in the dim light. Sardines was always played with a minimum of lights on. My mind was moving a hundred miles an hour. Then I realized what his question meant. If we found them, the game would be over and he and I would have to do the last dare. But if we kept looking ...

I looked up at him. "Keep looking," I whispered.

I saw the white of his teeth as he bared them in a smile, and he pulled me down a hall and into the princess room. We went into the walk-in closet there.

Then he kissed me for the first time, and I thought my knees had turned to rubber. He caught me as I fell and chuckled. The next thing I knew we were lying on the floor in the closet and his lips were sucking my breath out while his hand slid up under my shirt and found my naked boobs.

It felt so different! His rough hand on my bare boobs was so much better than what it had ever felt like before that. I whined into his mouth as he squeezed a nipple. His tongue pushed against my teeth and I felt like sucking a man's tongue for the first time ever. Guys had tried to get me to French kiss before, but they always tasted like burgers and fries, or pizza, or whatever. Mr. C. just tasted sweet and good.

When he moved his hand down, over my belly and slid it into my shorts, my knees sprang apart like a reverse bear trap. Later on, I'd think about how this went, and wonder about some things, but I couldn't think about anything then, except the exquisite feel of his middle finger finding my wet slit and driving into my body. He hooked that finger and pulled and I swear his hand vibrated!

I've masturbated since I was about ten. I don't remember the first times I did it. But I've done it a long time. I've touched myself dozens of different ways, with dozens of different objects besides my fingers. I've had everything from a banana, to a hair brush handle, to a cucumber in my pussy. Some of them felt weird, but most of them felt good, in one sense or another.

But nothing had ever felt like this. I thought I was going to die, it felt so good. I had an orgasm within twenty seconds of him penetrating me. And I kicked the door in the process. His hand stopped for just a second, until his leg found mine and then pinned it so I couldn't kick anything again. Then he vibrated some more and either extended the one I was having, or made me have another one. I honestly don't know which. I felt like I was coming apart, except that I knew I was all right. I mean I wasn't scared. I was just blown away by this new, ultra intense feeling.

His hand vanished from my shorts, and I remember whining "Nooooooo" into his mouth, but he hugged me and went from one long crushing kiss to shorter ones, between which he whispered to me.

"You're all right ... It's okay ... Breathe deeply."

As soon as I had enough breath to speak, I rasped out "Again!"

"Not now, baby," he said. "That's enough for now. You'll be fine."

And then he kissed me some more, with little quick kisses that kept me from saying anything.

I could hug him, though, and I did that until my muscles screamed.

"We have to go," he whispered, and there was urgency in his voice.

I knew he was right, so I sat up. He hadn't dislodged my clothing, so there was nothing to do except stand up and walk out of that closet.

I felt like a completely different girl. Even walking felt different. Something had changed, deep inside me. What had happened had been special in a new and amazing way that I couldn't wrap my mind around. He patted me on the butt and aimed me at the door. I felt like I was part zombie, and part electricity, zipping through the cosmos.

"They're in the pantry," he said softly. "Go find them and make a lot of noise about it."

Before, when he kissed me, I had felt like every bit of strength had just drained out of my body and into the floor. Now I felt like I could leap tall buildings. I was so full of energy that I had to do something to let it out or I knew I'd explode. So I threw open the pantry door and jumped in screaming.

There was pandemonium as all the girls in there screamed too. Then there was laughing and all that and, in the hubbub, nobody noticed that I had what I knew was a well fucked look on my face. I had never been fucked, but I knew how it would feel when it happened. I mean nothing could be better than what Mr. C. had just made me feel.

I went home with Chrissy the next day after school. We goofed around until Mr. C. got home from work. When I heard the garage door closing I said I'd be back and went to wait in the kitchen. He came in, saw me, and went to the shelf where he always unloaded his pockets.

"Thank you," I said.

He glanced over at me.

"You're welcome."

Somehow I knew that was enough, and I turned and fled.

"What's wrong?" asked Chrissy when I ran back into her room.

"I don't know," I said. "Nothing."

"What happened?" she looked concerned.

"I was getting a cookie and your dad came in and I guess I wasn't expecting him. It scared me."

I actually saw the interest fade from Chrissy's eyes.

"Oh," she said.

Once again, nothing else was said. He didn't do anything differently. There was no tension, no unpleasantness. We both acted like nothing had happened at all.

But while I could act that way around him, I couldn't forget what it had felt like.

Dates were a disaster after that. Chrissy was just as disgusted, which made me feel better. All the cute guys wanted to do was fuck us, and they didn't have a clue as to how to really satisfy a girl. It was that clear. And while there were some nice guys out there, they weren't exciting. It was weird. Chrissy even said at one point that we were going to grow up to be old maids.

Time passed, and we had the sleepover at my house. We played sardines there too, but it wasn't nearly as much fun. And I mean for all of us. Nobody ever talked about it, but we only played maybe two games and then they lost interest.

At the next sleepover at Chrissy's though, everybody was eager to play again. Now that I think back on it, all those girls enjoyed the feeling of being in close confines with a handsome, older man, a man they were all attracted to, like a hot teacher, but who you got to hide in the dark with. And even though nothing happened (to them) it was exciting on a level that was different from other kinds of excitement.

This was the second sleepover I had been sixteen for, and he did exactly the same thing. He fingerfucked me through three orgasms while he French kissed me. I was able to count them this time. And I loved every single one of them. I was even able to lean back against him and relax while he worked me over until my body erupted and I shook. I was quieter too, only whining when it hit me. I would have let him do that all night long, but again we were the last two who hadn't found "it." This time he said I had to be the loser.

After that game, while they were trying to come up with a dare for me, I felt like I was floating. I saw Chrissy looking at me strangely. I smiled, trying to look normal. We were older, and Marnie turned to Mr. C.

"Are we old enough for kissing yet?" she asked.

It got very quiet.

"Kissing who?" he asked.

"Anybody," she said.

He looked around. None of us were acting all weirded out by her suggestion that I might be dared to kiss one of them. That's because we had been kissing each other since we were thirteen. We weren't lesbians. We were just great friends. And nobody wanted to be outed for it, which was why it was always kept in strictest confidence.

"It would be inappropriate for me to kiss anyone," he said.

I held my breath for about five seconds and started breathing again. He had sure broken that rule.

"But who your ... um ... special friends are ... is not my business," he added.

The girls put their heads together. I saw Chrissy get agitated. The huddle broke up. Marnie, ever the one who put herself in charge of things, looked at me.

"We dare you to kiss Chrissy, and make it look like you're lesbians."

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