Mamma Mia (Or How I Ended Up In Bullies Anonymous)

by Lubrican

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Chapter Two

Again, I didn't see her for three days.

Sort of.

By that, I mean that whenever I saw her, she threw me a blinding smile, but did not come over to me, or talk to me, or walk home with me. It was maddening. The love of my life had, after all, kissed me and told me that, not only was I her boyfriend, she didn't want to fight me off! Instead, she just made sure she didn't have to fight me off, by staying away from me.

It took me almost a week, but I began to suspect she was just telling everybody I was her boyfriend, so she wouldn't have to deal with guys asking her out. It made it okay for her to turn down dates and still not be seen as a loser by the other girls. She didn't really mean it when she said I was her boyfriend, but because we were friends, she knew I'd go along with it. It kind of pissed me off.

But that turned out to be important because it made me kind of tense and full of something close to anger, but not quite anger. And it was because of all that whatever-it-was inside of me that when I saw that Mark Lawson was going to bump me with his shoulder in the hallway, I made it look like I was letting him, but then bumped him back harder.

Mark Lawson was one of Jerry's friends. He was a popular guy and all that, and like all of them, he liked to throw his weight around, sometimes literally. Like I said, there had been more than one time that Jerry or somebody else had knocked the books out of my hands, or pushed me against the lockers, or whatever. It usually wasn't anything that actually hurt me. Not physically. But emotionally I had scars all over.

And when I saw that Mark was going to hit me with his shoulder like he "hadn't seen me" and that his intent was probably to knock me down and then laugh about it, all that whatever-it-was Mia had created in me said "No fucking way, pal," and, looking him straight in the eye, I slammed into him and knocked him down.

Now I admit he wasn't ready for it, which is really the only reason he went down. And he was surprised - astonished, actually - which is probably why he wasn't able to soften his fall. And he bounced off of Mikey Sorenson, who was overweight in the extreme, which is probably what made him twist so he landed the way he did.

There was that moment of silence where people drew back silently, because they knew what had just happened. One of the lions had pounced, and some poor zebra's underbelly was exposed. The lion wouldn't actually feed. That wasn't how it worked in school. That happened later, when the lion was an adult, but not in school. All the lion did when it was young was prove it was the king of the jungle. Or one of the kings, anyway. And the rest of the denizens of the jungle shrank back when that happened, because they didn't want the lion noticing them. Instead, they watched as he licked his chops at that exposed underbelly, while his prey squirmed on the ground.

Or floor, in this case. And Mark was squirming as, in the quiet of the hallway, I snarled "Watch where you're going!" It felt really good. That was the first time I tasted the narcotic that is violence, in which the perpetrator of the violence comes out on top. I tasted what it was like to be the lion, instead of the zebra.

And I liked that taste.

Then Mark started screaming.

That's because when he bounced off of Mikey, he landed on the tip of his elbow. And his elbow tried to compete with the tile floor of the hallway as to which was harder. The tile won and Mark's elbow got sort of crushed. That's the word we all heard later, anyway. He had to have an operation. They put pins in, and his arm was in a series of casts for the rest of the year. Presto. Just like that, we were short a running back, and I was infamous for having caused it.

Not that anybody ratted me out. I'm quite sure everybody in that hallway knew exactly what had happened. Some of them were watching as it all went down. There I was, walking along like I always did, just another nobody in the hallway, and the lion pounced, except I pounced first. Those people knew I had done it on purpose. And all of them knew why I had done it. Everybody in the hallway, including the two friends he had with him (who carried him to the nurses office), knew that I had decked Mark Lawson because he was a bully, and I had finally snapped.

And because they knew that, when the inevitable questions were asked, all the adults got was that "They bumped into each other and Mark fell down."

Of course it helped that I was just as much a nobody to the teachers and staff, as I was to the kids. Nobody could believe that something dark had been born in me that day, and that I suddenly no longer counted myself among the prey.

But of course you only get that kind of benefit of the doubt once. When you bully somebody else, everybody begins to understand there has been a change in the balance of nature, so to speak.

It didn't happen right away, or even quickly. Again, there was a tipping point. And it happened with a girl named Bernadette. Bernadette had Down's Syndrome, but she was in regular classes. She was one of those kids who is always smiling and likes to hug people a little too much, if you know what I mean. But the bullies called her "Slant eyes" and "Dumb bell" and "Retard" whenever there weren't any teachers around. And the next time I saw that happen, that whatever-it-was inside me reared up and I walked over to the three guys who were taunting her. These guys weren't the popular guy type of bully. They consisted of Terry and Duke Black, brothers, and their friend Justin Clayborne. All three lived on the other side of the tracks, literally, over on one of the streets that had tree names. Things were run down over there and it was sometimes called "the bad part of town". That was pretty stupid, really, because the whole town only had forty thousand inhabitants, and pretty much every side of town was within walking distance of the others, if you had a good pair of shoes.

Anyway, these guys were picking on Bernadette so I walked over and stepped between her and them. They were in a sort of half circle around her. I actually pushed Terry and Justin back, even with Duke, who was in the middle, forming a line.

"Knock that shit off, you guys," I said. "And don't bother Bernadette again all year."

I know, I know. It sounds lame to me too, now that I think about it. I mean I didn't even suggest what would happen if they didn't. And, in the old days, they'd have turned their attention on me, while Bernadette scurried away and everybody else pulled back in one of those silent moments, watching.

Oh. I forgot one thing, and you need to know it. While Mark was in the hospital, Jerry visited him and told him not to feel bad ... and why. It was supposed to be a secret between the two of them, but you know how that goes. Mark told his girlfriend, to mitigate the fact that a dweeb had put him in the hospital. She told her girlfriends and so on. Once Jerry's silence was broken, so was the secret. He didn't plan it that way, but that's how it always works. I don't know the exact trail of knowledge, but within a couple of days people were asking me if it was true.

So now the guy facing Terry, Justin and Duke was not only the guy who had put Mark Lawson in the hospital, but he was also the guy who had beat the shit out of Jerry Harper.

If they'd have taken the time to think about it, they could have rushed me and made me eat my own underwear.

But they didn't have time to think about it, and they caved instead, snarling like hyenas who are chased away from the kill by the lion.

It fed my lust for power, and after that I never looked back.

The funny thing is that, on the student body side of things, when it became clear I was going to be a bully myself, I got a lot of support. It was silent support, but everybody knew that I had just decided enough was enough and I was standing up to the real bullies. I say real bullies because all those people who supported me knew I would never bully them. They were already prey. They had been prey all year. Until I came along. From that point on, whenever I saw somebody getting bullied, I didn't look the other way. I stood up to the bully, on behalf of the victim. And my reputation grew until there was remarkably little for anybody to fear. Except for the bullies, of course.

I make it sound like it was easy. It was not. I did have to learn how to fight.

I wanted to go to Taekwondo classes. That's what a lot of parents do with their kids. They put them in Taekwondo so they can learn how to protect themselves in a harsh world. And they do learn that. The problem, though, is that all the Taekwondo instructors tell them not to fight when it's just a bully. They teach them to walk away. And, believe it or not, that actually works most of the time. For the Taekwondo kids, I mean. There is something about them - a kind of confidence - that when they turn their eyes away from the bully and start to leave, causes the bully to let them go. It's very strange. It never happened to me, because Taekwondo kids never turn into bullies, so I never came up against one of them. But I saw that. And that's why I wanted to go to the classes. I thought I'd learn how to beat somebody up and not even get out of breath in the process. I'd have been sorely disappointed, had I gone to those classes, but I didn't know that then.

And the fact is, I knew we were too poor for that, plus my father thought Taekwondo was sissy for some reason. He never thought his own son was a sissy, which I was for many, many years. His response the first time the school called and said I was suspended for fighting was to look me over when I got home. When he saw that my face was unmarked, he said "That's my boy " and smiled. My mother wrung her hands, but my dad was proud of me. That's because he was probably a dork when he was in school too. Most people are.

Anyway, back to fighting. You'll never in a million years guess who taught me to fight.

Louis L'Amour.

That's right. I read his books, which were about guys like me, who were at the bottom of the food chain, and who got picked on and abused, and then rose up to say "No more!" and beat the crap out of some bully. They always got beat up too, in his books, but they won. And the way they won was to never give up and fight with no rules. There are people who might want to argue with me on that "no rules" part, but that's how I saw it. Mr. L'Amour is actually a highly principled man, who would probably disagree with me himself, but the way I read it, the good guy (which I always thought of myself as) did whatever it took to end up on top, in a bout of fisticuffs.

Now to protect his good name, I'll let Louis off the hook by saying that what "he taught me" was all theory. The first time I actually got in a knock down, drag out fight, there was no "fisticuffs" per se. There were a couple of blows swung in the very beginning, but then we were in a clinch, on the ground, rolling around like girls, trying to hit each other, but failing miserably because when you're on the ground you can't really swing very well.

So when one of my fingers accidentally gouged my opponent in the eye, while he was screaming and trying to get away from that, I bit him. All that was just instinct. The only thing I did in that fight that was planned was to bring my knee up into his groin and then stand up while he vomited and writhed on the ground. I was lucky that time, because that fight happened out of school, and out of the public eye. I was also lucky because he had three friends with him. I think they were a little horrified when, as he lay there with one hand over his eye and the other hand cupping his balls, all curled up and puking all over himself, I got up and then kicked him half a dozen times. I was a little crazy. I admit it. But the look on their faces informed me that the craziness and obscene violence of what they'd just seen was what made them back off from me. If all three had jumped me, I'd have ended up just like their friend. But they didn't, because they recognized a rabid dog when they saw one.

I know I'm using all these animal analogies. Sorry about that. But the human world is supposed to be all calm and peaceful. The animal kingdom is not. And us bullies live in the animal kingdom. But I promise to lay off the lions and dogs and so on.

And that's enough about how I came to be a bully anyway. I just wanted you to understand I wasn't the usual average bully. I was more of the Bruce Willis kind of bully.

That's how I thought of myself anyway.

I know I said I was finished with the "how I became a bully" stuff, but I do have to say one more thing about that. Remember how Mia kissed me? Well, we continued to have this weird, strange, unsettling kind of relationship for quite a while after that. She tried to act like nothing had happened. But the truth of it was that I had seen her breasts, and she had kissed me. Not to mention the saving-her-from-a-fate-worse-than-death thing.

So she was weirded out about what to do about me.

And the same was true of me. I had been there for all those things too, after all.

Then there was the problem that Mia didn't like bullies.

And I became one.

But I was a different kind of bully, which was confusing to her, I think.

And to me. It was, after all, a huge change in my own life.

So there were weeks when I didn't see Mia, because she was avoiding me. And I sort of suspected that she was avoiding me. And yet, when we did see each other, she had that dazzling smile and I got hugs - quick ones, but still hugs - and she talked to me and asked me what I was doing and all that stuff, just like everything was completely normal.

It was frustrating for me, because I didn't understand what was happening.

And that was what I think created that little extra malevolence in me that ended up giving me the reputation of being merciless.

And the reputation of being merciless caused her to pull away from me a little more.

Except that Mia Falcon had decided, completely unknown to me (and I think even to herself, at that point) that Bobby Cassidy was the boy she was going to give her virginity to.

I said that Mia avoided me sometimes. That's true. But she also sought me out sometimes. It's kind of like somebody who is bipolar, and has episodes of manic behavior and depressed behavior. They can't really control it. And she'd keep away from me for a while (depressive behavior) and then seek me out and laugh and have fun like nothing had changed between us (manic behavior.) It was very confusing for me, but I really loved her manic episodes.

She wasn't bipolar, by the way. I just can't use animal analogies any more. I promised, remember?

Anyway, there was another pivotal point in our lives during the summer just before our junior year. Mia had gone to visit her grandparents, who lived on a farm somewhere, and she stayed for a month. She was old enough by then that Grandma let her do big girl things in the kitchen and sewing room and whatever. More importantly, she was old enough by then that Grandpa had her help him with a bunch of chores around the farm. She helped him fix the tractor and patch the roof on one of the sheds, and bale hay. Her grandparents had been there since before she was born, and there was this old dump out in a gully on the farm. The high point of her stay was that she got to take his .22 rifle down there and target practice at old cans and a refrigerator and stuff like that.

So when she came back, there was all this stuff she was excited about telling me about. She was in a manic stage.

Meanwhile, I had been at home, bored to tears, because I couldn't find a part time job. And the bully business drops off when school isn't in session. I didn't go looking for trouble, or anything. I just didn't shy away from it when I found it. But there hadn't really been any and I had been reduced to doing the same things I had always done. I went out into the woods and wandered around, daydreaming.

I did finally build a tree house that summer, and looking back on it, I'd say with some confidence that the fact Mia was gone was why I did that. When Mia was at home, I spent a lot of time thinking about her. She was right next door. She might be in her bedroom, changing clothes. She might even be naked. Or she might be in the shower. Naked, of course. Or maybe she was getting her pajamas on, which meant she had to get naked to do that. Or maybe she didn't even put on pajamas, and just went to bed naked!

I'm sure you get the picture. I read somewhere that the average adolescent boy thinks about sex seventy times an hour, or something like that. I was very average.

But when she was gone, I didn't know what to imagine, sort of, and working on the tree house gave me something to think about other than Mia's soft, white breasts, and those interesting looking dark tips, which were made to be sucked, and that round bottom I had so often seen climbing a tree above me. You can't imagine how often I looked at the crotch of her pants and tried to imagine what her pussy looked like.

Damn! I still do it!

Anyway, part of the challenge of building this tree house was that I didn't have any money, so I had to find the materials wherever I could. I didn't actually set out to steal anything, but I wasn't too concerned about ownership in a given situation. Like with the stacks of pallets out back of the dairy. Those stacks grew and shrank, depending on whether they received a truck, or sent one out, but there were a dozen pallets out there that were weathered and had broken slats in them and stuff like that. So yes, I filched some of those. Nails were harder, but if you hang around building sites, you'll find them on the ground. Or in a cardboard box by a pile of lumber, where somebody forgot to put them away at the end of the day.

I steered clear of new lumber as much as possible, because new lumber is pretty obvious to the casual observer. But I did have to have some two by sixes to make the floor of the tree house out of. In my own defense, I'll swear that I only took the really warped ones.

So I spent a month building this tree house, which was really just a platform about ten feet long and eight feet wide. It wasn't a rectangle, because one end was shorter than the other, because of the way it had to fit into the trunk of the tree. And I didn't have enough material to make walls, but I definitely wanted a roof, so I made one of those out of overlapping pallet slats. I was only up there once while it was raining, and it didn't leak too bad. I'll tell you this, though. It's hard as hell to drive a nail through an oak pallet slat without drilling a hole first. You bend the nail. Even if it's a thick one. Thank goodness they have cheap pallets made of pine.

And I had maybe two days to lie there on that platform, staring up at the ugly underside of that roof, dreaming about I don't even remember what, before the peace and quiet of the forest was broken by the sound of Mia Falcon, tramping through the undergrowth, calling my name.

And you know what happened?

I got a boner.

Yup, just like that, after a month of not thinking about her all that often (meaning only once or twice a day, while I beat off) I heard her voice calling my name and presto, rock hard in my shorts in two seconds flat.

I just happened to be wearing cutoffs that day, old ones that were faded and thin. My shirt was under my head as a pillow. Of course I didn't think about that. I just adjusted my boner and rolled over to support myself on one elbow as I looked over the edge of the platform.

"Up here!" I called.

She came around a tree which had been blocking her view and looked up.

"Wow! When did this happen?"

"It happened when you went off to the ranch and abandoned me," I said, trying to be cute. Man, she was beautiful.

"It's a farm, not a ranch, and I went because my parents sent me. Besides, I had a blast. I want to tell you all about it. Permission to come aboard, Sir?"

I don't know why she used a naval reference. Maybe it was something she read somewhere. But what it generated in my mind was her, climbing not up into the tree house, but on top of me. We were both naked, of course, in my little flash fantasy. And suddenly my mouth was too dry to speak.

It didn't matter, though. Her question had been rhetorical. She found the same hand and foot holds I had, and climbed easily up and onto the platform. The roof wasn't quite high enough to be able to stand under, and she had to stoop over as she examined what I had created.

I stared, speechless again. That's because she was wearing a halter top that tied between her breasts, and stooped over like she was, I had a view of what seemed like acres of cleavage.

Meanwhile, unknown to me, she had looked at me, lying there, naked except for cutoffs and tennis shoes, and was appreciating my chest too. I'd been doing a lot of climbing and lifting things, and my muscles had firmed up enough to have some definition.

And, of course, there was this huge tent in the front of my shorts.

Please don't think I'm trying to be vain by saying "huge tent." Think of it more like a pimple. A pimple can be a tiny little red spot on your nose, but to you it looks enormous, and you're quite sure that's all anybody will look at. So to me, that erection, causing that embarrassing lump in my pants, was huge.

Sure, adult men might not worry about having a lump. In fact, they might even be proud of it. They might preen a bit, if some woman stares at their lump. But it's different with teenaged, virgin boys. Trust me on this. Pretty much everything is embarrassing to a teenaged virgin boy. I was very normal in that way too.

So you can imagine my astonishment that a teenaged virgin girl might be interested in my erection, rather than being disgusted by it.

Of course she didn't say she was interested. She just stared.

"Wow," she said, staring right at my crotch.

"What?" I asked, feeling my face turn bright red, and unable to tear my eyes away from her cleavage. I imagined an areola was trying to peek out at me. It wasn't, of course. Her halter top was actually fairly modest. But bending over like that was creating a situation that poor halter top wasn't designed to deal with.

"Nothing," she said, looking away. She turned around, obviously studying the tree house. "This is nice," she said.

"Thanks," I replied. "You're beautiful." My mind wasn't working well, and that allowed my mouth to run free.

She turned back around, displaying the insides of both creamy breasts again.

"Really?" She blinked and her eyes went to my lump again. She licked her lips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I sighed, realizing she wasn't mad at me.

"Bobby?" she said, sinking to her knees. That made the view less fantastic, but only a little bit.

"What?"

"What's that?" she asked, staring at my crotch.

Don't get me wrong. I knew exactly what she was asking about. One of those proud adult men might have said something witty, like "That, my dear, is what you do to me," or maybe "I can't help it. You're so desirable that I can't control myself." But teenaged virgin boys aren't witty.

"Nothing," I said.

"I missed you," she said, in this voice that was different than I'd ever heard her use before.

"Oh," I said.

Now, I know what you are thinking out there in reader land. You're thinking I was such a dufus, and such an idiot, and that no self-respecting young man could be that clueless or idiotic. And maybe you weren't, when you were growing up. Maybe your first sexual experience went like a well-practiced play, in which the actors produced a flawless and beautiful performance for the audience to enjoy. And if that's true, then I applaud you. But I think you were lucky, rather than normal. Because these things just don't go smoothly in real life.

But that is all from the boy's perspective. It turns out that girls think about things a little differently. Go figure. It would have been nice to know that then. It would have been fantastic if she'd have said something. But she didn't. She just did what some girls do in this situation. I can't tell you what most girls do, because I only have experience with this one. But she swears she's just like other girls.

What I'm talking about is that there comes a time in a girl's life, when she decides who she is going to give her virginity to. That happens on two levels. The first is a mental exercise, in which she works things out in her head. I don't know if there are any fantasies involved, or whether they just talk themselves into giving so and so the nod. From there, she thinks about it for a while. There are variables involved. Say, for example, a girl is fourteen when she identifies the man she wants to be her first. But she also decides she doesn't want to do that until later. How much later is one of the variables. And she might have ideas of where and when it will happen. Also variables. She might decide how she'll be dressed when it happens. More variables.

The second decision is made when she actually intends for things to happen. There can be variables in that process too. She might decide it's going to be after her senior prom, or on Valentine's Day. She might decide to start carrying a condom in her purse, so it's there when the time is right.

But that decision can also be co-opted by the biological urge that all of us think we have control over, but which, in reality, has control over us. That biological urge lies there, under the surface. It is involved in all the fantasies and imagined scenarios and plans for things to be special, or romantic, but there comes a time when it takes over, and says "Enough of this piddling around, thinking about things. It's time for some action!"

Mia fell to all fours and crawled over to me. That lump in my pants twitched as the inner slops of her breasts came into view again. And she saw it twitch. As if this was something she had done a thousand times, and had permission to do, she reached for the button of my shorts and undid it.

"What?" I croaked. I was close to panic.

"You got to see my breasts," she said, so calmly that I just knew she'd been thinking about this for years. "I should get to see what you have."

And, just like that, her fingers worked the button and pulled at the zipper, pulling things open until my white briefs were exposed. She frowned, but her fingers went to the tubular shape that ruined the intended smooth plane of my underwear. Then both her hands went to tug at my shorts. The inference was crystal clear. She wanted them down so she could continue her exploration.

Turned out she wanted them off, not just down. Thank goodness I had a brain, because even if my conscious mind wasn't using it just then, my subconscious mind had me lift my butt off the floor so she could achieve her goal. Then, almost carefully, she reached for the waistband of my briefs, which were so malformed now that I was afraid she'd get sick when she saw what she was trying to see.

"Mia!" I gasped. I was thinking about trying to get her to come to her senses and stop. But I couldn't actually verbalize that.

Again, my brain made my hips rise, and she pulled the sides of my shorts down. Of course things got caught in the cloth and, having no experience with this situation, she just kept pulling. Before I could give voice to my discomfort, she had muscled the cloth clear of my straining rod, which promptly sprang back up and to the left, just like it always did when it was hard. It slapped my abdomen with an audible wet sort of sound.

She sat back on her calves, and just stared.

I didn't know what to do. My shorts were five feet away, and my briefs were down around my thighs. My cock was hovering three inches above my abdomen, just sort of quivering.

"It's hard," she whispered.

Well duh!

I managed a choked "Yeah."

"Because of me?"

My heart was pounding so hard I was pretty sure I was having a heart attack. And while I knew the answer to her question, I wasn't sure that the truth would cause anything but further anxiety. So I just concentrated on what my last words were going to be, should my heart give out.

Her hands rose to the knot in the front of her halter top, and I could actually feel my eyes get about the size of a dinner plate as she undid it with practiced motions, pulled the two halves apart, and shrugged her shoulders to make the halter top fall down her arms and off.

There, right in front of me, were those perfect breasts. And it wasn't dark this time. Her nipples were dark, but very well defined. I would learn later that they were usually flat, like they sank down inside her breast flesh, but that when she got excited, they stopped being flat and came out to play.

I would have commented, or at least tried to comment, but she had seen my penis, which had commented immediately by bobbing up and down as muscles inside me instinctively tried to keep me from spurting, and losing my glorious erection. And when she saw it waving gaily at her, she reached out to shake his hand, so to speak.

"It is because of me," she sighed. Her fingers went around my dick, tentatively at first, but then, once skin-to-skin contact had been made, more forcefully.

"It's warm," she said, sounding surprised.

Her grip became confident, and she squeezed, obviously investigating this strange plant that had grown just for her. I think the first time she pulled the foreskin off the tip, it was an accident. But within a minute she was playing with that foreskin, smiling as she made it get thin and slid down, and then pushed it back up until it looked like an empty bag, lying on the tip of my rod.

Meanwhile, my eyes were darting back and forth, from her breasts to her hand. It was, of course, the only other human hand that had ever gripped (or stroked) my cock, so there was that going on in my mind. I suddenly realized that I must not be having a heart attack, because my chest was just pounding now, rather than feeling like it was about to explode.

"I like it," she said.

I would have said "I'm glad," but my mouth was so dry I just couldn't make words. I made some sounds, though.

She looked away from her plaything up at my face.

"Am I hurting you?" she asked, real concern in her eyes.

My eyeballs rattled in my skull as I shook my head frantically.

"Do you like this?"

I nodded and actually bit my tongue.

"Me too," she said, and went back to the issue at hand.

Sorry. No pun intended.

I don't know if women have some instinctive knowledge, or whether she'd seen some porn or whatever, but somehow she figured out how to stroke my prick in a way that made it clear she was no longer exploring, but was now down to business.

"Is this right?" she asked, moving her hand in a way I could only characterize as perfect.

"Uh!" I grunted, but nodded at the same time.

"Uh!" my balls agreed, and suddenly there was a geyser at the tip of my prick, and semen was rocketing up all over the place. That was because she was still stroking. I'm not sure she realized what was happening until a shot landed on her breasts. She let go of my dick and her fingers went to the stain of white that was trying to slide down the slope of her right breast. Like I said before, Mia didn't mind getting dirty, and that translated to not minding having my spend on her body. Her fingers went to the slippery mess and felt of it.

"It's warm too," she commented, and then, with spermy fingertips, pinched her nipple. She moaned.

The next thing I knew she was lying down beside me, half on me, and we were kissing. I was already out of breath, having lost it all as I came, so my mouth was open. That didn't bother her and she kissed my upper lip and my lower lip and then my tongue as it came out involuntarily. Finally I closed my lips and she kissed them both together.

Then she pulled away, as if I were a burning coal and rolled away from me, standing in a crouch so she wouldn't hit her head on the roof. I thought, for a few heartbeats, that she was finally horrified, but all she did was, somewhat frantically, push her own shorts and panties down and off, leaving them on the floor.

Then she came back to lie on me again, this time with her right leg over my right leg, her knee firmly between my legs, and her breasts firmly pressed against the right side of my chest.

She started kissing me again, which was exciting enough. But she also started jerking her hips in a rhythmic pattern that I suddenly realized meant she was rubbing her pussy against the outside of my right thigh.

She was using me to get herself off.

Mia Falcon, the love of my life, was naked with me, and was trying to have an orgasm!

Youth is resilient. I had just cum, literally only five or six minutes previously, but these new events caused my adolescent body to react as if it were saying "Okay, you wasted the first load, but we're going to give you a chance to redeem yourself. Now sally forth and act like a man!"

I rolled to my right. I wanted my arms around her. That biological urge I was talking about earlier decided that all her dreams and plans and variables were fine and good, but that it was time for the real deal, and she pulled me on top of her while she continued kissing me.

There we were, on a rough board floor, quite possibly getting splinters in her perfect backside, but neither of us had a care in the world other than mating. It was the biological imperative, and it had us by the balls. Quite literally.

Not that either of us actually intended, on a cerebral level, for my penis to penetrate her vagina. I don't think we were thinking clearly enough to be able to even concentrate on the mechanics of what was happening. But nature took care of that too, by making me rock on her, and an erect male penis is just naturally in the correct orientation for the tip to run into her pussy lips. And if she's excited, her body has made the lubricant that facilitates the tip of the penis pushing right past the labia, and into the hot, wet tube that wants to be filled. And if the head gets in, then the instinct in his brain is to lurch forward, to achieve full penetration.

In other words, we don't have to learn how to have sex. That comes naturally. We might have to learn how to have good sex, but the basic act comes with batteries already installed.

I'm not sure we realized, on a conscious level, that we were having intercourse until I had been in her for fifteen or twenty seconds. I had lunged forward, and my prick was surrounded by pulsing, hot, clasping flesh, and it was so wonderful, the first time it happened, that I just stayed there, soaking in the pit of her sex. But I didn't stay there motionlessly. Rather, something in my brain kept telling me to push further ... that there might be a way to get even deeper inside her. And that pressed my pubic bone against her clit, and all the wiggling I was doing got her exactly where she had been trying to go ever since she took her shorts off.

And, roughly a minute after Mia got her first penis inside her, she had her first orgasm with a penis inside her. And that penis, which had coughed and paid homage to her a short ten minutes earlier, paid homage again when it felt her pussy walls tremble and squeeze as she had that orgasm.

Without a thought in the world as to the possible consequences of what we were doing, I spurted her full of very happy teenaged spunk.

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