Domestic War
I was young when we moved from the Midwest to our new home on the Pacific
Coast. A transfer with new and greater opportunities had enticed my Dad, and
before we knew what had happened, we are on the road; our old car packed to the
running boards. The voyage started in a raging snowstorm, and we almost got
lost before we got out of town. But with fond farewells, and sadness in our
hearts, we turned our hopes and sights on the new land beyond the mountains.
The initial months were tough, with a myriad of adjustments to new schools,
schedules, and sights, and we often found ourselves gathered around the dinner
table collectively griping about our "hopeless" situations. The days were long
and frustrating, and the nights were longer during the first winter; but we
struggled through, clinging to our memories, and each other.
The spring brought new opportunities and hopes for us all. My Dad begin to
work swing shift and was seldom home when I returned from school with an armful
of books and enough homework to keep me from gainful employment. My Sis and Mom
were always discussing the evening chores and current events, while I was
content to bury myself in my studies, and fantasies of captains and mighty ships
sailing into the unknown. I wasn't a particularly gifted child, and felt quite
short changed in the appearance department with a tall skinny build, dark-framed
glasses, and a nose that was just to big for my face. I was somewhat
rebellious, and always eager to find both acceptance and the easiest way out.
That's when I met Roger.
Now Roger lived about a block away, in an older two story farmhouse that had
been in the family for generations and was surrounded by over ten acres of
partially cleared land. The wooden floors in the deteriorating domicile creaked
and the rooms were sadly lacking in necessary window space, leaving the interior
dark and musty. Roger lived with his working Mom and older sister Holly, who
was just about to graduate from high school. The family, itself, was a study in
extremes, as Roger was kind of short and plump with a personality that could put
a insomniac to sleep. Holly was tall and skinny, and as nervous as a bee in a
midsummer storm, always scurrying around the home with nonsensical tasks. The
Mother, was tall and well developed, and was hardly ever home thanks to a
demanding job as a waitress in a local truck stop. Most nights she would never
make it home, and I always thought she worked far too many hours, when in
actuality, much of her time was spent seeking acceptance from one of the
truckers passing through.
Still overcoming the social shock of the move, I was drawn to Roger like a
fly to a flame, and we soon became the best of friends; often sharing the joys
and misfortunes of our maturation in confidences previously unknown to either of
us. I taught him how to work a yo-yo, and he taught me how to play war. War
was a customized version of hide-and-go-seek. We would hide a treasure in a
clearing (usually a battle weary Playboy) and set out for opposite corners of
the property. With our chronometers aligned, we would take off through the
underbrush at a preset time, to try to capture the treasure and slay our
opponent with our individaul array of water weapons. I had a small derringer
type and a larger rifle, and he had a Luger and a submachine gun. The ensuing
seek-and-destroy mission could go on for hours, often scheduled for the
weekends, while my Mom and Dad got caught-up, and my Sis took off with her
friends for shopping excursions and the like. Fortunately everybody seemed to
love Roger, and there was never a challenge when I asked to go to his house to
spend a couple of hours.
During that summer, we got to know the "battlefield" intimately, spending
long hours dodging water volleys, and hiding amidst the abundant undergrowth of
scotch bloom and blackberrie bushes. Unbeknownst to either of us, there was a
constant specter in the second story window, watching as we flirted with mock
danger. Holly was intrigued be the shy Midwestern lad who had befriended her
little brother, and was always eager to offer us her home-baked goodies, and a
glass of Kool-Aid. Her gentle touches to my shoulders and to my butt were
annoying, but accepted in lieu of the food stuffs she offered. It wasn't until
one warm October afternoon that her hidden objectives became apparent.
Coming from a predominantly right wing, working class family had its
definitive drawbacks in those days. Money was always tight, and trips to the
second hand store for clothes became common place. I was not as experienced as
I should of been for my age either. Most obvious, was my naivety. I knew very
little of the opposite gender, and although I had secretly discovered the joys
of masturbation, I had repressed the desire to relieve myself for fear of hairy
palms. loss of eyesight, or memory lapses. I knew of the female form, from my
peers and the magazines I wasn't supposed to see until I grew up, but somehow
had never actually visualized a man and a woman satisfying one other in a sexual
way.
Anyway, that afternoon as I climbed the creaking stairs to the weathered
front door, she stepped out to meet me wearing the shortest cut-offs I had ever
seen. I froze in my tracks and stared at her legs, my heart leaping into my
throat. They were endless, beautifully portioned, and went all the way up. She
smiled a knowing smile at me when our eyes finally met, and for the first time,
I realized how big and green they really were. Although her face was covered
with freckles and she was entirely too thin for her own good, there was an
unspoiled beauty that captivated me from the onset. The off white tube top she
wore barely hid the tiny upturned mounds of her unsupported breasts, and her
undeveloped hips were straight and quite unremarkable. But the look on her face
was somewhat different than I had seen before, and as she stepped towards me and
took my trembling hand, I began to struggle as my knees became jelly. I was
embarrassed and frightened, and wanted to run to the security of the battlefield
to collect my thoughts and savor the vision of her lithe figure on the porch.
But her designs were quite different, and she led me firmly into the front room
with an air of anticipation. It was there I learned that Roger was gone for the
weekend with his Mom to visit a distant friend.
My throat was parched as she guided me to the couch and begin to ask
questions about my inexperience with the opposite gender. Ineptly, I spilled
the Kool-Aid she had set out for me onto my jeans and sweatshirt - it was my
favorite flavor too; cherry. Holly disappeared around the corner and returned
with a moistened towel, and begin to dab my clothes gently in an effort to
extricate the red stains. I stood up, but wasn't too concerned, as my Mom
always had some strange magic she performed in the laundry room that made stains
disappear. As I stood there, I began to experience sensations of arousal and
once again, was faced with the fight or flight response. Quickly turning on my
heel, I bolted for the door, but her arm caught me around the torso, and she
physically lifted my slight frame off the ground and eased me back onto the
tattered couch. I struggled briefly, and she tried to comfort me, thinking that
I was afraid of my Moms' response to my soiled clothes.
Actually, I was panicked by her forwardness. Somehow, I had always thought
it was my job to prepare her, rather than the other way around. As I sat
trembling on the couch, both dazed and frightened, I felt her hand gently
massage my crotch. My mind went into overdrive with images of unwanted
pregnancies, and venereal diseases that were instantly fatal. Looking into her
eyes, I could see her anticipation and desire, and felt her hands undue my jeans
and slip them and my underwear down below my knees. Paralyzed with self-doubt
and unable to mutter a word, I became aware of her cool soft hands as they
caressed my virgin manhood, bringing it quickly to an almost painful erection.
Automatically, my hand reached for her bare midriff, and slowly explored the
softness of her tummy, absently moving in expanding circles until it slipped
into her waistband and down towards her furry womanhood. Instinct had taken
over, and my senses became almost painfully acute, aware of the sights and
smells and sounds of my lover as she brought me closer to the edge.
Again our eyes met, and hers were now glazed as my fingers had found their
way to her glistening rosebud amidst the tiny grove of coarse brown hair. I
could scarcely swallow, as my fingers explored a womans most private places for
the first time. With her free hand, she unfastened the buttons of her cut-offs,
and slowly wriggled free with the agility of a gymnast. With my free hand, I
slid my fingers under elastic band of her tube top and exposed her left breast -
barely developed, and almost totally covered with a plump reddish-brown nipple.
There were freckles sprinkled across her reddening chest, that was moving up and
down rapidly to keep up with her short breaths. The very sight of a warm and
willing partner brought me over the edge, and I could feel my hairless scrotum
contract violently as the first of several gleaming white ribbons shot high into
the air to land with an audible thump on our legs. She giggled quietly, as my
body spasmed convulsively and quivered; the muscles forcing the virgin seed out
of my manhood in a bubbly dribble.
I lay there gasping for air, until I felt her sinewy fingers resume they're
activities on my now wilted organ. Just the thought of being with her in this
alien environment reignited the passion, and I could feel my pulse racing as my
second arousal became firmly apparent. She appeared somewhat surprised by the
speed with which I recovered, but wasted little time in positioning herself over
my thighs, and lowering her dark patch of pubic hair over my newly erected
organ. The exquisite sensation was overpowering, as she began to move her hips
forcefully against my pubic bone. I swear every neural fibre in my body must of
relocated to the head of my manhood, as all I could feel was the moist and
velvety folds of her womanhood as they repeatedly caressed my painfully erect
member. Suddenly, her torso stiffened, and she let out a gasp as her delicate
sexuality spasmed with its first orgasm. It had happened so quickly that I
hadn't even time to explore the tender valleys of her smooth skin as she drove
herself over the edge of ecstasy. She gasped for air and held me tightly to
her budding bosoms, trembling with the voracity of her release.
Inexperience took its' toll as all I could think of doing was to rub my hands
gently over the silky skin of her thighs. After several minutes she gently
lifted her body away from my chest, and shrugged off the tube top, revealing two
small mounds of developing breasts, and a red flush of arousal across her chest
that was peppered with dark freckles. The smile on her face could easily have
written several volumes, but it was the small goose bumps that began to emerge
that offered the body language I needed to hear. I began to move my hips,
feeling my manhood slide deeply into her. With a quick motion, she pulled us on
to the floor and guided my manhood back into her warmth as she lay on her back
with her legs tightly wrapped around my own. Once again, instinct took over,
and I soon found myself pumping my hips against her furiously while watching the
expression of her face change from fulfillment to lust. Her breasts were
gyrating wildly, and her moans were becoming breathless gasps. Our bodies knit
together as a unit, until I could feel the powerful spasms deep in my groin, as
my remaining seed staged itself for the impending orgasm. Holly came first,
arching her back and locking her legs so tightly that I felt as if my spine
would be pulled apart. Even so, the contractions in her pussy pushed me over
the edge, as our orgasmic excretions flowed from her throbbing pussy to form a
sticky pool under her firm cheeks.
I collapsed on top of her, marveling at the beauty of sexuality, as her body
periodically spasmed beneath mine.
We had several more similar encounters before she went off to college, where
she supposedly married some young artist who swept her off her feet and took her
to Paris. She may still be there today. Roger and I continued our wonderful
relationship until one night, while asleep in bed, a would be thief somehow
imagined he was a threat, and shot him several times. Overnight my best friend
became a resident in a distant hospital that nurtured him with machines until he
silently expired in the arms of his Mom. She never did recover from the loss,
and eventually lost her home, and our beloved battlefield, to an unforgiving
bank.
But as I strolled home, seduced and satiated, I knew I would never
experience the sexual act with the same intensity ever again; albeit I tried for
many years. And that night I also knew that the battle lines were drawn, and
the war had begun. I was now one of the millions of experienced warriors in
search of a higher plateau on a domestic battlefield of where the rules are
constantly changed. Even now, as I walk the busy streets, and silently survey
the many warriors around me, I wonder just how many have experienced the joys
and the losses I have in their own private domestic battles for sexual
fulfillment.
