WRITERS WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD ~ FIRST LOVE - PART ONE
A: Guess what time it is?
A: Maybe brunch, but I'm talking about sharing a story with our readers over the next six weeks.
Z: Sounds good to me...but how about after we munch.
A: (Hands him a snack bar and points to the computer) Story time first!
Friends are like condoms …
they protect you when things get hard
At a young age
SUBJECT Cathy was replaced but not forgotten
While reflecting upon his youth, Keegan recognized that first emotions, whereas they were of an immature soul were far from immature. The sensations were stronger, the passion more intense, and the self-awareness of their truth not yet evolved.
He reflected about such profoundly overwhelming emotions. Of course, they were an adolescent's, but first love could be the most powerful love ever.
The summer before starting college Keegan met Sherry Stringer, she was one in a series of females that were exacted from the same litter and self-sabotage was the bitch. All were physically alike, and greatly differed from his first love, Cathy.
Cathy was tall, they short, Cathy shapely, they very straight and slight, and Cathy chesty, they minimally mammariforcated. Keegan eventually discerned the pain of the loss of Cathy skewed his choices, never wanted that pain, again. So why risk love, again. That was his recovery plan.
At a Downingtown dance, he met Sherry along with her ex-boyfriend and his buds. He ignored the guys, took Sherry home, and then re-met the ex and his horde of monosyllabic twits. They followed him, promising his ass kicking. Acting mature for his age, a stage he proved by smoking a pipe, using wild cherry tobacco. At a traffic light, the ex with vehement words referred to Keegan as dead. Then repeated himself.
Keegan lit his pipe, calmly, looked over, smiled, counted, six in their truck, and replied, “You can have me if you can catch me!” He slipped his red mustang into low, ripped rubber and peeled away.
Not knowing the local geography, he quickly found a huge mall parking lot, they on his trail. Fearlessly, Keegan spun the car, facing them. They drove forward, and he reacted gunning the motor, let the car rip, and headed right at them, playing a serious life-altering game of chicken. They blinked first, somehow he knew they would. Without consideration, he followed, stilled targeting them, fully prepared for a collision, all misplaced youthful bravery. He stared, raced at them and just before a collision, they swerved. Keegan slowly, confidently rode past them. They did not follow.
The next weekend he returned to the Downingtown dance, walked in alone and saw Sherry. Hair perfect, make-up perfect, she raced across the floor, weaving through dancers, and then halting just inches away from him. The ex and his collective of cretins noticed Keegan. Their din was audible to Keegan. His ass was grass, and they were the lawnmower. He understood this was going to be the case before he entered. So before anyone painted him with a hero’s whitewash or called him foolish to square of body odor, remember he understood. Two minutes after he entered so did seven of his buds. Guys he played sport with, huge boy-men. They stood at his shoulder just as the ex and his herd of sheepeople confronted him. Magic happened in that flash of fear witnessed on another’s face. Keegan watched that flash cover seven, watched that seven approach that moment of ... fight, piss your pants, or retreat. He knew the response before it happened. After all, he had stared them down the week before alone, and knew they would retreat like worms feeling first sun. They did. The ex remained the ex, and Keegan was elevated to permanent boyfriend status. For that evening, his buds became the only dudes at the dance.
His freshman year in college, found Keegan and Sherry together often and mostly naked. Again, so unlike what he shared with Cathy. However, he was never aware that he was over-compensating. Hell, he was having pleasure. Sherry helped him learn the knack of sex, all of its tastes and feels. He took his time, necking for hours, dwelling on her skin. He learned that muff diving, a term she used, was fun, controlling and resulted in new, unusual sounds. It was enlightening.
They were inexperienced at fucking. Generally, the head of Herbie, short for Herbie Handcock, would enter, they’d kiss and touch. It felt good but for the most part they remained motionless. Then one night, to his surprise, she declared a leg cramp, shifted, rolling her legs and hips. Herbie entered completely and a rush of sensations, the likes of a concert, riddled every cell of his being. There was ecstasy, rapture, pleasure no man deserved and plenty of cum, hot and sloppy, surprising both. She understood, though a bit hazy, she wanted to do it again. Tickled, he agreed. "Why not?" He learned something else that night, the reality of penile recovery. When he wanted Mr. Inappropriate Hard-on to rise, it balked. The unspoken Nope! from his nether region was embarrassing, but with some coaxing by her unrelenting lips they managed. The second time was just as good and it lasted almost a minute longer.
Bob, a good friend, told Keegan all about premature ejaculation. Bob at a beach party on Cape Cod, was drinking. He met a gal. They strolled from the fire, laid in the sand and kissed. She was willing. Bob eliminated the obstacles of shorts and panties. She was, ready, fingers wet her, his shorts thrown aside, he rolled onto her. His voluminous cock touched her warm stomach, anticipation racing, bang, dumped on her belly, sexploided prematurely. Keegan understood. Premature ejaculation was doing it outside of the vagina. Therefore Keegan’s action was not. Sadly, Bob’s lesson was another in a long line of sexual myths that he would have to rewrite.
Bob went on to be immortalized in a great movie.
Sherry taught Keegan pleasure after pleasure, all so vanilla but ever so wonderful. It was great. Constantly made him orgasm in under a minute. She was the best, skilled.
They made love but sadly neither told the other they were in love.
TO BE CONTINUED
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