A Highschool Girl Giving a Total Stranger a Little Hand
"Who was it?"
"Wrong number."
"Brilliant. Come here and let's try that again."
Sometimes if I had been actually looking for them because I needed to ask something, they would stop it, half covering their bodies, answer my question and then resume what they were doing.
I remember very clearly the day they told me about the divorce. Dad got home and we had dinner in silence. After dinner, they went into the den with a bottle of wine. I couldn't hear a thing from the TV room, even though the door was open. So they couldn't be having sex. I was about to go upstairs to brush my teeth and head to bed -- being such a nice girl -- when they called me into the den. Mom did the talking. She told me that she and dad were getting a divorce not because their love was over, but because their love had changed and they figured they'd be able to make me happier if they moved on being just friends. Dad smiled and took me to bed. He tuck me in and kissed me goodnight. After a few minutes I could hear mom screaming like a whore. Some people say make-up sex is great -- and I'll vouch for that -- but from the noise those two made that night, nothing beats break-up sex. I was about 8.
When I found out what that was all about, I figured, "sex must be awesome!" And I started reading everything remotely related to sex I could get my hands on. One day I came back from school and put my backpack on a chair at the kitchen table. Mom was on the phone and I decided to have a shower before dinner.
When I came back downstairs she was sitting on the couch reading the book I had brought from the school library. That day was important for me for two different reasons. First, I learned my mom's view on sex when it came to her little daughter thinking about it, since when it came to her doing it... well, let's say I was very familiar with her views on that. Second, I learned my mom was in the habit of going through my stuff, probably to make sure I was not smoking pot. There had been this time when I decided to support marijuana discriminalization during our usual dinner talk. I was just trying to show how grown I was and defend my point of view. For her, I was trying to defend myself in anticipation in case one day I got caught. I was about 12 then.
The book I had brought was one of those cheap chick bestsellers. It was about this girl who's very honest and noble and meets a guy who has all those nice things a girl learns from her family she should look for in a guy -- namely, money, likes children, plays an instrument, loves his mother, and so on -- but, due to the fact that he's engaged -- the girl is never engaged and is usually a virgin -- they can't be together. So, they meet occasionally here and there, kiss once, being a little drunk, until the day the guy's fianceé passes away. The book ends with a beautiful sex scene described from the viewpoint of a virgin -- which means she uses words like 'male organ'.
Anyway, there she was holding my book. She started offering to answer my questions, should I have any, but we ended up having this huge fight during which I stated she was disrespecting my individuality, whereas she argued that children don't have rights until they own a home, and, according to her, even then there are limits to their level of freedom. It was a good fight.
On the following day, she didn't wait for me to come to her with questions. She prepared a very professional presentation on the subject of sex and STDs -- she actually made a PowerPoint presentation. If her idea was to scare me out of the idea of ever having sex, she succeeded. For a while.
The truth is, I kept reading more and more virgin-falls-in-love-and-has-sex books. Then I moved on to really erotic literature. When I was about 15 I was in the habit of reading erotic poetry.
That and masturbation.
I found out at that time that I would have a much more intense orgasm, and it would be much faster to have it, if I had been reading about sex before (or while) I did it. And at that time, boys had become so interesting for me.
The thing is, I was going to one of those Catholic schools for girls only. My consolation was my cousins, my neighbor's son and Hollywood. I would fantasize about Hollywood actors all the time.
There was this once when I ran into my neighbor's son coming back from the subway station. He was a couple of years younger than me, very shy and, probably because of that, very charming. I invited him to have dinner with me and my mom -- only she was away on business. I "accidentally" found a bottle of wine and made him drink so that he would have the guts to actually do something to me. It was a very wise decision of mine to choose another virgin, especially someone younger than me, to do that, because that put me in total control of the situation.
While we ate and drank he was pretty quiet. After we had finished the first glass, he was telling me everything about his life, school, family. I suddenly asked him if he masturbated. He blushed a little and said, "only all the time." I then asked him if he did it thinking of me. "Only all the time!" I blushed a bit, too, and changed the subject. We drank about one and a half bottles and we were suddenly making out on the couch. He was a really good kisser but also really slow -- which was nice at first but things got really hot really fast. I could feel his dick pressing against my body and I could tell it was fairly big. I told him to stop kissing me and told him to masturbate for me to watch. I had seen thousands of dicks in movies and magazines, but nothing compared to seeing one live. He started doing it very slowly, smiling at me. He didn't look like a boy anymore. He was man. And he was all mine. I took the liberty of continuing his job.
I had never felt so powerful! And to be perfectly honest, I still think there are very few things which make a woman feel more powerful than when she's holding a man's dick. They become little puppets in our hands.
We went steady for quite a while but I was too curious to get attached so soon. I wanted something different. He was really pissed at me when I broke up with him. We never had sex, technically speaking.
There was this guy who always rode the subway with me on Friday nights after practice. I was always wearing my volleyball outfit and I noticed him eyeballing my legs a couple of times. I felt really good about it. He was older than me, he had an incredibly sexy five o'clock shadow, and he noticed my legs.
One fine day, the car was pretty empty, and I spotted him glancing out the window absent-mindedly. I simply sat next to him and said, "let me give you a handjob."
I still find it hard to understand where I got the guts to do it like that. The guy could have been a pervert. Or worse, he could have been gay. Turns out he was none of that. And I felt I could do anything I wanted after giving him that handjob. And to think I was still a virgin.
I never saw him again. That day had been the last time I was ever going to ride that subway. Mom and I moved downtown that weekend. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had given him my number, if we had met after that. But I think the fact that it happened like that and only once makes that day all the more special.
Maybe my mom was right after all to measure me by herself.
