The Family Feud III

Chapter Twenty
“Jamie's E-Journal Entry Three”

STAR COUNT:
WENDY: 36
Get out of jail cards: 1
JAMIE: 39
Get out of jail cards: 1

The following is excerpted from Jamie Taylor’s E-Journal account of a typical day in her life. It is presented to you with slide edits for readability of dialogue without change in context. This account is Jamie’s perspective of events that took place on the Friday of her first week of training. This excerpt begins shortly after her 5^th period gym class.

I was walking tall, chest out, smiling and laughing on my way to my final class of the day. I had just re-evaluated my priorities in life and was attempting to summon the courage to carry out my brother’s plan later tonight. That would be a doozy of a step if I can go through with it.

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a pretty princess, a ballerina, a model, a celebrity, a singer, and a cheer leader. I stopped pretending to be most of those things by middle school, but for some reason I had actually followed through with cheer surge camps and spirit jubilees. It had been my version of girl scouts (although I had been one of those as well).

I made friends, learned how to dance and put on a positive front, and bought into the illusion that cheerleading is how to be popular and what girls that look like me are supposed to do with their time - thin, pretty girls. How shallow is that? I assumed because of how nature gifted me with these looks, I was supposed to use them to cheer at sporting events?

If my life hadn’t been turned upside down and all around, I may never have realized that while I was busy pursuing the childhood fantasy, I was missing out on so many other things. I didn’t date, because I was too busy and it may interfere with my extracurricular activities. I didn’t spend time with the family, because I was too busy with what I had going on. It was becoming clearer to me now, that I had my priorities in the wrong order.

I have to ask myself, do I want to respectfully resign and hang up my pom-poms quietly, or should I go out with a bang? If it amuses Chris and Bill and I get stars out of it, going out with a bang made a lot of sense. It also scared me to think about it. It would be wilder than the tattoo, the Spongeboob thing and the pillory all combined if I can pull it off!

Mistress had me by the hand. She was walking me to class. I wasn’t listening to her, I was happy. I had my phone back. My brother had just forgiven me for falling asleep in class because of all the good things I did the night before that kept me up. I had sent the pictures to my dad, and I wouldn’t be punished when I get home.

I was on cloud nine about how well things were going. I didn’t mind sitting down in Art class with my legs spread wide. This class of all my classes, was the least embarrassing of all of them for me to behave that way. Mrs. Morgan is a young, idealistic teacher with a very free spirit. She never said anything about the way I had to sit. She either didn’t notice, or simply didn’t care.

I didn’t stop smiling when I was told we would have a guest speaker and he was a male. He would be just like my other male instructors, able to see my cunt as I sat as instructed, pretending to be blissfully unaware of their attention. Cathy tried to worry me about it, but I nodded and gave her a submissive look like it didn’t faze me. I had been getting good at that, and in truth it really didn’t faze me.

That is until I saw him walk in. Why on Earth did it have to be Bradley Jenkins? The hunky older guy kept showing up when I least expected. Why now? This week? Couldn’t it have been next week when this nightmare is over?

“A double major in art and philosophy from Dartmouth would be guest-speaking.” Mrs. Morgan had warned us, and I hadn’t given it much thought when she said it.

This is why he was back at home, to talk to high school students about art?

It was obvious when the steamy hunk sauntered in the room that he knew Mrs. Morgan. He knew her well enough that he gave her an innocent kiss on the cheek. That made sense. She is a beautiful well-educated young teacher in her early twenties, and he is in college. They were dating.

If that is the case, why do I think there is some weird chemistry between us?

“Abstract expressionists sought universal themes. Some artists, like Jackson Pollock, were influenced by the psychoanalyst Carl Jung. The use of Carl Jung’s ideas led artists to believe if they could tap into certain colors or shapes, then they could tap into the viewer’s subconscious and evoke certain emotions.” He had already begun speaking. I could feel him look right through me as he talked about art on a level I could not even comprehend. I am normally one of the ones who seem to get everything. Looking around at the other students, they seemed to get it, why wasn’t I?

“Some Abstract Expressionists sought to use their shockingly new and different style to reinvent older art themes for the modern world (the nude female, for example). Other Expressionists liked the idea of physically involving oneself in the making of a piece; forming a composition became a “dance” of paint and form.” It was getting hot as he continued to talk about the nature of art. I was starting to sweat. I could feel my pussy getting wetter and throb.

He wasn’t looking at me as he spoke. Then almost as if time stopped he asked Mrs. Morgan if there had been a volunteer.

“Why yes, but only one person signed up.” She sounded resigned to the lack of student interest in whatever the project was. That wasn’t unusual, most people hated to do extracurricular activities. She had once arranged a field trip to an art museum and only a few of us actually bothered to get the permission slips to attend. Students my age are usually more interested in what Snooki is doing than seeing true culture.

You would think they would love a chance to get off campus during school hours, but not for culture or art. I was curious who the volunteer might be, but I already had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Who is this brave volunteer?” he asked.

I could feel all eyes in the class room upon me as she said my name. I hadn’t signed up for anything? I looked at Mistress, her grinning eyes darting back and forth like the Cheshire Cat. I truly felt like Alice in Wonderland and that I was being whisked to the surreal wonderland of fairy tales. She had obviously signed me up.

I stood up, to the sounds of laughter from my class mates. Did they know what I had volunteered for? I didn’t.

All week I had wondered when the shoe may drop in art class. I had wondered what evil Cathy might have for me to do in Art. My mind had raced with possibilities all week. Fortunately the most provocative thing Cathy had me do was just to make a giant clay dildo and submit it to Mrs. Morgan to be fired in the kiln. The teacher only laughed, other than bongs it was the most common joke submission she received. It had been a non-issue and I was sent back to make a boring ashtray instead.

“After painting a series of biomorphic abstractions in the late 1940s, de Kooning shocked the art world by reintroducing figuration in paintings of women –also shocking because of the brutal way he depicted his subject

-took him almost two years to paint, repainting a series of women paintings, until he had them perfect to his eye. The idea of the nude female form as the embodiment of beauty and grace, but now done in a radically new and different way with raw colors and violent strokes; he took an older theme of the nude female and made it modern.”

Brad was explaining a painting that seemed to me to be a jumble of mad brush strokes and imagery. It was obviously a copy, not the original, but it almost seemed alive with energy that threatened to swallow me into it.

“I assume you have no objection to being our model?” Brad asked me innocently.

“Do I need to disrobe?” I asked wide-eyed. My nipples hardened like ice that was at that point when it freezes and shatters due to how brittle it has become from the cold.

“Yes of course, you don’t mind if it is for art, do you?” His reassuring smile, had a menacing edge to it. I felt cold, alone, afraid.

I began to strip, first removing my top to reveal my breasts, the piercings dangling, the hoops seeming to be twice as large as I remembered them, pulling my nipples down with their weight. I dropped my uniform top and then proceeded to step out of my skirt, revealing my hairless cunt, whore tattoo and giant clit.

I was shocked that the response in the room was a deafening silence. “Shall I remove my heels and my collar, sir?”

“I believe those are perfect, please step into the artists box, Jamie.”

“Artists box?” I asked sheepishly.

I do not recall him walking in with a large box. There was a wooden cage with iron bars just off to the side of the Teacher’s desk. It was painted like a circus calliope organ, garishly decorated, gilded with brass and ornamentation.

“Crawl inside, Jamie.”

I got on all fours, wiggling my ass. I could hear the giggles now. I do not know why I was so eager to comply and do as I was told. I could only comply with his wishes like some devil-sainted zombie who serves her Vampiric master. I crawled into the cage and he locked it on me.

“De Kooning painted his irritation with women. Pain is a certainty, Jamie.” He held a whip in his hands, whipping his palm to punctuate his words. “Women perpetually pursue pleasure, but so seldom obtain it. Pain is absolute. You will always find it, wherever you look. You should seek out pain, for it is far less fleeting and it will never desert you. ”

“Please no? I want out of this cage.” I begged, my hands wrapped around the cage bars in terror. I could not stand, I had to remain on all fours, my ass and cunt presented to the sadistic faces of the classroom.

“Do you Jamie? Is it not a certainty that women take from us, without giving in return? Should you be delivered from your cage?”

“Yes Sir! Please let me out!” I sobbed.

“The ancient Romans in the forums said that Man, were he to be without woman, would converse with the gods.”

“Please, don’t lock me in here, Sir. I want to be free.”

“Jamie, is it not natures intention for man to conquer woman? Otherwise the sexes would be equal strength. Can you name ten inventions created by women? Ten innovations that warrant a change of my opinion, or should you be my property to do with as I please, to whip for my amusement, to pleasure me, without thought for anything other than your pain?”

I could not think of ten buildings or empires or inventions women had created. I couldn’t think of ten diseases they had cured, or where they dominated in any industry other than porn and child care. Even in porn, the pimps and porn producers were the males.

Reluctantly, I felt no choice but to give him my answer.

“Jamie, am I boring you that much?”

“What Sir?”

“I asked if my lecture is that dull?”

“Dull?” I looked around with alarm. The cage was gone, my clothes were on, the students were however laughing sadistically. I had fallen asleep again. The night before had sapped me of my energy, it probably hadn’t helped I spent the last hour doing jumping jacks.

I reached for my phone, it was still gone. I hadn’t recovered it. It started to dawn on me, I hadn’t sent the pictures to my father, nor had I been forgiven for falling asleep the first time.

The bell rang, releasing us to the pep rally.

The real Brad Jenkins was still looking at me with a charming grin as the other students packed up their books to file into the gym.

“Don’t worry kiddo, I am tired too.” He said noticing I wasn’t completely registering what he said. I was lost in his dreamy blue eyes. “Remember? I saw you at the fair last night?”

Oh did I remember. He had been on my mind several times since then. If anything from my dream had been real, it had been my hard nipples and soaked cunt. It sounds so nasty to say cunt, I wonder if my Dad would be mad if I called it something else in my journal? He isn’t supposed to be reading it anyway.

Then again, I am not allowed privacy of any kind, and if we had caught him or Chris writing on their journals we would not have hesitated to read them. Sometimes I get so confused and torn on my motivations.

“Yes, I remember, Sir.” I stammered, trying to recover my composure. I realized he had been waiting for my response to his question.

“I thought you were my brother’s age, I was surprised to find you in advanced art appreciation.” He gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. His touch sent a wave of chills down my spine that felt like a xylophone mallet tapping on every bone in my body.

“I am a junior, actually. Gerald is very advanced for his age. My brother is his friend.” I stumbled awkwardly with my words all jumbled.

“I can see that he is.” His gaze seemed to appraise me one more time, before excusing himself. “Walk you to the pep rally?” He offered me his hand. “I used to go here two years ago, I think I remember you.” He smiled as we walked.

He was modest about his accomplishments at Cherry Lawn. It turns out we simply moved in completely different circles socially, and that is why I had no recollection of him. He guessed either I had been a junior varsity cheerleader (Since I am varsity now) or he had actually noticed me as a Freshman. I was flattered to be talking to him and walking with him. Cathy had even let me go with him unsupervised. I guess she had a heart after all.

We continued down the stairs and towards the gym. His confidence and charm making me swoon like a goofy kid. To him, I probably was a goofy kid. I had fallen asleep in his lecture and dreamt this completely perverted fantasy starring him. I had said earlier in my journal that only a wicked bitch would record their filthy wet dreams. I say a lot of things.

I am about to change my mind about that. I think maybe I really am a wicked bitch for writing the details of my dream, like I said earlier about writing such perverted fantasies. Am I saving it for posterity? Why journal about this experience at all? Shouldn’t I want to block it all out of my memory only to have it unlocked when I tell some therapist about it years from now?

It’s funny, there is a joke that goes “Psycho Therapist? No I am Psycho THE rapist.” I guess the punch line is she gets raped right after that, so maybe it isn’t that funny.

I said my goodbyes to him, but somehow I felt sure I would be seeing him again. He said he would be around this weekend and after that he wasn’t sure. He had been doing a favor for Mrs. Morgan (who he called “Judy”) to guest lecture. He had come home to visit his family, but was questioning his motives for that. He said that the family seemed to be growing apart, as everyone pursued their own interests separately.

I told him that I really understood that sentiment.

I was surprised to hear him say as he walked away, “I am not sure I believe that Jamie Taylor. Your family seems to have a lot of fun, and you are full of surprises. You take chances. I am envious.”

I watched him walk away, summoning the courage to tell the Cheerleading Coach that I didn’t want to participate in the pep rally. I am a terrible liar, and I was shocked that she did not ask me for any details. I simply told her I didn’t feel well, she seemed concerned and let me out of it.

Was this all there is to lying? No elaborate cover stories, no strange throaty voice like I was dying, no doctor’s note?

I had seldom missed a practice and couldn’t remember missing a game or performance. I can’t begin to explain how guilty I felt about it as I walked out of her office. The “Dooga Dooga Dooga” of the high school marching band’s drums were already whipping the crowd into a frenzy.

I saw my brother; he was standing with several other nerdy boys.

“Hello Sir.”

“All set for tonight?”

“I don’t know about it. Can I decide after I get my phone back from Sheldon, Sir?”

His face became skeptical. “Jamie Taylor, a Chicken?”

“If I say I will definitely do it, I will do it Sir. I just haven’t made my mind up.”

“Holding out for more stars?” He asked with a grin.

“Maybe” I teased. I really wasn’t but it didn’t hurt to try by being cute. “Can you call my phone and see where Sheldon is sitting, Sir?” I asked him sweetly.

“Nope”

“Please Sir?” I begged, trying not to seem impatient.

“I know where he is, he is up at the library. We would be too if we didn’t get caught trying to ditch this stupid pep rally.”

I opened my mouth to express my hurt. He didn’t enjoy pep rallies? How could anyone not like them? I thought to myself. I decided not to say anything about his lack of school spirit. I think it hurt me more, because they meant so much to me, that they meant nothing at all to him. I suppose that is selfish on my part, his video games and dungeons and dragons meant nothing to me.

I excused myself and tried to wrestle with that thought in my head, about my own double standards. The things that I value, I want others to value and share with me. The things I do not value, like his video games I wouldn’t even consider showing an interest in. I would just think its common sense. Why? Because I am a cheerleader and we don’t play video games?

I made a mental note that when training is over, I am going to try to play some two player games with Chris.

I was already back upstairs heading to the library, with a single minded purpose. I passed a teacher and nodded at him.

It would not be for several more paces before another realization dawned on me. I looked so innocent, or innocuous, or something, that teachers didn’t even look at me like I may be skipping. If Chris and his friends had been here, the teacher would have turned them back around for the pep rally. The teacher had acknowledged me in the hall, and assumed I had some reason to be where I was and just let me keep walking. That is kind of awesome.

I walked into the library. It was quiet as libraries should be. I began to seek out Sheldon. He must be squirreled away somewhere in one of the corners. The skinny underclassman reminded me of a cross between Pee Wee Herman and Kermit the Frog. If he was here, it would probably be sitting by himself with his nose in a book.

I couldn’t be more wrong. I passed the “media center” and I could see him behind the glass window in the door. He was talking to two other slightly larger boys. I say slightly larger, because the two of them combined, still weren’t equal to one high school senior like Dave Stravosky.

“Sheldon Cooper is a smelly pooper” they were taunting him, pulling on his book bag. What high school student carries around a “Book Bag”? Sheldon Cooper, apparently. What high school student taunts another kid rhyming their last name with pooper? That sounded like something from fourth grade.

“Interrupting something?” I asked feeling like Wonder Woman coming to his rescue. The two would-be bullies seemed intimidated by the fact they had my attention. I gave them a smile that they must have taken for a threat, because with that they melted back out of the room leaving just us two. I have to admit here, I had little to fear, the ‘bullies’ were simply slightly bigger pipsqueaks than Sheldon himself, and they didn’t seem all that menacing.

“Thank you.” He offered with a surprised look on his face.

“You are welcome, Sir.” I was glad I had saved him some from whatever hassle the other kids had in mind for him.

“Sorry, I couldn’t have done the same for you this afternoon.”

“Don’t remind me, Sir.” He HAD reminded me. The boys who had chosen to whip out their cocks and piss all over me. Who does that? I was naked and masturbating. That is just twisted. I relieved the awkward moment in my mind once more.

“Can you give me back my phone, please Sir?” I went straight to the point. I know on dates I am to be more accommodating and conversational but I couldn’t be sure how long we had in the small room before a librarian peaks her head inside. I was also eager to get the pictures to my father. (Dad if you are reading my journal, I am not just saying that to brown nose. I really don’t want to get in trouble).

“What is it worth to you?” his face looking less like Kermit the Frog and more like Kermit the weasel.

“Didn’t I let you watch me play with myself during lunch, Sir?” I was more shocked that he seemed to be bargaining with me, than hurt or offended.

“Yes, because your brother told you too. That wasn’t your kindness doing me a favor.”

It was true. I wouldn’t have volunteered if I didn’t have to be supervised in the bathroom.

“I also chased off the two boys that were in here. That should count for something?” I was mentally calculating if I could just over power him and take it from him. He was a skinny little pipsqueak. He was also Chris’s friend and if I were mean to him, would the punishment be worth it?

Listen to me, I sound like my mother all of a sudden. The way she calculated whether or not she could get away with mocking Short Round at Madam Chang’s. I am realizing so much this past week just how much we have in common but in other ways, how we are so different.

“I don’t have any money, Sir.” I said with a hint of frustration.

“How about a blowjob?”

“A what?”

“Suck my dick.”

I knew what he meant. I asked the question out of shock, or perhaps to stall. I should have been offended, but I can’t blame him for thinking I was easy. I had stripped naked and masturbated in front of him, and then I had failed to lose my mind with rage when boys pissed all over me while I did it. These weren’t the actions of a good girl.

I have played with cocks all week. I have probably played with them for as long as I can remember. Not physically, but mentally, teasing them to get my way. Guys really do everything to get that attention.

They play sports, they paint, they drive fast cars, they get rich, they invent, they build, they create, they acquire, they hunt, they gather. They do it all, to make themselves more attractive to the fairer sex, the female. Is it any different than when the male bird feathers his nest or tries to appeal with his warbles and song to the female?

At least that is how I always heard it on nature shows.

I may not have realized I had been playing, but I had been playing. I had used my youthful appeal, my smile to get people to do things for me. I turn on the charm when I need something, play helpless to get appeal to the hormones of the ‘big strong man’ to get it for me. I pout, I make cute faces, I am in short a horrible little cunt who manipulates.

I never really thought about sex before the training. I had in general terms, but never in graphic ones. I think it is more the promise that they may get the affection that gets the guy’s interest. I suppose I always knew that. I suppose I’ve known this past week that wiggling my butt, and holding my legs apart, has given me a strange power and hold over certain people who are susceptible to the charms of a young girl. In my powerlessness, I was powerful.

I have always assumed I would marry, and that my husband would look something like Brad Jenkins. He would be kind, smart, charming, and handsome. He would be a good father. To be a good father, we must have children, so at some point along the way, I would have had sex. I’d have to right? That is what married people do to have kids.

It had been so abstract to me, I never broke it down to the component parts. Sucking dick, that would be a part of it. It is a way to get him hard, and please the man. Having my pussy ate out, letting him touch me, touching him. I suppose a little girl is raised to believe she will be a virgin until her wedding night.

Aside from myself, and a few of the most devout Christians on campus, I think I may be the only virgin in 11^th grade. In fact, I am pretty sure some of the most devout Christians and their purity rings are really just a farce. I take that back, I think I may actually be the only virgin in the 11^th grade at Cherry Lawn.

Even the fat girls, the homely ones with braces and attitude were having sex. I am pretty sure of it. What did they have to lose? Who expected them to remain pure? They weren’t blonde haired, blue eyed angels like me. Was I really thinking this about them? Yes I was.

I shuddered. I could tell that in the moment that he had asked me to suck his dick, that he was hanging in anticipation for my response. The response should be obvious. This is just a phone.

“Yes I will suck your dick, but please don’t tell anyone, Sir?”

That was not the obvious response I was thinking about when I said “This is just a phone.” Why then had I said that to him? His eyes went wide. They weren’t Millhouse’s fear eyes. These were Chris just got unlimited blueberry pancake eyes. Okay that is cruel. Chris, if you are reading my journal, I am just teasing, please don’t punish me. 

Suffice to say, he seemed to expect my response less than I had expected my response to his question. I was going to have to suck someone’s dick at some point, at some time. How else do you get good enough for your husband?

You can’t start on the wedding night? What if you are terrible at it, and he hates it? That is the question I asked myself as I kneeled in front of Sheldon Cooper to tell myself I wasn’t the world’s biggest whore for doing this.

Yet, I was a whore. It said so right on my ass.

I didn’t even look behind me at the window in the door, when I unzipped his pants and pulled out his rather average size cock.

The thing is, for a skinny boy who weighs less than 100lbs, an average size cock seems pretty big. I held it in my hand, as it was firming up, becoming solid before my eyes. He was uncircumcised, the folds of flesh pulling back as his head peaked out, not unlike Rosco on a hot day when he is thinking whatever dirty dog thoughts make his lipstick like dick get hard without any stimulus at all.

Speaking of no stimulus at all, my pussy was wet. (Hah, I said pussy instead of Cunt, I am a bad girl, so sue me.) I didn’t want my pussy to be wet, not for Sheldon Cooper. I didn’t want my first pseudo sexual experience to really be with Sheldon either.

It was too late. I had put his cock in my mouth already, licking the head slightly with my tongue and then wrapping my lips around it. It felt like putting the corn dog in my mouth last night at the fair. I shut my eyes, in the darkness he could be anyone, he could be Dave Stravosky. Yuck, why that macho ego maniac football player? I meant Brad Jenkins. At that moment though, Brad’s face wasn’t coming up, Dave is all my imagination fed me.

Dave dominating me, pulling my hair, teasing me.

I opened my eyes to get away from that image in my mind. Sheldon was standing there with his hands on his hips, making no physical contact with me except for my lips around his dick. His smile was like that of someone who just won 2^nd place at the science fair, not like someone in the throes of ecstasy.

I let his dick pop out of my mouth, it was getting a little flaccid, as it dropped out from my lips. “Aren’t you enjoying it, Sir?”

“You do more than put it in your mouth?” He asked expectantly.

I wanted to ask how many blowjobs he had, that he was going to seem critical. That might have made him ask how many I had given that I wouldn’t take criticism and I didn’t want to say he was my first. Aside from that, I was supposed to talk submissively.

I slurped his cock back into my mouth, like a crazy straw and began to play with it, jerking him off with my tongue, pumping it in and out with my breath. He became hard again, it was hard not to smile, that I had shown him who could ‘do more than put it in her mouth’.

I was using one hand to pump his dick like masturbating my brother, while without thinking using my other to cup my boob the way I did when I am in squatting position. It felt comforting to touch my breast, made it easier to focus on his cock like it were the only cock in the world. That is what you do when sucking cock, connect to your partner like two become one. Joined mouth to dick, that is what I think I understand about sex.

I moved back and forth now, physically fucking his dick into my mouth by sliding back and forth. I was wishing something were driving my head back and forth on his dick, feeling foolish that it had to be me. It just didn’t feel right I was doing everything and he stood there as impassively as Uncle Creepy.

I don’t know why, but I pictured Uncle Creepy’s dick in my mouth. How that would have felt, what it would taste like. Sheldon’s didn’t taste bad. Stale sweat, with a little side of pubic hair, is how I would describe it. I had licked my mom all over at home, he really didn’t taste all that different.

Then it came.

This wasn’t an orgasm.

This was a “Jamie Orgasm”. This was the male equivalent. He grabbed my ears and yanked, his toes curled up inside his gym shoes and I could see them through the rubber. His legs strained, and he seemed like a boy possessed. Then the goo came. I don’t know how much there was, but it was at least two or three solid gulps, it felt that way.

It felt like hot cream of wheat, or phlegm just coursing into my throat. My instinct was to spit. I had heard all the jokes about “Spit or swallow” and I knew that I was expected to swallow. It seemed too gross. I would have spit, if not for the fact that his muscles had tightened, locking him in place, holding my ears now like handle bars.

He had gone from not touching me at all, to embracing my head like he was Jack, and I am that piece of wood floating in the Atlantic at the end of the Titanic.

This was apparently fourteen years of saved up boy semen, and frustrated sexual tension, all in a single massive load, and it was coating my throat. If I didn’t swallow I would have drowned, I had no idea when it would stop squirting.

“Wow, did I just pee?” He seemed shocked as he released my ears. He was still stroking himself, juicing tiny drips of cum from his cock that continued to drip out.

“No Sir, I think you came.” I said with a smile. The hot white goo, had dribbled down my chin and I dabbed it with my finger.

“I didn’t know that is how it works.” He was holding his knees, and trying to catch his breath as he spoke to me.

“You’ve never played with yourself, Sir?” I asked playfully.

“I have, but I just thought that little bit that comes out at the top is when you cum. I didn’t know I could do it and this much comes out. Wow, I need a nap!” His face was awash with euphoria. He was no longer a cranky nerdy boy who seemed shy and awkward. He had a glow about him. I don’t want to feed my own ego about it, but I think he suddenly felt like he had become a man, and I was watching him emerge from a mental cocoon. I was proud of myself.

Then I saw the two boys standing behind me.