Erotic Childhood Memories (mm; mf; MF; tease; coming-of-age)
By Neverlander
(c) 2016

I was in my room just hanging out when my mother came to the door
to say that someone was here to see me.  I wasn't expecting
anyone; I thought it would be just my mother and me in the house
the way it was most days during the summer while my father was at
work and my sister was at Girl Scout camp.  I opened the door and
Paul walked in, grinning from ear to ear.  "Hi, Jeremy!" he said
and sat himself down on my bed, looking around the room.

I hadn't seen Paul in two years, which at our ages seemed like
forever.  I had just turned thirteen, and although we were never
in the same class at school we'd been best buddies in the old
neighborhood where I used to live.  We'd go everywhere together,
and play tricks on the younger kids, like pretending to be a
phantom in a costume with a cape that we'd see from a distance
and run after but could never catch; sometimes I'd be the phantom
and he'd be the leader of the little kids trying to catch me,
then on other days we'd switch costumes and roles, so the kids
never figured out who the phantom was.  That neighborhood was
only two or three miles from where I lived now, but it felt like
it was on the other side of the world, and we lost contact very
quickly.

So here he was again, and to tell the truth I felt a little
uncomfortable to see him, since he reminded me of those silly
games we used to play that embarrassed me to think about.  I
mean, I was grown up now, I was thirteen!  It didn't help that he
looked very much as he did back then, kind of small and thin,
with unruly dark hair, blue eyes, and pale skin with freckles
across the bridge of his nose.  I was actually starting to shave
a little (not that I really needed to), but his face was as
smooth as it had ever been.  It struck me that even now, after
two years, he could still almost be mistaken for a pretty girl,
with his long lashes, his petite nose and his expressive, rosy
lips.

"So, what you been doin'?" he said.  "Remember those tricks we
used to play on the other kids, and how we were going to be
cowboys out west when we grew up?"  I think I actually blushed to
be reminded of what silly little kids we had been.  I tried not
to get angry at him for mentioning it.

"Well, I was a lot younger then, you know," I said, afraid that
he wanted to take up where we'd left off.  "That was a long time
ago."  My interests had changed a lot since then, and I just
assumed that his hadn't, that he was still the silly little kid
that he had been and still looked like.  Boy, was I wrong!

"Yeah, I know, me too," he said.  "We were pretty dumb.  But it
was fun sometimes."  His eyes narrowed a bit as he looked at me.
"You still got that magazine?  The one we found?"  I stared at
him blankly, then the memory came back in a rush.  We had been
casting about in a patch of woods that still remained between two
housing developments, shuffling through dry leaves, when we
uncovered a magazine that someone had thrown away.  It had gotten
wet and a little moldy, but when we saw what it was we looked at
each other in amazement and ran with it back to my house, where
we began to carefully separate the pages to dry them out.  As we
turned the pages we were greeted with picture after picture of
women in garter belts and stockings, women with large breasts
bursting out of black lace brassieres, sometimes totally nude
women with their legs spread wide as they smiled at us and licked
their lips.  We spent hours studying those pictures, fascinated
and thrilled by the boners they gave us.

"What?  Oh, uh, no, I don't know where it is."  It hadn't been
long after our discovery that my family moved.  "I guess it got
lost when we moved."

"Too bad," Paul said.  "I liked that mag.  It really got me hot."
 He grinned at me.  "Bet it did you, too.  You get any new ones?
Stuff that gets you all hard and stuff?"

"I, uh, no, not really," I lied.  The truth was that I had a
stash of pictures I kept hidden in a box in my closet for my own
personal use, including the old magazine.  "Not a lot, anyway."

Paul wrinkled his nose in a grin.  "Right," he said, "sure."  He
leaned back on his elbows and slowly swung his feet back and
forth over the edge of my bed.  "I bet you're a cock teaser," he
said.

"A what?"

"A cock teaser."

"What's that?"

"You know your cock?"

"Uh, yeah..."

"Well, you like to tease it.  When you look at pics and get all
hot and bothered."  He narrowed his eyes and his grin became a
knowing, seductive leer.  "You love it," he whispered.

I just stared at him.  Even though I figured it had something to
do with sex, the fact was that I didn't know what he was talking
about.  As far as I knew teasing was just what I did to my sister
when I was making fun of her for something, or when she said
"nyah nyah nyah" to me for whatever.  I couldn't see what that
had to do with my cock.

"You're crazy!" I said.  "Did somebody crack you on the head or
something?  You sound like a loony."

He frowned at me.  "I am not crazy," he protested.  "You're the
crazy one if you never heard about cock teasing!"  He crossed his
arms and pouted.

"Yeah, well how did you learn about it anyway?  What makes you
the big expert?"  Of course, I still didn't know what he was
talking about, what he was supposed to be an expert on.

"You know my sisters?"

Oh.  It was starting to make sense.  If anything weird was going
on with Paul, then for sure his sisters were involved in it
somehow.  They were two of the nastiest, most filthy-mouthed kids
I'd ever met, tougher than any boys.  Their welcome to me as the
new kid on the block hadn't been exactly gentle.

Sandy and Ronnie - I never could remember which was which, but it
didn't really matter since they were twins and they always went
everywhere and did everything together.  They had a reputation at
school, but for what I never knew, just that it was bad.  For a
while I was just aware of them as girls who sat at the back of
the school bus where nasty stuff was supposed to happen.  Just
what stuff I didn't know, and I never sat back there myself.

The first time I had a run-in with them was an education,
literally.  I was walking around one Saturday in a part of the
neighborhood I hadn't been to before and I ran into them. 
Actually, they saw me and crossed the street just to confront me;
I don't know why they decided to pick on me.  Maybe I do, though,
since I was thought of as one of the "good" kids who did pretty
well at school and didn't get into trouble.  And, of course,
didn't sit in the back of the bus.

"What the fuck you doin' here?" Sandy or Ronnie said to me.

"Just ... just looking around," I said ... or probably stammered.

"Yeah, well you better go look around someplace else," said the
other one.  "We catch you here again and you'll be in deep shit."
 They turned and started to walk away.

This didn't seem fair to me, so I called out to them, "Well, it's
a public road, you know!"  They stopped and turned around and
glared at me, simultaneously raising their middle fingers, all
four of them - like I said, they did everything together.  Now, I
had seen that gesture before, but (believe it or not) it had
never been explained to me what it meant; somehow or other that
topic had never come up in dinner conversation at my house.  My
curiosity overcame my better judgement.  "Would you mind telling
me what that means?" I said, thinking this might be the basis for
an interesting discussion.

They stared at me incredulously as they slowly walked back to
where I was standing, ready to run if necessary.  Sandy - I think
it was Sandy - jabbed her middle finger skyward again.  "It means
`fuck you', retard!" she hissed.

"Yeah," chimed in Ronnie, flicking up her finger like a
switch-blade.  "Rotate on this and meet me at the elbow,
asshole!"  I think this may be the most direct, to-the-point
language lesson a ten-year-old has ever gotten from a pair of
twelve-year-old girls.

After that I didn't have much contact with them, aside from
seeing them occasionally in the corridors at school.  Once Paul
told me that they stuffed Kleenex in their bras to make them look
bigger.  I laughed, but I also felt a little embarrassed because
just a couple of days before Paul told me that I'd seen them
walking around with their tits sticking out, and I'd used some
Kleenex of my own in bed that night thinking about it!

"What about your sisters?"

"Well, they showed me what cock teasing is.  For practice."

"Practice?"

"Yeah, for their boyfriends.  For doing stuff with them."

For some reason I never thought of Sandy and Ronnie with
boyfriends.  Who would want to go out with them?  On the other
hand, I had no trouble imagining bunches of dirty old men in
overcoats, drooling and leering as they followed the twins
wherever they went.

"They have boyfriends?" I said.  "I mean real ones?"

"Oh yeah, lots of `em."

"Do they just share them?  I mean, they're always together and
all."

Paul laughed.  "They're not always together, they go out with
different guys.  But sometimes..."  He looked at me and grinned.
"Sometimes they go out together with just one guy.  Or sometimes
with two or three."

"Geez," I said.  "Who are these guys anyway?  They in our
grades?"

"No, they're not at our school.  They're too old.  Some of them
go to college, I think, and I heard them talking about guys they
know in the army or something."

"How old are they now?  Your sisters I mean."

"Fifteen."

"Wow."  This was becoming increasingly unreal to me, far from the
world I was used to.  "So ... practice?"

"Yeah, practice cock teasing!  You wanna see?"

"Uh, what..."

"Just watch..."  Paul stood up and unzipped his pants, then
pushed them halfway down his legs.  I was speechless as he leaned
back on my bed again, exposing himself to me.  I couldn't help
staring at his penis, which was becoming erect.  "Mmm, I get hard
just thinking about it," he whispered.  "See?"  He smiled at me,
gently stroking himself.

"Uh, yeah, I ... I mean, I, uh..."

"So what they do is like..."  He began to worry his erect cock
with his fingertips, just flicking up the shaft as if his fingers
were feathers, very lightly, barely touching himself.  As he did
it he bit his lower lip and his brow furrowed in frustration. 
"They do this over and over," he said breathlessly, "just to get
you all worked up until you can't stand it anymore, then they
stop and wait..."  He lifted his hand and held it motionless over
his cock.  "...then they start it up all over again.  It drives
you so crazy!"  He was breathing hard now, and he stopped
touching himself as he stared at his erection where it hovered
two inches above his flat belly, quivering and gently throbbing.
"Wanna see what it feels like?" he said, reaching towards me.  "I
can do it to you, if you want."

I jumped back out of his reach.  "No, uh, not right now," I said,
"you don't need to, I ... I guess I get the idea now."  My voice
was a little hoarse, and I cleared my throat.  "So, that's how
they use you for practice?" I said.  "For what they do with..."

"Yeah, with their boyfriends!  They do stuff with me and when
they find something that gets me wiggling around they remember it
for when they go out.  Then they do it to the other guys for as
long as their cocks can stand it, until they ... well, you know."
 He got up and pulled his pants back up.  "They talk about what
they do with the other guys while they hold me down and play with
my cock.  They tell me about how they get guys off, sometimes
with both of them working on the same guy.  It always gets me
extra hard when I imagine them doing that!"

At this point my own imagination was careening at full tilt, and
I'm sure Paul noticed the bulge in my jeans.  "I guess they get
to go out on a lot of dates, huh?  If they know about that
stuff."

"Oh, yes.  They're very popular."

*  *  *  *  *

Later that year I found out that there was a girl in my class who
had a crush on me.  I found out because two of her friends called
me one night and told me that Valerie liked me.  I think I
blushed when I heard that.  Nothing like that had ever happened
to me before.

Valerie Bergeron - blond, wavy hair, almost as tall as me, a
mischievous smile, and, as my classmate Brian delicately put it,
the biggest tits in the eighth grade.  It was winter, and for the
remainder of that season I played the romantic, sending her a
Valentine, chivalrously lacing up her ice skates at the far end
(the necking end) of the pond.  When the weather turned warm
things got hotter with us, too.  Valerie agreed to meet me along
a path in the state park where for some reason a bench had been
placed all by itself.  We did some playful wrestling as we sat on
the bench, and in between hot tongue kisses I got some hands-on
experience with those biggest-in-the-eighth-grade breasts. 
That's as far as I got, though.  Valerie always stopped me at the
last moment when I started to pull up her skirt - she always wore
dresses or skirts, I loved that - and aside from a couple of
quick brushes of her hand along my obvious boner she never tried
to bring it out into the open.  All in all, a frustrating, if
exciting, experience.

I often told Paul about my times with Valerie, whom he
immediately declared to be a bitchy cock teaser.  I admit that I
embellished my stories a bit, just to get a rise out of him; what
I described as passionate squeezing and sucking of her totally
naked breasts had in fact been more a matter of awkward groping
under her brassiere.  He accepted it all uncritically, however,
and was particularly interested to hear about what my hard-ons
were like, what they felt like, how big they got for her.  My
stories were all mostly lies, of course, but I enjoyed seeing his
reaction to them, how his lips parted in anticipation as he
listened to me, his eyes wide and eager.  One thing I didn't lie
about, though, was Valerie's refusal to "go all the way", or to
even touch my cock.  This, to him, was tragic, and justified his
holding her in very low esteem, unworthy to be his best friend's
girlfriend.  He said it was too bad I couldn't go out with
someone like his sisters.  When he saw my horrified expression,
he said, yeah, he knew, they're pretty scary all right, but at
least they knew how to make a cock happy, very, very happy, all
night long!  "Never gonna happen," I said to him, "not in this
life or any other!"  Their sleazy reputations and my occasional
unpleasant scrapes with them were enough to keep me as far away
from them as I could, although whenever I did see them I couldn't
help noticing that they certainly didn't need tissue paper in
their bras any more, and Paul told me that all the guys in the
high school had constant hard-ons for them.  Actually, when all
was said and done, even though I was a mature, experienced man of
thirteen who had felt up Valerie Bergeron, I knew that those two
could chew me up and spit me out like a hair ball, and I was
scared shitless of them!

Paul refused to give up, however, and I soon learned the lengths
he was willing to go to rescue his sexually deprived best friend.

*  *  *  *  *

The house Paul lived in with his mother and sisters had once been
nice, but now suffered from years of neglect.  The yard was
overgrown and littered, and in back was the carcass of an old '55
Cadillac Coupe de Ville whose engine had been removed by one of
Paul's mother's former boyfriends.  It had a cracked windshield
and windows that didn't open, but the upholstery on the seats was
still in fairly good shape.  Over the years the kids of the house
had appropriated it for their games; where more well-off children
had treehouses, Paul and his siblings had the caddie.  With the
kids older now it didn't get much use, but one day Paul
discovered a stash of beer his mother had forgotten she had, and
he invited me to what he called "Club Caddie" to share his good
fortune.

When I got to his house in the early evening he told me his
sisters were out at an all-night frat party at the college and
his mother was off visiting her sister across town, so there'd be
no one around to bother us.  He was waiting outside with two
bottles of beer and an opener in a paper bag, and he led me
around the back of the house to the caddie.  He opened a rear
door of the car and motioned me inside, which was fairly well
illuminated by a light over the back door of the house.  "After
you, my good sir," he said with a fake English accent - he was
actually pretty good at that.  We piled into the roomy back seat
and started in on the beer.

It didn't take long before we got silly.  He made me tell more
stories about Valerie and her tits, and he told me about how he
used to spy on his sisters through a hole in their bedroom wall.
He described in detail what they looked like naked, how Sandy had
a little mole on her left breast that Ronnie didn't, how their
asses jiggled when they practiced their dance moves.  Hearing
about that got me pretty hot, actually.  And we reminisced about
the ancient magazine from the woods the with whores-turned-models
who gave us such terrific boners.

Paul kept returning to the subject of Valerie, how she really was
such a bitch for not doing more with me, giving me advice on how
I could convince her to spread her legs or go down on me.  I
occurred to me that as far as I knew Paul didn't have a
girlfriend so how could he...but then I remembered his sisters
and I thought that, yeah, maybe he can teach me a thing or two.

Paul lifted his bottle and upended it.  "Huh!" he said.  "Empty.
We need more."  I didn't object.  "Okay, don't go `way.  I'll be
right back."  He got out of the car and headed back to the house
with the bag, moving a little unsteadily, it seemed to me.

I suppose it would be reasonable to blame what happened next on
the beer.  You know what, I will do that, yes, it was definitely
the beer.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Paul was taking a long time to grab a couple more beers, or maybe
it just seemed that way because my head was swimming.  I sat with
my eyes closed and my head back against the car seat, humming to
myself, thinking about spying on Paul's sisters and nursing my
hard-on through my pants.  Suddenly I opened my eyes and sat up
straight.  What the fuck?  Where did she come from?  A girl was
standing outside the car looking in at me, smiling and waving her
fingers.  She opened the door and got in next to me.  "Hi!" she
said.

It was Paul.  He was wearing a blouse and a tight red skirt that
stopped just above his knees.  He had on high heeled shoes that
were too big for him, clip-on earrings, and he'd put barrettes in
his hair.  He'd put on eye makeup, too, and he was wearing
lipstick that emphasized the already sensuous shape of his mouth.
 I said before that sometimes Paul could be mistaken for a girl.
Tonight he really did look like a girl, a very pretty one, if a
little whorish.  As I sat staring at him he opened two beers and
handed one to me.  I took a gulp, and then almost choked as I
started to laugh.

"You really are crazy, you know that?" I said, looking him up and
down as he sat next to me.

"I'm not crazy," he said.  "I'm sexy.  I'm sexy Valerie!"  He
pinched the skirt at the sides and pulled it up to show off his
smooth, shapely legs, and licked his lips as he squeezed what
looked like good sized tits, no doubt a well-stuffed bra under
the blouse (Sandy's?  Ronnie's?).  I kept drinking as I looked at
him, and so did he, almost sending beer out his nose as he posed
and giggled.

He took a swig from his bottle and then held it upright in his
lap.  "Okay, okay," he said, trying to get his giggling under
control.  "Okay, so I'm Valerie, and somebody told me that I've
been really mean to my nice boyfriend Jeremy!  So I decided that
I'm going to make it up to him.  Now, how can I do that I wonder,
hmm?"  His hand began to stroke up and down the neck of the
bottle he held in his lap.  He smiled at me and puckered his lips
in a kiss.

I was speechless, and took another long swallow of beer.  My
senses were confused by alcohol and the startling illusion Paul
was pulling off, and in spite of myself an erection was rapidly
developing in my pants.  `Valerie' noticed this.

"Well, what do we have here?" he said.  "Oh, we need to have a
closer look at what's happening there."  He propped his bottle
against the car door and reached over to undo my pants and pull
down the zipper.  I was stunned and did nothing to stop him. 
When my erection popped out he put his hand theatrically to his
cheek and opened his eyes wide.  "Oh my!  What a nice, big boner!
 But it looks like it's been teased real bad!  Well, we'll have
to do something about that..."

Paul stood up, leaning forward to avoid bumping against the roof
of the car.  He pulled the skirt up to his hips, revealing a pair
of transparent nylon panties that he was wearing underneath. 
"Like `em?  They're real sexy, huh?  You can see right through
them."  He lowered the skirt, pulling the flimsy panties down and
off as he did, then turned them front and back as he held them up
so I could see them.  "Sandy's or Ronnie's," he said.  "Doesn't
really matter, I guess."  He flipped them out so that they
brushed against the head of my erect penis.  I gasped at the
sudden flash of pleasure, and he grinned.  "Well, I think we can
find a better use for these than just holding Sandy or Ronnie's
pussy."  He sat back down next to me and began to swish the
panties in a circle around my hard cock.  I closed my eyes and
moaned involuntarily at the tantalizing sensations this produced.
 Paul grinned, delighted at the response he was getting.  This
almost brought me to my senses ... almost.

"Paul ... don't ... we can't ..."

He looked at me and pouted.  "Aww ... you don't want me to do
this?  You don't want any more?"  As he said this he wrapped the
silky panties around my hard shaft, and began to stroke up and
down, slowly and gently.  "You want me to stop?  You don't want
to feel what was pressing against Sandy or maybe Ronnie's hot
pussy a little while ago?"  In spite of my resistance and
confusion, this excited me, and I stared in fascination at the
flimsy underwear that was pleasuring my cock, picturing the
voluptuous teen body that it usually clung to.  "Actually," Paul
said, "I'm pretty sure I saw Sandy wearing these the other night
while I was peeking at her.  Saw her take them off, too."  I
moaned involuntarily at this, and my cock twitched.  "Feels good,
doesn't it?" he whispered, looking at my face as he stroked me. 
"Can you imagine what it would feel like if you wore these all
day?  No wonder my sisters are always horny."  I closed my eyes
and moaned again.  After a few more strokes he stopped and
removed his hand, leaving the panties draped over my erect penis.

 "Well," he said, "it's nice that you're getting so hot and
bothered thinking about my slut sisters' hot little cunts, but
let's get back to your girlfriend, `cause she's the one who
should be doing nice things for you.  Have you ever noticed what
a hot looking mouth Valerie has?"

He removed the panties from my cock and got off the seat onto the
floor.  I had already finished off the second beer, and I felt a
woozy mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty as Paul
disappeared into the shadows between my legs.  Almost immediately
a tongue flicked lightly under the head of my penis.  I gasped at
the sudden pleasure; after a brief pause he set to licking me in
the same place, over and over, lapping mercilessly as I writhed
and moaned, the maddening licking occasionally interrupted by a
gentle kiss.  A part of me was shocked at what was happening, but
I was absolutely powerless to do anything to stop it as his
knowing mouth drove me closer and closer to the point of no
return.

Suddenly he stopped and got back up on the seat next to me and
looked at me with wide eyes and a questioning pout.  "Well, do
you like what sexy Valerie is doing to you?  Do you want some
more?"  I regarded him helplessly, unable to speak.  I looked
down and saw his skirt tenting up between his legs.  He followed
my eyes, then bit his lower lip.  "Oops!" he said, and smiled
sheepishly.  I was suddenly struck by how pretty he was, with his
large eyes looking up at me from under arched brows, those long
lashes, his smooth cheeks and delicately pointed chin, and that
red, sensual mouth that had just thrilled my helpless cock. 
Without realizing what I was doing I bent down and kissed him on
the lips; his eyes opened wide in surprise.  I reached down to
pull up the skirt and took his erection in my hand, squeezing it.
 He closed his eyes and moaned as if in surrender, and I
continued to kiss him as I gently fondled and stroked his excited
cock.  It was a totally new experience for me to hold another
penis in my hand, but I loved its warmth, and loved feeling it
throb as I caressed it.  I watched his face as I pleasured him,
and was rewarded with his expression of helpless ecstasy as his
cock swelled and bucked in my hand and his orgasm overwhelmed
him.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while, after he had calmed down.  "I
didn't mean to but I couldn't help it.  It just felt so good." 
He was leaning against me on the seat with his knees curled up,
and I had an arm around his shoulders.  "Do you feel weird now?"

"A little. But mainly just kinda drunk."

 "Oh.  Well, I just wanted to make you feel good after that thing
with Valerie."  He looked up at me.  "And I didn't even finish
it.  I feel so selfish!"

"Forget it.  You're not."

He was quiet for a few moments.  "Could I still be Valerie?"

"What?"

"I mean would it be okay if I played Valerie some more, even if I
already..."  He pointed to the wet spots he had left on the
blouse and skirt.

I laughed.  "You better make sure you get that cleaned up before
your sisters see it!"

"Yeah, I know," he said and laughed.  After a moment he took my
hand from his shoulder and grasped my index finger.  "Well, can
I?" he said.  He looked down at my finger and licked it. 
"Valerie wants to play some more.  Would you like some more of
Valerie?"  He flicked his tongue around the tip of my finger and
looked up at me.

"I..."  To my unfocused eyes he became once again that pretty
girl with the delicious mouth.  "Okay," I whispered, "just a
little I guess, if you want to..."

He got down on the floor at my knees and pulled them apart. 
"This time Valerie is going all the way..."

And she did.

*  *  *  *  *

Paul and I never had another encounter like the one in "Club
Caddie."  We remained close friends, sharing intimate details of
our lives, but we recognized our fundamental differences.  He
still enjoyed hearing about my experiences with Valerie (and
other girls), but we understood that our sexual interests pointed
in different directions.  I didn't think less of him because of
this, far from it; he was a rare friend who understood my
attraction to girls, and rather than be jealous because of his
attraction to me, he participated vicariously in my erotic
experiences, insisting that I describe to him details of my
sexual encounters.  He wasn't particularly interested in the
girls themselves - what they looked like, what they wore (or
didn't) - but he loved hearing about the effect they had on me,
what they did with me to get me excited, what my erections were
like, did they tease me, did I get to come, how did it feel.  And
since he had such an intuitive feminine side himself, he was
often able to provide me with insight into how the girls
themselves were feeling, and what excited them.  He was my secret
weapon!

Ironically, I never did get to go all the way with Valerie.  She
remained shy during the few weeks we remained together, and then
we kind of lost interest in each other.  The next year when we
moved on to the large regional high school we didn't have any
classes together and almost never saw each other.  So, that was
that.  The only action I ever saw with Valerie was through her
stunt double, in the back seat of Club Caddie!  That seems like a
dream now; I sometimes wonder if it ever happened - so let's say
that it didn't happen, okay?  I'm kind of embarrassed that I
wrote about it, so just forget it.  Never happened and that's
that, that's my story and yada yada yada.

I sometimes wonder if Sandy and Ronnie ever found out about it,
that thing that never happened.  I'd worry about it whenever I
saw them - they always seemed to be looking right through me,
with sarcastic little smiles that seemed to say they knew my
secret, knew all my secrets.  But they were always like that,
with everybody - well, at least with males they knew were
vulnerable to predators like them.  They were like panthers
prowling the school hallways, looking for prey, leaving scores of
adolescent erections in their wake, and a few flustered male
teachers as well.  They seemed to take particular pleasure in
tormenting me if they happened to see me with another girl,
staring at me and licking their lips seductively as they
sauntered past us.  I had a lot of `splainin' to do whenever that
happened, which was hard since I didn't really have anything to
`splain!

What's surprising is that the twins weren't stupid.  Far from
being ignorant gutter trash, though they acted that way, they
were actually very smart, and got high grades in their last two
years of high school.  I was in my second year during their
senior year there and they pulled off a stunt that floored me; I
never would have known about it if Paul hadn't clued me in about
it.

Sandy and Ronnie were identical twins - visually, they were
indistinguishable; even Paul had trouble telling them apart
sometimes.  They were almost never put in the same class
together, since that would have been confusing for the teachers,
and to make matters worse they always dressed alike - until their
senior year.  Ronnie wore her usual ultra-tight jeans and ratty
t-shirts, but right from the start of the year Sandy would come
to school in tasteful, casual clothes.  She'd wear skirts,
cashmere sweaters, simple blouses, everything you'd expect with a
normal, modest girl of her age.  She still looked attractive and
alluring, and filled out her tasteful sweaters amply, but she
never played the slut as she had before.  Her teachers were
amazed by the change, and grateful, too, since now they had no
trouble telling the sisters apart.

What nobody knew, aside from Paul and finally me, was that they
were both Sandy - and both Ronnie.  Every day the twins would
switch places: one day Sandy would dress up nice and go to her
classes and Ronnie would go to hers dressed as a skank as usual,
then the next day Ronnie would put on the nice clothes and go to
Sandy's classes and vice versa.  And no one ever caught on!  The
course material was essentially the same in their respective
classes, so they had no trouble switching back and forth.  They
did a little play-acting, too, with the nicely dressed one
behaving more reserved and lady-like than her slinking, sneering,
bubble-butt sister.  And they played mind games with their
classmates, with Sandy gossiping about Ronnie with other girls in
the class, who the next day had no idea they were now snickering
about Ronnie to her face!  And as for me, when the girl in the
tight jeans and revealing t-shirt taunted me in the hallway, I
had no way of knowing whether I was being embarrassed by Sandy or
Ronnie.  They kept it up for the whole year, including
graduation.  Paul told me they flipped a coin to decide who would
be the prim and proper girl at the diploma ceremony, but to this
day I have no idea which one it was.

School was the only place they played that game, though.  As soon
as they got home they were "Double Jeopardy" again (Paul's
nickname for them), once more razzle-dazzle indistinguishable. 
On most days after school they'd emerge in identical black
leather jackets and tear off on their motorcycles, looking for
trouble.  Their bikes were their passion, their excitement, their
freedom.  They had gotten them only days after their sixteenth
birthday, nobody knew how or with what money, but the unspoken
assumption was that it involved gifts from older admirers; maybe
that's unfair, but it sure wasn't from baby-sitting money!  At
any rate they loved those bikes, knew them inside and out, and in
fact sometimes worked part-time at the shop where they took them
to be serviced, doing minor repair work on other people's rides -
the twins were clever and good with their hands.  A funny detail:
they always wore latex gloves when they worked on motors, so they
wouldn't get grimy hands or break a nail.  Nobody ever made fun
of them for this; they wouldn't dare.

The bikes were identical, of course, except for the seats: one
was embossed with the letter `S', the other with `R' - you figure
it out!

Once I got to high school I didn't actually have many
girlfriends, and things never really got hot and heavy with any
of them.  The one exception was the last one, during my senior
year - Suzanne.

*  *  *  *  *

Suzanne Marley - sweet, blond, with a lovely figure if just a
little on the plump side, but the kind of plumpness that some men
(like me) appreciate: ample hips, round posterior, and generous,
heavy breasts, even at age sixteen.  Whereas hard body girls like
Sandy and Ronnie projected sexual aggression and conquest,
Suzanne was gentle and accommodating, her manner poised and
lady-like - that is, until the lights went out in her parents'
basement den, or my car pulled to a stop in a secluded place. 
Then, she became a merciless cock teaser, delighting in
inflicting torments of arousal and denial on me until I went
almost berserk with frustration.  I was putty in her hands, and
it was never long before the soft putty turned to granite in
those clever, wicked hands.  I remember the first time she pulled
one of her many tricks on me: after I was erect she began to
tickle and worry the underside of my cock with her fingertips,
starting at my balls and slowly working her way up towards the
tip.  When she had almost reached that place of honey-sweet
pleasure just below the head, she stopped and retraced her route
back down the ridge of my cock to the base.  Then she did it
again, this time getting even closer, but again retreated before
touching me where she knew I ached for it.  When I moaned that
she was teasing me so much, she whispered in my ear, "Don't you
like to be teased?"  My reaction caused her to giggle and
redouble her efforts, keeping me in absolute erotic agony until
she finally - finally! - gave me what I so desperately needed.

Although I was virtually enslaved to the excitement and orgasms
Suzanne knew how to give me, I was once more, as with Valerie,
involved with a girl who refused to go "all the way" with me. 
Not that she didn't use that as another way to torment me,
though; while slowly masturbating me she whispered into my ear:
"Oh, I know you want to be inside me so bad, but we can't ...
even though it would feel so good sliding in and out ... you'd
love that, wouldn't you?  Aww, I'm so sorry, Jeremy, but we can't
do that yet.  But it's okay to think about it while I touch you
like this ... pretend you're inside me ... think about how it
would feel ... so, so much better than my hand..."

I was surprised to learn that Suzanne was a member of a Christian
youth group, and she told me that she wanted to save herself for
marriage (she didn't think it was funny when I asked her why
being saved by Jesus wasn't enough).  The weird thing was that
even though she wanted to be a nice, well-behaved Christian girl,
she loved necking on the couch or in my car, getting totally
turned on and driving me crazy with frustration.  Actually maybe
that's not really weird at all.  Prohibition never works: try to
bottle up passion, put a lid on it, and what you get is a
pressure cooker, hot steam that will find a way out, a relief
valve, one way or another.  Her relief valve was cock-teasing:
working up my erection almost to bursting and then keeping me on
the edge for hours without letting me come.  "Like that?" she'd
whisper.  "Want some more?"  Then she'd go back to work on me. 
The more I moaned in frustration the more aroused she became, and
did everything she could to excite me more.  That seemed to be
all she wanted.  I was permitted to fondle and squeeze her lovely
big breasts and to suck on them greedily, but aside from pressing
my hand between her legs I was never allowed to do more, never
allowed to get beyond her panties.  I felt guilty about it,
because it seemed to me that she really wanted me - she'd open
her legs wide and tempt me, her look saying "Take me!" - but when
I tried to go further she'd always stop me at the last moment,
whispering, "uh uh, no no."  I'd wonder what I'd done wrong that
made it so I couldn't satisfy her.  It finally occurred to me
that she actually was getting what she wanted and craved, which
was simply to be able to drive me crazy with sex and keep me
frustrated!  It must be a religious thing, mortification of the
flesh and all that - in the old days she'd have been a martyr or
a torturer for the Inquisition; today she settles for tormenting
men with cock-tease - and it turns her on!

Although I stayed with Suzanne for my entire senior year (Why,
you ask, since I'm pretty much a card-carrying atheist?  Well,
think outrageous hand-jobs and long, drawn-out orgasms!), our
affair came to an abrupt end at the beginning of the summer. 
There was a kind of Christian retreat center about an hour from
town, and since she was a kid she'd been going to a "faith
fortifying" camp held at the center for a couple of weeks each
summer.  This year she asked me to give her a ride there.  When
we arrived and she was about to get out of the car she turned to
me and gave me a good-bye kiss, the tip of her tongue darting
between my lips.  I became instantly erect; she noticed, and
smiled.  "I know what you want," she said, and watched my face as
she reached down and ran a fingernail over my pants in a circle
around the sweet pleasure center of my cock, not quite touching
it.  "Bye!" she said, giving me another quick kiss, and got out
of the car.  I watched her as she toted her backpack up to the
center's office, then left for home.  Two weeks later I got a
letter from her, from the center; it was a "Dear John" letter,
or, in this case, "Dear Jeremy."  She'd met a boy there - she'd
known him for years, actually - a boy who shared her deepest
values and respect for Christian marriage (read: not a heathen
like you, Jeremy), and after much soul-searching and praying
together she'd decided that it just wouldn't be fair to keep me
in a relationship to which she couldn't devote herself fully. 
Yada yada yada.  Well, it stung; of course it would.  But time
heals all, and in this case it really wasn't all that much time
before I was feeling, well, liberated - no more pussy-footing
around worrying about hurting feelings while spouting off how I
really feel about Life, the Universe and Everything.  And I found
myself actually worrying a little about her new boy - what was he
going to go through before he got to say "I do", after maybe
years of being told, "Oh, no you don't!"  Would he come not only
to the altar but on it, fouling his tux with love juice?  What a
thought!  Well, not my problem, I wish them well.  Now and then,
though, I do find myself wondering what that "sliding in and out"
would have been like; bet it would have been nice.  Oh, well.

*  *  *  *  *

At the end of the summer college began for me.  I'm not going to
say much about those four years, about my education academic and
otherwise.  I had a few relationships but nothing stuck - my
solitary nature, I suppose.  I kept in contact with Paul for a
while, but our letters became less frequent (that was the time of
letters, long ago).  In the middle of my senior year I got news
in a letter from my mother:

"Oh, and another thing - you know your friend Paul?  Well you
remember he has those two sisters, the kind of bold ones?  I
never did know their names.  Well a month or so ago there was
this accident.  His sisters were always riding those motorcycles
which are really not appropriate for girls in my opinion.  Anyway
when they were getting off at exit 14 there was a drunk driver
who thought the exit was the entrance and he ran into them.  Well
one of them anyways, and she died.  Killed instantly is what the
newspaper said.  So awful.  That man is going to jail I hear. 
Anyhow I just thought you'd want to know since Paul was your
friend.  So are you coming home during spring break?  If not then
I guess we'll see you at your graduation, college boy!"

I got drunk that night, very drunk.  I didn't go to the funeral;
it had been held weeks before I got the news from my mother.  In
fact, I didn't talk with anybody about it.  The last I knew Paul
had moved away, to California I thought, but I didn't have an
address.  Even Paul's mother was gone, gone off with a boyfriend,
leaving the twins living by themselves in the old house.  I
suppose I could have tried harder to contact people, but I didn't
feel up to it - I felt depressed and distant, and very, very sad.
 Eventually, I told myself, eventually I'll talk to Paul or
somebody, find out how things are now.  I didn't even know who
had died.

*  *  *  *  *

After my graduation later that year I returned home to spend a
few weeks during the summer with my family while I decided what
I'd do next.  Bored with hanging around the house, I began to
travel around town, seeing what had changed, what hadn't, driving
around just for something to do.  There's a place up in the hills
that used to be popular with people in the area, especially the
kids.  It's a spot on a small stream that comes down from a
mountain, where it widens and deepens into a clear, deep pool at
the bottom of a small waterfall.  On one side of the pool is a
cliff from which the braver kids would dive into the deep water;
on the other side the bank is lower and good for getting into the
pool for a swim or just wading.  A quarter mile path leads from a
dirt road down to a cleared grassy area on the lower bank, and at
the top of the path there's a place on the road where a few cars
can park.

One day I had a couple of hours to kill before the early dinner
my Mom had planned, so I decided to check out the pool; it had
been years since I'd been there.  As I pulled into the parking
area I stopped, then almost drove off again.  A single vehicle
was parked there, a motorcycle.  I don't know why I almost left -
fear, apprehension, avoidance of tragedy?  I immediately felt
ashamed.  Come on, I thought to myself, you have to do this; do
the right thing.

I got out of the car and walked over to the bike.  I looked at
the seat, and saw the `R' in the center of it.  So, Sandy - Sandy
was the one, she's gone.

Five minutes later I reached the bank of the pool.  She was
there, sitting on the grass, looking across the pool towards the
cliff.  She turned and looked up at me as I approached.

"Hi," I said softly.  She didn't answer.  "I just wanted to say
... oh shit, Ronnie, I'm so..."

"Sandy," she said.

I looked at her and blinked.  "What?"

"I'm Sandy."

"Oh God!  Sandy.  I am such an ass, I thought..." I looked back
towards the path.

"Yeah, the `R'," she said.  I just nodded blankly.  She looked
towards the cliff then back at me.  She seemed very tired. 
"Ronnie's bike was totaled, but I managed to save the seat.  I
kept it."

I nodded.  "I understand," I said.

She looked at me, frowning.  "Do you?" she said, with an edge.

"Yes, Sandy, I do.  I really do."

She stared at me for a few seconds.  "Okay," she said. 
"Whatever."

There was an uncomfortable silence while she just looked at the
ground and picked at a few leaves of grass.  I was getting the
feeling that I was intruding on her privacy.

I started to get up.  "I just wanted to say, you know, that I was
really, really sorry to hear about what happened to ... to
Ronnie.  It hit me hard when I heard it, really hard."  She
nodded, but didn't look up.  "Well, I won't bother you anymore,"
I said, and turned to leave.

"You don't have to go," she said.  "I don't mind that you're
here."  She looked up at me briefly, then back out over the pool.
 "Thank you."  It was almost a whisper.

I sat back down, amazed by her simple words of acceptance and
gratitude.  I had never heard anything like that from her or her
sister, ever.

"So, are you still in the old house?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said, "the same old dump.  Paul and I want to sell
it, though."

"Your mom have anything to say about that?"

She snorted derisively.  "We don't even know where she is, since
she took off with her last Bubba.  A postcard now and then, but
that's about it.  Basically she's abandoned the house.  And us."

"That's too bad," I said.  "I'm sorry."

She shrugged.  "We're used to it, nothing new."  She picked up a
pebble and threw it into the pool.  "We sure as hell don't need
anything from her, haven't for a long time."

"So, how is Paul?  I haven't heard from him in a while.  Somebody
said he moved out west?"

"Yeah, California.  Says he wants to be an actor."

"No shit!"

"Yeah, says he's already gotten some gigs.  Just commercials,
though."

"I bet he'd really be good at that, what with his accents and his
parts in the school plays and all.  I should probably go out
there and look him up sometime."

"You really should," she said, regarding me seriously.  "He
always said you were his best friend."  She smirked ironically. 
"His best straight one, anyway."

I smiled but didn't say anything.  I was wondering again just how
much she might know about my visit to Club Caddie.

"So, how about you?" she said.  "What are you planning to do with
your expensive over-education?"

I grimaced.  "You must be confusing me with someone who has a
clue," I said, "about anything."

She laughed.  "Yeah, you are pretty confusing, that's true.  And
clueless."

She rolled over on her stomach and picked at the grass again. 
"Sorry," she whispered.

"Sorry?" I said, puzzled.

"Yeah," she said.  "We were pretty rough on you.  Ronnie and me."

If I'd been standing I would have fallen over - one of the twins
apologizing!  "That ... oh, hell, Sandy, we were just kids, that
was just ... well, kids do things like that."

"Yeah, but I'm sorry we did it.  We didn't have to be such mean
little bitches.  I don't know why we were.  I'm sorry."  She said
this with a catch in her voice and so softly that I felt that if
she continued she'd be in tears soon.  That was something I
didn't want to deal with, couldn't deal with it, so I rushed to
change the subject.

"So," I said, clearing my throat, "what are you doing now, Sandy?
 You working?"

She perked up immediately.  "Yes," she said, "I'm managing the
bike shop now.  Got two people working for me."

"No shit!" I exclaimed, "That is fantastic!"

"Yeah, it's a pretty cool job.  Don't think I'll be doing it much
longer, though.  I'm starting something else."

"Really?  What's that?"

"Well, I'm gonna be doing a program at the CC.  Starts next
month."

"The community college?  What's the program?"

"You'll laugh at me."

"No I won't," I said.  "Of course I won't!"

"Well ... it's in counseling."

"Counseling?  What kind?"

"At risk teens, teen girls.  I'll be taking courses and working
at the shelter, trying to keep them out of trouble."  She looked
at me warily, as if expecting a sarcastic comment or observation.

"You know," I said seriously, and meaning it, "I can't think of
anyone who would be better at that than you.  You are going to do
absolutely great!"

"Thanks, Jeremy."  She was trying not to beam.

It was at this moment that I remembered my Mom's early dinner
plans.  I looked at my watch.

"Oh, damn, I just realized!  I'm supposed to be home early today
for dinner.  I guess I should leave."  I got up to go.  "Well, I
guess I'll be seeing you, Sandy."

She stood up.  "Sure.  Why not?"  She stretched and looked at the
waterfall.  "Well," she said, "I came here for a swim, so I guess
I better get to it before the sun goes down."  She was wearing
her usual uniform of black jacket, t-shirt and ultra-tight jeans.
 She kicked off her boots and socks, tossed the jacket onto the
ground next to a rolled up towel, then pulled the t-shirt off up
over her head; she was wearing nothing under it.  Looking into
the distance as if I weren't there, she unfastened the jeans and
pushed them down along with her bright red panties, then kicked
them away.  She stood in front of me totally nude, and after a
few seconds looked up at me briefly.  Then she turned and moved
toward the water.

I had never seen the twins naked, except in my fantasies.  I was
stunned now as I watched her walk slowly away.  Paul's sisters
shared his fair complexion and dark hair, but the resemblance
ended there.  He was small and delicate, and smiled often, always
ready to engage, always up for playful mischief.  His sisters
were harder, unsmiling and wary, always ready for trouble and
capable of dealing back twice what they got.  They were tough and
aggressive, dangerous to cross, and yet ... and yet they were
beautiful.  Tall and proud, lithe yet full-figured, they
suggested sleek, smoothly muscled cats moving gracefully through
the jungle.  Their eyes were ice-blue, like Paul's; they had high
cheek bones and finely chiseled features, and - though often
curled into a smirk - full, sensuous lips.  Their hair seemed to
change daily, sometimes wild and unbound, sometimes cut severely,
and sometimes with streaks of red or purple.  They smiled rarely,
but when they did the effect was brilliant and stunning, and left
you wanting to see it again.

The Sandy I was seeing today took my breath away.  Her body
confirmed my adolescent fantasies, and surpassed them.  She was
agile and athletic but also feminine to an extreme degree, with
full, high breasts, gracefully curved hips, and a firm, prominent
derriere that flexed sensuously as she walked away from me.  I
even caught sight of the little mole on her left breast that Paul
had told me about.  But she was also very changed from the girl I
had known before.  Today she had her hair in braids, something I
had never seen before, long, dark plaits that fell halfway down
her back.  The effect was to make her look much younger than her
twenty-three years, younger and more vulnerable.  And she was
vulnerable now, of course, saddened by unspeakable loss.

Now, as I stared at her moving slowly away from me, her pale skin
ivory in the low sun, the word that came to my mind was
"goddess"; a wounded goddess.  When she got to the water's edge
she turned and looked at me.  With a trace of a smile she slowly
raised her middle finger and winked.  Then she turned back to the
pool and dove.

Blushing with embarrassment, I stumbled my way back up to my car.
 My heart was pounding.  I looked at the motorcycle with its
memorial `R', and realized that I wasn't hungry, not at all.

Sandy had reached the base of the cliff next to the waterfall
when I arrived back at the pool.  She saw me and began to swim
back with slow, easy strokes.  I gazed at the setting sun as I
reclined on the grass, and waited.

-----------------------------------------------------------
tim_cravin@yahoo.com