Mike was my very first serious boyfriend. I was 13 when we met – my uncle was engaged to his sister (no, we were NOT about to become relatives you sick sick perverts). He was gorgeous and funny and a wonderful dancer/performer and I had a huge crush from the moment I saw him. Under constant teasing from the family, we finally exchanged phone numbers and for one year, we spoke on the phone every night. Neither one of us had a license, so we relied on relatives and friends to drive us the 50 miles to one another’s homes.
And of course, we saw each other at family functions ;)
Our normal meeting place was the mall by his house. I could usually convince one of my aunts to do some shopping while Mike and I made out in every store. I remember kneeling down behind the shelves in a bookstore and experiencing my first extended French kissing session. I, um, liked it a lot.
I’ll never forget the time he brought ME a rose after one of his performances. Nice touch, right? While the family was visiting in the basement, he laid me down in the living room and kissed me so tenderly I wanted to melt. When I felt his weight on top of me, I knew it had to be love.
He taught me how to give a handjob. His instructions were to hold it, move my hand up and down and squeeze ever so lightly. I made the mistake of telling my girlfriends this I was forever known as Squeeze Cock (this ryhmes with my last name).
Mike was also the recipient of my first ever blowjob. Our families had gathered at a hotel to celebrate a birthday and we took a walk outside. We ended up in the bushes on the outside of a glass wall that bordered the indoor swimming pool. I was so engrossed in trying to coordinate my mouth and my hands that I didn’t notice my cousins yelling our names, trying to find us. Mike grabbed me and held me still until they passed a few feet from where we were hunkered down. We waited a few minutes and sheepishly crept back in to the party. I stuck to giving out hugs instead of kisses to my grandparents when we left.
I knew I wanted to lose my virginity to Mike, so I found a friend with a car and headed down to Planned Parenthood for birth control pills and condoms (as I'm sure every 13 year old does). At home, I hid them inside a telephone-shaped pillow I had made in home ec.
I was obviously no slut, so I waited until I turned 14 to actually do the deed. While the adults were at a daytime event, Mike and I were left at my house under the supervision of my 12-year-old sister and my 15-year-old best friend. Being more concerned with watching the Hangin Tough New Kids on the Block video than keeping an eye on us, Mike and I were able to sneak up to my room.
It was goofy and awkward and OH DEAR LORD, the pain. It felt like someone took a knife to my down belows. But I was in love, remember. I overlooked the misery and Clarence Carter”s “Stroking” playing in the background, kissed Mike’s forehead and told him how wonderful it was.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
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4 comments:
awwwww... so romanic.
Strokin is a romanic song...
Stroke it Clarence Carter
But don't stroke so fast
If my stuff ain't tight enough
You can stick it up my...WHOOO
No one should ever overlook Strokin.
POD: Everytime I hear that song I get nostalgic..and a little wet.
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