Summer Despair

Author's note: This is a continuation of my personal story, as I began it in "A Night To Remember... Not". I've taken so long to continue because it is a painful story. But my therapist believes that getting it out will help me to overcome some things. So, with some misgivings, and a certain amount of apprehension, I present this next chapter of my life and personal journey. When all of the chapters are done, I hope you will be able to understand why I am the way that I am.

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After my bitter encounter with the loss of my virginity, I was confused, angry, disappointed... You name it. If it was a negative emotion, I felt it. I wanted so badly to find love, but the events of that summer made me question if that was possible. Maybe there was really no such thing as love, just an illusion that we cherish but never achieve. Although the word for my state of mind at the time was depression, I didn't realize it. Only later did I come to that bit of understanding.

Getting back into the dating scene was awkward at best, terrifying for the most part. In our town, small as it was, there were really no secrets. All of the guys in my class knew that I had been the private property of Dean (Not his real name, but I'll use that here). Unless he said that we were through, no one would even consider asking me out.

He did say we were no longer together, and that opened the door. But he also told a lot of private stories that came to haunt my days and dates that summer. Although I didn't find out until much later that he pretty much labeled me as a slut, I should have guessed it by the treatment I got from the guys I finally dated. Painfully, I fell into the trap and proved to them that Dean was right. Actually, I think that in my desire to regain some sense of self worth I overreacted and tried to please every guy that would give me the time of day. I wanted so badly to be loved, but despised myself for the things that I did, and the sorry excuse for a woman that I had become.

My first date was with a guy I had never really liked in school. He always impressed me as self centered, arrogant and just plain unlikable. So why did I go out with him? Because he was there.

We went to a party at one of his friend's houses. There were parents there to keep an eye on things, so it was pretty boring. But I really didn't mind that, because it made me feel safe, and I actually thought the evening might be worthwhile. But by 9:00 Mr. Charming decided we should leave.

As we drove away, I was actually pissed off for having to leave the first pleasant gathering I had been to. About three blocks down the road I found out why he wanted to leave. He pulled three joints out of his shirt pocket and handed them to me. He hadn't been able to party with the adults there, so we had to leave.

I was terrified. I had started to drink beer while I was going with Dean, but never even thought about grass. I really didn't want to do it now, but was more afraid of saying no. So when he told me to light up, I reluctantly did. My first hit was horrible. My lungs instantly rejected the inhaled smoke and I thought I would pass out coughing. Jack (again, not his real name) laughed at me at first, but then got really pissed when I dropped the joint on the car seat and burned a hole in the seat. For just a brief moment I saw the same look in his eyes that Dean had gotten on our fateful night, but then it passed. We drove on in silence until we were near our old high school.

When we did speak, Jack let me know how much trouble I caused. Now he had to explain to his parents why there was a burn mark on their front seat. The guilt trip set me up for his next step. He pulled into a dark spot near the football field where there were no houses near, and no one could see the car. He lit his own joint and smoked it deeply, telling me that this is how it is done. I fought back my tears and said I would try it again. But he didn't give me another chance. Said he couldn't afford another hole in his car seat.

When he was done with his joint he moved over close to me and started to kiss me. I was a basket case of emotions. I was still a little disgusted with physical contact, but lonely enough that I wanted to be accepted. I was angry for being put into this situation (the weed) but felt guilty for causing him so much trouble. As his hand reached up under my blouse I wanted to pull away and run, but couldn't find the courage to do it. So I let him go.

It didn't take long to realize that he wasn't actually a world class lover. His air of confidence concealed the fact that he was basically clumsy. He groped and squeezed my breast like he was kneading bread. It was not a turn on for me, but he got hotter by the moment. He pulled my blouse off and fumbled with the clasp on my bra until I pulled away, reached back and unclasped it for him. Then he dove into my chest like a vacuum cleaner.

What should I do? I felt nothing, but again I was kind of obligated to make him happy. So I began to kiss him, and run my hands all over his back. When the front seat became too small, I suggested that we move to the back. I was apprehensive about going any further, but still yearned to know if sex could really be enjoyable.

One thing was certain, I didn't want to have intercourse yet. I was afraid that it might be another painful experience. I was also terrified of getting pregnant. So, even though I was reluctant, I had a plan. If I could make a guy happy without intercourse, I should be safe.

As soon as we got into the back seat, I took over. He thought I couldn't wait to get my hands on him, but really I was desperately trying to control him. I moved down into a position that put my face just below his chest. Then I pulled his belt open. That was all it took. He stripped his jeans off in one quick motion. He was about the same size as Dean, and for a moment I felt a twinge of disgust for myself and contempt for him. He was so wrapped up in his hormones that he never even gave a thought to what was going on in my mind.

I took his shaft in my hand and began to stroke up and down. The result still amazed me. I was totally in control. The pre-cum was dripping from the tip of his cock all over me. ( I was kind of half lying under him- the back seat wasn't much bigger than the front) In this position, I decided to watch and learn about his body and how it would react. What bothered me the most was that I was starting to get turned on myself. I guess I really hadn't wanted this to be enjoyable.

As I continued to stroke him I felt his thighs tighten and noticed his testicles were actually starting to quiver. I knew he was close, so I stopped for a moment. That was a mistake. In the moment he took to gain control of himself, he pulled me into a position where he could get my shorts off. I knew that the next thing on his mind was intercourse, and I desperately wanted to avoid that. My mind raced for a way out, and suddenly I remembered a conversation with my sister. She told me that one thing a man wants even more than getting laid is getting a "blow job".

I had to make up my mind fast because he was already trying to push my legs apart with his knees. The thought of some guy putting his dripping cock into my mouth made my stomach turn, but I decided it was my only safe option. I pushed him up from me so that he was on his hands and knees over me. I then quickly slid down so that the head of his cock was within an inch of my nose. Taking a deep breath, I opened my mouth and reached up taking the tip inside. The salty taste wasn't as bad as I expected. But it still kind of turned me off. I really didn't have to do anything else, because he immediately started fucking my mouth. As he built up speed he also kept pushing in further.

I couldn't take any more, but that didn't stop him. Finally, I reached around and grabbed his testicles. That was the touch that put him over the edge. His balls quivered and he pushed into my mouth with a fury. Then he shot his load in my mouth. I tried to pull away so I could spit it out, but he was too far gone for that. When I couldn't hold my breath any longer, I swallowed. A wave of nausea swept over me, but he never noticed. When that subsided, I kind of slid out from under him, sat up and started to get dressed. He again reached over and squeezed my breasts, but let me finish dressing in the cramped seat.

Now I needed something, so I pulled over next to him and started to get ready to kiss him. He got a disgusted look on his face and pulled away. That bastard had just shot his load into my mouth and now he didn't want to even kiss me. It was OK for me to swallow it, but he wouldn't even kiss me.

We both dressed in silence, then he asked if I wanted to go home. Instead I asked him to get me some beer. I felt that I needed to wash the thought of him out of my mouth. Better, I wanted to numb the evening from my mind. I got pretty drunk that night and so sick from cheap beer that I was miserable in the morning.

Jack made sure to spread the story of his conquest among all his friends. Before I knew it I had gained a reputation as the best blow job around. The rest of that summer I had at least two or three dates a week. Giving head (as they called it) became a defense mechanism. I never really got to enjoy it, but I could put up with it as long as it got me what I wanted. I could have worn a sign that read "Will Give Head for Beer". I knew that I would never live down the reputation that I had now acquired, so I longed for the day when I would leave this town for a new life in college. As I struggled with my depression, that was the only hope that kept me from ending it all by doing the darker things I had been considering. Hope was not yet gone.

(Author's note: Thanks for staying with me so far. I have more to write, and there was really a brighter day coming. Maybe I'll tell that story next...)