In the Summer of 1970...
Charlie was heading off to college out west, while I was going to school nearer my home, and when we met on the day before he was flying out, I was filled with mixed emotions. I had known Charlie since kindergarten, and we had been best friends all of those years, sharing laughter and tears as we grew up.
Now we were parting, and even though we vowed to remain close, I think we both knew that it would never be the same again. Maybe that was what brought us to where we decided to meet that last day, at the run-down shell of a little league field in our old neighborhood.
Charlie was sitting on one of the benches that overlooked the field, which was deserted and in desperate need of attention. Back in our day the field was teeming with us kids from dusk until dawn, but maybe that was just the way it seemed to me years ago.
"What's in the bag?" I asked Charlie, startling him as he was apparently daydreaming and unaware of my approach.
"Old demon alcohol," Charlie said, lifting a bottle out of the six pack hidden in the sack. "I figured we would work up a thirst trying to find the old Fortress of Solitude back in the jungle."
Funny how what we used to consider a jungle was in fact just a patch of woods about the size of a football field back near the railroad tracks, and I guess that was another example of how our world seemed to shrink as we got older.
I told Charlie that, and he laughed, telling me that at 18 we were already starting to sound like old men, and I guess he was right about that, like he usually was about everything.
"Do you remember where it was?" Charlie asked me.
"I think I could find it blindfolded," I assured him, even though we hadn't been back there in at least four years.
The Fortress of Solitude, as we called it, was our clubhouse/hangout back in our early teens. It was just a rickety little fort built into the side of a hill in one of the most overgrown areas of the woods, and we had named it after Superman's sanctuary that was in all of the DC comics we used to enjoy.
Charlie and I made those little buildings all the time; tree-houses and forts and bunkers that would take us days to build and took only a minute for them to be wrecked or torched by the other neighborhood kids as soon as they discovered them.
The Fortress of Solitude was different though. I had lasted an entire summer, and was still standing the last time we had been back there. We had no expectation of finding it still standing today, but we wanted to at least go back to the site it had been at, to make a final toast to our youth and friendship.
As we headed down the path that made a serpentine trail through the woods, it seemed like kids must not come back there very much any more because the trial was overgrown in some places, and I nearly missed where we needed to cut through to get to the old fort.
That path was completely overgrown, and we got scraped up pretty good by the branches while bushwhacking out along the ridge that we needed to get around. Charlie was a couple of steps ahead of me when we got there, and I almost ran into him when he stopped abruptly.
"Holy shit!" Charlie said, and I echoed that when I saw it.
The familiar door that we had "borrowed" from the collection of junk behind Charlie's father's garage was crooked, but was still standing, as was the rickety little hut.
"Hello?" I called out, expecting to maybe see some hobo peek out from the little dwelling, but when nobody answered we came through the brush and opened the door.
"Smells like 1963 in here," Charlie said as we looked in the dark fortress, which was dusty and filled with cobwebs but was in decent shape, all things considered, probably because of how the thing was sheltered from the elements somewhat by the hill behind it, which shielded and hid it.
The benches that we had "borrowed" from somewhere still were along the back wall of the fort, and the crate that we used as a table still had a couple of mostly burned candles on it.
"I can't believe nobody ever found it," I said.
"I think that kids stopped wrecking forts around the same time we stopped wanting to build them," Charlie opined. "Plus, we really built this sucker to last."
We left the door open as we stepped inside, and after we knocked down the cobwebs we looked around the room, which was about 8 feet long and half that wide, with one earth wall and three wooden ones.
"If these walls could talk," I said.
"Good thing they can't," Charlie said. "A whole lot happened back here."
"Debbie Dawson!" we said in unison, and laughed at the way our minds often worked together.
"Yet another girl who shot me down," I lamented.
"You scared her when you showed her your dick," Charlie said.
Charlie had coaxed Debbie back here to show her our fort, but mostly so we could look at her tits. Debbie agreed to give us a peek at her goodies, but only if we showed her ours too. That was fine with us, so after I got to see my first pair of titties, Charlie and I had to drop our jeans.
"Ew!" I remember Debbie saying when she saw my cock pointing straight out at her, and while Charlie had a boner too it was clear that she liked his a lot better.
Debbie had told me to leave, and I did, but looked through a crack in the wall as she jerked Charlie off while he squeezed her titties. I remember seeing Charlie ejaculate all over the dirt floor with Debbie yanking away at him crudely.
"My first hand job," Charlie said wistfully.
"I know," I said.
"Did I tell you about that?"
"No, I was peeking through the wall," I said, not mentioning the fact that I was getting myself off while watching the two of them.
"Pervert!" Charlie laughed.
"Her right tit was bigger than her left one," I recalled.
"You remember that day better than I do," Charlie said, and it was true.
I didn't tell Charlie that while I thought Debbie's tits were interesting and all, if I could have changed places with either of them that day, I would have taken Debbie's place.
"I also remember Shari Appel," I said, and the shocked reaction I got from him made it clear that he didn't know that I knew about those two being an item.
Shari was the "loose" girl in the neighborhood, but our neighborhood wasn't all that promiscuous. Shari gave head, and wasn't particular about who she gave it to. Damn near every guy in the area got their dicks sucked by her. Everybody except me, that is, but even I got a hand job one time when she must have gotten desperate.
"How did you know about her and me?" Charlie asked.
"I would follow you whenever you would head back here," I said, confessing to the three times I had seen them together.
"Boy, Jimbo," Charlie said. "You did a lot of watching."