Not All Mine

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All characters in this story are over 18. This story includes scenes of unprotected sex and multiple partners. If it is not your cup of tea, please move on. Thanks for reading.

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I shuffled into the room with the rest of the parents, and tried to get comfortable in my son's fourth grade desk, my long legs stretched out to the side. He had left a note for me, and I read it, and looked through his stuff, then gazed aimlessly around the room, scanning the kids' work on history and geography. I was pretty much up to speed on his work; even though my wife and I both worked a lot of hours, we always made sure we spent time with his schoolwork. I worked early mornings, and Lynn, my wife, worked evenings. It made for hurried and frantic sex sometimes, but with all the passion we had when we had been dating. She was great mom who got to be there for our son during the day. At thirty-three I was doing alright for myself and my family, and Lynn had quit her full-time job when our young man was born, and stayed home until last year, when she went back part-time. He was a great kid, and staying with the neighbors tonight while I attended Parent-Teacher night.

I was still glancing around the room when the teacher walked in, and wrote her name on the board, Mrs. Jones. I watched her writing, guessing her age to be about mine, slim, dark hair just past her shoulders. Trim figure, a little short, ass fit nicely into her dress pants. Good thing these are fourth graders, I thought, they still think girls have cooties for another year or two. Sixth or seventh grade and they'd be rubbing one out to fantasies of their hot teacher.

And then she turned around. And suddenly I was eighteen again, just finishing high school. There at the front of my son's classroom stood Charlene Ryan, my first girlfriend, my first lay, and my first broken heart. And a lesson I would never forget.

I panicked momentarily, thinking she would recognize, me, fearful she wouldn't, terrified of what she might say. Did she remember us the way I did? How could she not? Would she bring up our past? What if she did? What if she DIDN'T? I tried unsuccessfully to hide my 6'3" frame as she scanned the room, introducing herself, saying hi to parents she already knew.

"Hi, John," she said, when she saw me.

"Charlie," I answered, giving a slight wave, and what I thought was a not-too-horrible smile.

Her expression didn't change, and she moved on to the rest of the group, and began talking about the class. Like I was just another person, no different from the rest, nothing special.

Just like High School. Just like when we dated.

It was a small town, and a small school, and after high school I had moved to the city after college, started working, building my business, a small consulting firm. I had dated, and had a couple of serious relationships, until I met Lynn, and fell in love, real love. After my parents died we took the house, and I moved back to my hometown, and commuted to the city. We got married about five years ago, and Little John had come along a year later. A great life, a great wife, and a great son. I had it all. And I owed a lot of that happiness to the pretty woman standing at the front of the room, casually resting her shapely butt on the edge of her desk, speaking to us.

She had taught me about life, taught me plenty. And as I sat there, seeing her, comfortable in her classroom, the memories of my first love, and all the things she'd taught me came back, the emotions opening like a fresh wound, gouging my heart, and tormenting my head. I was in school, in a classroom, seeing Charlene Ryan as she was then, and my mind reeled back to how it all began.

She wasn't my age, she was a year older, still in high school from being left back in grade school due to a prolonged illness. I first met her when I was sixteen, and fell head over heels in love, but she didn't know who I was for another year. She was in some of my classes, and I pined over her, fantasized about her. Not beautiful, but pretty, and lively, and outgoing, always seeming to appear as though her good looks were effortless. I worshipped her from afar for a year, wondering if she might ever talk to me, notice me. I was too shy, too self-conscious to ever approach her. At sixteen I was tall and gangly. But the summer after my seventeenth birthday I filled out and grew into my man's body, and when school started my senior year, I saw her starting to look at me.

I never asked her for a date; she asked me. I couldn't even talk I was so afraid, so nervous. Inside I was still the gangly kid who didn't fit with the cool kids, my self-image shaped by taunting in my formative years. So when she approached me that day, I felt like the Grinch, my heart growing three sizes. And all for her. All for the lovely Charlene. She asked me to take her to a movie, maybe get something to eat after. Her voice caressed my ears, and my stomach did flips. I'm sure I sounded too needy, too eager when I said yes.

I had been on other dates, but none had ended in a kiss. Well, a friendly peck n the cheek, but that was it. But that night, right after the movie, she kissed me like a woman kisses a man, passionately, softly and seductively, and the chasm of love opened and I tumbled in.

We dated for a few months, but not every weekend. I called her all the time, talked to her on the phone for hours every time I found her at home. Kids didn't have cell phones then, so it was always on the house phone. Our dates after that first one were always public dates, parties and the like, always with other people around. And every time she would kiss me after, holding me close, rubbing her body against me, as we made out like crazy.

It wasn't until a few months after my eighteenth birthday that we went out on a solo date again, to a movie again. I tried to kiss her in the movie, for the first time making the move, instead of waiting for her. She kissed me quickly, and then looked at me for a while. Then she turned and watched the movie. When we left, she asked me to take her home. I was crushed, I thought for sure I had completely ruined everything. When I pulled my Dad's car up in front of her house, she turned to me and said, "My folks are out. I want you to come in." I could barely walk.

Every time we went out, and she kissed me, my dick would be hard as a rock. But like I said, I was an insecure kid then, very unsure of myself, and despite my love for her, I was convinced she was way out of my league. Every time I'd go home and jerk off, dreaming about her, wondering if maybe, one day, I'd find out was sex was like.

As we walked to her front door my dick was already growing in my pants. I was embarrassed, afraid she'd see it, and -- what? Laugh? Become afraid? Tell her friends the next day, and they'd point at me in school? But we got to the door and she kissed me, hard this time, her soft, wet tongue spearing into my mouth. She was a fabulous kisser, and my dick went full hard in my pants as I pressed against her sweet body. And then she pressed back. And she groaned in my mouth as we kissed, and then she suddenly stopped, and opened the door.

She took me to her bedroom, and we sat on the bed and kissed, and I was so afraid to make a move. Ridiculous, looking back; she took me to her room and sat me on the bed, and still I was afraid to touch her. Finally she helped me by unbuttoning her shirt, and in a short while I was sucking my first nipple since my mother stuck a bottle in my mouth. It was delicious, and wonderful, and, emboldened by my success, I reached between her legs, rubber her pussy through her jeans as I sucked her tits. She moaned, and then pulled her pants open and off, and I slipped a hand inside her panties, and felt my first pussy, shocked at the wetness that greeted my finger.

That night Charlene took my cherry. Remember, she was older than me, and she dated a lot, so I assumed she might not be a virgin. But I remember feeling just a little disappointed that my first insertion was not hers; I wanted it to be a moment we shared together, both of us, the first time. But I slipped right inside her, so easily, and of course, my moment of dismay vanished as my cock disappeared inside her.

I never thought of protection, or pregnancy, or anything -- all I could think of was oh, how great this was, sex! I was having sex with the girl I loved, and she wanted it, wanted ME! My brain shut down, and my heart and body took over, and we fucked. I thought I fucked at the time, anyway. Looking back, I was pretty much going along for the ride, doing what a young man's body does, while she fucked me. I know now she didn't orgasm, but I did, and I blasted a full young man's load into her.

I remember driving home that night, feeling like the king of the world, so in love, with a girl that loves me, and made love for the first time. I had sex, and I knew we were made for each other, perfect for each other, and we'd be together forever, so in love, the world couldn't tear us apart.

The next weekend we did it again, this time in the back seat of my Dad's car, and the next weekend, the same way. In between I saw her at school, after school, called her in the evenings, and we would talk for hours if she was home. Sometimes she was out.

The next week she broke up with me. And the following Saturday I heard she was dating another guy.

I was not the confident, travelled and accomplished business man back then. I was an ass. I was crushed and broken, unable to comprehend how the girl I loved could leave me; I had convinced myself that she felt the same way, and couldn't let go. I moped and pined first. Then tried calling her house, but her folks always said she wasn't home. I tried talking to her in school, but it always ended in her saying that she liked me, but not the way she used to. Every rebuttal served to convince me that she was lying, she was afraid that she loved me too much. I convinced myself that I could win her back, if I just tried harder, made myself available to her, waited for her.

And so I entered my complete asshole phase. I hung around, trying to look happy to be around her, even as it tore me apart, especially to see her hanging around with guys. I carried her books. I walked her to class. I waited for her to get out of class and walked her to the next one. I bought her lunch, and presents, and flowers. I knew -- KNEW -- that she couldn't ignore me, and I could win her back.

Her friends made fun of me, but I didn't care. She dated other guys, sometimes kissing them right in front of me, and it tore me up, but I didn't show it, unless we were alone. Then I'd get all mopey and droopy and she'd feel sorry for me, and she'd touch my cheek, or hold my hand. But not come back to me. Not yet.

There were always guys hanging around her, and they took some sort of humor at my expense. I convinced myself that I was suffering for her, for her love. Some of them laughed openly at me, called me 'Charlie's Dog', and wimp. Some of them threatened to beat me up if I kept hanging around, but Charlene would stop them. That made me think that she had feelings for me, that she was starting to love me again, even if she made out with that guy afterwards.

Then even my own friends started making fun of me. They had already exhausted their efforts at talking me down, telling me she wasn't worth it. They started telling me lies about her, to turn me against her, make me not love her. They said she was loose, that she put out, that her nickname was 'good time charlie'. My best friend Mike, I was over his house one Sunday, and his Dad, HIS DAD, took me into their den and tried to talk to me, to give me advice. "Son," he said," there are girls that you will meet, and like and enjoy, and there are girls that you fall in love with, that love you." He explained that there was a match for everyone, that this girl was not for me, and advised me that it was okay to have my fun, but not get attached. "Wait till you're older, when you meet the girl for you, you'll know then that I was right." He said that somewhere there was the right guy for Charlene, but that it wasn't me. I listened, but every time he said her name, my heart broke and ached and I steeled myself, and became more determined to win her back.

Because I knew none of that was true, and I opposed them, and defended her to them, until I was insufferable, and my friends began to drift from me, frustrated and helpless.

I am ashamed to say that my persistence eventually won. Eventually the hand holding turned to soft touches, and then to a kiss, and by spring we were dating again. We had sex again, wonderful, glorious sex, and I felt redeemed, and I knew they had all been fools, they had been wrong and I was right, she loved me, I knew by the way she kissed me, by the way she opened her legs and let me slip my dick inside her, the way she held me during sex. But my love and my victory blinded me to the truth. I lied to myself when she wasn't home when I called, or came over. I told myself that she loved me, even as my friends told me she was dating other guys, saw her kissing someone, saw her at a party without me. I denied when they told me I was a fool for getting involved, that she would just hurt me again. But my love for her possessed me, and I enjoyed the minutes she gave me.

A month before high school ended we went to a party, a graduation party, of which there would be many. Charlene told me to meet her there, and I walked, even though it was the other side of town, Charlene said that she'd get us a ride home. Like most parties, someone would be sneaking in beer, I knew. I got there late, and my friend Mike saw me approaching, and stopped me from going in.

"John, I'm telling you, don't go inside," he advised, "she's been making out with Zack all night." My heart split open and my chest tightened. I couldn't be true. Zack was one of the guys who hung around her; she had dated him when we were broke up. He was a decent guy, never made fun of me during my Supreme Asshole phase. I liked him. He treated her good when he was around her, but I'd heard him say some things to his friends when she wasn't around. I figured he was just showing off, you know, acting cool.

"She's not all yours, man, why don't you see that?" Mike pleaded. "I hate seeing her do this to you, I hate that you have so little respect for yourself, that you humiliate yourself for her. She's not worth it." I felt myself returning to the longing puppy I had been when I was trying to win her back, and ignored his words, and went inside, hurt, aching, and hopelessly n love.

I found her in the den, hanging with her usual crowd. Zack and a couple of other guys, Steve and Winston, both of whom had graduated last year. They were laughing, and drinking, and she was sitting on Zack's lap. When she saw me her eyes caught mine and swallowed me up, and she stood, and came to me, smiling her soft, easy smile. She kissed me there, in front of the other guys, and my heart repaired itself instantly, and I felt vindicated, and hopelessly in love. I heard some snickering from the guys, but I knew that inside, I had the last laugh, because she loved ME, no one else. She told me to get a beer from outside, and to bring her one. I went out, walking on a cloud.

I was gone a little while, having conversations with my friends, who looked at me warily. I finished my beer and got another, and returned to the den to give her beer she had requested. When I got there she was on Zack's lap again, her arms draped around his neck. The other guys made rude comments as I returned, and Charlene took the beer, but gave it to Zack, and asked me to get her another one. Like the dumb ass I was, I went and got her another beer.

When I returned she was making out with Zack, still on his lap. Winston coughed in his beer, and Steve rumbled something under his breath, and she looked up and smiled. Zack avoided my eyes. She stood and approached me.

"It's nothing, John, it's just fun, just kissing." She kissed me then, slipping her tongue into my mouth, and despite knowing that her soft lips had just been on Zack's mouth, I kissed her back, unable to help myself. I sat, and she sat on my lap, and once again I convinced myself that they were all wrong, that I was right, that she loved me.

Through the night there were other incidents. She kissed Zack again, I saw her, a couple of time, and once she made out with Steve, and they all laughed. At first she did it when I wasn't in the room, but as the night went on she started doing it in front of me. I wanted to run from the room, to tear her away, but felt unable to do anything except wait for her to come back to me. And she would always come back to me, telling me it was nothing, that she liked kissing, it was fun, but it didn't mean anything. At one point she took me outside, holding my hand, and took me on the side of the house, where it was dark, and we made out for a while. I felt her ass, and she pushed herself into me, pressing her breasts against me, pressing her hips into my hardening dick, and moaning softly.

We talked for a while out there. She told me she liked me a lot, that she wanted me tonight. I was confused, and torn in two. How could she hurt me like that?

"You know I go out with other guys, John," she told me. I remembered seeing her, when we were broken up. I nodded, hurt and needy. "When we first dated, I was only with you, then." I nodded, remembering the elation of loving her, thinking she loved me, trying to convince myself now that it was still true. "But then, you were just another guy I dated. I liked you a lot."

"But we made love," I managed.

"Yeah, we did," she replied wistfully. "and it was good sex, John, no shit." She kissed me again. "But I like to have fun, honey, I like boys, I like to date guys." She smiled again. "When we got back together, it was because I really liked you, I saw how you felt about me, and I felt bad." She winced a little. "But I didn't stop going out. You know that, don't you?"

In my heart, my poor, broken heart, I guess I did, and while I could deny it to my friends, I accepted it from her. She dated other guys while we were dating. I steeled myself, bracing for the inevitable, fearful that she wanted to break up with me again. "I like you John, I want to be with you tonight, stay with me." She kissed me, and relieved that she wasn't leaving me again, I swallowed my pride and said I would .

She held my hand, and led me back to the den. We finished our beers, and even thought the party wasn't over, they all announced that it was time to go. Winston had a car, he wasn't drinking, and we went outside. I saw Mike and some of my other friends, staring at me as we left, my hand in hers, even as she kissed Zack outside the car. I hung my head in shame, unable to meet their eyes.

Winston started the car, and Steve got in the passenger seat. Charlene sat in the back between me and Zack, still holding my hand as we pulled away, Steve turned in his seat and leaned into the back, and Charlene leaned forward and I watched them making out, my heart torn in two. I wanted to be kissing her, just me, but I wanted her so bad that I would tolerate watching her kissing another guy, right in front of me. But she held my hand the whole time, squeezing it, letting me know that everything was okay. When she stopped kissing him she turned to Zack, and kissed him. I couldn't see their faces, only the back of her head, but I saw his hand behind her back, rubbing her. Still she held my hand. And then his hand went under the back of her tee shirt, rubbing her bare skin as they kissed.

She broke the kiss and turned to me, and then she was kissing me, her wonderful, soft, loving kiss forcing the idea of her kissing two other guys out of my mind. I disregarded where her lips had just been, denied everything I had heard, everything she had told me, and kissed her, and loved her with all my immature, aching heart.