With the refreshing hot water cascading down my body in the shower, I never heard the phone ring. I was standing on the bath mat toweling off, when my cell phone message center alerted me. It was Danielle.
"Hey Sara, I'll be home around seven tonight, see you then. Call me if you want me stop at the supermarket and pick something up," Danielle's sensual voice said.
Just hearing her sent shivers up and down my spine.
"Last night was amazing, oh God was it ever!" I silently thought to myself.
My euphoria about Danielle had produced a vibrant tingling in my crotch. I lay back on my bed and rubbed my sore pussy furiously.
After I diddled myself to a noisy orgasm, I greedily sucked the tart fluid off my fingers.
"Girl's right, tastes good like a pussy should," I muttered to myself.
My mood changed when I thought about Danielle's estranged husband. He had filed for a divorce and the shit would hit the fan. Then what?
"Christ Jesus, I wish I knew the answer," I said out loud in the empty house.
For a moment, I sounded like my dad when he and I fought like cats and dogs in my early teens. Remembering him brought a tear to my eye.
"I miss you dad," I silently reflected and said a quick prayer for him.
"You're late for work," my brain screamed at me. But, I remained immobilized as recollections of my childhood took shape in my mind.
"You're a long way from Omaha," I said to myself.
A parade of memories marched through my mind and refused to go away.
Thanks for the Memories:
I could see the quiet suburban neighborhood where I grew up on the outskirts of Omaha. My house on Apple Orchard Lane looked the same with the nicely landscaped yard and white picket fence; corny but true.
My folks were conservative Christians with two children, a girl and a boy. My older brother Josiah or Joe was a loving sibling who watched over me.
Dad worked for the postal service and mom was a secretary at the high school. Even with two kids, there never seemed to be enough money.
"God will provide," My dad would say solemnly.
When I was a child, I believed him but by the time I was fourteen, I would mutter under my breath,
"Bullshit!"
In middle school, my wardrobe was pathetic and I felt like a freak. Forget trying to buy outfits at the mall, we shopped at the marts; Walmart and Kmart.
I had an independent and brazen streak that annoyed my mom and dad but especially my dad. It seemed like we fought about everything. My dad was the disciplinarian with the might of religion on his side. I not only feared him but disliked him and kept my distance.
Most of the confrontations started to occur when I was fourteen. My skirts were too short for church, too much makeup, no dating till you're sixteen, in by ten pm on the weekend and on and on.
My father held a scripture reading/bible study once a month on a Friday night at our house. Yep, my brother and I were expected to attend and be prepared to discuss whatever topic was the focus.
One Friday night stands out in particular. I wanted to go with my friends to the mall. I couldn't buy anything but at least I could dream. At dinner, my father flatly refused to let me out of bible study.
When my dad asked me to talk about a passage I was supposed to read ahead of time, I told him I thought it was pointless and I failed to derive any meaning from it.
Josiah was chuckling under his breath but my father was red faced and madder than I had ever seen him. He kept his self control and marched me to my room. I lay on my bed with thoughts of running away and other crazy ideas until I heard everyone leaving.
Fear and I mean real fear took hold of me until I heard loud arguing that got closer until it was outside my door.
"Jacob, if you go in there, I will never forgive you," I heard my mothers' voice say.
"Spare the rod, spoil the child!" my dad's voice thundered.
"Listen to me! She's a teenager and wants to be with her friends. Why is that so difficult for you to understand?" my mothers voice asked pleadingly.
Shockingly, there was no response from my father and I heard footsteps retreat into the living room. My door opened and I looked at my mother with eyes as wide as saucers.
"Young lady, you are grounded for two weeks and I mean two weeks. You will do the dinner dishes every night, fold the laundry and help me clean the entire house on Saturday. Is that clear?" She said emphatically in a slightly raised voice.
"Yes ma'am," I said with a defeated air.
I was beginning to think the paddle was probably better. Yeah, it hurt and was downright humiliating but being grounded for two weeks was an eternity to a teenager. Smart woman my mom, she clearly knew what punishment hurt the most and used it frequently to keep me in line.
Girls Will Be Girls:
When I wasn't grounded, I was spending most of my free time with my friends, Taylor in particular. Her folks weren't bible thumpers so I was always at her house.
Boys were the main topic of conversation among our circle of girlfriends. They endlessly talked about who was the cutest, hottest, had the nicest eyes, etc.
Although I always threw my two cents in, I wasn't even close to the obsession level some girls reached. I used to blame my tepid interest for boys on the fact I didn't get my period until I was fifteen. Talk about late bloomer!
But, it wasn't long before I discovered that I was interested in girls. During sleepovers in warm weather when everyone sat around in skimpy tops and panties, I was checking out my friends bodies.
In spite of my rebellious nature, it was my strict Christian values that had me in denial for a long time. Sure, I looked at my friends but I would never act on it. The scriptures were specific about same sex matters; no, no, never, not ever.
It's funny, but my folks didn't know that I prayed long and hard practically every day in the privacy of my room asking for strength and guidance from God. My prayers worked up to a point.
The summer before my senior year in high school, Taylor and I started working at a popular teen clothing store at the mall. With my employee discount, I could finally afford to wear stylish clothes.
Always on the thin side, I started filling out in all the right places. At least my prayers for curves and boobs were answered. By Christmas break, I had developed the kind of body that most girls spend a lifetime in the gym trying to acquire. And, Lord Almighty did I give thanks!
My social life took off and I dated guys who the previous year wouldn't give me the time of day. Thanks to my job at the mall, I had nice clothes to wear. I started an exercise program because I wanted to keep my gift from God (yes, I believed it was a gift from God and still do) in tip top shape.
Not long after my eighteenth birthday my mother poked her head in my bedroom door. It irritated me because I was packing an overnight bag for a sleepover at Taylor's and I was already late
"Sara, I want to talk to you," my mother said in a serious voice and closed my door.
"What's up?" I asked and kept packing.
"Your father and I noticed that you look...ah...a lot more mature and..." her voice trailed off.
"Mom, is this about sex?" I asked her with an incredulous expression on my face.
"We never had the facts of life talk and...well...better late than never," she stated uneasily.
