I lost my virginity at the first college party I ever went to. Nowadays, I'm sure that would be considered late in life, but there were plenty of guys like me back in '62. Mom was overbearing. I guess I could blame her for always being around every corner, for hearing every pin drop. Looking back, she did what she had to. Dad was gone since I was a baby, so it was up to her and no other. She raised my sister and me alone, and in my opinion, she did a bang-up job. No, it wasn't Mom's fault that I waited so long. I won't sob. Truth is, I lacked credentials, contenders, and most of all... confidence.
College was the first time I'd ever been away from home, and I took full advantage. The music was loud, the air was thick with smoke, and I couldn't slug my way up the stairs without bumping twenty people. I clutched my cup, the same kind everyone else had, and I sipped those suds no matter how they struck me. I staggered down what seemed like a funhouse hallway and crashed into a room with a bed.
"You're kind of ugly," a soft voice said. "But I'll do it with you anyways." I opened my eyes and there was an angel, right in the doorway. She pulled my pants off, lifted her skirt, and climbed on top. My dick went inside, and it was so hot and warm and wet, it nearly blew my mind. She moaned and groaned and bounced and ground, and it didn't take very long before I was done. I remember how she pulled herself free, how she kissed me on the cheek and walked out that door.
The next woman was twenty years older, and I saw her in the park on a drizzly Sunday morning while I walked my dog, a tangly little Shih Tzu that I called Blob. I'd let him off his leash so he could piss on a tree and sniff all around, and this beautiful woman came wandering down. She said "Hi" in a way that might mean more. The next day, I took Blob back to that very spot. She came to visit again, and the next day the same. We talked a few times, and she told me she was married. She drove us to a cheap motel, the kind that charges by the hour, the kind that's always stained. She let me eat her pussy and finger her ass and taste her cum. We did it three different ways before I pulled it out and covered her chest in shiny white pearls. It was the best thing I'd ever done. We had forty-five minutes left, so we shared a cigarette and did it again. I went to the park the day after that, but she never came back, not in a week, not in a month, so I eventually gave up.
The last girl I did it with was the one I wished I'd never met. My best friend hooked us up. Thanks for that, Tim. Thanks a lot. She was beautiful, smart, sexy... all the things I'd ever wanted. She moved like a cat when we danced -- a sexy feline tramp. We went walking, and there was an alley, and it happened there, in a damp stairwell. She got on her knees, took me in her mouth, and told me not to finish. When she knew I was hot and closer than close, she turned around and pulled her pants down. I did what she wanted, no hesitation, no arguments about it.
We had sex every day for a month and a week, and then one morning, I got a note on top of my pillow. "Dear you, those times we had meant nothing. Don't bother calling. I don't want to know you." I crushed the note, tore it into pieces, and dropped them in the ashtray. I burned them and flushed them down the toilet. When the ashes were gone in a gurgling swirl and the toilet had filled again, I spat blood in the water because I'd bitten my lip, so I took a piss and flushed it again. I looked in the mirror and saw a guy who was sick and tired and done with that town. That's when I decided I wanted to get back home.
I drove my rusty muscle car, blowing black smoke all the way. Mom waited at the door, and when she opened it wide and told me to come inside, the smell of fresh bread was all I needed. She hugged me tight and said my sister was on her way. We had dinner together, the three of us again, two full portions of Mom's fresh bread and duck cassoulet. We drank wine and laughed, and I admitted I needed a break from that city life. Mom said my room was still there, not quite as I'd left it and in need of repair, but it was mine if I wanted, for as long as I cared. I moved my stuff in, and my sister helped unload. That's when she told me, "First thing in the morn', I'll fix those wheels of yours... the exhaust, and brake lines for stopping." I was relieved and happy she'd offered. My sister's the best mechanic from here to New Hampshire, and that includes the guys down at Hell's Gate Raceway, no matter what they tell you, and that's final.
