She's Got a Map of the World

By

Donna M.

 

 

Regardless of the fact nobody calls their boy Jonas anymore, I sort of like my name.  However, girls have told me the name is nerdy so it fits me like a glove too.  Nerd, dweeb, geek, dork, bookworm, weenie, whatever: that was me.  I admit it.  I was twenty-three years old and still a virgin.  Can you believe that?  I can.  I’m the opposite of a social butterfly (loner boner?)   I can’t even ask a girl out on a date without losing my English vocabulary and muttering like an idiot. 

I was working on my Master’s thesis in my chosen field of Anthropology, while picking up some extra income tutoring spoiled, privileged kids so they can get into the same fancy college mommy and daddy went to.

Yes, Anthropology.

So far, nobody has reminded me of the irony (after all, anthropology is the science that studies the origins and social relationships of human beings) that I chose it as a career when my ‘social relationship’ skills were zilch.  Most of the kids I tutored didn’t have any social skills either, for that matter.  Too self-absorbed, they lived their lives on Facebook and Twitter instead of the real world, so maybe except for their families’ wealth we weren’t that much different.  Yeah, right!

The one exception was Feather.

She could easily stand apart from the others on looks alone, though she was quite different in many other regards too.  In several ways she was an anachronism.  Her parents must have been late-blooming hippies.  How else would you explain naming their daughter Feather Windchime Cozmer?  She looked straight out of that era too.  She had long, straight blond hair, parted in the middle and framing her pretty face that make-up never touched.  When she smiled it was like throwing a light switch, only with her the light was as bright as the sun and her sparse freckles microscopic orbiting planets.  She never wore anything that showed off her lithe figure besides jeans and t-shirts.  She wasn’t like that.  She didn’t have the haughty airs like other rich kids I dealt with.

Yes, it’s obvious.  I was smitten the moment she became my tutee.

In some ways I wasn’t sure why I was tutoring her at all.  She was a very intelligent girl who maybe because of poor self-esteem didn’t realize how intelligent she was.  During our first session at her house, she pulled out an old, dog-eared world atlas and told me that someday she was going to travel the world and see all these marvelous places.  Like an idiot I pointed out that the book was so old, a great many of the countries didn’t even exist in that form anymore.  With a hurt expression, she said she knew that already; and once again this Anthropology major failed to understand the dreams and ambitions of real people.

Our second session was in the park across from the high school.  Sitting on a park bench under glorious autumn sunshine we reviewed her Calculus homework and I helped her work through the tougher problems.  Mathematics was generally her Achilles’ heel, and that fact infiltrated into other science subjects, like Chemistry.  That’s what we worked on the most.

“Jonas, why is this stuff so easy for you?”

“Why is creative writing so easy for you?” I counterpunched.  She’d let me read some of her short stories and they were exceptional.

Caught off-guard, she palmed her chin like the Rodin sculpture when pondering deep questions, eventually saying, “It didn’t come easy.  I have the imagination for it but I had to really work on grammar and punctuation to write good stories; otherwise, who would care to read them.”

“Well, Math is like that with me, but maybe spun 180-degrees,” I said. “The formulas and properties, the ‘grammar’ of Math, were things that came naturally to me.  It was the applications that I had to work at so I knew which formula to use in solving a problem; like I had the rules but not the imagination to use them.”

She smiled, easily disarming me of any gathered arguments I could employ, “You really do like my stories, don’t you.”  It wasn’t a question.

I knew I was blushing but could do nothing about it.

Another day while we were reviewing a homework assignment, she began talking about what essentially was politics.  “You know, I’m sick of hearing people say how independent they are.  Jesus!  People are all sheep!  They follow whatever is popular without even thinking about what they need.  They have to have the latest phone or tablet regardless of what it does for them.  They vote the same way, believing everything they hear in a political ad like it’s all truth.  Now more than ever the cover is the important thing, not the book.  You’re the anthropologist.  Why are we like that now?”

I gave it some thought, and then said, “I’m not so sure we’re any different today than in prior times.  Being ‘in’ or popular wasn’t always about possessions, but looks and clothing always mattered, plus things like religious affiliation.  Ancients cared about what god you worshipped; now our gods are celebrities, cars and electronic gadgets.”  I gauged her reaction and added “What brought this up?”

“I don’t know…it’s like my dad expects me to go to Dartmouth like he did, and I don’t want to go there.”

“What do you want to do?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know yet.  I’d love to travel, see new places and meet new people.  I just don’t want to be a sheep.”

“You’re a lucky girl.  Your family has the money so you basically can do what you want,” I said.

Her facial expression told me I’d said the wrong thing—again.  Was that a tear at the corner of one eye?  She remained quiet, and I felt like a jerk.  Maybe I was the wrong person to ask about popularity and following the crowd, since I was usually on the wrong side of anything popular and not because of an ‘independence gene’ I don’t have anyway.  I apologized but it didn’t do much to repair her mood.  Somehow we managed to get back to her schoolwork in spite of everything.

“It’s funny how we wish for something other than what we have,” she said out of the blue after she finished her homework.

“It’s natural for people to envy those who have more,” I replied.

“No, I’m not talking about envy.  It’s like that grass-is-always-greener thing; if someone is light skinned, they want to be tanned dark, and if someone is dark skinned they want to be light.  What I meant is that I wish I wasn’t from a well-to-do family.  My family’s money can be like a straightjacket.  I’d like to someday be as free as my name implies I am.  Feathers float, they’re not chained down.”

I’d already been stupid enough for one day; I didn’t comment on her questionable metaphor.  Instead I said, “Yeah, I understand.  I wish to be other than I am, but that’s life.  I think you’ll follow your dreams a lot more successfully than I have.”

“Why?” she asked.  “What are your dreams?  What do you wish for?”  I didn’t feel ready to share my wishes and dreams with her.  That smacked of an intimacy beyond where I could ever go with Feather, regardless of how infatuated I was with her.  She measured my silence, and then said “I bet some of your dreams are around finding the right girl, but so far she hasn’t shown up.  Am I right?” She smiled, her pretty face crinkled and reddened.

Guaranteed, I blushed too.  “Most girls don’t go for geeks like me,” I said lamely.

Her smile morphed into full laughter.  “You’re the smartest guy I know but in many ways you’re so dumb.  For one thing, you’re hardly a geek, at least in the looks department.  Secondly, how do you know girls don’t go for you?  Do you try?  When’s the last time you’ve been on a date?”

“How did we get there,” I muttered in exasperation.

“Forget it.  You don’t understand where I come from,” she said, not without her own level of irritation.  After a period of silence that was killing me, she said, “You never answered me.  When was your last date?  Do you even have a girlfriend…or maybe boyfriend…I don’t know…”

“I’m not gay, if that’s what you think.”

“Would that be a point of shame if you were?”

I shook my head.  “I didn’t mean it to sound like it would be something to be ashamed of, I’m just not, that’s all.  No, I don’t have a girlfriend and it’s been ages since I’ve been on a real date.”

“Then why don’t you ask me out?  I don’t bite, you know.”

“But I’m your tutor.  Your parents hired me to help you get into college, not for me to date you.”

“Like most guys you’re more worried about a girl saying no than anything else.  I know you like me.  It’s written all over your face.  Don’t be afraid, or is it that you think you’re not good enough for me, or maybe the other way around.”

I blushed again.  I felt it.  “It’s not that.  I’m just not in your league.”

“League?  Like it’s a sport?  Maybe in your case it’s all about the ‘league’ of money.  I figured you were different, not like other guys who can’t see past either my looks or my parents’ net worth.  Was I wrong?”

I protested for several minutes but reckoned I was losing big time.  Finally I said, “I’m sorry, Feather.  When you asked me about dates I didn’t want to admit that I’m a goof around girls, especially ones as pretty as you.  It’s not you, it’s me.”

“Okay, then I’ll ask YOU out.”  She mentioned a new thriller that was playing at the local cinema, and said she wanted to see it.  “I’ll even pay, unless that would bother your male ego.”

I took her.  I paid.  Bought popcorn, too.  During one frighteningly shocking scene, Feather whispered that she’d been so scared by it that her heart was “like, beating twice as fast.”  To somehow confirm her statement she took my hand and placed it over her heart, though it wasn’t her beating heart I was feeling.  Maybe I noticed yet pretended otherwise; she didn’t have a bra on under her tank top and so I felt the heat and firmness of her smallish breast.  She held my hand there.  I was basically too nervous to move it anyway.  There was a part of me that DID move, however.  She eventually let go of my hand but not before she gave it a squeeze which in turn squeezed her breast enough for me to feel her stiffened nipple through the fabric of her top.

To me the movie was only so-so.  Feather said she liked it but wasn’t effusive in her praise.  All I thought about was the feel of her firm breast and the bulge in my pants that still hadn’t quite wilted.  I took her home, where before exiting my car she kissed me chastely on the cheek and said, “Thank you for taking me.  See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”  No, not bad at all.  Back in my lonely apartment, I got ready for bed, thought about how she felt, and jerked-off to a massive ejaculation; Feather in my mind’s eye and in my aching heart.

When the time for our next session drew near, she asked me if I wouldn’t mind turning it into a picnic.  The weather was unseasonably warm, and she told me about an island in the middle of the lake her house was on.  “The Cotés own it but they’re friends of the family and let us use it for camping and swimming.  I’ll supply everything.  All you have to supply is your swim trunks and enough muscle to row us over to the island.  I’ll make sure the Sherriff’s lake patrol people know we’ll be over there so they won’t bother us.”  She smiled and then added, “A couple of ice-cold beers will make the Calculus bearable.”

I wasn’t thinking about Calculus.

The physical exertion of rowing the rowboat across the lake to the island was a bit more taxing than I thought it would be.  My vanity didn’t allow me to show the strain.  Feather and I unloaded the cooler and picnic hamper onto the small wooden dock after I secured the boat to it.  Feather approved of my knots even though I had no idea how to tie a good one.  There was an old-fashioned child’s red wagon near the dock, which we used as our supply conveyance.  Bypassing the small cabin, we travelled on a path through sparse trees until we came to a clearing next to a large boulder.

Feather said, “Isn’t this a great place?  I can’t remember how many times I’ve been here…family picnics…when I needed some time alone.  I love it here.”

It was a nice spot.  The trees provided the right amount of shade, and I imagined how welcome that would be at summer’s peak.  The boulder was an interesting backdrop, something left by a retreating glacier of a primeval ice age.  She scampered up on top of the rock and joked how “up here we can see if any pirates are around to steal our bounty.”  I doubted any pirates were about, but I valued the privacy and hoped no one else would land at the island to spoil the moment.  Always radiant, Feather somehow transcended that luminosity today, at least in my love-struck mind.

I asked, “A swim before we picnic?”  She agreed and gleefully dropped her shorts and removed her shirt to expose a miniscule, bright yellow bikini beneath.  “Don’t look, I need to change into mine,” I said.  All she did was laugh.

Changing into my swim shorts was more complicated than I would’ve imagined.  Nervousness about her peeking and how she looked in the bikini alternately stiffened and softened my cock, and of course my untamable pal didn’t cooperate as I slid on the swimsuit.  She chided me to hurry up, eventually leading me onto a path in a new direction.  We came to a small sandy beach.  Feather ran into the water like a kid would, splashing and laughing all the way.  I meekly followed her.  The water was cold this time of year and I immediately started to shiver.  Feather noticed and swam over to me, saying “Don’t wimp out on me.  It’s not that cold.”

I hated that word—wimp—and I was sure my face reflected it, especially by gauging her reaction.  She quickly said, “It is kind of cold, isn’t it?  We can get out of the water and eat if you’d like, though anything to avoid Calculus is okay with me.”  In my mind I forgave her, and agreed it was indeed time for lunch.  As we left the water my eyes were glued to her now-wet bikini, especially the way her stiffened nipples were obvious beneath the yellow bra fabric.  If she saw me ogling her, she didn’t let on.

We sat with our backs to the rock and ate the sandwiches and potato salad she’d packed, along with ice cold beers.  When I tasted the yellow mustard in my sandwich, I was going to make a joke about Grey Poupon, but thought better of it.  If I bristled at the word wimp, I’m sure she’d take umbrage at any reference to the iconic brand’s satirical TV spots of rich folks passing the Dijon mustard jar between Rolls-Royces.

After a second beer she said, “I suppose we better get to the Calculus before I have another brew.”

Feather proved adept at picking up the concepts of Differential Calculus, but was having difficulty bridging from that knowledge into Integral Calculus.  Hell, it hadn’t been easy for me either.  She made her usual joke about antiderivatives needing to be screwed by “uncle derivatives,” though by that time (and a couple of beers) I didn’t need any ‘screwing’ jokes.

Later, opening two more and handing me one, she asked, “Would it be okay if I took my top off?  I got some sand in there and it’s driving me crazy.”

Maybe it was all innocent and maybe it was the beer.  She seemed surprised by my inability to give her an answer, and paused several seconds before going “Oh” and saying, “I wasn’t trying to be…like that.  I really need to get rid of this sand.”

“I won’t mind,” I said, which made her chuckle.

“You don’t have to look, you know,” she said as she untied the bikini top and flung it aside.

“I want to look,” I said, and that was the beer talking for me, as I never would’ve said that while stone sober.

Like she didn’t hear me, without hesitation she nonchalantly brushed sand from her breasts.  I was mesmerized by the way they jiggled and bounced, remembering how I had been graced with a touch during the movie.  She looked at me, blushing as she said, “I’m sorry.  I guess I’m too self-centered, I mean…not thinking of you.”  Then she grinned and added, “You did say you wanted to look.”

“They’re beautiful” was all my addled mind could think to say.  To break the tension and to keep from staring at them, I got two fresh beers and handed her one.

“Do you know that beer is truth serum?” she asked me after taking a long swallow of hers.

I chuckled, “No, I didn’t know that.”

“I thought you knew everything, Jonas.”

“Not by a long shot.”  It was extremely difficult to not look at her exposed breasts, so close and yet metaphorically so far away.  “So, how does the beer work?”

“It’s not beer anymore, it’s truth serum.  When we say something now it has to be the whole truth.”

I said, “What’s different?  Have we been lying to each other?”

“I don’t know, maybe.  People lie to themselves as much as they lie to each other, it appears to me.”  A cloud seemed to transition across her face before she smiled again and said, “Here’s what we’ll do…like a test.  Each of us will tell a secret that we’ve kept to ourselves…something we don’t want anyone to know.”

“Like something embarrassing?” I asked.  “That’s tough to do, beer or no beer.”

“That’s why I’ll go first,” she said.  She took a long swig from her bottle and then began, “When I was five I got mad at my mother and tried to burn the house down.  The fire almost killed my baby brother.  Nobody knew I set it.”

I drank some of my beer and said, “Wow!  Nobody ever suspected?”

“I don’t think so.  All they ever said to me in later years about the fire was that they suspected it was an electrical short or something but couldn’t prove it one hundred percent.”  Then she looked at me and said, “Now it’s your turn.”

“Well, I cheated on a big test in high school.  Not because I didn’t know the stuff, just because I was lazy, I guess.”

“Big deal.  Is that the worst thing you’ve ever done or are embarrassed about?”

“No,” I muttered.

“What about with girls?  Ever do anything really stupid around a girl and regretted it?”

Truth serum bullshit aside, I wasn’t sure I could ever admit it to her.  Still trying my darnedest not to look at her beautiful breasts, I wasn’t sure I could talk about it, but one look at Feather’s expectant face pushed me forward.  In a halting voice I said, “I’m still a virgin.  Until you put my hand there in the movie theater, I never even felt a girl’s, er…”

“You can say ‘breast’ around me.  ‘Tit,’ even.  I’m not like that,” she said.  “I understand why you think being a virgin is embarrassing, but I think it’s sweet.  I mean, I know you’re not gay, and I guess I’m teasing you by not having my top on.  I made a comment the other day about you being like other guys, afraid of what a girl will say…of being rejected.  But I also realize how…professional…I think is the right word…you’ve been in not trying something with me, like it wouldn’t be right.”  She broke eye contact and added, “I wish I was still a virgin.”

What could I say to that?  What I did say was, “You’re right about the scared part.  I always think ‘what would she want with a dork like me?’  So I never even ask for a date.  That’s the embarrassing part; me always being chicken.”

She had a mischievous look about her, accentuating her light spray of freckles.  She got herself a fresh bottle of beer, took several gulps, belched and then giggled. Watching the neck of the bottle at her lips gave me lascivious thoughts and a renewed bulge in my shorts.  “It’s my turn again,” she said.  “The truth: I want to go skinny-dipping. I’m mostly naked already.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will see us?”

“There you go, fear again.  Are you afraid someone will see us, or are you more afraid that I’ll see you?  I know what a boner looks like, you know.”  She took another swig and said, “Now you tell the truth.  Would you like to make love to me?”

I couldn’t believe my ears, though absolutely beside myself with arousal I still heard the trap in her question.  “You said it yourself.  You recognize how much I like everything about you, and the way I’m feeling now,” I said while glancing down at the protruding front of my swim shorts.  “Let’s not think about that.  Why don’t I work at not being afraid, and let’s go skinny-dipping like you said.”

“Sounds like a plan!” she exclaimed and before I could move she stood and was dropping her bikini bottoms to the ground.

I may be a virgin but I wasn’t naïve; at least I didn’t think I was.  She was shaved, and looked incredibly beautiful as she stood before me without a stitch of clothing.  Before I chickened out I stood in turn and slowly dropped my swim trunks down.

Feather groaned softly and uttered a low “Omigod” when she saw my erection.

Stupid me said, “What’s the matter?  Is something wrong with it?”

She giggled and said, “Oh, no!  You’ve been afraid to show girls that?  As cocks go, yours is a mighty fine specimen, not that I’m an expert in such things.”  Her expression clouded over again when she made the “expert” comment, which got me thinking again that her sexual memories weren’t happy ones.  Before she could say anything more about my upward-pointing member, I kicked my shorts aside and ran toward the water.  She laughed and followed me in.

The cold water did what my will couldn’t—eased my erection.  We swam around each other until she said, “Are you still cold?”

I closed the distance between us and answered, “Not like this.”  In shallow enough water to stand, I took her in my arms and kissed her.  Her mouth was warm and inviting, and I felt a shiver pass through her that wasn’t due to water temperature.  I realized I was holding her up and off her feet, and like following a tractor beam, the re-swelling head of my cock went right between her thighs and inched upward.

She croaked “No…we don’t have any condoms” as she pulled her lips from mine.  “I hope you know I want to,” she said, “but I think we’d better go slow.”  In my experience, when a girl says we have to go slow it means she needs time to think of a nice way to dump me.  I was sure my disappointment showed.

“It’s cold.  Let’s get out and get dressed.  I’m hungry for some more of that great food you brought along,” I said.

She halfheartedly smiled and answered, “And more truth serum?”

“Maybe I’ve had enough truth serum for one day.”

We scurried back to our picnic area rock and quickly dressed.  While digging more food out of the picnic hamper, Feather said, “Jonas, this is the best date I’ve ever had.  I’m sorry if you feel I was leading you on.”

“It’s easy for me to say that this is the best date I’ve ever had, too; and there’s no reason for you to be sorry about anything.”

Whether it was the cold water or our overheated libidos we cleaned out the rest of the food, eating like a couple of starving refugees.  And that’s what we were, in a sense—refugees—looking to escape that part of our lives that wasn’t whole and yearning for what was lacking.  I remembered the dog-eared atlas she showed me when she said she wanted to travel, and I began to hum “Map of the World.”  Feather wanted to know what the song was.

“Unless I have another beer,” I said, “I can’t tell you.”

She called me a “wise ass” as she handed me the last bottle of beer.  It wasn’t cold any longer but I drank it anyway.  I told her about the Marillion song and sang a few off-key stanzas, hoping I sufficiently remembered the lyrics.  Mind you, I don’t have a good singing voice.  She didn’t make fun of me and that was a big plus in my book.

 

Watching the people on the street today she couldn't help but smile
Watchin' the town go walking by all shaded eyes and alibis
Strange how much pain you can hide away beneath a well-cut suit
This is the day she walks away
And the lights of the city pushin' a good time
Asking her out tonight
But she's saving her money for a better life

She's got a map of the world
Pinned up on her wall
She's got a map of the world
She's gonna go and see it all
She's gonna see it all

 

“That’s how I think of you, like in the song,” I said.  “You see the speciousness all around you and you ache for something more, some wider circle of reality beyond the superficial lives we lead.  That’s why I…why I want to be with you.  That’s why I’ll miss you terribly after this tutoring thing is done.”

She blushed.  It was obvious I’d caught her by surprise with either my perception or my candor.  “You’re right about the speciousness, the falseness of it all.  My parents con themselves into thinking how counterculture they’ve been and yet they’re sheep like everyone else…followers.  I am going to live up to my name: a feather taken by the wind while a wind-chime sings its unique song.  That’s what I want, like in that song—I’m gonna see it all.”

“But not before you ace Calculus.”  We held each other tightly as we laughed.

Thankfully it wasn’t too dark to see where I was going as I rowed us back to her house.  Her goodbye kiss was chaste, nothing like the ones on the island.  Before I left, she said “Same time next week?  Maybe we can have another picnic.”  I answered yes to both as my heart fluttered in my chest like a trapped bird trying to escape its cage.

In my apartment, the memories of her nakedness were so crystal-clear all it took was one touch to set off my aching cock, spewing several gobs of ejaculate into the air and all over me and adjacent furniture.  It was a mess, but a most pleasant one to make.   I dreamed of her.  I vividly remembered how my cock-head had brushed against her vulva, and the electric charge that bolted up and down my spine—and how I’d cum a little in the water next to her.  I remembered the firmness of her breasts and how they jiggled when she moved; and how warm they felt to my tentative touch.  I woke up twice during the night and had to jerk off.

In the days before I was to see Feather again I was a basket case, unable to do anything with my thesis, and unable to think of anything other than her.  When the day came, Feather and I loaded up the old rowboat like last time.  Today, though, we were greeted by a sheriff’s deputy who Feather introduced as Miles Custer.

“Now, Feather Cozmer, there better not be any beer in that cooler,” he said with enough gravitas I wasn’t sure how serious he was about the subject of underage drinking.

Nervously, I remained mute as Feather assured him in a bantering tone, implying she’d known him her whole life, that there indeed was no beer and that she would never allow such a thing.  I tried not to look guilty as I stood there hoping he wouldn’t ask to look.  Instead the young, ruggedly handsome deputy changed the subject to family and friends, before eyeing me and judging me unworthy.  I knew that look well.  He reminded her how early darkness came this time of year, and she assured him we’d pay attention.

While I rowed she explained how Deputy Miles had a crush on her ever since they were kids though he wasn’t her type.

“He’s a good looking dude,” I wheezed between deep breaths.  “Buff…doesn’t seem dumb.  I’d think he’d be more your type that someone like me.”

She looked at me like I’d punched her.  Angrily she said, “What makes you think you’re my type either?  Just because I let you see me naked and touch me?”  I wasn’t thinking about those things.  I was thinking about the kisses.  I also remembered what I metaphorically thought of as a cloud that crossed her face when we spoke of virginity. Unlike me who had none, she definitely bore some bad sexual memories, and I began to wonder if Deputy Miles Custer was a part of any of them.  I rowed on.

My comment about the deputy removed much of the previous visit’s exuberance.  By the time we got the supplies to our spot by the boulder, I stuck to business and began talking about Calculus.  She was hardly enthusiastic.  Beers got opened and food was consumed without merriment until she said, “Was this a mistake, or maybe it was last time that was the mistake?”

“I’m the mistake.  I told you I wasn’t good at this sort of thing.”

“Just what is ‘this sort of thing’ anyway?  Being friends with a girl who thought she liked you?”

I took a swig of beer, pointed at the bottle and said, “Truth serum, remember?”

She took several swallows from hers.  “Yeah, truth serum,” she muttered.  “What truths are you still hiding?”

“None, I think.  You know I’m a hopeless virgin with a broad inferiority complex when it comes to anything other than book knowledge.”

“Yep, that sounds like the truth,” she said and grinned tentatively, the closest thing to a smile since we got to the island.

“I know you haven’t told me everything.  I see it on your face even now, but especially when you made the comment last time here about wishing you were still a virgin.”

She finished her beer, tossing the bottle away, and then uncapped a fresh one.  After several swallows she said, “It’s the impossible thing I wish for.  Like everybody I wanted my first time to mean something…something special.”

“I take it that it wasn’t.”

She shook her head, took another swig and continued, “Far from it.  It was my first year in high school and had crushes on all the jocks.  Two of the football players were tops on my list, Jake Monroe and Billy Judson.  One night they got me drunk and…and…did it to me over and over again.”  Tears were streaming down her face.  I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but was too chicken—like always, I thought.  She finished by telling me how hurt she’d been and also how ashamed and afraid she’d been to tell anyone.

“You were drunk.  That’s rape,” I said.

“You don’t understand.  I wasn’t that drunk.  I wanted them to do it.  I WANTED THEM TO DO IT!” she repeated forcefully.  “I had several orgasms…oh did I cum!  It was only afterwards, when they laughed at me and said I was ‘easy’ did I understand they didn’t care about me.  My cherry was their trophy.  That’s why I was ashamed and never told anyone.  At least I hadn’t gotten pregnant.”

After several seconds of silence, where even the birds and crickets grew still, I said, “Now you’ve told someone.  You’ve told me, and I’m happy you’re not easy.”

“Huh?”

“If you were easy you would’ve let me the last time we were here.  You’re not cheap.  You’re the special woman I always knew was out there somewhere.  Someday I’ll find another one like you.”

“What about me?  Like I said to you before, don’t think of me as being above you.  I’m not that special.”

“Yes you are,” I said, but I’m not thinking you’re above me or anything like that.”  To emphasize my truthfulness I exaggerated another drink of beer.  “I’m not selfish enough to keep you from your dreams of seeing the world.  I’d just be a weight to keep the feather from flying away.”

“Oh Jonas, you would never weigh me down like that.  You’ve done the opposite.  You’ve opened my eyes…to look inward and see the real me.  You’ve been nothing but encouragement, and sweet, too.”  She leaned toward me and our lips met.  I didn’t have the experience to explain the difference, but this kiss was very different.  When our lips parted, she said, “Now you see how powerful this truth serum really is.  I need to ask you a question—how good is your imagination?”

“I guess it’s good.  After all, it’s got me through some difficult moments in life.  Why do you ask?”

“I want to pretend something, and I need you to pretend along with me.”

“Like what?”

She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a condom packet.  “I want to pretend that I’m a virgin and we’re going to have our first time…together.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

She smiled, “Don’t be dumb.  It’s a one-time offer.”

It was my turn to smile.  “I may be naïve, but I’m not dumb.  Skinny dipping first?”

Laughing, we peeled off clothing as we raced down the path to the water’s edge.  Wading in the cold lake water, this kiss was urgent, hungry.  Underwater she grasped my rigid erection and whispered, “This can’t be called skinny dipping ’cause this isn’t skinny.”  I have learned some things by being with Feather, as I almost stupidly said something about size and football players and knew how colossally idiotic and unfunny that would have been.

I said, “Could the water temperature have gone down ten degrees since last week?”

She chuckled and said, “Are you cold…wimp?”

She could tease me all she wanted to today.  What I wanted was her.  Hand-in-hand and wordlessly we walked out of the lake and onto the tiny strip of beach.  I scooped her up into my arms and carried her back to our picnic spot, maintaining electric eye contact the whole way.  My erection ached; otherwise I would’ve thought I was dreaming all of this. I set her down on the blanket we’d already spread out.  She tantalizingly spread her legs.  I forever dreamed of this moment with a nebulous, fantasy woman, yet Feather was more stunning than any fantasy, opened up to me like the most beautiful flower in bloom as I fell to my knees between hers.

She picked up and handed me the condom packet, and said after seeing what must have been a clueless look on my face, “We’ll put it on together.”  Like some sort of arcane religious rite our hands came together as we slowly unrolled the condom onto my tumescent shaft.  She whispered, as if in a chant, “Oh, God…I’m already wet…I can feel it…I’m going to cum as soon as you enter me…I know it.”

She grasped me at my waist and pulled me into her.  So this is what heaven feels like I thought, as my cock slid into her well-lubricated warmth.  It wasn’t as immediate as she predicted, but I hadn’t moved much when she startled me by pulling me deeper, bucking her hips and screaming at the top of her lungs.  I was on my third or fourth spasm when my conscious mind realized I was cumming too.

We remained motionless for a while; kissing, open-eyed.  I hadn’t wilted after cumming, and she seemed to like the feeling of me still being in her.  “We’re not virgins anymore,” she whispered.  Silently I thanked her for her gift, and hoped that I’d given her something in return.  We didn’t speak much after I pulled out of her and stripped off the condom, though she did gaze at its milky fullness and shuddered.

“Let’s make a fire,” she said, and explained that the people who owned the island had firewood stored and wouldn’t mind if a few pieces “went missing.”  As we walked through the trees naked, I called her “Eve” and she called me “Adam” which got us both giggling.  I couldn’t take my eyes off her—a gorgeous young woman who gave herself to me in more ways than one, now unselfconsciously carefree in her nudity.  We gathered some firewood pieces and kindling, and she showed me where waterproof matches were hidden.  Back at our spot, we cleared an area and built an inexpert yet serviceable campfire.

Sitting before the fire with our arms around each other she asked me how I felt, and I told her. Her face showed contentment tinged with sadness, and I knew from experience what she was thinking and it didn’t bother me now.  I’d been rejected so many times before today that I knew she was thinking about how we couldn’t possibly have a long-term relationship.  Call me selfish, but now that I’ve tasted sexual intercourse I wasn’t thinking of a long-term relationship either.  I just wanted to bask in her glow a little while longer before she went off to see the world.

“This is a fantastic day,” she said, not necessarily to me but to the sky.  It was getting dark, though that fact was lost on us.

The fire’s heat prompted more kissing.  Feather whispered that she wanted to “do it” again.  She didn’t have to ask me twice.  We clumsily did a sixty-nine; she was so silkily wet I wondered if all girls got this aroused or was it just Feather.  With her juices dribbling down my chin, she joked about “sloppy kisses” as she unrolled a new condom onto my ready and willing shaft, still vibrating by the sensation of her warm lips.  She pulled me into her as she had before, although this time would not be as frantic—at least to begin with.  She coached me with phrases like “a little higher” and “yes, right there” until I saw it in her eyes; the ‘it’ of sexual abandonment.  Her hips reared as she urged me to go faster, and that’s when I came.  Magically, I remained hard enough to keep going and soon my ardor was rewarded.  Feather arched her back and pulled me to her with all her strength, screaming loud enough that I worried about the sound echoing around the lake and letting everyone else know what we were doing.

We cuddled like before as the fire slowly died, wrapped in the blanket we’d just made love on.  We didn’t see the flashlight beam until it was upon us.

“It’s too dark to go rowing that boat back to shore without lights,” Deputy Custer said before he realized we were naked under the blanket and deduce that we’d had sex.

I nearly jumped out of my skin but Feather coolly replied, “Maybe we could borrow that flashlight…I sure looks like a really big one.”  After what we’d done I wasn’t going to question her sexual innuendo, though it did make me wonder again whether she had a past with the young deputy sheriff she hadn’t wanted to talk about.

Deputy Miles Custer, whether he’d picked up on the double entendre or not, stared at Feather, probably wishing the blanket would fall.  “Why don’t you pack up your little boat and I’ll guide you back to your house with my running lights.”

“Can you tow us?” she asked.

“Sorry, that’s against policy,” he said with a smirk, and I knew then it wasn’t Sheriff’s Department policy but his childish jealousy that wanted to see me work at rowing back to shore.

“Why don’t you go back to your boat while we pack up, okay?” Feather said with her high-wattage smile.  The deputy walked away but she knew he’d be watching.  “He can see me naked it he wants,” she said as she stood and let the blanket fall to her feet.

 I couldn’t help it; seeing her there in the fading firelight I grew erect again and said, “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

She was probably blushing but I couldn’t see it in the near darkness.  “I’m far from it, but I appreciate the compliment anyway.”  I started to thank her but she put a finger on my lips to quiet me and said, “You’re a special man, Jonas.  You opened yourself up to me.  You gave me my virginity back, even if in my imagination.  It’s I who should thank you.”

We dressed, doused and policed our fire site, carried our stuff to the rowboat, and followed the deputy’s boat out into the eerie darkness that was the lake.  I tired quickly, but I wasn’t about to show weakness to damned Deputy Miles.  I kept rowing.

At Feather’s dock, we finally got rid of the lingering deputy.  “You know that he’s gonna keep after you, don’t you?”

She said, “Oh, let him.  We’ll see if he smartens up or remains an asshole.”

A long and tongue dueling kiss sent me on my way home.  My heart fluttered at the memory of our lovemaking, and I doubted if my feet were touching the ground.

We never did it again.

Feather didn’t pretend the sex never happened.  That would’ve hurt for sure.  We both knew there was no future for us as a couple, so why stoke a fire that couldn’t burn?  Our next tutoring session began with a kiss but otherwise was all business. Her grasp of Calculus had improved to the point she didn’t need tutoring—or me—anymore.

The goodbyes and good lucks were difficult for me but I had no hold over her.  She had that map of the world and I wouldn’t delude myself into thinking I could stop her. I remembered how angry she’d gotten when I said it, but I truly wasn’t in her league and never would be.  I kept busy with my Master’s thesis and tried not to think about impossible futures.

 

She's got a map of the world
Shining away in her mind
Colouring-in her life
This is the day she walks
She's gonna see it all
She's gonna breathe it all
Paris London New York
She's gonna see it all

 

Feather regularly sent me postcards from faraway places and she sounded happy in all of them.  I was happy for her.

 

During the past couple of years since that magic time on the island in the lake I had a few steady girlfriends, and yes, I’ve had more sex.  No, I’m not some kind of stud now; nothing like that.  I completed my Master’s in Anthropology and wondered if I’d ever see the world like Feather had.  We kept in touch.  She even dated Miles Custer a few times, who no longer was a deputy sheriff though still smitten with her—as I always would be.  Thankfully she provided no jealousy-fueling details.

One day I received a thick letter from her that turned out to be a story she’d written.  In it, the girl from the other side of the tracks, having made love with the boy of her dreams, lamented that they had no future together, but after a few years she looked him up (he was still single) and they made glorious love again.  I cried.

Ours wasn’t a fictional story.  I couldn’t lie to myself, and live in a fantasy world that included Feather Windchime Cozmer.  That was another line from the Marillion song:

 

But when you lie to yourself
You lie to everyone.

 

I was lying to myself and everyone.  I’d met the only woman for me, and she would never be mine.  She belonged to the world.

But maybe someday…

 

 

"Map of the World" is on Marillion's 2001 CD Anoraknophobia --- A fantastic song by a super British band --- Listen on YouTube: Marillion: Map of the World video

 

 

Donna M.

© 2013

You can e-mail me at boredbutstillhot@yahoo.com

All feedback is welcome!

 

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