REWIND 
CHAPTER FOUR
“BABY, EVEN THE LOSERS, GET LUCKY SOMETIMES”

APRIL 14/15, 1978

In reliving my life, I was gradually creating an agenda for myself. Some of the stuff was major, but some was minor.

I suppose Bruce Springsteen could be considered minor, but hey.

It was important to me. I didn’t want to go until 1999 before seeing Bruce play live, as I had the first time. I knew that he had played Boston for three nights at the end of May, 1978. Now, with a second chance, I wanted to go. I listened to WBCN, and, in April, they announced it. Three shows at the Boston Music Hall (later renamed the Wang Center--I had seen REM there in 1986 the first time around). The tickets would go on sale Saturday, April 15th.

Kara, who I’d introduced to Bruce some, wanted to go, too. The problem was this--tickets. This was in the days before getting tickets over the phone or the internet. You had to go get them at the box office. For a guy of Bruce’s stature, playing a small venue--even if he was playing three shows there--this meant camping out. If you wanted to make sure you got tickets, that is.

Camping out in Boston to get Springsteen tickets? Well, there was a slight problem with that--I was 13. My parents were not in favor of this idea. Neither were Kara’s.

Despairing, I happened to make one more plea for permission to do it, at a time when my Mom was visiting with my Aunt Molly, who’d come over for a chat. This turned out to be the stroke of luck I needed.

Enter Cousin Sandy, Aunt Molly’s oldest daughter. She was 21, in college, responsible--she’d babysat for us in the past. The family trusted her. She was, unbeknownst to me--even in my other life--a big Springsteen fan. She and her boyfriend Chuck were planning on driving home from Umass to camp out for tickets. They could’ve just gotten the tickets for us, but Sandy thought it would be cool if we came and camped with them. My parents readily agreed. Kara’s parents were a tougher nut to crack, but my Mom called Mrs. Pocharsky and told her that Sandy was responsible and trustworthy. They agreed.

So, on the evening of Friday, April 14th, Sandy came and picked me up. Then she headed to Kara’s house. She, being responsible, went in and met Kara’s parents, again reassuring them that she’d watch out for us. Then we headed to Boston. Chuck, Sandy’s boyfriend, met us there.

It was a grand adventure for two 13-year-old kids. Kara was just thrilled. As an added bonus, she and Sandy got on very well. Sandy was always cool. She never treated me like she was 8 years older than I was, and she didn’t now. She was ‘responsible’ for us, but she didn’t act like it. 

After chatting and stuff, and meeting some of the other Springsteen fanatics in line, we settled down for the night. We’d all brought sleeping bags. Kara, however, had a problem. It had been warm when we left so she’d only worn a fairly thin jacket. The temperature had dipped considerably. She got in her sleeping bag, but, after a few minutes, said, “I’m cold. I knew I should’ve brought a warmer jacket.”

“I wish I had an extra.” I was wearing a sweatshirt, which was warm enough, but I only had a short-sleeve shirt on underneath it--if I gave it to her, I’d be absolutely freezing. But I offered anyhow. “You want my sweatshirt? I can live without it.”

“No, you’ll freeze to death.” She thought for a minute, then said, “Your sleeping bag’s pretty big, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I told her.

“Well, uh, do you think I could fit in it with you? You know, body heat.” My body got real hot at that! But I played it cool.

“I think so.” 

She got out of hers, and crawled over to mine. I unzipped it, and she crawled in. She zipped it back up. She had her back to me, and she snuggled her back into my chest. I tentatively put my arm around her waist, and she sighed and put her hand over mine. “Oh, that’s much better,” she whispered.

“Hey,” Sandy called over, having seen all this, “aren’t I supposed to be chaperoning you two or something?”

“Lay off it, Sandy, we’re both fully clothed,” I said with a grin.

“I know,” Sandy laughed, “I’m just teasing.”

Kara just giggled and snuggled deeper into me. There was a problem with that. I was lying there with a girl in my arms, a girl I was nuts about. She was snuggled tight to me. I was 13. Guess what happened? An inevitable physical reaction, especially at that age, but I was quietly trying to move my crotch back from Kara’s ass so she wouldn’t notice.

She was having none of it. “Where are you going?” she said, and snuggled back into me. Thunk--right on my raging hard-on. No doubt in my mind she felt it. Which she quickly confirmed--to my shock--by grinding her ass into my boner and purring, “Hmm, is that for me?”

I was stunned. I thought she’d be offended. I guess I was wrong about a few things. I’d always been under the impression from the first go-round that Kara was a ‘good girl.’ I’d never gotten the chance to be this close to her, mind you, but that was my impression. And here she was grinding on my boner and purring!

“Uh, well, ummm…” was all I could get out.

“I think I’m flattered,” she giggled, and ground into my crotch again!

“Please don’t do that,” I begged.

“Why not?”

I blurted it out without thinking. “Because you’re going to cause me to make a mess in my pants and I don’t have a change of underwear!” Now, after I had said it, I definitely thought that would offend her. She just laughed. “God, I thought you’d be offended,” I said.

“Well, I know enough to know it’s a natural reaction. And I am flattered. I’m also not a prude. And I feel, I don’t know, very comfortable lying with you like this. I trust you, you know, completely. I know you’d never try to force anything, that you’ll always let us go at my pace.”

“True.”

“And I’ve been thinking about that lately. My pace. I think it’s too slow,” she giggled.

“Huh?”

“We’ll talk later. This isn’t the time or place. OK?”

“OK,” I said, but there was a definite huge hint there. Our pace was, basically, nonexistant. We’d done nothing but kiss. We haven’t really even ever made out properly. I was letting her set the pace, she was right about that, and I was content. I asked her, though, “Have I been too unaggressive?”

“Not at all,” she said. “Like I said, I appreciate you not being all hands.”

“OK.”

“I’m sure, though, that if I try to push things, you won’t object.”

“Most likely not,” I laughed.

“Good,” she said, and then grabbed my hand--the one around her waist--and pulled it up so it was resting right on her boob! Then she pushed on my hand with her own! “Ooh, that’s nice,” she sighed. I gently fondled her boob for a while--dumbfounded--and she sighed a bit. “This was as far as Don and I ever went, you know. And he practically tried to rip them off. This is much nicer,” she said, with another sigh.

“This is a first for me,” I said shakily. Well, in this body, anyway. And it certainly felt like a first, even if my memories told me otherwise.

“You’re doing fine. Feels good,” she said dreamily. She ran her hand up and down my arm as I gently rubbed her boob. She fully relaxed into me, sighing and humming. She was really enjoying this. That made me feel ten feet tall.

After a while, she pulled my hand away. “As wonderful as that was, Eddie, we do really have to get some sleep. Which isn’t going to happen, at least for me, if you keep doing that!”

“Sleep? I’m supposed to sleep now?” I sputtered.

“You’ll manage,” she giggled.

“I’ll try.” I kissed the back of her neck, eliciting another deep sigh. “Night, love,” I told her.

“Night, sweetie.”

I was wrong. I slept like a baby.

When I woke up, my hand was around her boob again. “You awake?” I asked quietly.

“Yeah,” she whispered back. “Who do you think put your hand back there?” she giggled.

“I thought I might have done it in my sleep.”

“Nope, even in your sleep, you’re a gentleman,” she giggled. “I did it after I woke up.”

“You are a constant surprise,” I told her.

 She spun around in the sleeping bag so that she was now facing me. Grinning, she said, “Kiss me!” I gladly complied, slipping my hand down to her breast as our mouths ground together, shielded by the flap of the sleeping bag. She opened her mouth a bit, and I gently snaked my tongue inside. She devoured it. I let my hand creep up between our bodies and wrap itself around her breast as she sucked on my tongue.

We went on like this for a few minutes, before we heard a soft but definite throat-clearing above us. I peeked out of the sleeping bag and saw Sandy sitting next to us, clearly bemused. “Now, now, you guys aren’t going to force me to play chaperone, are you?” she said with a grin.

“Ah, you’re no fun,” I mock-pouted.

“Yeah, yeah,” she laughed. “Seriously, Chuck’s gonna go to Dunkin’ Donuts. You guys want anything?” I requested a coffee, and Kara a tea. I tried to give Chuck some money, but he laughed and said he had it covered. 

Kara and I got out of the sleeping bag, and sat on top of it. “I must look a sight,” Kara grumbled.

“You’re beautiful,” I reassured her.

“And you are biased,” she giggled. She grabbed her bag and started rummaging through it, emerging with a hairbrush. “I know I need to do this,” she said. With her hair, she was probably right. It was long, halfway down her back, and straight. At that length, it probably tangled easily. 

She took the hairbrush into her hand, and stared at it. “Darn,” she said, “I brought the hairbrush but forgot a mirror. How am I going to do this without a mirror?” I think Sandy was about to offer to help, but I silenced her with a look. I moved so that I was sitting right behind Kara, and gently took the hairbrush out of her hand. “Ed, honey, I really need to...”

“Shh,” I interrupted her--and started brushing her hair. I could feel her jerk of surprise, and then she sighed, deeply, as I pulled the brush through her long locks. Luckily, it wasn’t tangled that badly, so I didn’t have to pull too hard. Brushing someone else’s hair is kind of delicate, and I didn’t want to hurt her. Since it wasn’t that tangled, I didn’t have to. 

I couldn’t see Kara’s face, brushing her from behind. Sandy could, and was looking on in complete amusement. Though I couldn’t see Kara’s face, I could hear her little sighs as I worked my way through her hair. When I finally did make it around to her front, so I could do her bangs, she looked up at me with the most adoring smile I’d ever seen. I finished up her bangs, getting that little smile the whole time. When I was done, I chuckled and said, “There you go, beautiful as ever.” I handed her the hairbrush and she tucked it back into her bag. Then she leaned into me and hugged me gently. I think she wanted to do more, but the other folks in the line were starting to stir so we would’ve had an audience. So, she just gave me a little hug, and whispered in my ear, “Thank you. That was so romantic I can’t tell you!”

After a bit, Kara wandered off to the bathroom (the Music Hall had made those available to those of us waiting in line). When she was gone, Sandy plopped down next to me. “You romantic devil, you!” she laughed. “You should’ve seen the look on her face while you were brushing her hair. Pure bliss.”

“Good,” I laughed.

“You two are such a cute couple,” she laughed.

“Glad you think so!”

Kara came back, as did Chuck with the coffees and stuff. We gathered our stuff up and prepared for the box office to open. When it did, we got tickets for May 31st--which was a Wednesday night, so a school night for us. Both my parents and Kara’s knew this, and since neither of us were in any trouble academically, nobody minded. The funny thing was, in my ‘old’ life, I’d owned a bootleg of that May 31st show!

Chuck headed off, and Sandy drove us back, dropping Kara off and then me. But it was still early, so I made plans to walk back to Kara’s after we had showered and changed clothes and all that.

It was a pretty warm day. We decided to go for a walk, with no particular destination in mind. We were heading in the general direction of the shopping center, but then I got a brainstorm. We veered off, and headed into a park--one with two baseball fields, where I had played Little League. Kara looked at me quizzically, but allowed me to lead her into the park. We were holding hands.

“I remember seeing you play a Little League game here a couple years ago, when you were on the same team as my brother,” she said.

“Yeah,” I laughed, “and I was trying so hard to impress you, and I sucked. That year was my best year ever in baseball--but do you realize that the only game that I didn’t get at least one hit in was the one you came to?”

She laughed. “Good thing I didn’t come to every game, you would’ve had an awful year.”

“True. But it would’ve been worth it.”

She laughed again. “I just figured it out. That year of playing Little League with David, that’s how my mother knows you.” I nodded. “You know, she always told me I should go out with you.”

“She did?”

“Yeah. I’d complain about you, and she’d say, ‘Why don’t you give him a chance? He’s a nice boy.’ Of course, your mother wanting you to date someone isn’t the world’s greatest advertisement for the idea.”

“I suppose not,” I chuckled.

“But I started to rethink that, because she warned me about Don first time she met him. ‘That guy is bad news,’ she told me. She’s not the type to force me into anything, so she didn’t do anything about it. She figures I have to learn from my own mistakes. But she did warn me, and she was right.”

We were walking through one of the baseball fields. At the back of it, woods rose up. We headed up the path through the woods, and started climbing.

This was Braddox Hill. It wasn’t a huge hill, so it was an easy climb. But it was fairly isolated, and there were trees and such up on the top of it. In other words, we could find a place up there and not be bothered, and we’d be able to hear anyone else coming up the hill.

As an added bonus, from the top you got a great view of the eastern half of Cabot. We got up there, and Kara immediately picked up on that. “Wow, what a view!” she exclaimed.

“I love it up here,” I told her.

“So,” she grinned, “did you just bring me up here to show me the view?”

“Well, not really. I was trying to find a place where we could be alone. Is that OK?”

“Perfectly,” she said. “I don’t mind you being a little aggressive. I mean, it’s not like you’re ripping my clothes off.”

“I’d never rip. Gently remove, maybe, but never rip,” I joked. She giggled, which was the desired response.

“Maybe someday I’ll let you,” she laughed. “But, for now, since you went to all this trouble to get me up here--kiss me!” 

I did, long and hard. We started standing up, but somehow wound up lying on the grass, passionately necking. I let my hand drift down to her boob again. She pressed her boob into my  hand harder, and deepened the kiss.  Her mouth opened, and my tongue went exploring. Then her tongue went exploring.

We did this for a good, long while before we came up for air. “Wow! You can really kiss!” Kara said, surprised.

“You’re pretty awesome yourself,” I told her. I leaned back down and kissed her again. We did this for a while, our mouths crushed together, my hand on her boob.

After a while, she disengaged and sat up. She seemed distracted. “There’s something I have to tell you. The letter was in the mail this morning when I got home.” She took a deep breath. “I’m definitely boarding at Andrews.”

“I figured as much.”

“They came up with enough financial aid, so that we can pay for it all.” She sighed. “And, all of a sudden, I don’t want to go.”

“Look, Kara, don’t say that because of me.”

“Eddie, I’m going to be thirty miles away! We’re too young to drive. I’ve talked to some students there, it’s not that easy to just come home for the weekend. We’re never going to see each other, except on breaks!”

“I know. We can write, and call.”

“I know, but, well…I mean….I don’t want….oh, this is too hard!”

“Look,” I said, taking her hand and looking into her eyes, “we have four and a half months before this happens. I’ve always known that in September, it’s going to be over, at least temporarily. There is absolutely no way I’d even think of asking you to spend your high school years as a hermit, faithful to some guy you never see. It’s not fair.”

“You mean that?” she said. “What if I want to be faithful?”

“Will you? I doubt it,” I told her. “You might at first, but it won’t last. We’re too young. You’ll be all of fourteen when you leave, and I’ll still be thirteen.”

“True,” she admitted. 

“We have four and a half months. When the time comes, then we’ll talk about it. I told you once before, anything we have together is a bonus in my mind.”

“You’d let me go?”

“I’d let you go. Would you let me go?”

“Yes,” she said. “You’re right, it wouldn’t be fair. But what happens to us?”

“At the very least, we’ll be the best of friends. As for anything else, who knows what the future holds?”

“OK,” she said, finally smiling.

“But I plan to keep my arms around you for the rest of those four and a half months.”

“You’d better!”

APRIL 19th, 1978

This was the day that my running battle with my English teacher, Mrs. Sinclair, came to a head.

I had done some scouting around and I found a publishing house which, every year, published a collection of fiction by high school students. Even though I technically was still in junior high, I was still eligible, if I found something good enough to get in.

Frankly, I was a little wary--because of my particular situation. If I submitted something, would that be dishonest? I mean, was I really a 13-year-old eighth grade student? I almost felt like it would be cheating.

Luckily, I saved everything. And I found something I had written in September, before the recycling. In other words, it was written purely by a twelve-year-old boy. And I thought it was good, so I submitted it.

I had found out on the eighteenth that it had been accepted.

The kicker? Sinclair had given me a C on the thing--and now it was getting published! Oh, I loved every minute of it.

I’d realized that Sinclair, in my previous life, had done a number on my confidence. I basically stopped writing fiction after her class--and didn’t start again until my mid-thirties, when I found out I was good at it. I hadn’t been published except on the internet. but, when I was recycled, I had been considering giving it a shot. I don’t completely blame Sinclair for my abandoning writing for twenty years, but she had a part in it. I was a straight-A student. I did not get C’s. Getting C’s on all my compositions in her class affected me. 

Now, having more of my wits about me, I had the perfect comeuppance.

I walked into class. “Hey, Mrs. Sinclair, have you ever heard of The Anthology of High School Fiction?”

“Of course,” she said.

“I’m going to be in it, the next edition,” I grinned.

“WHAT? You’re kidding.”

“Nope. They’re publishing this.” I handed it to her, with the big huge C in her little red pen on the top.

Stan, Kara, and the rest were all congratulating me. Sinclair’s eyes were bugging out. “You’re lying,” she said.

“Why the hell would I lie about something like that?” I said. “It comes out in a few months, and you’d easily be able to check. Besides, I have the acceptance letter here.” I showed it to her. 

She was just out of her mind. “Is that something you did for class?” Kara asked.

“Yeah, back at the beginning of the year. She gave me a C on it, and now these other folks want to publish it!” I was having a hard time holding back my mirth. Kara, catching it, gave me a huge grin.

“Well, they must have different criteria than I do,” Mrs. Sinclair said.

“Yeah, they know good writing. You don’t,” I said pointedly. “I hope you thank God for tenure every night, because, without it, you wouldn’t have a job.”

Kara had gotten the paper back and was reading it. While Sinclair fumed, Kara looked at me and said, “This is really good. It deserves to be published. Better than anything I’ve ever written.”

“Yeah, and you get A’s,” I teased her.

Sinclair then told everyone to settle down, and started class. At the end, she told me to stay a minute.

“Mr. Bovilas, I have had it with the lack of respect you give me...”

I cut her off. “What have you done to earn one iota of my respect?” This was similar to the blow-out we had had the first time around, except I hadn’t had the publishing ammunition that time. “You are the single worst teacher I’ve ever had--and I had Mrs. Hanratty for English last year and she was drunk half the time! You’re still worse! You wouldn’t know good writing if it bit you on the ass. And you disrespect me. Plus, you’re sexist. You don’t have any business being in this job.”

“I AM THE TEACHER! YOU ARE THE STUDENT!” she screeched.

“Hey, it’s not my fault some idiot decided to hire you to teach. I didn’t have anything to do with that. I’m not your student, because that would imply that I’ve learned something in this class, which I have not. Unless you count how easy it is to get tenure in this school system. Outside of that, you haven’t taught me a thing. I’m just forced to be stuck in your class every day.” She started to say something. “Oh, one other thing. The administration has been informed of my achievement in getting my work published. And they also know what grade you originally gave me on that composition. I’d be real careful with my grades the rest of the year, if I were you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to algebra. Mr. Henry can teach.” And I stormed out.

Kara, Michelle, and Stan were all waiting when I bounded out of the room. They all gave me an ovation!

MAY 6th, 1978

This was a Saturday and Kara and I, as usual, had a date. It had been three weeks since we had gone up Braddox Hill. We’d gone back the next week. The week after that, we went on an actual date again. I thought we were going to go to the movies on this day. Kara had other plans.

She told me she wanted to go to lunch with me. What she neglected to mention is that she meant a picnic. She met me in front of her house at noon, with a picnic basket filled with sandwiches and other goodies, and a big blanket. “Braddox Hill, if you please,” she giggled.

We went up, and spread out the blanket. We ate the goodies she had packed, laughing and chatting. Then we put the picnic basket out of the way and spread out on the blanket, kissing and fondling. Suddenly, she said, “Hold on,” and sat up. She looked at me intently, and then said, “I want to do something.” She took a deep breath, smiled at me, and brought her hands to the top button of her blouse.

And started unbuttoning it!

I was shocked. Her hands--shaking a bit--slowly worked their way down the row of buttons. I noticed the shaky hands, and said to her, “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” she said determinedly.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m nervous. I’ve never done this before. But I want to. Going through my shirt and bra isn’t enough anymore.” She had gotten to the end of the row of buttons, and shrugged her blouse off. 

She looked at me with a little half-smile, covered above the waist in just a bra. Her hands still shaking a bit, she went to reach behind her.

“Would you like me to do that?” I asked, softly.

“Do you want to?” she replied, just as softly.

“Yes.” 

She beamed at me, and dropped her hands. I moved over to her and reached behind her. I could feel her breath against my neck as I reached around her. Even as an adult, I wasn’t the king of the bra strap uncoupling, but I managed. I got it undone, and slowly pulled the bra off of her as I backed away from her. She smiled at me, and blushed a little as she sat there, naked from the waist up.

“My God, you’re so beautiful,” I whispered. Her blush deepened, just a bit. She was magnificent. At 13, she wasn’t huge, about a B-cup, but they were certainly big enough,  as well as firm and pert. I reached out and took one in my hand. 

This was about out of my wildest dreams, and it was strange how I was affected. I seemed to remember things, which means I wasn’t fumbling about like a typical 13-year-old grabbing his first bare tit. Outside of that, I was that 13-year-old. I was nervous, excited, hard as a rock. 

I fondled her boob, rubbing her nipple--which rapidly got erect--with my fingers and thumb. She sighed, and then leaned over and kissed me. The kiss was gentle, slow, like she was trying to savor it--and also savor my hand on her boob. I nibbled on her lips as I fondled her boob.

I looked down at her erect nipple. I wanted a taste; so I leaned over and took her nipple into my mouth. “Oh GOD!” she hissed, as she ran her hand through my hair. She had been sitting, but she tilted backwards, lying down on the blanket, pulling me with her. I worked over her boob with my mouth while I rubbed the other one with my hand. She gasped as her hand ran wildly through my hair.

I did this for a few minutes, reveling in it. Even after this, what she did next shocked me. One of her hands left my hair--and went down to my crotch, and rubbed my hard-on through my jeans. Then, before I knew it, her hand was clawing at the button on my jeans!

“Kara?” I said.

“I wanna see it,” she said, as she popped the button open. She sat up--pushing me away from her boob--and tugged at my zipper. I helped her slip my pants off, still incredulous that this was happening. She got my pants off, and then my underwear. My dick popped out, and her eyes got real big.

Believe me, I wasn’t all that big in adulthood, much less when I was 13. But Kara hissed out a “Wow!” when she saw it. “God, it’s so hard!” she whispered. “Can I?” she asked, reaching her hand out.

She had to ask?  “Sure,” I said. She touched it, and gasped as it jumped a bit. She tentatively wrapped her hand around it. “Ooooh!” she hissed. “It feels...wow!” She slowly started to slide her hand up and down my dick. “Is this all right?” she asked.

“Yes,” I managed.

“If I keep this up, are you gonna, you know--cum?”

“Most definitely,” I sighed. She giggled, and kept at it. Seeing her sitting there, her hand gently moving up and down my cock, naked from the waist up; it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. That, combined with the fact that this body was most definitely thirteen, meant one thing--this was going to be quick. I was right. It took less than a minute before I groaned, “Kara!” and came all over her hand. That made her giggle again.

She looked at her hand, still giggling, and then looked at me. “That was so neat! You should’ve seen the expression on your face!” She reached around her for the picnic basket. “Good thing I brought napkins. Of course, I thought I brought them for the sandwiches,” she said, wiping her hand, still giggling.

I sat up, recovered now, and looked at her. Her eyes were twinkling. It was strange. She seemed older and younger than 13, at the same time. As I said before, Kara was pretty reserved and very mature. The way she was approaching this whole thing was mature-but she also had an air of almost childlike wonder at the whole thing.

And she wasn’t being reserved at all.

She was still grinning at me, but the grin faded, just a bit, and she blushed. “That was the first time, you know.”

“Me, too,” I grinned. I leaned over to her and kissed her, then I pushed her down so she was on her back. As I kissed her, my hand went to her pants.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Returning the favor,” I whispered. “I’m going to do to you what you just did to me--that’s all. Don’t worry.”

“Uh, okay,” she said shakily, and watched as I undid her button. I pulled her zipper down, and tugged on her jeans. She raised her hips up so I could get them off. Then came the panties.

I pulled back and looked at her, and my breath caught. “Wow,” was all I could get out around the baseball-sized lump in my throat. Kara was 13--well, she’d be 14 in about a month--and, in some ways, she had a 13-year-old body. The firmness of her breasts; the narrowness of her waist; the sparse, downy hair surrounding her pussy-all spoke to her age. Her hips, however, already had a prominent, womanly swell, as did her ass. And the coral lips of her pussy were swollen. I could see the abundant moisture gathered on them. 

I looked at her for a full minute. She looked back, her blush spreading from her face to her breasts. “Wow,” I repeated. Her blush deepened.

She was completely naked, except for her socks--I wasn’t. I still had my shirt on. I got rid of it, quickly. I wanted to feel her, skin-to-skin. I moved closer and embraced her, our lips meeting. I ran my hands all over her body--her breasts, her stomach, up and down her legs--everywhere except there. I was working up to this.

The body might be 13--and was acting it, I felt like I was going to blow again just from touching her--but the mind still remembered a few tricks.

After running my hands all over her body, I broke the kiss and rasped, “I want to touch you.”

“Yes,” she hissed. My hand lingered on the inside of her thigh for a moment, then moved up. She spread her legs.

She was absolutely drenched. I couldn’t believe how wet she was! I moved my finger up and down her labia, spreading her moisture out. She groaned, and grabbed onto my shoulders. I worked my fingers up and down a bit, then explored her opening. I circled the outside a bit, then dipped my finger in--not much, just the tip. Knowing she was a virgin, I didn’t want to go too far. She groaned deeper. I rubbed my finger just inside the opening.

“More,” she moaned.

“I can’t,” I said. “You’re a virgin.”

“Not…that way,” she got out. “Tampon. Years ago. More!” Understanding, I pushed my finger in further, slowly. She kept groaning. I felt my finger almost being sucked into her pussy. I pushed it in all the way.

“God!” she gasped. She put her arms around my shoulders and buried her face in my neck. I was on top of her, at an angle, my right hand buried in her pussy, her face buried in my left shoulder. I curled my finger upwards, looking for her g-spot. Judging from the shuddering groan I felt into my neck, I found it. I moved my finger in and out, dragging over the spot as I did. Her breathing got ragged and her hands around my back clenched at the skin.

I sat up. She looked at me, a bit disappointed, but I just smiled at her. I pulled my finger out of her pussy. She groaned, but only for a minute, as I slid back into her, using my left hand this time. I moved it in and out again, watching her get worked up. Then I took the finger on my right hand and swiped it up her labia, like before. Except, this time, I made sure I flicked her clit on the way up.

“Oh God yes! Right there!” she gasped. I moved my finger in and out of her, as my other hand gently worked over her clit. I could sense her getting closer--then I got an idea. I quickly dropped my hands from her pussy. She was about to say something, but, before she got the chance, I dropped my face between her legs. Before she even knew what was going on, I wrapped my tongue around her clit.

“GOD! WHAT? GOD!” she panted--and then came, spectacularly, her ass coming a good foot off the ground. I let her come down, gently nuzzling her. Then I started in again, with long slow strokes up her pussy, letting her become aroused again before I headed for her clit. In return, I got a litany. “God! God! Oh! God! Eddie! Oh, God!” with every lick. It was fantastic.

In the first go-round, I’d always loved this.  I was good at it, too--probably the only way I managed to stay married to a closet lesbian for twelve years! But that time, I hadn’t discovered it until I was 18. I had just given myself a five-year head start on pussy licking. This was a very good thing! Even though I felt like a 13-year-old--judging from Kara’s reaction, I was still good at it, which means the memory was working. Believe me, this is one memory I absolutely wanted to work!

As Kara exploded in a second mind-numbing orgasm, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. I was probably spoiling the poor girl. When she went away to boarding school next year, where was she going to find a 14-year-old who was willing--not to mention, able--to suck pussy? 

I climbed up beside her--if I went for three, I’d probably put her brain into orbit--and waited for her to come down. As her eyes fluttered open, I grinned at her. “OK, well, so I didn’t do exactly the same thing to you as you did to me.”

“That was the most incredible experience of my entire life,” she intoned. Hearing that from her gave me goose-bumps. “What made you think of that?” she asked.

I told her a half-truth.  “My Dad gets Playboy and Penthouse, and leaves ‘em lying around. You can learn a lot. Especially the Penthouse Forum.” Which was true, and had been true the first time. Though that time I didn’t have any hands-on--or should I say tongue-on--experience, I knew what it was from the magazines. 

“I think I need a subscription,” she laughed. “Eddie? I want you.”

Did that mean what I thought it meant?

It did. “I want to, you know, do it. Go all the way.”

JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY! I was being offered Kara Pocharsky’s virginity! I’d spent three years dreaming of this the first time around. My God, I wanted to pinch myself.

And then the sane, adult part of my brain kicked in. I halfway couldn’t believe it myself, but I found myself turning her down. “That’s a bad idea,” I said.

“You don’t want me?” she pouted.

“Are you kidding? The ground is spinning, I want you so bad,” I said, completely truthfully. She giggled. “But you can’t make that decision in the heat of passion. You need to think about this, Kara. If we do this, it would kill me if you regretted it later.”

“I am thinking about it and I won’t regret it,” she said.

“But there’s one other problem. I’m not prepared for this.”

“Seems pretty prepared to me,” she smirked, tugging on my dick--which was hard enough to drill through rock at that moment.

But I couldn’t lose my resolve; it was too important. Damn adult brain. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, I’m not prepared to keep you from getting pregnant.”

“Oh,” she said, her face falling. “Can you get some?”

“Yeah.”

“By next weekend?”

“Sure. However, you need to think about this. You tell me Monday. If you still want to do this, I’ll take care of it.”

“OK, but I will,” she said. She reached for her clothes and started putting them on. I did the same. “You amaze me,” she said.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been in love with me for ages. And I just told you I wanted to have sex. And you turned me down.”

“You’re right, I love you. Which means the absolute last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you. Causing you to have regrets would hurt you. Getting a smart, talented girl like you pregnant at this age would really hurt you.”

“You are too good to be true,” she said.

“Nah,” I demurred.

“You are.” We were both dressed by now, She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me, and then she said, “Ed Bovilas, I love you. I will never forget this day, as long as I live, and for more than one reason. You are something special.”
-
I like to think I would’ve been that responsible even if presented with this situation the first time around. I don’t know for sure, because it was never tested. But I like to think I would’ve been. I was just glad I was this responsible now. Believe me, it was tough. Physically--and a big chunk of mentally--I was a teenaged boy. And I’d just turned down sex with my dream girl.

I did the right thing, I know it. But, I won’t lie--I was ferverently hoping she wouldn’t change her mind before the next weekend!

MAY 13th, 1978

She didn’t change her mind.

She came up to me on the bus Monday afternoon, and said, “Did you get them?”

“Not yet. I told you, I was going to talk to you first, to make sure you still wanted to.”

“Oh, do I ever!”

The next day, she had an even bigger surprise. She got on the bus, obviously excited, but we couldn’t talk there. When we got off the bus, she pulled me over to the side before first bell sounded. “Guess what?” she asked, almost breathless. “My parents are going away this weekend. Furthermore, my brother’s spending the weekend with his best friend, and my sister’s going over my grandmother’s. We have the house all to ourselves!”

“Wow!”

“Tell me about it. All Mom said was not to have any parties. They trust me. They’re not stupid, I’m sure they know I’m going to have you over.” She giggled. “I’ll bet they have no idea what we’re going to be doing, though!”

I thought about that one after we had gone into school. That hadn’t really occurred to me. We were about to do something that would make our parents freak if they found out. Hers, for sure--and mine, probably only a little less so, especially my mother. How did I feel about that? More to the point, how did the adult responsible part of my brain feel about that?

It didn’t care. I’d always said that if I ever had kids, I was going to be very liberal when it came to sex. If my parents--and hers, for that matter--weren’t, that was their fault. Kara and I were smart. We were being careful and responsible. There wasn’t any coercion involved, she wanted this as much as I did. Yeah, we were young, but who cared? What was going to happen? People talk about not being able to handle it emotionally. Fuck that. Kara was more emotionally healthy than most adults, and I was getting there. So, it came down to societal and religious reasons. You know, ‘good girls’ don’t do that, especially Catholic good girls. I had no use for that bullshit, even in adulthood.

So, no, the responsible adult part of me didn’t care what parents thought, because I didn’t recognize any objections they might have as valid. We certainly weren’t going to let them find out, that’s for sure.

Thinking about that as I got off the bus, I realized I had another problem. I’d blithely told Kara that getting rubbers wouldn’t be a problem. I hadn’t thought that one through, though.

I was used to my adult life, which were the days of the big pharmacy chains, the Walgreens and all that. Not in 1977, not in my neck of the woods. Drug stores were neighborhood mom-and-pop operations. And the rubbers, of course, were behind the counter. Not appealing.

Especially when you consider that there was a drugstore my family went to regularly. It was on Border Street, halfway between Kara’s house and mine. The problem was, the place was run by a friend of the family. He knew me, and knew my parents quite well. That wasn’t going to fly. I could just see it now: “Oh, hi, Mr. Dalossio. Yes, I’m fine, my parents are well, they told me to say hi. Could I have a box  of rubbers, please?” Right. Wasn’t going to happen.

Luckily, there was another one, I remembered. A little bit further away in another direction, but close enough. And this one was in the Portuguese section of town. I went in, and the lady behind the counter barely spoke English. She didn’t know me from Adam, which is what I was looking for. I went to the counter, pointed at what I wanted, and paid for it. Yeah, she shot me a dirty look, but I could live with that.

I talked with Kara on the phone that night. “Got ‘em,” was all I said about it. She was very happy.

So, Saturday dawned. I walked to Kara’s house about noontime, the condoms burning a hole in my pocket. I thought about this. I had pushed the first-cunnilingus up five years from the first go-round. Now I was about to push the loss-of-virginity up nine years. More important than that was who I was going to do it with.

This was a dream come true.

I got to Kara’s door, she let me inside, and then practically tackled me, giggling all the while. We ended up on the couch, kissing and groping a bit.

“Now, you’re sure about this?” I asked her.

“Yes. You seem unsure,” she said.

“No, I’m worried about you. It’s awfully quick--and, to be honest, I never expected to get this far with you.”

She got a serious expression on her face and looked at me. “Eddie, I’ll admit it. I’m rushing this, and I know it. We’re too young for this. I know that. But, in less than four months, we’re going to be separated. We’ll have no way to see each other, so who knows what’s going to happen. And I want you to be my first. I really want you to be my first. The first time is kind of scary for a girl. Somehow, with you, it’s not. Plus, I love you. I want this.”

“I love you, too. And I want this, too. I just wanted you to be sure.”

“I’m sure,” she said, and stood up. She held out her hand and I took it, standing up myself. Then she led me to her bedroom. We sat on her bed, kind of looking at one another nervously; and then we kissed.

It was remarkable how quickly things went from there. Clothes were flying all over the place. Before I knew it, we were still kissing, but we were stark naked. One of my hands was on her boob, the other lightly stroking her pussy, with one of hers gripping my dick.

“I want to repay the favor first,” she said.

“Hmmm?”

“What you did to me last week. I want to do it to you.” I had a glimmer of what she was talking about, and she confirmed it. She leaned over and ran her tongue right up my dick.

Kara tentatively took the head into her mouth and began to gently suck on it. Her hand still gripped the shaft. My GOD. I’d had blowjobs before, the first time around, but nothing like this. She was inexperienced, had no idea what she was doing, was experimenting--and it was still fantastic. 

She slid her lips up and down the head of my dick, down an inch or two on the shaft, while her hand slid up and down the base of my shaft. I was lying on her bed and she was crouched between my legs. The kicker was when she glanced up at me. I could see the smile in her eyes.

I had just enough time to warn her. She ended up swallowing the first blast; then she pulled off with a sour look on her face and the rest went all over the place. Afterwards, she looked up with a little half-smirk, and said, “OK, so the taste took me by surprise.”

“That bad?” I asked.

“Well, I think I could get used to it, but it’s very sticky,” she said. “I mean, it tastes sticky. If that makes any sense.”

“It doesn’t matter to me. That was incredible,” I told her. She grinned, then got off the bed and found a towel. She came back and cleaned me--and herself, and the bed, and the floor--all up.

Then she crawled up next to me. She went to kiss me, then stopped. “I think I still have some in my mouth,” she said.

“Who cares?” I replied, and pulled her down for a nice, sloppy kiss. She probably did have a bit still in her mouth. And I didn’t care. 

We kissed, both completely naked. Our hands roamed all over each other’s bodies. I slipped a hand between her legs and rubbed her pussy, which was dripping. She moaned into my mouth.

I rubbed up and down her pussy, working her up, listening to her moan and gasp into my mouth. I dropped my lips from hers and wrapped them around her boob, sucking gently on her nipple while I diddled her pussy. A few minutes later, I was thinking about kissing my way down her stomach and diving into that beautiful pussy again. She pre-empted that idea. 

“Eddie? NOW!” she commanded.

Well, who could ignore that? Not I. I knelt between her legs, and reached over to where my pants had fallen on the bed. I pulled the rubber out of my pocket, undid the foil, and rolled it over my dick. Kara looked on with interest. Once I got it on, I looked into her eyes. She dramatically spread her arms and legs, and with a little grin, said, “Take me!”

I couldn’t help it. I cracked up. “Take me? Where did you get that one?”

“Mom reads romance novels. I steal ‘em,” she giggled. “And when the young virginal heroine surrenders her virtue to the handsome, dashing hero, she always says ‘take me!’”

Is there any question why I’d been in love with this girl for three years?

After we stopped giggling, I reached my hand between her legs again, to, you know, re-establish the mood. It didn’t need much re-establishing. She was still drenched, I just got her back into moaning-and-panting mode.

I moved closer. Amazingly, she didn’t look hesitant or nervous. She looked eager. I reached down and lined my dick up with her pussy, and pushed. 

The one time in my life I was glad I wasn’t that big was right then. Because I was having trouble. She was so tight. After a couple minutes, I was finally able to pop the head past her opening. She squealed.

“You OK?” I asked.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Keep going.”

I moved into her, very slowly, feeling her open up for me. It was like a vise grip. I’d never felt anything this tight in my previous life. I was glad she had given me that blowjob--I had a little more control than your average 13-year-old boy, but only a little. I’d be going off like a rocket if I hadn’t already gotten off.

Kara was panting and gasping, her face flushed bright red. I moved myself into her very slowly, watching for flashes of pain on her face. There were a few. “You OK?” I asked.

“Oh God so full!” she managed to get out. “Slow, OK?” I nodded, and kept moving into her. It took a while, but I was finally buried to the hilt. “All the way?” she asked as our pubes bumped.

“Yes. You OK?” I asked again.

“It hurts a little,” she said with a grimace. “Can you hold for a minute?”

“I’ll try,” I said, grinning. “Good thing I already came once today.”

She giggled a little at that, laced with a bit of a painful look. I just held myself inside her as her breathing steadied a little bit. She looked up at me and smiled. “You can start now. Slowly, though.”

I did just that, moving slowly in and out of her. “Oh, Eddie!” she gasped. “Oh, so good!” I agreed, it was the best thing I’d ever felt. There was only one problem with that. I was, after all, thirteen.

Damn, I tried to hold on. But it was this body’s first fuck. The feel of Kara’s tight, wet pussy clamping down on my dick--combined with the lustful expression in her eyes--sent me right over, way too fast. “Kara!” I grunted, and filled the condom.

I pulled out and slumped down next to her. She was grinning and humming. “You didn’t cum,” I said.

“No, but it’s OK. I was getting close. Next time.”

“Fuck next time,” I growled, and buried my face between her legs. She gave out a squeak of surprise, then started in with the gasping and moaning again. If I had learned anything in the past life when it came to sex, it was never leave them hanging. I didn’t. Kara howled out her climax in mere minutes.

“You didn’t have to do that. I loved it anyway,” she said afterwards.

“I wanted to,” I told her. 

“Eddie? That was...incredible. The whole thing.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I grinned at her. “It was just as incredible for me.”

We cuddled for a while, chatting and fondling, After a bit of that, Mr. Happy started re-asserting himself.

“Hmmm,” Kara said, feeling it with her hand, “did you bring more rubbers?”

“Of course.”

“Good! Get that thing in me again! I want to cum with you in me this time!”

If I wasn’t hard before she said that, I certainly was afterwards!

So, we did it again. And she did cum with me in her this time. It was wonderful.

Afterwards, cuddling again, she said to me, “Eddie? I know our relationship is going to change in September, when I go away. But I was your first, and you were mine, and it was wonderful. That’s something nobody can ever take away from us. I love you.”

“I love you too, Kara,” I said, kissing her.

I thought about what she had said. OK, technically, she wasn’t my first. But she was. It felt like she was my first. It felt like the ‘previous life’ was a dream, and it had been feeling more and more like that every day. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t. I also knew there were things I could learn from it. But it was that moment that I decided to just live. Remember, yes--but live, this life.

Kara was my first. I liked the sound of that.

We cuddled until it was time for me to head home. I walked home a different person, and for the better. 

Things were looking better than they ever had...in either life.