At the end of a post about my teenage years I mentioned that I became very interested in the naughtiest boy in the class. When I typed that sentence I wondered whether I would ever tell the story about him, but since so many wanted to hear it, I decided to give it a go. This means I have to take my memory back 30 years, but I also have to allow for some sad thoughts, as years later this boy was in a motorcycle accident with my best friend. He lived. She died.
But that is not what this story is about…
This boy – lets call him Ryan – did not start the school year with us. He was transferred from another school after his parents moved to the town we lived in. He was a year older than the other kids in the class, making him two years older than I was. Ryan had a problem with authority. He was of the opinion that the rules applied to everyone, but not to him. He was punished frequently, but he did not seem to care. His rebellion against the school structure made him very attractive to all the girls in school.
Every girl had the hots for him, but he was hot for only one girl – the most stuck-up bitch in my class. Apparently they had a relationship even before he started to attend our school. I was no different than any of the other girls. I really had the hots for this guy, so much so that I dated his best friend, Pete, only to occasionally be close to Ryan. Every girl kept a close watch on Ryan and his girlfriend, Mary. Each time the two of them broke up, girls practically threw themselves at Ryan’s feet. I was no different.
But I had one advantage. I happened to learn that Ryan’s biological dad lived in the same coastal village as an uncle of mine. When Ryan told Pete that he would be going there for the school holidays, I started to make some plans. Just before the school holidays started, Ryan and Mary broke up again. Ryan was not happy about this, as he had wanted Mary to join him for a week or two while at sea.
Two days later I casually mentioned that I would be visiting my uncle for two weeks in the school holidays – one week to work and the other to have fun. Just as casually I mentioned where my uncle lived. Ryan reacted just as I hoped he would. He invited me to spend some time with him. I told him that I was sure that I would be allowed, but that I would first have to ask my uncle for permission. On the last day before the school holidays started, Ryan and I became boyfriend and girlfriend. I broke up with Pete to be with Ryan.
I cannot remember how many times I met him when we were in the coastal village. I arranged with my uncle that I worked some days and other days I was allowed to go to the beach. Working in the store was the only way that I could convince my parents and my uncle to approve the trip. On all the days that I did not have to work, I met Ryan. The tension between us slowly built and one day, on the couch in his father’s home, his hand disappeared into my panties. His father walked in on us. We stopped and felt guilty, waiting for a reprimand, but his father said nothing. Each time we thought we would be alone, someone else was around. The excitement grew and grew. Our need was getting almost uncontrollable.
Two days before I was bound to go home and the last time that we could meet, we went to the beach. We were not planning any swimming, but walked away from the sea, to the dunes. We put our towels on the hot sand and lay down. Our hands were on each other instantly. Our movements were feverish. I was wearing a dress over my bikini. He was wearing his swimming trunks and a T-shirt. His T-shirt came off first, then my dress. His hands moved over my body, touching my breasts, touching my stomach, moving down to my crotch but not touching me. Back up, back to my breasts. He rolled me over so my chest was resting on top of his. While he kissed me, he undid my bikini top. He wanted to roll me back onto the towel, but I fought him. Even though my breasts were touched before, no boy had ever really seen them. Ryan did. For the first time ever a boy really looked at my breasts and touched them while he looked at them.
His hand traveled down again and soon slipped inside my bikini bottoms. I was shy about him finding my wetness. Back then I thought it was wrong. The shyness intensified when he took my hand and put it on his stomach. Without a word, I realized what he wanted. I slowly moved my hand down and for the first time in my life, I touched an erect penis. He guided me to move my hand up and down. I followed his lead. At the same time he moved his fingers in and out of me and over my clitoris. Soon my hand was moving all by itself and I was thoroughly enjoying the pleasure his fingers brought me. Back then I had no idea what an orgasm was, but there under the hot desert sun, both of us had one. Later he told me that Mary would not let him touch her in that way. His remark left me with mixed feelings.
Back at school the next week he broke up with me and went back to Mary. I was heartbroken. For two weeks I cried. In the class, during breaks, at home. I did not care who saw it. I was so very sad about it. I hated him and at the same time I wanted him back. And I hated Mary even more. My mind told me that she stole him from me. I conveniently forgot that they kept on getting back together.
Two months later we moved to a city on the other side of the country and I forgot all about him. Two years later his name came up again when I was told about the motorcycle accident.
© Rebel’s Notes
The prompt for this week’s Wicked Wednesday was Pussycat Dolls – Don’t Cha
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