Tuesday, the single-theme entries continue.
I’ve done this kind of thing a couple times before (didn’t realize until tonight that one of ’em was an unwitting repeat), and I enjoyed the writing process a lot. Turned to it again tonight and it flowed well so I stuck with it. So then, episode three of what I’ve come to call the “enough of this filth” series. Enjoy.
Oh yeah, and, mom, don’t read this, it’s all sexy-stuff.
I think your mom and stepdad were in the cabin on the boat, they weren’t on deck. Pretty sure your dad was drunk anyway, pretty sure he was already drunk as we drove to the ramp. Also pretty sure I know what they were doing in the cabin. It was a gorgeous Florida day, hot and muggy on the water. You and I were hip-high in the river, gooshing our bare feet into the mud and curling our toes in an attempt to locate clams. I’d never done it before, you were teaching me. The boat was anchored about 30ft from us in deeper water, we had swum to the shallows.
With no adults in sight, we began to kiss. The taste of your mouth always bothered me, different from the two or three girls I’d kissed before you – not good-different, but I worked through it because you were gorgeous. (I always thought you ate funny, I rarely saw you enjoy a full meal or indulge. Later on in life I considered that you may have had an eating disorder, your tiny body and un-tasty mouth providing some evidence. I’ll never know though.) Just kids of sixteen, kissing was what we did – and we… we did it particularly well (for just kids of sixteen, that is).
The murky water didn’t stink or anything, but it wasn’t crystal-clear or blue and provided some veil to activities below. You looked perfect in your bathing suit, a skimpy two-piece that favored your slender frame and accentuated your proportional teenage breasts. I began to kiss your neck as my arms and hands worked underwater – a mystery to eyes above. All the while, I was keeping a watchful eye on that boat. We shrunk down in the water, as if pulling up a sheet in bed, as our petting became more involved. Squatting nearly to our knees in the mud and submerged to our chests, I slid your bikini strap off your shoulder and down your arm – both of us still casting nervous/excited glances toward the boat. As I took your exposed breast in my mouth, I could taste the salty brackish water.
Hidden deeper under the cover of the water, my fingers traced the line of your suit bottoms, around your hip and lower back, tugging at the elastic edges. With each semi-circular pass, my hand dipped deeper within those sacred confines, brushing the smooth skin underneath as our above-water kissing became more ragged and breathy. You took me by surprise when your hands went aggressively to my waist, pulling at my shorts. You gripped me with both hands – and I reciprocated, moving fingers downward toward the prize. Lost in the moment, we were completely overtaken by teenage hormones as adrenaline filled us. It was complete risky bliss, the thing sixteen year-old boys thrive on.
While we didn’t consummate our “relationship” that day (someday I’ll write the story of that trip to Disney World, though), I guess we both decided that would be too risky in plain view of the boat – and besides, river water isn’t the best environment for activities of friction. But man, what a great afternoon. A defining moment in a young guy’s life, and only the third time I’d been “handled” by a female. Good times.
Heavy petting while clamming – now that’s a teenage memory.