CHAPTER TWO

It was the Wednesday after graduation and it was hot. Like hotter than hell hot.

"Hotter than a billy goat in a pepper patch," my friend, Margie said, wiping the sweat off her brow.

"So hot the hens are laying hard-boiled eggs," I replied, as both of us cut up into laughter. It was a soft sound, as anything as strenuous as even laughing seemed too much effort in the damn heat.

It was afternoon, and we were sitting outside on the porch, paging through magazines and waving away the horseflies when they buzzed nearby.

"Here's a quiz that looks interesting." Margie was short and spunky, her curly red hair was currently frizzed up around her head like an orange cloud. "Are you good in bed, or are you great?"

I rolled my eyes. "These stupid magazines are more sex-crazed than a teenage boy who’s found out he can do more than pee out of his tally-wacker."

Margie closed the magazine and used it to fan herself off. "No kidding. Remember the way Brent Thompson used to chase us around, trying to corner us in the barn so he could feel us up?"

"He never caught me." I shook my head to make sure she heard me.

Brent Thompson was thirteen at the time, and had so many damn pimples, that we used to call him 'Connect the Dots' behind his back.

"I let him catch me once," Margie said.

"You never!" I moved back, shocked.

Margie had always said that she hated Brent Thompson. "I felt bad for him. He was always trying so hard and never succeeding."

I couldn’t help but laugh. Margie was far from generous with her favors, but I doubted the veracity of her friend's explanation. "What happened?"

"He grabbed my boobs like they were sacks of grain. I smacked him and he started crying.” She shrugged. “So, I did the only thing I could think to do - I ran home."

We dissolved into a fit of giggles, the feeling familiar and yet still good after years of doing it. I needed to share my news with Margie. She’d be crushed if I didn’t tell her what was happening. The Thompsons weren’t out of our lives yet and she needed to know.

"Speaking of the Thompson brothers," in what I hoped was a casual voice, "one of them is headed down here to help with the hay."

Margie turned to her, her green eyes wide. "Which one?"

"I don't know." I frowned and started to pick at my fingernails, needing something to do.

"You think it's Brent?" Margie ran her fingers through her riotous curls. It had little effect but to make them all fuzzier.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Dunno. You tired of Chuck already?"

Chuck was Margie's boyfriend. They'd been flirting for most of their senior year but only recently became serious.

"No!" Red blotches appeared on my friend's cheek. They most likely didn’t have anything to do with the heat, but I’d let her play it off if she wanted to. Her eyes narrowed as a smile lifted her lips. "It could be Jeremy."

I rolled my eyes as heat rose up my chest and covered my neck. I couldn’t help but paw at myself, suddenly uncomfortable as all get out. "I hope to hell it's not. Jeremy's a stupid jock. Besides… who cares? I haven’t seen him since I was a freshman. He’s all grown up and probably engaged to be married."

Margie pursed her lips, giving me a probing look. “I doubt it. Married men don’t come home to help with the neighbor’s farm.”

“And?” I glanced up at the sky and covered my brow. “I bet he’s fat and smells like cheese.”

She laughed and I smiled. “I doubt it, but one things for sure…”

“What’s that?”

“You look different. Your hairs all long and wavy now. You’ve lost all that baby weight and your boobs are so big that I’m damn near jealous and I like my boobs.” Margie pushed her shoulder against mine.

“I’m alright, I guess. It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested. Period.”

“You have always been interested in Jeremy Thompson. I’m going off to college soon and plan on finding me a boy there to experience a few things with.” I shrugged and brushed a lovebug off my thigh.

"I hope it's Jeremy.” Margie sat up and took in a big breath of air.

“I hope it’s not."

“Well, damn. Did you ask your momma which one was coming?"

"It would have been rude. If she'd said Jeremy, I might have started vomiting right then and there."

Margie chuckled. "It’s just nerves. You remember how good he looked in that football uniform? He's so damn big and strong.”

“Arrogant,” I muttered.

“That too, but the bulge at the front of his uniform. Can you imagine the size of his cock?”

I yelped and swatted at her. “Stop it. That’s just tacky.”

“I’m serious. Remember he used to always take his shirt off like he was saying 'Look at me, I’m so hot. I’ll melt yer panties off of you.’"

I laughed and snorted. He totally did that shit, but the sad part was that it was probably true. I lost quite a few pair of panties just looking at him.

The thought of him with his shirt off did strange things to me. It always had. Ever since I was twelve and he was sixteen. It only seemed to get worse as we got older too.

Margie eyed me closely, a little too close.

I'd never told her about the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to me in my short, uneventful life. I wasn’t about to now either. To deflect the unwanted attention, I quickly shifted topics.

"Forget Jeremy, I wanna know more about Chuck. You hinted that something special happened after prom, but you haven't told me what yet. Did ya'll make out? Did he get to second base?"

Margie wrapped her arms around her waist. "We did it."

"Did it? Did what?"

"Went all the way."
My jaw dropped open as jealously roared to life inside of me. "Are you serious? You had sex?"

Margie nodded. "Yes. I have officially torn up my V-card."

"Oh. My. GOD. Details! I need details!"

Margie lifted her hand as her phone buzzed. “Just a minute and I’ll tell you everything. It’s my momma.”

Prom night. What a shitty memory. Margie and Chuck had gone with me and my date, Harold, in Chuck's dad's pickup. The prom had been enjoyable, but not very exciting. I was more than happy to leave after a couple hours of dancing.

Harold had been a boring date and I spent the whole damn night wondering why I had said yes. We were lab partners in Chemistry and the poor boy had a crush on me all semester long. Since I wasn't seeing anyone and didn't have a date, I agreed to go to prom with him after he'd finally worked up the courage to ask me.

Big mistake. Should’ve stayed home and repainted the barn with a toothbrush.

The poor boy seemed to spend most of his time playing multiplayer online games featuring swords and sorcerers and soul-stealing. He spent most of the night regaling me with stories of his character's feats of bravery. It wouldn’t have been so incredibly bad if he could have at least been a good dancer. He wasn’t.

Still, when the truck had pulled up in front of my house, he'd insisted on walking me up to the door. I was about to go inside when he grabbed my arm and pulled me up against him. He smelled like butterscotch and toilet cleaner. I had to work hard not to gag.

I no sooner opened my mouth to ask him what the hell he wanted and he slapped his lips down on mine and forced his big thick tongue in my mouth.

It had been disgusting. Horrible. I was trying not to gag just thinking about it. Damn tongues were nasty.

I pulled away from him and mumbled 'goodnight,' before rushing into the house. Good thing the last thing I thought of was Jeremy being my date and how things would have gone then. A few minutes of touching myself like I knew he would and I was in bliss. I wanted the boy too bad to have him coming here for the summer.

Margie walked back up on the porch and sat down. "Okay, so after we dropped Harold off at his grandparents, Chuck was supposed to take me home. Instead we drove up to Lookout Point and started making out. It got hot and heavy, and the windows got all steamed up."

Margie's cheeks flushed, as she got this far away look. "He was nibbling on my ear and it was driving me crazy. Then he whispered to me, and tells me that he loves me. I couldn't believe it, but in the heat of the moment, stuff like that just gets to you, you know?"
I nodded, but I wanted to say, "No, I don't know. Not at all."

"He unzipped my dress and started squeezing my boobs. Then he kissed down the side of my neck and tugged my bra down. He put his lips on my nipples and sucked softly and then harder. God it felt so good, Chrissy. I was so distracted that I barely noticed him pushing my skirt up. Before I realized what was happening, he touched me down there, and at first it felt funny, but then he figured his rhythm out and…”

“And… And what? You can’t stop there.”

Margie took a drink of lemonade as I bit my lip. How bad did I want this experience to be mine? Really fucking bad.

I wanted to yell at my best friend to quit messing around and tell the rest of the damn story.

Margie sat her glass down and finally resumed, seeming to be in a little hurry.

"He put on a condom and I decided that I didn't want to stop. Prom night was as good a night as any to lose my virginity, and that Chuck wouldn't be a bad guy to lose it to. So I let him do it."
"What did it feel like?" I asked, my tone hushed. Why did it seem so had to get enough air to breathe all of a sudden?

"It hurt at first, real bad." Margie lowered her head, and looked down at the floor. "After a few moments the pain started to go away, but by then Chuck was too turned on. He... finished... not long after."

I frowned, keeping my thoughts to myself. That doesn't sound like much fun.

Margie shrugged and looked up to smile at me. "I had a good time. The stuff leading up to the actual act was really good, and it always hurts the first time. I'm sure next time will be much better."

"Next time?" Shock rolled across me. Next time? "You're gonna do it again?"

"Hell yeah I am!" Margie smiled. "Now that the bad part's out of the way, I'm gonna have a good time this summer."

I fought back waves of jealousy at having someone half descent to “do it” with. Must be nice. I barely got my first kiss, and what a disappointment that was, and now my best friend is becoming a sex fiend.

I had been imagining losing my virginity for a couple of years now, but finding a boy that might hold my interest enough just hadn’t happened, unfortunately.

Well, there was one boy, but he'd never do it.

I frowned, ashamed of myself. My nipples ached and my stomach tightened over and over at the thought of wanting to experience something with a boy… no, a man.

Every time I'd fantasized about my first time, one face had occupied my mind.

Jeremy Thompson's.