The

Nymphomaniac

a novel

 

© 2022 by S.W. Blayde

All Rights Reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

BOOKS by S.W. Blayde

Sexual Awakening

erotic romance murder-mystery

Steele Justice

erotic thriller (Lincoln Steele book 1)

High School Massacre

erotic thriller/mystery (Lincoln Steele book 2)

Death of a Hero

erotic thriller (Lincoln Steele book 3)

The Breeder

erotic western/romance

Conflicted Nun

erotic romance

Last Kiss

romance mystery

Lonely War Widows

erotic historical fiction/romance

The Nymphomaniac

erotic coming-of-age/romance

 

Chapter 1

As my sixteenth birthday approached, I was besieged by uncontrollable desires brought on by puberty. Urges I didn't understand. It was a traumatic time for a young girl like me, especially since it was in the 1950s when sex was a taboo subject and there was no Sex Ed taught in school and no internet. The physical changes to my body were visible, but puberty brought other changes that had no outward signs. Hormones produced sexual urges and thoughts that were confusing to an innocent and clueless girl like me. Frustrating. Frightening. Even enjoyable in ways not understood. And those hormonal changes were more traumatic for me than the typical girl because I was saddled with hypersexuality, today's medical term for obsessive-compulsive disorder or addiction to sex. In the 1950s, it was simply called nymphomania. After all this time, I can still vividly recall those rollercoaster years of heart-wrenching torment and heart-warming thrills as if it was only yesterday.

Where shall I begin?

I guess June 5, 1956, is as good a place to start as any. My family had recently purchased our first television set, a massive wooden cabinet with a small black and white tube screen in the middle. That night Elvis Presley was a guest on the Milton Berle Show. I had listened to Elvis on the radio and loved his voice, and the songs got me bopping to the beat, but up until then I had never seen him. And now, there he was on the little screen in my own living room three feet from my eyes as I lay on my belly too close to the TV. My chin was propped up in my hands and my feet raised behind me, crossed at the ankles.

I knew Elvis would be old. Not ancient like my father, but he was a grown-up. All the singers were. I mean, gosh, he was twenty-one. That's old to a fifteen-year-old girl. But my eyes were locked on him. The way he moved gave me shivers. And when he sang "Hound Dog," the way he shook his body gave me butterflies in my belly, especially at the end of the song when he extended it with a lot of slow-motion bumps and grinds. I knew nothing about sex back then, but I knew boys and girls were different and my eyes were fixated on his hips and the area humping below his waist. I could hardly breathe. And those butterflies in my tummy made my skin tingle and made me squeeze my thighs together. I think I was even rocking, driving my pubes into the carpet I was lying on. Not that I realized it. Later that night when I took off my panties, I thought I had an accident and had peed a little in them.

Many years have passed since that momentous day. Of course, I have a lot more knowledge now than back then, but I can recall that naïve fifteen-year-old girl in 1956. My memories are swamped with her confusion, her curiosity, and her budding passion.

The next day I took all the birthday money my grandmother had given me, along with money I had earned doing chores, and rushed to the nearest record store where I bought all of Elvis's 45s. When I got home, I stacked the little records onto my record player's spindle and sat cross-legged on my bed listening to them. When "Hound Dog" played, I jumped off the bed and mimicked Elvis's hip-shaking bumps and grinds I had seen him do on television. At the time I had never even danced so, thinking back on it, I probably looked like a spastic stripper. But without even knowing it, it was the first time I used my pelvis in a fucking motion.

A few days later, I returned to the record store to buy a poster of Elvis. He was wearing a white suit with the collar turned up in the back and a guitar slung over one shoulder, legs spread and knees bent, and his hips thrust forward with his heels off the floor. His black hair dangled in his eyes. Eyes that were ice blue which surprised me since the television was black and white. I hung the poster on the wall at the foot of my bed so that I could gaze at it while lying on my pillows. I would stare at those ice-blue eyes for hours. I had to take down the poster of James Dean to hang the Elvis one, but found another wall for the other sexy man.

The same day I hung the Elvis poster, my mother came into my bedroom. She looked at the clothing strewn on the floor and draped over the back of a chair.

"Julie, what did I tell you about keeping your room clean?" she said with the tone reserved for a question that didn't expect a reply. "Get this mess cleaned up right away."

I had been lying on my bed gazing at Elvis so I swung my legs over the side and stood. My mother turned to leave when she spotted the James Dean poster. "Why'd you move—?" she began but stopped when her eyes darted to where it had been on the wall at the foot of my bed.

"Julie Marino, take that sinful trash down!"

"But, Mommy, I like it."

"He's the devil. I heard what he did on the Milton Berle show. If I hadn't been in the toilet I would have turned that damn TV off. If that's what they're going to show on TV we don't need one."

"I love his music. He's hip."

"He's the devil. The way he moved was sinful. Everyone says so."

That stunned me. He was singing and moving to the music. Why was that sinful?

"But, Mommy, I paid for it with my own money."

"I don't care! Take it down right now!"

My father stuck his head into my bedroom. "What's all the yelling about?"

My mother's hand was actually shaking as she pointed to the Elvis poster. "Look what she hung on the wall."

My father came all the way into the bedroom and looked at the poster. "So what? All the girls like him."

"He's the devil!" my mother shouted.

"Look, he's no Frank Sinatra, but that's the kind of music the kids like today. I think it's loud, but my parents didn't like Sinatra when I was young."

"I want it down!"

I had never seen my mother so mad. Her face was red and the veins on the sides of her temples were bulging. She even had her fists clenched.

"Rose, honey, let's talk about it."

My father latched onto my mother's arm and dragged her out of the room. I heard arguing coming from their bedroom down the hall, but the walls muffled what was said. However, my mother never asked me to take the Elvis poster down again. Although she frowned each time she saw it.

The next major event that led to my nymphomaniac life occurred toward the end of summer. I don't recall the date, but it was shortly before my sixteenth birthday. That date I know—September 1, 1956. In New York City, after the summer break, school started the first Monday after Labor Day so I never got to celebrate my birthday in school. Not that anything like that happened in high school, but I missed all the birthday celebrations in elementary school. In elementary school, when it was someone's birthday, that person felt special when their class celebrated their birthday. But for people like me whose birthday occurred over the summer break, each class had a group birthday celebration for all the kids whose birthdays were in the summer. I always felt cheated having to share my special day with others. If only I had been born a couple of weeks later.

Brooklyn was densely populated back then. It still is. My neighborhood had rows of attached red brick houses from one street corner to the other. All my friends were around the corner from me and the junior high school was cattycorner across the street and the high school one block past that. Everything was walking distance. Those few blocks were my whole world.

On that second fateful day, Gina and I were at Debbie's house. The three of us were only a few months apart in age so we were in the same grade. We were best friends for as long as I could remember, living around the block from each other and going to school together. We had no secrets from each other. Well, I eventually did when sex became an important part of my life, but not at that time. I was an only child while Gina had a younger brother and Debbie had an older brother and older sister.

All three of us were sitting on Debbie's bed. Debbie was leaning against the headboard with the pillows behind her and Gina and I were sitting cross-legged facing her.

"So what's the big secret?" Gina asked Debbie.

"You have to promise not to tell," Debbie said. She looked at me. "You too. Both of you."

"I promise," Gina said.

"Me too."

Debbie shook her head. "No, you have to cross your heart and swear that if you tell anyone you'll die."

I leaned forward with every muscle in my body tense. That sounded important. The last time I was told to make that kind of promise was when Gina told us she saw her little brother's thingie and described it. I remembered listening to her with bated breath and, at the time, not knowing why I wanted to hear every detail even though we kept scrunching our faces and saying, "Eeww." Thinking back, that was probably why I kept looking at Elvis below the waist, but I would never have admitted that to myself back then.

"I swear that if I tell anyone I will die," Gina said while making a cross over her left breast with her index finger.

All eyes fell on me.

"I swear that if I tell anyone I hope to die," I said making the same cross over my breast.

Both Gina and I leaned forward. Debbie's eyes darted to the closed bedroom door and then back at us.

"My sister told me something," Debbie whispered.

I bit my lower lip. Her sister was older than us and knew more. Up until then, that's where I got my sex education, not that it was all correct. I couldn't wait to hear what it was.

"So?" Gina asked impatiently when Debbie didn't continue.

"We were fighting over something when all of a sudden she said, "You're so uptight you need to have an orgasm."

"What's that?" I asked.

"That's what I asked her," Debbie said before returning to her story. "She got all red and told me to forget it. But you know me, I wouldn't let it go. I kept pestering her. Finally, she told me. She said it's a sex thing."

Both Gina and I leaned even more forward with held breaths. Anything that had to do with sex was important to know.

"She said it's something both girls and boys have, but it's different for a girl than a boy," Debbie said. "I told you that my mom had the birds and the bees talk with me."

Both Gina and I nodded. Debbie was a few months older than us. I had been grateful hearing it from my friend. I would have died of embarrassment if my mother spoke to me about anything that had to do with sex.

Gina said matter-of-factly, "The boy puts his thing inside the girl and she gets pregnant," but I knew she didn't know what she was talking about any more than I did.

"It's not just putting it inside. He has to squirt stuff into her. That's how she gets pregnant. From the stuff. Now I know it's called an orgasm when the boy squirts his stuff."

"But your sister said you need an orgasm," I said more like a question than a statement. "We don't have a thingie to squirt stuff."

"I didn't say she said girls squirt stuff," Debbie said. I could tell she was frustrated telling us more than she actually knew. "All she told me is that a girl feels good when her vagina is touched and she has an orgasm. She said it's the best feeling ever."

I had no idea what Debbie was talking about. Glancing at Gina, she didn't either. Even Debbie seemed confused about it.

"Is that the big secret?" Gina asked, sitting back. "That's what we had to 'hope to die' about?"

"You swore!" Debbie said. Her voice was now raised. "You can't tell a soul."

Gina crossed her arms. "Don't worry, my lips are sealed. There's nothing to tell anyway."

When Debbie looked at me, I nodded, but my mind didn't reflect the bored expression I gave her. Debbie's older sister had told her a secret. There must be something to it. Something more.

Chapter 2

In 1956 there were no Sex Ed classes in school and no internet. Movies were censored. Television was new and even more censored. We learned about sex from older kids like Debbie's sister. My mother never spoke to me about sex. My father? Unthinkable! My parents must have had sex one time to have me and then were done with it. It must have been distasteful to them. That's what I had believed back then. Who knows, I might have been right. I didn't even understand why my mother objected to Elvis.

So, for me, there was no way to learn about sex other than word of mouth, which I got in little bites. And now there was another piece to the mysterious puzzle. An orgasm. Whatever that was. Debbie's sister had mentioned it to her and our friend shared it with Gina and me like we shared everything. I was curious, but it frightened me. Anything that had to do with sex was scary to me, but for some reason I needed to know more about it. Like a compulsion.

Both troubled and intrigued by a new piece of information about sex, I was not able to fall asleep. I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Debbie had told us where babies came from after her mother had given her the talk when she got her first period, and Gina had described her little brother's thingie, from the pointy head to the wrinkly sack. That had been my total knowledge of sex before that day. But now Debbie had acquired more information from her older sister which she had shared with us. But what did it mean?

What was an orgasm? And how could both boys and girls have it when they were built differently down there? As I tossed and turned, I was mad at Debbie for not asking her sister more about it? How was I supposed to learn about sex? I had no one to ask. No older sister. Definitely not my mother. Absolutely not my father. Oh god! Not my father!

As I lay there I tried to recall what Debbie had said. It was the best feeling in the world. That's what her sister had said. She had said a girl got an orgasm when her vagina was touched. But how did her sister know that? She wasn't married. Someone must have told her. And maybe that person had lied.

I mean, I touched my vagina all the time. When I bathed. After I peed. When I put my panties on and adjusted them. I never had an orgasm. Or had I? Maybe I had it but didn't know. No! Debbie's sister had said it was the best feeling in the world. I would have noticed that.

I kicked at the blanket with frustration until it was forced down to my knees. It was a warm night and I didn't need the blanket anyway. My pajamas were more than enough. I lifted both feet and kicked, flinging the blanket the rest of the way off.

Debbie's sister had said when the vagina was touched. Hmm.

I slipped my fingertips under the waistband of my pajama bottoms and pressed down on my tummy as I slid my hand inside my panties. I felt the hairs. I was proud of those. First my period and then boobs and then hair. That made me feel like I was no longer a little girl. I was growing up. I patted the area, first where the hair was and then lower on both sides of the vertical slit. Nothing! Just like it always felt when I touched myself down there. What the hell was Debbie's sister talking about? Doubt flooded my mind. Maybe it was me. Maybe I wasn't normal. Maybe I couldn't have feelings other girls had.

I pushed down harder on the spongy flesh on both sides of the slit. What I learned later in life was called labia. I poked it. Pinched it. Nothing!

I pulled my hand out of my panties and rolled onto my side, folding my legs with bent knees. A tear spilled from the corner of my eye and disappeared into the pillow. More tears joined it before I fell asleep.

***

Debbie, Gina, and I were sitting on Debbie's front porch the next day. It was a warm, sunny day so all three of us wore shorts. Soon it would be too cold for them and back to skirts. Although, when it was exceptionally cold or the snow was deep we wore pants. Except to school. The public school dress code was skirts for girls and collared shirts for boys. And on Wednesdays, when we had assembly, the boys had to wear a white shirt and red tie. I never could fathom why. But we followed the rules.

Debbie and Gina were sitting on a two-person metal glider that faced the front street with the living room window to its back. They were rocking back and forth. I was sitting on a metal chair off to the side with my legs curled up underneath me so that I was sitting partly on my hip. The chair faced the glider and front door. We were talking about school soon starting.

"Hey," Gina said to me, "you'll be sixteen. You'll be able to date." She looked down as she asked in a softer voice, "Or did your parents change their mind about that like mine did?"

"They didn't say I couldn't," I said, "but I don't know if I want to. And who would date me anyway?"

Gina stopped the glider from rocking by planting her feet flat on the floor and said, "Oh my god, why wouldn't you want to date! It's the neatest thing."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It just is."

"But boys are a pain in the ass," I said.

The front screen door swung open as I was saying that and Debbie's older sister appeared. She chuckled. "Then you're doing it wrong," she said.

The three of us stared at her blankly. I finally asked her, "Doing what wrong?"

"Oh, never mind. Forget I said anything."

"Like that orgasm bullshit!" I said with more anger than I had intended. I was still frustrated from the night before that I didn't know something that had to do with sex.

The older girl's eyes darted to Debbie who looked down. "So you tell your friends our secrets," she said to Debbie with an accusing tone.

Without looking up, Debbie said, "You didn't say it was a secret."

"No, I guess I didn't." The older girl looked at me. "So you think it's bullshit, do you? You have a lot to learn. Maybe when you grow up you'll—"

"I am grown up!" I said louder than I intended. "I'll be sixteen in a few days."

I almost shouted that I had pubic hair down there, but caught myself in time. Thank God for that. I would have run home crying and hid in my house until school started.

Debbie's sister smirked at me. "Okay, you're grown up. But you still don't know what an orgasm is, do you?"

Without waiting for an answer, Debbie's sister skipped down the stairs and rushed to wherever she was going. Not that I had an answer. I was glad she was gone.

"She doesn't lie about stuff like that," Debbie said.

My eyes had been following her sister. I turned to Debbie. "Did she tell you more?"

"I didn't ask."

"Why not?" I said. I was getting more frustrated by the minute.

There was so much I didn't know about sex. Once again, I felt like a little girl. Debbie shrugged and changed the subject back to dating boys. She had turned sixteen at the beginning of the summer but hadn't dated yet. She was hoping that when school started a boy would ask her out. In those days the girl always waited for the boy. Not even knowing how unjust that was. Although, it took a great deal of pressure off the girl. No threat of rejection. Even if it had been done, there's no way I would ever have had the courage to ask a boy.

Dating should have been something I craved, like Gina and Debbie did, but it scared me. What was I supposed to do on a date? Being alone with a boy frightened me. What if I didn't have anything to say to him? What if I didn't like him? Oh god, what if he didn't like me? And the whole sex thing terrified me. I knew I wouldn't go all the way until I was married. I didn't even use a Tampon. The pad wasn't comfortable, but at least it kept my virginity intact. But there was more to sex than making babies. Like the orgasm, whatever the hell that was.

That night I lay in bed thinking about boys and dating and sex. Those three things seemed to go together. Not even trying to fall asleep, I had my night lamp on as I stared at my Elvis poster on the wall at the foot of the bed. The more I was with Elvis the less old he seemed. He was cute and sexy. By sexy I mean he gave me those butterflies in my tummy I didn't understand.

My eyes dropped to below Elvis's waist. This time I wasn't thinking about his pelvis shaking and the bumps and grinds he had done on television. I was trying to make my eyes bore through his pants like Superman's x-ray vision to see his thing. Gina had described her little brother's so I knew what it looked like. Well, the basics. Gina said her brother's was tiny, no bigger than the end of her thumb—and Gina didn't have large hands. I sat up and leaned forward, straining in the dimly lit room to see if its shape showed in his pants.

Why was I suddenly fascinated by a penis? Up until then, it had disgusted me. Something a boy peed from. Yuck! And something to fear. I was jealous of Gina seeing one, but only because she now had knowledge I didn't. There was so much I didn't know. And no place to learn it. And if boys had an orgasm with their penis, how could girls have an orgasm without a penis? Part of me was sorry Debbie's sister told her about it. But part of me wanted—no needed—to know more.

I brought my hand between my legs and patted my crotch through the layers of my pajamas and panties. Nothing! I spread my legs more and touched myself all over, even cupping my groin and squeezing it like I used to do when I was a little girl when I really had to pee. Nothing! There was something wrong with me. Or Debbie's sister was lying. I turned off the light and went to sleep angry and frustrated.

My birthday, September 1, 1956, fell on a Saturday so that's when I had my Sweet Sixteen party. On my actual birthday. Of course, Debbie and Gina were there, but I was able to invite other kids from the neighborhood, both boys and girls. I almost balked at having boys there, but if I was going to date I couldn't avoid them forever. And I grew up with some of them as my friends. When we played tag or hide and seek, we weren't boys and girls. Up until recently, we were just kids.

At 84 degrees, it was unusually hot, so everyone wore shorts. The boys wore polo shirts and the girls tank tops. My backyard was long and narrow. The patio was cement while the rest was grass with flower bushes lining both sides. At the far end was a swing set that hadn't been used for a while. Well, it was now. Some boys were trying to swing so high that they would flip over the top. None had accomplished that feat which, looking back, was a blessing. A major injury to a stupid boy would have ended my party.

My house had two floors. The bedrooms and full bathroom were on the second floor and the rest of the house on the first floor. But the first floor wasn't at street level. We had a cement staircase in the front that ascended to the front door and porch. Outside the kitchen, in the back of the house, was a smaller metal porch with metal steps that took us down to the patio. The reason the first floor of my house wasn't at street level was because underneath the house was a separate living area. Even though it was all one building, there was no way to get to the below apartment from inside my house so it wasn't like a basement. It was a separate living area that my parents rented out. The back door to the apartment took the tenants onto the back patio. Our tenants, Don and Wanda Russo, were at my Sweet Sixteen party. They were in their early twenties with a one-year-old baby girl and another on the way. I thought it was cool that I called them Don and Wanda rather than Mr. and Mrs. Russo. That always made me feel grown up.

The boys were playing some sort of a steal-the-ball game on the grass which turned into tumbling and wrestling while the girls and the few adults were chatting on the concrete patio where the tables and chairs and food were. I noticed my mother waving me over. She was sitting with the Russos. Mrs. Russo was fanning herself.

"Don't ever get pregnant in the summer," Mrs. Russo said to me as I got close.

"Why?"

"Hormones."

"What's that?" I asked.

My mother leaned forward. "You'll find out when you're older," she said.

Great, something else about sex I didn't know. I assumed it was about sex because Mrs. Russo was talking about being pregnant.

"You're sixteen now," Mrs. Russo said the obvious.

I shrugged.

"How would you like to babysit sometimes?" she asked.

"Me? I don't know anything about babies."

"Suzy sleeps most of the time we'd need you. Just so me and Don can get out of the house. We love her to death, but we need time to ourselves. And in the beginning we'll only do it when your mother is home, so if you need help she'll be here. We discussed it and your mom said that's okay with her. You can do your homework while you're babysitting. So how about it?"

"If you think I can."

"I do."

"Okay."

Mrs. Russo turned to her husband. "Don, show Julie around the apartment. I can't get out of this chair. Too damn hot."

Mr. Russo put his glass of lemonade on the table next to him and pushed himself out of his chair. He walked up to me and, when I didn't move, Mr. Russo placed his hand on my lower back and gave me a light shove. His touch gave me shivers. It was just above my butt. I didn't recall a boy ever touching me there. Not that Mr. Russo was a boy.

When we got close to the back door to their apartment, Mr. Russo rushed past me and held the door open. I brushed past him. And I mean brushed. He hadn't opened the door all the way so our bodies rubbed as I squeezed past him into the apartment. My small breast pressed on his arm. He closed the door behind us.

"Thanks for doing this," Mr. Russo said. "It will be a big help."

"I'm kind of scared. I never took care of a baby."

Mr. Russo placed his palm on my cheek and said while staring into my eyes, "Suzy will be sleeping so all you have to do is be here."

I stared back into his eyes. They were blue, like Elvis's. What surprised me was that I didn't pull away. I leaned into his hand.

"Okay, if you think so," I said.

"I do. Let me show you around."

Mr. Russo gave me a tour of the kitchen and where the snacks were. He then showed me the bathroom and then their bedroom where the baby was napping in a crib. I walked over to the crib and gazed at Suzy lying on her back with her arms up and legs bowed. She was so cute. As I turned to look back at Mr. Russo, my eyes stopped on the bed he and Mrs. Russo slept on—and had sex on. My breath caught, and when I looked at Mr. Russo he was smiling.

"Any questions?" Mr. Russo asked in a low voice because of the sleeping baby.

I shook my head no.

"Good," he whispered. "By the way, happy birthday."

Mr. Russo placed a hand on my lower back again as he leaned down. His lips touched the corner of my mouth. Not my cheek. The corner of my mouth, including a lot of my upper lip. And it wasn't a peck. His lips lingered there for what seemed like an eternity to me. It was my first kiss even though it wasn't full on. All kisses before that had been on my cheek or forehead. And the hand on my back wasn't still. It slid back and forth. I even felt his pinky stretch out to touch me below the waistband of my shorts.

I stopped breathing. I thought my legs would cave. But just before they did, he backed away from me and nudged my back until I started walking. We left the apartment in silence and he sat down next to his wife again, picking up the glass of lemonade. While sipping it, he stared at me from over the top of the glass with those Elvis-like blue eyes.

The butterflies in my belly were the strongest they had ever been. And I felt a tingling between my legs. It was like an itch that needed scratching. An itch like none I ever had before. If I were alone, I would have squeezed my crotch. Was that an orgasm?

Chapter 3

The Labor Day holiday was the Monday two days after my birthday and Sweet Sixteen party. Adults were brooding about going back to work after the three-day weekend while kids were excited about school soon starting. I only had one week of summer vacation left and then I'd be going to a new school. High school. Starting as a sophomore, though, not a freshman. Kids who went to a parochial kindergarten-through-eighth grade elementary school entered high school for their ninth grade as a freshman. But the public elementary schools were from kindergarten through sixth grade, then junior high school for seventh, eight, and ninth grades, and then high school for tenth through twelfth grades. So I was entering high school as a sophomore, not a freshman, but it was a new experience for me nonetheless.

But that's not what I was fixated on. I had been kissed by a boy for the first time. Well, Mr. Russo wasn't a boy. He was a man. And was it even the kind of kiss lovers shared? Maybe he had meant to kiss my cheek like other kisses I had gotten over the years, but simply missed. Although his kiss got a lot of my lip. Unlike all those others. But not only did his lips touch mine, his lips seemed to have lingered longer than a usual kiss. It hadn't been just a quick peck. Or had I imagined that? Had I imagined it all? No, not all. I didn't imagine the butterflies in my tummy and the itch between my legs. Those had been real.

I was dying to tell Debbie and Gina about the kiss. We had no secrets from each other. But I was afraid to tell them. Mr. Russo was a grown-up and married. It wasn't like telling them about a first kiss on a date. Anyway, it probably wasn't even a real kiss. They'd tease me about it so I kept it a secret. The first of many.

I really liked the kiss, though. What would it be like full on the lips with someone my age? Maybe I'd find out if a boy asked me on a date.

School began and I got reacquainted with kids I knew from junior high school who I only saw in school. They didn't live in the few blocks that made up my world outside of school. There were some new kids too, but I wasn't outgoing enough to introduce myself. I did check out the new boys, though. How were boys going to know I was now allowed to date?

Always good in English, my guidance counselor placed me in an advanced English class. I didn't want to be in a class without my friends, but my parents had given their approval. We had fought and I had cried, but it hadn't made a difference. So my English class was filled with seniors all older than me. Talk about a shy girl's nightmare. And to make matters worse, I couldn't find the classroom on the first day of school so by the time I arrived to class the only unoccupied seat was next to a boy. The classroom was set up with two columns of desks side by side, an aisle, two more columns, another aisle, and so on. The empty desk was in the back row. I always sat up front. The troublemakers sat in the back, not me.

Trying not to make eye contact with anyone, but looking at everyone, I strolled to the empty desk wishing I was invisible. I swept my skirt under my thighs as I sat in the chair and let the hem of the skirt drape over my knees which I pressed together.

"Hi, I'm Joey," the boy next to me said.

My breath caught. The inside of my mouth was cotton. He was talking to me. A senior. And he was cute. He had black hair like Elvis, but brown eyes. There was a little fuzz on his upper lip. He was able to grow a mustache! And he was talking to me. To me!

I tried to speak, but it came out as an embarrassing squeak. I cleared my throat, swallowed hard, almost a gulp, and said, "I'm Julie."

"What's in the case?" he asked.

I picked up the scuffed brown case that I had laid on top of my desk when I sat down and placed it on the floor at the side of my chair by the aisle.

"It's my clarinet," I said. "I have Band last period."

He nodded while staring at me. "I don't remember you being in any of my classes before."

"I'm a sophomore."

About to slap my hand over my mouth, I thankfully caught myself in time to drop the hand back down to my side. That would have been disastrous. So immature. Inside I was kicking myself for saying that. I was telling him I was young.

"Then you must be smart," he said. "Glad you're sitting next to me. I'm more into sports than books."

The teacher saved me from replying by starting the class. When she took roll call and called my name, everyone turned around and all eyes fell on me. I was the new kid no one knew. Sizing me up, especially the girls, they probably thought I had transferred in from another school. My high school was huge, not like a school in a smaller town where everyone knew everyone. Brooklyn wasn't like that. It had more than two million people crammed into seventy square miles. But once class began, I was forgotten.

My next period was lunch where I told Gina and Debbie about Joey. They wanted to know everything about him. There wasn't much to tell other than he was a senior and even had a little mustache. They begged me to find out more about him. I told them I would, but I knew I was too shy to go through with it.

By the time I entered my last class of the day, I had fallen into the high school routine. In junior high school, the entire class traveled together from subject to subject, but in high school everyone had their own schedule of classes. That's why I was able to be in an advanced English class. My last class was Band and I was excited. I loved music and wanted to be good at playing an instrument. They chose the clarinet for me in junior high school so that's what I was learning to play.

In the Band classroom, I bumped into bandmates from junior high school so we chatted while others filed into the room. It was set up like my junior high school band room with the chairs in semi-circles facing the front. Except it was larger. It wasn't until the teacher clapped his hands a few times that I even noticed him. But when I did, my jaw dropped. He was gorgeous. Mr. Roman was young. A Scandinavian god with longer than normal blond hair, blue eyes, and blond sideburns and goatee.

The teacher was dressed in all black. A black sport coat—not a suit—was draped over the back of his chair. It had leather patches on the elbows. His tie was also black and the knot was loose with the top button of his shirt open, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up halfway to his elbows. And even his shirt was black. I had never seen a teacher wear a black shirt. They always wore white or light blue. His pants were not like suit trousers. They were corduroy, and of course black. He didn't look like any teacher I ever had. He got away with it because he was a musical genius. Classically trained, Mr. Roman had been a child prodigy who played Carnegie Hall at the age of fourteen. But when he got involved in the Beat culture which rejected economic materialism, explored Eastern religions, and experimented with psychedelic drugs and sexual liberation and exploration, he gave all that up and became a teacher. My Band teacher was a Beatnik.

I spent more time in class swooning over Mr. Roman than paying attention to him. That is until he caught me with the wrong sheet of music on my stand and told me to stop daydreaming and pay attention in class. If he had known I was daydreaming about him I would have bolted from the classroom, ran home, and locked myself in my bedroom until the semester ended. Maybe for the rest of my life.

Each day, Joey spoke to me in class. I actually spoke back and relayed everything to my lunch companions. As the days passed, I was more comfortable talking to Joey. I actually liked him. Debbie and Gina were jealous. To my shame, that made me feel good. Our priest said pride was a sin so I was committing a sin, but that didn't dampen how good it made me feel.

Part of my English class curriculum was creative writing and the teacher sometimes had us work in teams of two. For convenience, the teacher assigned people sitting next to each other as a team so Joey and I were teammates and worked closely together. Joey loved it because he said I was smarter than him. I loved it because I got to work closely with him. Sometimes our shoulders would bump. Sometimes our knees. Sometimes our hands or forearms would touch. He even laid a hand on mine on top of my desk while talking to me. My heart beat faster at those times. And the itch between my legs I hadn't understood when Mr. Russo kissed the side of my mouth was back when that happened. Sometimes I caught myself squeezing my thighs together and rocking. And breathing hard. Wanting desperately to press down on my groin with the heel of my palm, but of course I couldn't do that in class.

We were given an assignment to write a short essay and have our teammate critique it. I finished mine quickly and watched Joey hunched over his desk clutching his pencil tightly as he struggled through his. He constantly erased what he wrote, brushed the eraser pieces off his paper, and scribbled something in its place. Sometimes he even erased the new thing he wrote only to write something else. He finally looked up. Drained.

"Done?" I asked.

"I guess."

"Want to read mine first or should I read yours?" I asked.

"Mine sucks."

I held out my hand. "Let me see."

Joey flicked his notebook onto my desk. It landed at the near edge and slid to the far side. I slapped my hand on it to stop it from sailing off the desk. I picked it up and read it. It wasn't very good. Not only were there spelling and grammar errors, the beginning didn't go with the end. I started reading it again from the beginning.

"Wanna go out with me on Saturday?" Joey asked.

My head whipped around. "What?"

Speaking slowly and saying each word individually as if he were talking to an imbecile, he asked, "Do…you…want…to…go…out…with…me…on…Saturday?" Then he said at a normal pace, "To a movie. There's a new movie all the girls are talking about called Oklahoma!"

"You mean on a date?"

Joey smiled. "Yeah."

"I, um…" I couldn't tell him I was never on a date. "I'll have to ask my mom."

"Okay, let me know tomorrow. So how bad is my essay?"

His essay? Who cared about his essay? I was asked on a date!

Later, at lunch, Debbie and Gina were prying me for anything new on Joey. I told them about the assignment and how we worked together. They were almost panting when I told them how close his body was to mine and that we would sometimes touch. Both girls were leaning forward, hanging on every word.

"Oh, and he asked me on a date," I said, matter-of-factly.

"What!" Debbie shouted.

"Oh my god!" Gina was a split second behind her, but just as loud.

About half of the cafeteria turned in our direction.

"Shh," I whispered. My cheeks burned.

"What did you tell him?" Gina asked in a lower voice.

Debbie leaned forward and waited. She was holding breath.

"I said I'll ask my mom."

"Don't do that!" Gina said. Her voice was loud again.

"I have to."

"Don't. What if she's like my mother? What if she changes her mind and says you can't date yet?"

"Gina's right," Debbie said. "Do you want to go out with him?"

"I think so. I like him. But I've never been on a date."

"Where will he take you?"

"A movie."

Both girls were silent for a moment, staring at each other, I guess trying to read the other's thoughts, and then Gina turned back to me. "That's a safe date."

"Does he have a friend?" Debbie asked. "We could double date."

"I don't know. He didn't say anything about double dating."

"So are you going to do it?" Gina asked.

"You mean lie to my mom?"

"I mean go on the date, but yeah, that too."

"What would I tell my mom?"

"Tell her you're at my house."

"What if she talks to your mother?"

"I know!" Debbie said, again louder than I liked which caused me to glance around the nearby tables. I thought everyone in school now knew I was going on a date. Then she lowered her voice. "Tell her you went out with me and Gina. We'll tell our mothers the three of us are going out. We'll find some place to go."

"Where?" Gina asked.

"I don't know," Debbie said. "Wait! We'll go to the same movie as Julie."

"Don't you dare!" I shouted. This time it was me who was too loud so my eyes darted around the tables near us.

"Why not?"

"I don't want you watching," I said. "I'll be nervous enough."

Debbie smirked. "So you are going."

"Yeah, I guess."

That night I couldn't meet my mother's eyes. I felt so guilty and knew she could read my mind. Ever since I was a little girl she always knew what I didn't want her to know and that night was no different. She even kept asking me what was wrong. I squirmed and stared at the food on my plate. My father, as usual, was oblivious. He was quiet while eating, but glanced at me or my mother when there was a long pause in our talking. Somehow I got through dinner and my mother told me I could go out with Debbie and Gina on Saturday night.

As soon as dinner was done and I helped clean up and wash the dishes, I bolted to my bedroom and hid until bedtime. I didn't even watch the television shows we normally watched as a family. I told my mother I had schoolwork to do. Another lie. In my bedroom, I didn't do anything for school. I sat in bed with my back against the headboard and my arms hugging my raised knees to my chest, fretting over whether my mother knew I had lied. And fretting over the date with Joey. At least we were going to a movie. People don't talk in the movies. I couldn't make a fool of myself.

The next day in English class, I sat with my back straight and my hands folded on top of the desk waiting for the teacher to start the class. When Joey said, "Hi," I said it back but didn't look at him. My heart was pounding. I thought it would explode through my chest.

"So what did your mother say?" Joey asked.

I turned toward him. His smile should have been contagious, but I was trembling and biting my lower lip. I finally managed to ask, "About what?"

"Going out with me Saturday. Did she say it was okay?"

"Oh that. Yeah," I said with as much bravado as I could muster.

"Great! I'll pick you up at six. The movie starts at six-thirty. We'll have plenty of time to drive there. Will you be done with dinner by then?"

"Oh, I thought we'd be taking the bus. Will your mom be driving us?" I asked.

"No, I drive and have a car."

My eyes opened wide. "You can drive all by yourself?"

Joey's smile was ear to ear showing perfect white teeth. "Ever since I turned eighteen. So will you be done by six?"

"Um, yeah." Wow! He had a driver's license. I was hoping my parents would get me a learner's permit. "But don't pick me up at my house. I'll meet you in front of the school."

Joey's eyebrows narrowed and his brow creased. "That won't be very gentlemanly of me. What will your parents think of not meeting me?"

"Oh, they won't be home. They are playing gin rummy with their friends. I'll be coming from a friend's house so it'll be easier all around."

I was lying more often now.

"Okay," Joey said. "Six o'clock in front of the school on Saturday night."

Chapter 4

On Saturday, I rushed through dinner, shoveling food into my mouth and chewing as fast as I could, sometimes drinking from my glass of water to wash down unchewed food. My mother kept scolding me, telling me to slow down, but I told her Debbie and Gina were expecting me at six. Another lie. But what was a girl to do? If I had told the truth I probably wouldn't be going on my first date.

At 5:50 p.m., wearing a black knit top with short sleeves and my favorite pink poodle skirt that flared out to my knees, I waited outside the double doors of my high school. My black and white saddle shoes and pink socks completed my attire. I stood there nervously shifting from one foot to the other, squeezing the sides of my skirt in my sweaty palms. Not that it was warm. There was a slight chill in the air.

I should have asked Joey if he had a friend for Debbie and gone on a double date. Then I wouldn't be alone on my first date. Alone with a boy I hardly knew. A boy! A senior with a driver's license. And a mustache. What if he thought of me as a kid? I was only a sophomore. New to high school. He was a senior. What if I did something stupid? There were no instructions on dating.

All I wanted to do was dash home as fast as my legs would take me and bury myself under the covers in my bed. With each movement of the second hand on the Timex watch on my wrist, I inched further away from the high school doors. Closer to the street. Closer to my house. If I had made it to the sidewalk I probably would have been gone. What stopped me was the honk from the blue car that pulled up to the curb in front of the school. I stared at the car without moving. More out of curiosity than thinking it was for me. But when the horn blasted a second time, I leaned forward and stared more intently. An arm shot out from the driver's window and a hand waved above the roofline.

I rushed to the car and leaned forward with my hands pressed on my thighs, peering into the passenger side. Both front windows were rolled down. Joey smiled from behind the steering wheel. He looked so self-assured. How many dates had he been on? How many girls had he kissed? Oh god, what if he wanted to kiss me?

"Get in," Joey said.

I opened the door and sat in the passenger seat, holding my skirt under my thighs as I swept my legs into the car. After closing the door, I stared straight ahead through the windshield. My heart pounded. My shoulders rose and fell as pants of breath passed through my lips.

"Ready?" Joey asked.

Was I ready? No, of course not. I nodded without looking at him.

Joey grabbed the lever on the steering wheel column and shifted into gear. The clutch grinded a little before the car lurched forward and sent us on our way.

"I need a new clutch," Joey said. "My dad bought me the car and we're fixing it up. When we got it, it barely ran."

He had his own car! Not only did he have a driver's license, but he had a car. I sat staring out the windshield with my hands clasped in my lap and every muscle in my body tense.

"Did you see me play last night?" Joey asked.

I turned toward Joey for the first time. "Play what?"

"Football. I'm an end. Caught a touchdown pass."

"You play football?"

"Yeah, didn't I tell you? I'm an end. I sometimes block and sometimes run out for a pass. Notre Dame is talking to me about a scholarship."

I was beginning to relax. "I never saw a football game."

Joey faced me with a huge smile before turning to the front again. "You should. And not only to see me play. It's fun. When we win, anyway."

Joey patted the seat next to him. "Why don't you sit a little closer? I don't bite."

I hadn't realized my hip, thigh, and arm were pressed against the inside of the door. I shifted toward the middle of the bench seat, tugging on my skirt to make sure it didn't ride up, but stopped with plenty of space separating us. Joey glanced at me with his smiling face before turning his eyes back on the road.

"That's better," he said. "Now we don't have to shout."

I didn't think we had been shouting. But it was good to be away from the open window. With my hair pulled back in a ponytail that stuck out the back of my head, plenty of skin on my neck was exposed to the breeze. That had made the chilled air colder.

After driving a few blocks in silence, Joey said, "You don't talk much."

A knot formed in my stomach. The blood drained from my face. My mouth dried up like the Sahara Desert. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, but nothing came out, like a ventriloquist dummy whose operator forgot to speak.

"That's all right," Joey said, "I like that. Some girls never shut up. All they do is talk, talk, talk." He had taken one hand off the steering wheel and used his fingers like a duck quacking while saying "talk, talk, talk."

Without realizing it, I let the air trapped in my lungs out in a long whoosh.

After more silence, Joey said, "You should try out for cheerleaders."

"Me? Why?"

"Because you're pretty."

My heart stopped beating for a moment. A tingling spread throughout my body. He had said I was pretty. No one had ever told me that. Sure, my aunts maybe, and my grandma, but not a boy. My heart started again, but beat at twice the normal speed.

"You're just saying that," I said.

"No, really. You're real pretty. That's why I asked you out."

I went from jubilation to anger in an instant. "Because I'm pretty?" I said with eyes narrowed.

"Because I like you. It's just nice that you're pretty, too."

My anger faded and my head felt like it would float away. I couldn't have stopped the smile that spread across my face if I had wanted to. Not that I wanted to.

"Thanks," I said.

Joey gave me a quick glance before turning back to the road. "For what?"

"For saying that. It was sweet."

Joey chuckled and, without looking at me, said, "Don't tell anyone I'm sweet. I'm supposed to be a tough football player. You'll ruin my reputation."

I giggled, feeling at ease for the first time since getting into the car. I slid a little closer to Joey. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

We arrived at the movie theater where Joey bought our tickets. It was the first time someone bought my tickets other than my parents. There were advantages to being the girl on a date.

"Want some popcorn?" Joey asked when we entered the lobby.

"I just had dinner."

"Well, I'm gonna have some Milk Duds. Wanna share?"

"Oh, yeah, I love them. Know why they're called Milk Duds?"

"Have no idea."

"Because the people who created them couldn't get them to be perfectly round balls so they called them duds."

"No way!"

"Yeah, really."

"How'd you know that?"

"I don't know. I just heard it somewhere."

"That's what I like about you. You're smart."

I was walking on air as we strolled into the theater with a large box of the chocolate covered caramel candy. Joey led me to two seats in the middle of the back row. I sat in one and he took the seat on my right. He tore open the candy box and used his thumb and index finger to snag a Milk Dud. When he held it in front of my face, I reached for it. Joey jerked his hand away. I was perplexed until he brought it to my mouth again. When I reached for it a second time, Joey snatched my forearm and held it in the air as he poked my lips with the candy. I smiled and opened my mouth.

Joey put the candy inside my mouth so I closed my lips around it. But I got a lot of his fingers, too. With my lips clamped around his fingers, I slid my tongue between them. I hooked my tongue around the candy and flicked it into my mouth. Doing so, my tongue brushed the insides of his thumb and index finger. I had licked his fingers. That should have disgusted me, but it sent shivers throughout my body.

Joey slowly withdrew his fingers, dragging them along the inside of my lips which I kept locked around them until his fingers popped out. I had sucked his fingers. But when Joey retrieved another Milk Dud and put his fingers coated with my saliva into his mouth, I felt that itch between my legs. The itch I didn't understand. It was happening more often and I didn't know why—or what it was.

The movie started, but Joey continued to feed me Milk Duds. The anticipation was almost as good as the candy itself. And it seemed like his fingers remained in my mouth longer each time, even feeling my tongue. Or was that another one of my imaginations? No, I wasn't imagining it. I was sucking his fingers and even sliding my tongue over them. I didn't know what caused me to do that, but I loved it and I had to clench my thighs together sometimes while doing it.

Joey turned the open end of the box over his palm and shook it. A single Milk Dud fell onto his palm. He picked it up with his thumb and index finger.

"Want the last one?" Joey asked.

I nodded with a smile. Ready for him to feed me the candy, I opened my mouth and waited. But when he brought the Milk Dud to his mouth, I snapped my mouth shut and pouted. However, the last candy didn't disappear into his mouth. He held it between his lips. I continued to pout, expecting him to suck it into his mouth and chew it, but instead he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. And then he shoved the Milk Dud with his tongue. The candy popped past my lips into my mouth. I even felt the tip of his tongue with mine for a split second. Joey pulled back and smiled.

I sat in silence, eyes wide. Was that a kiss? My first kiss full on the lips? Joey's lips had touched mine only for an instant. They didn't linger there like Mr. Russo's had on the corner of my mouth. It wasn't a kiss. He just passed me the candy using his mouth instead of his fingers. Or was it a kiss? Whatever it was, it was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me. I slowly chewed the last Milk Dud thinking it was now my favorite candy.

Joey turned to watch the movie. I stared at his profile for a while before I did the same. I was damp between my legs and panicked. Had I messed up calculating when my monthlies would be? They were irregular but, no, I just had my period. Whatever it was, it wasn't blood.

Joey shifted closer to me. When he lifted his left arm and it bumped the back of my head, I instinctively leaned forward. He placed his arm over my shoulders with his hand on my upper arm. I sat completely still. Frozen. Joey was holding me.

It felt good.

I rested my head on his shoulder. We sat like that for a while and then Joey's hand moved up and down my arm, from the bottom of my short sleeve to my elbow and back. Up and down on my bare skin, just teasing the flesh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I snuggled closer to him with the top of my head in the crook of his neck. That's how we watched the rest of the movie.

After the movie, when we were back in Joey's car, I said, "That was fun. It was a great date."

"Well, it's not over yet."

"What do you mean?"

"It's still early. You don't wanna go home yet, do you?"

I did want to go home. I didn't know when my mother expected me. But I didn't want to sound like a little girl.

"No, I don't want to go home," I said. "I thought you did."

"No way. Most kids get to go out on Friday night, but my football games are on Friday night so Saturday is my only night to go out during football season. Wanna take a drive? Go to Canarsie Pier?"

"Where's that?"

Joey shifted in his seat and turned more toward me. "You never went to Canarsie Pier? It's in Canarsie, by the Belt Parkway. Haven't you ever gone to Queens or Long Island?"

"Sure."

"Then you were there. Or at least passed it. That's where you get onto the Belt Parkway. It's by the water. It's not far. I go fishing there all the time."

"You want to go fishing?"

Joey chuckled. "No, silly, that's during the day. At night it's nice to sit by the water."

"I didn't bring a jacket."

"We'll be in the car."

Joey sat upright and turned forward. With his fingers on the key in the ignition, he said, "It'll be fun." He turned the car on, shifted into gear, and drove off.

I clutched my hands in my lap. This was different. This wasn't going to a movie with other people around. But what did I know about a date? Maybe this was what kids did on a date. I was as nervous as I had been when the date started. Even more.

Chapter 5

The ride to the area of Brooklyn called Canarsie was short, and when we got there it looked familiar. I had an aunt and uncle who lived in an apartment building in Canarsie. My grandmother lived with them so we visited often. On Sundays. I just never knew that part of Brooklyn was called Canarsie and never heard of Canarsie Pier. But how bad could it be? It was where my grandmother lived.

When we got to the pier, I saw a few cars parked. At least we wouldn't be the only ones there. The pier was mostly dark. There were a few lights on wooden poles, but none of the cars were parked under them. And even though it was dark, Joey turned off his headlights and switched to his parking lights as he drove slowly to a vacant area that also was not under a light. He turned off the parking lights and then the car.

Joey swept his hand, palm up, over the dashboard near the inside of the windshield. "This is Canarsie Pier. Can you hear the water?"

I listened more closely and could hear the small waves crashing on the wood pilings that held up the pier.

"Yeah, it's peaceful," I said.

"You really can't see the pier or water at night, but you can hear the water. And unlike where all the buildings are, you can see stars."

I leaned forward to gaze through the windshield. Joey was right. The sky twinkled with thousands of stars. Something we didn't see in most places in Brooklyn because of all the lights. That's probably why Joey and the other cars parked in dark areas away from the light posts. To see the stars.

Joey slid toward me on the bench seat so that we were close, almost touching. I guessed it was more comfortable not to be cramped behind the steering wheel. He stretched his right arm out over the back of the seat, behind my head.

"Nice, isn't it?" Joey asked.

I leaned forward again to peer through the windshield. "I love the stars."

When I leaned back, Joey's arm had slid down from the top of the seat and was now around my shoulders like in the theater. So, like in the theater, I laid my head on his shoulder. His body was warm. It was relaxing.

"Can you see the face in the moon?" he asked.

It wasn't a full moon. Maybe three quarters. "I don't see a face."

Joey pointed through the windshield with his left hand. His other hand was on my shoulder and, when he pointed, he pulled me tighter to his body.

"See, there are the eyes and the nose," he said while pointing.

I didn't see eyes or a nose. But I couldn't concentrate on the moon. Being held like that and being so close to a boy warmed my body. Made it tingle. Joey kept talking and pointing, but I didn't hear any of it. My breathing deepened. I was nervous with him holding me like that, but afraid he would let me go. I wanted to be held by a boy. It felt good.

"…cheese?" Joey asked.

I only caught the last word. "What?"

"Do you think the moon is made of cheese?"

"Of course not."

Joey placed the finger he had been pointing with under my chin and tilted my head back. We stared into each other's eyes.

"You are so pretty," he said.

I felt my cheeks burn, but didn't say anything. It was nice to hear. He leaned forward and placed his lips on mine. I couldn't hold back the sigh that came through my parted lips. It was a kiss. No Milk Dud was involved. Just lips. My first real kiss.

His lips remained on mine. My eyes closed and I savored the feel. He pressed harder and his lips flattened mine, and then I felt his teeth behind his lips. After what seemed like an eternity, but was not nearly long enough, Joey pulled away from my mouth.

My eyes remained closed as I basked in the feeling before they fluttered open. He smiled at me, a smile that warmed my heart. The kiss was better than I could have dreamed it would be. I wanted more so I puckered my lips and grabbed the back of his head and pulled his lips back on mine.

The second kiss lasted longer and this time Joey moved his head side to side, squishing my lips against my teeth. My heart pounded. My body tingled. Butterflies fluttered in my belly. I squeezed my thighs together.

I moaned.

Something poked my lips. Something soft. And wet.

With his lips brushing mine, Joey said, "Open your mouth."

My lips parted and his tongue entered my mouth. As soon as it contacted my tongue, I flapped mine against it. I didn't know why, I just did it. I had licked his fingers in the theater, and had even felt the tip of his tongue with mine, but now I was licking his tongue. I liked doing it.

Something inside me was let loose. Feelings I had suppressed or maybe simply hadn't understood. It was another major milestone in my life. I attacked his tongue with mine. I moved my head. Our lips flattened. Our teeth scraped. Our noses bumped. Spittle dribbled down my chin. My arms flung around him and held him tight. My hips rocked with my thighs pressed together.

None of it was done with conscious thought. It just happened.

And then my mouth hung open. My tongue stopped moving. My breathing stopped. Joey's hand was on my breast. Time froze. I froze. He squeezed. I should have objected. Pushed his hand away. Good girls didn't let boys touch them there. But it was like turning on a light switch. My tongue went crazy against his. I grabbed the back of his shirt and held it in my fist. The more he squeezed my breast the more I responded.

That wet feeling in my panties was back. I rocked on the seat. My legs opened and closed. The itch between my legs was there. It wasn't an itch. It tingled as if someone was tapping a live electrical wire on my pussy. Each jolt caused my hips to hump.

Joey's hand left my breast for a moment. I felt an emptiness, a longing for it to return. And then his hand was underneath my top. On my belly. On my burning skin. His hand slid up onto my breast, now on the bra. I could feel his hand better. Less layers of clothing. And then his hand snaked underneath the bra onto my bare breast. No layers of clothing in the way. Skin on skin.

I panted inside his mouth. I moaned. Sighed. I had never felt anything like it. Joey squeezed my breast flesh, running his thumb along the side. It heated my skin. And then he pinched the nipple. I shrieked inside his mouth. And I felt a jolt between my legs. So strong I had to clamp my thighs together and bend forward, forcing me more into Joey than before.

Joey's other hand, his right one, joined his left hand underneath my knit top and bra to cup my other breast. He squeezed both. Flicked both nipples with his thumbs. I didn't think I could take any more.

And then his left hand slid down my belly. Out from underneath the bottom of my knit top. It kept going until it pressed down in my lap, between my legs. That sent another jolt in my pussy. My hips humped on their own. But he stopped pressing. He was gathering the material. I felt it riding up my legs. Higher and higher.

I should have stopped him. But I couldn't. My body was on fire. I wanted his touches. I needed them. I wanted the feelings they created. New feelings. Feelings I had never dreamed existed.

And then his hand was on my bare thigh. My skirt was bunched in my lap. I should have pushed his hand away. I should have snapped my legs together. I should have pushed my skirt down.

I spread my legs.

Joey's hand was now on the inside of my thigh. On the soft, sensitive flesh there. Skin that was aflame. Tingling. And then his hand moved higher, onto the front of my panties. We called them bloomers back then. They were large, not skimpy like today. They came up over my belly button. And the leg holes weren't cut high. The panties covered all of my buttocks and part of my thighs.

Joey's hand pressed against the front of my panties with his fingers pointing at my belly button and the heel of his palm at my crotch. The hand moved side to side and up and down and even in circles. The meaty heel applied most of the pressure. If I had thought our touching tongues or him touching my breasts sent shivers throughout my body, they were nothing compared to what I now felt. That itch was back, but tenfold. A hundredfold! I humped his hand, longing for more of the wonderful feeling.

Thoughts of what Debbie's sister had said filled my mind. It's the best feeling in the world. Oh god, what I was feeling was the best feeling in the world. And then his hand slid down and his finger snaked underneath the soaked cotton crotch. Onto my vulva where not much hair had even sprouted yet. I couldn't breathe. And then the length of his finger went between my labia inside the slit. The fingertip touched something that was like nothing I had ever felt before. I squeezed my eyes shut. His fingertip moved side to side, rubbing that spot. The butterflies in my tummy ran amok. I was going to explode.

And then Joey's finger slid down the slit and pushed.

"Oww!" I shrieked, shoving his hand away.

It wasn't the jolt of pleasure I had expected. It stung. Like a bee sting. It hurt a lot. Tears streamed down my cheeks. My pussy was on fire, but not in a good way. I shoved Joey hard on the chest until he backed away. I pushed my skirt down and crossed my arms over my chest, leaning forward and rocking. Crying.

"What's the matter?" Joey asked.

"You hurt me," I said between sobs.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I thought you were enjoying it."

"It hurt. I want to go home."

I turned away from Joey so that my back was to him. I reached underneath my knit top and pulled my bra back over my breasts. Then I smoothed the top and only then did I turn around to face front. I tugged my skirt down over my knees and sat staring out the windshield through watery eyes.

"I want to go home," I said.

"I don't know where you live."

"Take me back to the school."

The ride to my high school was mostly in silence. Joey tried to talk to me, but I sat silently, pressed against the inside of the door, my only sounds were an occasional sob or whimper. It had been a first date I'd never forget. I was held by a boy for the first time. Kissed by a boy for the first time. I did things with a boy I never had dreamed of doing. Kissing with my tongue. Letting him touch my breasts, and under my bra no less. Letting him put his hand up my skirt and inside my panties and touch me where only a husband should. But what baffled me was the feelings it had caused. I loved every minute of it—except the pain at the end. I was embarrassed to talk to him. Maybe I had overreacted.

Joey pulled up to the curb where he had picked me up. "Are you sure I can't drive you home?" he asked.

I didn't answer. I opened the door and got out.

"I'm sorry if—" he said.

I slammed the door and walked gingerly in the direction of my house. The pain between my legs wasn't so bad. I wasn't going to do jumping jacks, but I was able to walk almost normally. I glanced over my shoulder one last time to make sure Joey had driven off. I didn't want him following me home. I didn't know how I was going to face him in school on Monday.

When I was on my porch outside my front door, I dried my cheeks and eyes before I went inside. My parents were in the living room.

"Where were you?" my mother asked.

"With Debbie and Gina."

"I called Debbie's house when you didn't come home. She was already home. That was hours ago. We were scared to death."

My mother caught me in a lie. I couldn't compound it by lying more.

"I was on a date," I said.

That got my father's attention. "A date? With who? How come we didn't know? How come he didn't pick you up at the house?"

The tears flowed again. This time from a different kind of pain.

"A boy from school. I told him to pick me up at the school."

"Because you lied to us," my mother said, her voice filled with anger. "You didn't want us to know you were on a date."

"You said I could date when I was sixteen."

"So why did you lie about it?"

"I'm sorry. I was afraid you'd change your mind and not let me go."

"We would have let you. We said you could when you turned sixteen. But now I can't trust you, so you can't date anymore."

"Mommy, that's not fair."

"You did it to yourself. If you lie we can't trust you. Now go to bed."

I ran up the stairs and into my bedroom where I dived face first onto my bed, bouncing on the mattress. A slight pain between my legs reminded me of how the date had ended. I rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up with my feet on the floor. I yanked my skirt to my waist, spread my legs, and bent forward. I was about to pull my panties to the side to see why my vagina hurt when I saw it. The crotch of my white panties had a blood stain. I knew it wasn't my period so I pulled the crotch to the side and patted and poked the area. It hurt a little, but not much. And then my finger went inside.

Oh god, I was no longer a virgin!

Chapter 6

Voices awoke me from a sound sleep, a sleep I was not ready to get up from. A sleep that was too brief. The night before, when I had gotten home from my date with Joey, I had been sent to my bedroom for having lied to my parents. I should have been sorry for lying to them—but I was sixteen—so what I regretted was getting caught. That hadn't kept me up, though. What I had agonized over was losing my dating privileges. I had waited sixteen years to be allowed to date. And when I had stopped fuming about that, I fretted over what had happened in the car at Canarsie Pier. I knew what I had done with Joey was wrong, good girls didn't do that, but the feelings were like no feelings I had ever felt before. Feelings that had kept me from stopping Joey. Feelings that had wanted Joey to keep doing what he was doing. Feelings that scared me. I had tossed and turned and cried until early in the morning when I finally fell asleep. Just a few hours ago.

My bedroom was on the second floor in the front of the house. The sole window was above the front door. I pulled the pillow over my head to block the voices. I wasn't ready to get up. But then my eyes popped open. The voices were Debbie's and Gina's, and my mother's.

I threw the pillow aside, leapt out of bed, and flew down the stairs in my bare feet and pajamas. With my ponytail undone and all the tossing from the restless sleep, my tangled hair flew in all directions, a lot of it in my face. I kept swiping it out of my eyes to see. The front door was open, my mother was inside the house, and my two friends were outside, standing on the porch facing her. I came to a skidding stop when I neared the bottom of the staircase.

"I'll be ready soon," I shouted out of breath. "Give me a couple of minutes."

I spun around and started up the stairs two at a time when my mother shouted, "Julie, you're not going anywhere."

I stopped halfway up the staircase and turned. "I want to be with my friends," I said. It came out as a whine.

"Well, you should have thought about that before you lied."

"I'm sorry, I won't do it again."

My mother turned back to my friends. "Sorry, girls, but Julie isn't going anywhere today."

She shut the front door. Right in my friends' faces.

"Mommy, that's not fair!"

"Life's not fair."

I turned and stormed the rest of the way up the stairs and didn't stop running until I was in my bedroom. I slammed the door shut. As soon as I heard the loud bang, I knew my mother had heard it too. Something else for her to yell at me about. I belly flopped onto my bed and cried into the pillow.

We had two telephones in the house, one in my parents' bedroom and one in the kitchen. I had a burning need to talk to someone about my date and couldn't even call my friends. At that thought, my sobbing abruptly subsided and my mind became sharp. How much could I tell Debbie and Gina anyway? I could tell them a boy held me, that we kissed—they'd be so jealous—but not the rest. They would think I was a tramp. Maybe I was a tramp. I couldn't explain why I had done what I had done. I couldn't explain what I didn't understand. The secrets I was keeping from my two best friends were piling up.

"Come down and have breakfast," my mother shouted from the first floor.

"I'm not hungry," I shouted back.

"Suit yourself."

I waited for more, but she remained silent. I guess she was fed up with me. I was hungry, but I wasn't going to let her know that. I'd show her. I could be just as stubborn as her.

All of a sudden, I felt grubby. I hadn't washed up before going to bed, not even brushing my teeth, so I went into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. It was only recently that I started locking the door. As I said, the bedrooms were on the second floor with the only full bathroom in the house. The tiny bathroom on the first floor near the kitchen only had a toilet and sink.

About four months ago, I had gotten up early, early for me on a Saturday, and really needed to pee. Afraid I was going to have an accident, I cupped and squeezed myself between my legs as I rushed from my bedroom to the bathroom at the other end of the hall. I hastily slung the door closed behind me, but it didn't close all the way. I sat on the toilet with my knees spread and pajama bottoms and panties stretched around my ankles, sighing in relief as the stream splashed the water in the bowl.

My father pushed the door open and came in.

I screeched.

With my scream still bouncing off the bathroom walls, I snapped my knees together and folded forward so fast my breasts flattened on my thighs. Too embarrassed to even yell at him to get out, I tried to make myself as small as possible with my forehead pressed to my knees and my hands clutching my shins. My eyes were clamped shut. If I couldn't see him, he couldn't see me. Not rational, but I was so embarrassed I just wanted to die.

"Sorry," my father had said, "you should have locked the door." He had turned and left, pulling the door closed behind him.

Ever since then, I locked the bathroom door.

After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I stripped off my pajamas and panties. I didn't sleep with a bra. Once again, I noticed the blood stain on the crotch of the panties. My mother would probably have thought I had an accident with my period, but I scrubbed it clean with soap and water in the sink anyway. I knew if she asked me about it I would burst into tears and she would know I was no longer a virgin. I wasn't a good liar back then, especially to my mother.

I let the bathtub fill while staring at my face in the mirror. I looked the same as I had before the date. My eyes were bloodshot, but they would be white tomorrow after a good night's sleep. But I was different. I had kissed a boy—with my tongue. He touched my tits. I mean, really touched them, underneath the bra. And his hand was inside my panties touching me down there. I had thought only my husband would ever touch me there. How could I have let Joey do it?

I climbed into the bathtub and lay on my back with my knees poking out of the water like two mountain tops peeking through low flying clouds. Then, holding my breath, I submerged until the water spread over my face. Only my knees felt the air. My hair floated all around my head and above my face. I lay there in a cocoon of warm water. Isolated from the world. In a safe place. When my lungs were about to burst, my head shot up and broke through the surface of the water. I gasped a few times, sucking in air, and then took one deep breath and let it out. The water lapped at my chin and earlobes as I combed my hair off my face with my fingers.

I lay in the isolation of the bathroom and the peacefulness of the water, thinking back to my experience in the car at Canarsie Pier. Joey hadn't brought me there to listen to the water or see the stars. I knew that now. He had brought me there to make out. I should have been angry, upset that he would plan to take advantage of me. But did he take advantage of me? I could have said no at any time. In fact, when he hurt me and I said no, he stopped. And when I told him to take me home, he did. It wasn't like he had done anything I didn't want.

My head tilted back against the porcelain as I stared up at the ceiling, but I didn't see the ceiling. I was using the memory part of my brain, not the optical. I played back what had happened at the pier. Some of it was fuzzy, but I knew I had wanted what Joey had done. I liked the kissing. I liked feeling his tongue touch mine. I loved that! I liked his hands on my breasts. I even liked him touching me down there. Until he hurt me. And he didn't hurt me on purpose. He had been as surprised as me. What if it hadn't hurt? What else would we have done?

I straightened my legs so that my knees sank into the water and my butt slid backward on the bottom of the bathtub. My back rode up the slick porcelain. Now sitting more upright, my breasts were outside the water. I had loved when Joey touched my breasts. I placed my hands on my breasts and tentatively squeezed them. Nothing. I did it again. Still nothing. I shrugged. Maybe what I had liked was Joey doing it.

But as much as I had liked the kissing and him touching my breasts, those were nothing compared to the feeling when his hand went inside my panties and touched me down there. The first part anyway, not when he hurt me. At one point I had thought I was going to explode from the pleasure.

I submerged my hand into the water and let it rest on my belly. I tried to remember where he had touched me. At the time, I had been consumed with desire. I now knew that was what it was. I had been aroused. I knew men and women got aroused when they had sex, I just didn't know what that was. In Joey's car, I found out what arousal was. I even thought back to Mr. Russo's kiss on the corner of my mouth and how it had made my legs weak and my tummy tingle. That had been arousal.

I moved my hand underwater until it settled on my thigh. Part of my hand rested on the side of my labia. That's where Joey's finger started. I tried to remember the path it had taken. I closed my eyes to help remember and slid my finger over the part of the labia that had a sparse amount of hair. That's what Joey had done. But like when I touched my breasts, it didn't give me the same feeling as when he had done it. I surmised it needed to be done by a boy to get that feeling so why was I bothering?

But I didn't quit. I needed to know.

With my eyes closed, I imagined I was inside Joey's car at Canarsie Pier. I made believe it was his hand touching me and moved my hand further onto my groin, over the place I had more hair, and found the top of my slit. I paused, trying to remember if Joey had touched me there. I was sure he had. With my eyes shut and my breathing slow and deep, my middle finger slipped into the cleft and continued downward. A jolt hit me. My hips humped, splashing water over the side of the bathtub.

Wow!

I moved my finger forward and back in little strokes, rubbing the fleshy area that I was touching, spurred on by the feeling. At the time, it was simply a fleshy area that felt good to rub. It caused a tingling. The mysterious itch. But I now knew how to scratch that itch.

My hips humped as my finger moved, causing ripples in the bathwater, and an occasional wave that splashed over the side when I hit the right spot. I rubbed faster as the itch increased. The water splattered my breasts, all the way to my neck. I sank into the water more as my body moved quicker, causing the water to wash over my tightly clamped mouth all the way to the bottom of my nose. I kept rubbing. The feeling got stronger. I rubbed faster. The bathwater swished around like rapids.

And then I clamped my eyes shut tighter. My head tilted back and my mouth opened in a silent scream. My butt lifted off the bottom of the bathtub as my shoulder blades pressed into the porcelain and my back bowed. My finger finally stopped moving as my entire body stiffened and trembled. A squeal came out of my open mouth, and then my body collapsed into the water, causing a tsunami wave. I lay there panting, lips parted, chest rising and falling underneath the warm water, hair floating on both sides of my head.

Oh my god! I thought. That must be what Debbie's sister meant.

Chapter 7

I never thought I would look forward to the end of the weekend when school was in session, but it meant an escape from my prison. My mother couldn't keep me locked up in my bedroom when I had to go to school. It was an opportunity to get out of the house and be with my friends.

I waited on my front porch like I always did. Debbie and Gina lived around the corner and passed my house on the walk to school. Gina's house was the farthest from mine so Gina would pick up Debbie and then I would join them. When I spotted my friends, I flew down the cement stairs to street level. They sped up and soon we were walking the few blocks to our high school.

"So how was it?" Debbie asked. She was literally jumping up and down.

"I don't know yet," I said. "My mother hasn't told me how long I'm going to be punished."

"Not that! The date!"

I quickly looked over my shoulder to my porch. We hadn't gotten very far yet. But my mother wasn't spying. I walked a little faster to put some distance between us and my house. Debbie and Gina kept pace with me. Once we crossed the street, I slowed down.

"It was great. He put his arm around me in the movie theater."

"He did not!" Gina said. I saw the envy in her face.

"Did so. And he sort of kissed me in the theater."

Both Debbie and Gina abruptly stopped walking. I took two more steps before I stopped, turned, and walked back to them.

"What do you mean 'sort of'?" Debbie asked. "Either he did or he didn't."

"He was feeding me Milk Duds and—"

"What!" both Debbie and Gina shouted.

"Yeah, it was like a game. He was putting them into my mouth, you know, like the Romans did with grapes. And when he got to the last one, he held it in his lips and pressed his lips to mine and pushed it into my mouth."

"Ohmigod!" Debbie said. "He kissed you."

"That's not a real kiss," Gina said with crossed her arms.

Gina wasn't happy that I got to kiss a boy before her. I'd show her.

"Well," I said with a smirk, "later we kissed a lot. When we went parking."

"You did not!" Debbie said.

Gina simply fumed.

"Come on," I said, "we better get to school. I'll tell you on the way."

So we started walking again and I told them about Canarsie Pier and the waves and the stars. Both my friends were jealous. And then I told them how Joey had hugged me and kissed me. No more than that. I had to keep the rest secret. Even from my best friends.

"And we kissed with our tongues," I said.

"Yuck!" Gina said and scrunched up her nose.

"Wow!" Debbie said at the same time. Her eyes were wide.

I glared at Gina. She had gotten me angry.

"Well, that's how you kiss when you're not a baby," I said.

Debbie chimed in. "Yeah, that's what my sister said. I told you guys about it."

Gina crossed her arms and frowned, but didn't say anything more. I guess she felt it was two against one.

"So how was it?" Debbie asked. She sounded a little envious, but more curious.

"Great! Do you know how you feel when you look at a boy you like?"

Debbie frantically nodded. Gina continued to scowl.

"Well, it's like that but ten times more. A hundred times more."

All the way to the school, Debbie and I chatted about my date and the kissing. Gina remained silent the whole time. Fuming. We separated when we got to the school and, once I was in my first period class, I stopped thinking about the date. That is, until it was time for my English class. As I dragged my feet plodding through the halls to my English classroom, others rushed by me. I stopped a few times thinking about skipping the class only to have someone bump into me. I couldn't afford to miss even one class. It was an advanced class. So I kept going. And what good would it do? If I didn't go today I'd have to go tomorrow. I might as well get it over with.

Joey was already sitting at his desk when I arrived.

"Hi," he said as I sat down.

"Hi." I was fumbling with my books, not looking at him.

"Are we good?" Joey asked.

I looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"You seemed mad at me Saturday. Did I do something wrong?"

He had taken my virginity by jamming a finger inside my pussy. It had hurt like hell. But everything else about the date was wonderful. Even the stuff he shouldn't have done. Stuff I should not have allowed him to do. But I enjoyed it all, except the painful part.

"Maybe a little," I said. "I don't know. I had a good time, though."

Joey smiled. "So can we do it again?"

Do what again? Go on a date or touch my tits and put his hand inside my panties?

"I didn't tell my mother I was going on a date and she found out so for now I can't date," I said real fast in one breath. "She's really pissed."

"Aha, that explains a lot. Let me know when she allows you. I really like you."

Oh my god! He liked me. I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face as I nodded.

After my English class, I met up with Debbie and Gina in the cafeteria. Gina still wasn't talking to me. Debbie couldn't sit still.

"So, did he kiss you?" Debbie whispered.

I looked around, but no one had heard. "I told you he did."

"I mean in class."

"What! Of course not."

Debbie stuck her bottom lip out. "Too bad."

"Can't we talk about something else?" Gina asked in her whining voice.

So we did, to both Gina's and my delight. Debbie didn't look happy about it, but she soon fell into the conversation. Everything was back to normal.

When I was in my last class of the day, I gazed at Mr. Roman. My Band teacher wasn't like my other teachers. He was young and informal with us. And he was cute. I really liked his blond hair and goatee and the way he spoke. My father would disapprove. Call him a beatnik as a negative term.

That was a preview of The Nymphomaniac. To read the rest purchase the book.

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