I learn to play Basketball

When I was in the eighth grade, a new family moved to the farm adjoining our property on the outskirts of a small town in Nebraska. Although Rae was in the eighth grade as well, she was nearly a year older as her birthday was one week too late to start school in the fall. As a result, she was held back putting us in the same grade. I was somewhat in awe of her as she was a bit taller and, to quote a couple of seniors: “stacked like a brick, shit-house.”

Occasionally, her father hired me to drive the tractor and do various farm work. I liked working for Jake because he took the time to talk to me as if my opinions were worthwhile. It also gave me a chance to see Rae who was a good-looking girl and seemed to find me interesting. To say I found her interesting would have been an understatement! She had blond hair cut kind of short, which showed off her graceful smooth long neck. Since it was rather hot, she wore shorts and sleeveless blouses, affording me the chance to see more than I had ever seen of her in school clothes.

That summer we spent most every day together for two weeks walking the corn and soybean fields while we cut weeds out of the rows. During the boring work, we talked about where she had lived, and her former school.
“Hey, Duane, you got a girlfriend?”

“Uh, well, I been on a couple of dates, but I wouldn’t say that I really have a girlfriend,” I stammered feeling my face turning hot.

“Why not, good looking guy like you, I’ll bet the girls are falling all over themselves to go out with you,” she replied in a suggestive voice.

Aware that my face had now achieved a crimson hue, I turned back to pulling weeds.

“Aw come on, Duane, no need to get all embarrassed about it. I could teach you all you need to know to really score with the girls,” she taunted.
I just kept my head down and yanked at weeds as hard as I could while trying to figure out how to respond. Trouble is, I just couldn’t think of anything at all, let alone something witty.

When school started in the fall, Rae was immediately the “Belle of the Ball.” She had bigger tits than most of the girls in the class, and she knew how to show them off. Before long, high school boys were dating her on a regular basis. I heard rumors that one reason they liked her was because she “Put Out,” and decided that she probably really could teach me a thing or two.

School was in full swing and as the hot summer turned into cooler fall days, basketball season began. Rae was very good, and played on the Jr. High Girls’ Team. I was a sub on the Jr. High Boys’ Team, but didn’t get to play very much. One afternoon after practice, Rae suggested to me that my problem was that I didn’t get enough practice outside of school. I told her that I didn’t have any place to practice now that it was too cold to work out on the driveway.

“Why don’t you come over after supper tonight? I’ve got a place in the barn where we can work out, and I can show you some moves you don’t know about,” she said with a smile.

“Oh, yeah, what kind of moves?” I asked feeling my heart speed up a bit.
Rae just smiled and walked away. “Holy shit!” was all I could think.

When I arrived, Rae was in the hayloft shooting baskets. As soon as I stepped inside, she took charge.

“Here, hold the ball like this, don’t be afraid of it, you hold it like its going to bite you. Hold it loose and easy, look up at me, and SMILE! It will drive the person guarding you crazy. You always want to look like you know something or see something they don’t, that keeps them off guard,” she instructed firmly and with confidence.

We worked hard, harder than the coach ever asked for, and shortly I could see an improvement in my game. After playing for over an hour, she said it was time to take a break. As soon as we stopped, I could feel a chill on my sweaty back.

“It’s kind of chilly now that we have stopped playing so hard, I think I better get home before I catch a cold,” I commented as I picked up my jacket.

“What’s your hurry? I got a place where we can cool down and have a little fun while we do it,” Rae smiled as she led me to a tall stack of bales at the back of the loft.
“Here, pull that bale out of the stack,” she said indicating one that looked like it had always been there.

Doing as I was told, I saw that behind the bale was a tunnel with light streaming out.

“Go on in” she urged.

I crawled about two feet to find myself in a cozy little room that Rae had apparently built. Glancing around, I could see that she had gone to a lot of work. Even though the entire room was made of straw bales, the floor was covered with a sleeping bag, and there were posters on the walls. A couple of them caught my eye, Elvis Presley with his hips obviously being propelled toward the audience, and the infamous photo of James Dean with his car, cigarette dangling from his lips. As much as I hated smoking, in that instant I almost wished I could be smoking a cigarette in front of Rae.
“Hey, you got books and everything,” I observed. “What’s this one about?”

“Oh, The Kinsey Report, you mean you haven’t heard of THE KINSEY REPORT!” she exclaimed in mock amazement.

“Should I?” I replied with a shrug.

“Oh, yeah, you sure should have. Where I came from, all the girls snuck them out of their mother’s dresser for a quick peek, but I got my own so I could look up anything I wanted to learn about anytime I needed to,” she replied confidently.

“So what’s it about?” I pressed.

“SEX!”

“SEX?”

“SEX!”

“Uh, think I could borrow it for a few days?” I asked timidly.

“Sure, why not,” she replied handing it to me.

I took the book and flipped it open.