Seasons of Sex 3: Spring, 1968

SPRING, 1968

I was in my room doing my homework the first Thursday in April when I got a call from Annabelle. She was obviously in tears and asked me if I had heard the news. I had not, and she told me Martin Luther King, Jr. had been shot and killed. She was really upset and said she needed to see me right then.

My mother was very understanding when I told her I needed to borrow the Chevy. I told her I’d be back for supper.

Annabelle and I went for a drive. She wept as she looked morosely out the window. “Things just don’t get better,” she said. “They keep getting worse.”

Eventually I parked in a secluded area. She quietly took off her jeans and panties, I also removed my lower garments, and she climbed onto my lap, facing me. We fucked slowly and quietly, and when she came, she began to cry, and when I came as well, filling her sweet cunt with hot cream, I wept too, wondering what sort of world we were about to take our places in.

The first full week in April was the time of the statewide high school choir festival, and my school was entered in several categories. I sang in the Mixed Chorus, the Men’s Chorus, and the Madrigals; Belinda sang in the Mixed Chorus, the Madrigals, and the Girls’ Sextet (which, I had discovered to my disappointment, was not what it sounded like it was). The event was an all-day affair which took us out of classes and put us on a school bus bound for another town with a new convention center which had several stages and performance venues. The day was pretty depressing for me, since I had to be in close proximity to Belinda, who was, as usual, ignoring me studiously. I shared a seat on the bus with another baritone, a junior who seemed preoccupied with getting some beer. When he found out I was not yet eighteen (the legal beer age in our state), he lost all interest in conversation with me.

There was just one thing making the day interesting for me: we traveled in our madrigal costumes, and the boys had all dared each other to dress as true Scotsmen: with nothing on under our kilts. I didn’t know whether any of the others were actually going through with the dare, but I was. It was my last time to wear the stupid outfit, and I was determined to do it right for once. (I admit I had checked the weather report to be sure no high winds were predicted that day.)

It felt strange, and exciting, and liberating, to be dressed that way. And since there were several female madrigal singers close by, with their sexy cleavage showing, I had a partial erection the whole trip. I was relieved to find upon arrival that when I stood up my stiffy did not press against my kilt: having a small cock does have its advantages at times.

The madrigals did better in the competition than expected, and we had to stick around for the evening concert. Those who were expecting to go to the school prom that night were outraged, but most of us had guessed it would happen and many of us, like me, weren’t all that impressed with the idea of a senior prom anyway.

The concert, because the weather was cooperating, was held in a large outdoor amphitheater. All the first and second place groups from different categories were performing, and we did our part fairly early in the program.

I was sitting listening to some other choirs perform when Gail Anderson sat down beside me. We were in a relatively empty area of the amphitheater and were able to engage in quiet conversation without bothering anybody close by.

I had once had a crush on Gail, back in my days of frustrated longing, because I was attracted to intelligence. She was an honor student, one of the girls whose class participation seemed to stem from a genuine desire to learn and not just from a wish to score points with the teacher. She also was willing to talk to boys without trying to flirt with them, which was sometimes a refreshing change. The thick lenses of her ugly cat-eye glasses did not hide her intelligence or her engaging personality. But she was a Baptist preacher’s daughter, and the past year she had become engaged to a college boy who was studying for the ministry, and I figured that in any case we would have had little if anything in common and would not have been a particularly good match. So I was surprised, but not unpleased, when she sat very close to me and casually laid a hand on my thigh. The touch of her hand and the heat from her body had my cock stirring instantly.

“So, Rick,” she said, “are you dressed like a true Scotsman today?”

She had apparently heard about the dare.

“Well, I…”

“Never mind, I see that you are!”

Glancing sheepishly at my lap, I could see kilt tenting up. “Sorry, Gail.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s. . .flattering.” She glanced around to ensure no one was close enough to see what we were doing, and she placed a hand in my lap, gently squeezing my cockhead through the kilt. She smiled, looking me in the eye, and then she really surprised me by reaching under the kilt and sliding her hand right up my thigh to my scrotum. She gasped as she fondled it, gently weighing each testicle in her fingers before moving up to the erect shaft.

“Gail. . . Aren’t you engaged . . .?

“Yes.” Her fingers gently squeezed my cock and moved on up to the fast-engorging head. “And Will says we shouldn’t do anything until we are married.”

“You disagree?”

“In theory, no. But I can’t help wondering how I can be a good wife if I enter marriage in total ignorance. Belinda said you might be willing to help.”

“Belinda?”

“She said she thought you were . . . experienced.”

“I don’t know how she would know that.”

“But she’s right, isn’t she? You’ve done this before?”

“. . . Some.” I was having trouble breathing normally. What Gail was doing between my legs was wonderful. “You sure you . . . haven’t done this before?”

“Will likes to kiss, but that’s all. Nothing below.”

“Nothing below the waist?”

“Nothing below the chin.”

“. . . You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were. I have all these cravings, but I don’t even know what it is I want.”

I put a hand on her cheek and ran my fingers gently down to her neck. She closed her eyes in pleasure. My hand slid down to her scoop neckline where my fingers found a trace of cleavage. Her moan was too soft to be heard by anyone else, but I found it extremely erotic, and my penis hardened further in her hand. I ventured further south, over the fabric of her peasant dress, and I discovered hard nipples pressing unrestrained against the soft cotton. “Gail?”

“No bra,” she whispered. “It wouldn’t be authentic, would it? For a singer from the madrigal period?”

“I guess not…and…further down?”

“I’m as authentic as you are.”

She gave my cock a squeeze and fondled my balls and the sensitive spot behind them, getting perilously close to my asshole. I fondled her unfettered breasts for a moment and then slid my hands down to her bare knees. She was taking long, deep breaths, her eyes closed, as if giving all her concentration to what she was feeling between her legs and between mine. He knees spread apart as if to invite me in. I accepted the invitation, grateful for the darkness.

Her insides of her thighs were warm and soft, and her legs opened wider as my hands slid up toward her crotch. Her pussy was quite hairy, and my fingers brushed and played with her hair before moving on to her warm wet folds. I wondered if her pubic hair was as yellow as the hair on her head, and not knowing somehow added to the sense of adventure. She was slick with desire, and she gasped when I slid a finger along her virgin folds and found her hard little clitoris.

“I—oh my—I can’t say anything—mmmm—I would probably—probably say something unladylike—ohhhh…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” I whispered, leaning into her face and kissing her ear, her cheek, her open mouth. I didn’t think I should try to penetrate her vagina since she was still a virgin, but I did try gently to get her clitoris harder, and I lubricated my fingers with her vaginal fluids so that I would irritate her as little as possible.

Meanwhile, she was fondling my balls with one hand and tugging on my penis with the other, and I worked hard to hold back, hold back, hold back, until I was certain she was about to reach orgasm.