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Week after week that summer all I could think about was Wayne. I hadn't been with a man in two years, not since the divorce, and no doubt I was horny, but still I felt ashamed to be lusting for this eighteen-year-old boy next door. Here I was thirty-three, and acting like a high school girl experiencing her first crush! As May gave way to June and then hot July arrived, I found myself standing at my kitchen window obsessively following Wayne's movements in the yard next door. He had a routine I came to count on. Every Saturday morning, for instance, he mowed his family's large lawn and trimmed the boxwood hedges. Whenever he appeared in the yard my eyes were glued to his thin, very angular silhouette, to the cutoffs or trunks he invariably wore hanging loosely from his hips, to his long legs covered lightly with hair and his always bare feet. His feet were long and thin and bony like his body. As summer deepened, his lean body grew browner and browner and his hair more blonde under the hot sun. Apparently, in Phillipsburg, the de rigueur summer uniform for teenage boys was cutoffs or swim trunks; Wayne and all his friends didn't seem to know what it was to put on a shirt or shoes, except for special occasions and on Sundays when everyone dressed up for church. Often, when Wayne finished his chores his three pals would drop by and the kids would shoot baskets or sit on the lawn under an old oak talking about girls. The old oak was near my bungalow, and because of the carry of the wind toward my open kitchen window I could usually hear their husky young voices clearly without their seeing or being aware of me. In June their talk came to center on one girl in particular, Becky, an eighteen-year-old who was "built" and "easy," as the boys said. The boys kidded each other about who would be the first to screw her--each boy lying on the lawn had apparently been out with her in the preceding two months, and Becky had engaged in heavy petting on every date, the evening always climaxing in her milking her date's cock with her hand. But she had stopped short of greater intimacy. The boys had developed a shared fantasy to screw her and on Sundays reviewed the previous night's date, getting a postmortem. Gradually during the summer the boys had taken up dating Becky in rotation and had made a bet among themselves on who would succeed with her first. It was agreed that the first to screw her would share her with the others, since she was a "slut" anyway, having compromised herself already in their eyes with the ritualistic hand-job. They regarded Becky as having no social standing, her mother being single and new in town. Her mother worked as a grocery store clerk, and rumor spitefully circulated she did her real work on her back for the store manager after hours. This Saturday in July the boys laughed and kidded Timmy, whose turn it was to take Becky out to the drive-in. Timmy swore this would be the big night, but the others kidded him that he'd be lucky if he got his cock whacked. Actually, the other boys wished it was their turn, and they were just jealous. Timmy was a good-looking, athletic kid with curly dark hair, about average height, maybe 5' 10", with broad shoulders nicely developed from swimming on the school team. He had a habit of flexing his torso by lacing his fingers in back of his head and stretching. This afternoon he was flexing and preening and rubbing his chest and crotch with his hands in nervous anticipation of the evening's sex. As he rose from the lawn, Timmy clinched his fist and gestured with his arm, to signify what he would do to Becky this night. "She goes up the pole," he boasted in his deep voice. "Tonight. . . . I gotta go." He winked and waved to the others, not neglecting to give his crotch an unconscious lift with his hand as he left the other boys to go shower and change for the hoped-for eventful date. The next morning I heard the boys' exuberant voices from my kitchen. They were gathered again, lying on the lawn beneath the tree, and they spoke very excitedly, interrupting each other. They had returned from church services and were already changed into their usual shorts. Wayne was quizzing Timmy on how he'd gotten Becky to go all the way--basically Wayne didn't believe Timmy's claim--and Brad was shouting eagerly, "Party tonight! Let's do it--now!" When they got too loud, Wayne said, "Shhh. . . my parents will hear us." Finally, except for Wayne the boys got to their feet. Timmy flexing his muscles and smirking, and then he turned his back to the other boys. When he swung round he had a pair of pink panties in his hands that he had taken from his cutoff pocket. He stretched them along the inside elastic band and playfully shoved them in the other boys' faces--this was his trophy, and proof of the deed. He pushed them deep in his pocket again, as the guys giggled and slapped him on the back and punched him on the arms in congratulation and also in anticipation of the future. Major Melons has Tons of Massive Nipples Pictures
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