It Happened on Maple Street

Tim unbuttoned my jeans. Unzipped them. He’d done that before. Many times. But that night, instead of sliding his hand down inside, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down. All the way down. I laid there in my panties and watched as he unfastened his own jeans and pushed them down, too.

His underwear still covered him, and they emphasized the huge bulge that I had to know more about it. I had to see it. Touch it. I had to know its power or die. Not because it was a male body, but because it was the essence of Tim.

I had to be a good girl. I had to go home to my father’s house.

My conscience was at war with my heart, and I was going to be a casualty whichever way it went.

Up on his knees, Tim positioned himself between my thighs, between my pulled-down pants and my crotch. Bending toward me, he put his hands down on the bed on either side of my shoulders and lowered his hips to my crotch.

With my hands on his chest I could feel his heart pumping twice as fast as usual—and hard, too. His penis touched down on my soft area . . .

He hadn’t plotted or rehearsed. He had no practice at going this far with a girl. Natural instincts took over, and Tim began to rub his penis back and forth on Tara’s crotch. The feeling was so intense and great, and suddenly he knew what Tara had been talking about that night on the country road when she’d stopped him so suddenly.

He jumped off her, tightened up, holding back his emotions and fluids. And stepped out of his pants. He’d started to come.

“Where are you going?” Her voice sounded from far off. Her need called out to him.

“Nowhere, Babe. I heard the dog scratching. I need to get her away from the door before she ruins it.”

It was a complete and total lie, but he couldn’t let her see him in this shape. He didn’t want to scare her. Or embarrass himself. He didn’t want things to end so quickly.

He opened the door, stepped outside the bedroom, let the cold air hit him. He stood for a couple of minutes, leaning against the wall, and then turned back. . . .

I was glad he’d stopped. Saved me from myself. I should get up. Pull up my pants. Go outside and pet Mitzy, Tim’s cocker spaniel. I’d met her several times before. I liked her.

I was still lying nearly naked on the bed when Tim came back, and I almost cried with relief when he lay back down with me. I touched his chest, my palms flat against his skin and then my hands moved lower. He was my man, and I needed to know all of him. When my hand reached his underwear, I paused. I couldn’t take his underwear off. Couldn’t be that forward.

But his hand was there, on top of mine, guiding mine. His underwear was wet. Together we got them down to his knees.

My breath came in gasps. The tension inside of me was so strong, guilt and desire built to the exploding point, I could hardly comprehend what was happening. He was lying beside me, kissing me, his hand on my breast, and I could feel his hardness against my hip. He was really wet. My hip was wet where he was touching me.

I moaned. Felt tears behind my closed eyelids. I was in the eye of the storm, helpless and frantic.

Tim pulled my underwear down to my ankles with my jeans. In some strange way, it had not seemed so bad to me, what I was doing, as long as I kept my pants on.

The cool sheet against my backside registered. I knew it was there. And that my bottom was naked.

He spread my knees and climbed between my legs, and I burned for him. He positioned himself so that the tip of his penis was pressing up against my opening.

“Let’s make love” he said, violating the promise he’d made weeks before.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say yes. And I couldn’t say no, either. Tim moved against me, and I could feel my body accepting just the tip of him.

“Tara? Can I do it?”

He was leaving it up to me.

He pulled back and then put his tip in me again, still not pushing all the way inside me. I wished he’d just do it.

“Can I?”

If you let the cow out of the barn, there’s no reason for him to buy the barn.

I knew where the words came from. I hated them.

And believed them.

I didn’t just want Tim then, for that night, or that year. I wanted him forever.