Chapter 1
The orchard, far up on the hillside, had been un-tended for years.
Pears still grew on the old trees, but they scarcely reached even No. 2 size anymore and shriveled soon, hanging onto the twig-like branches until winter, hanging on stubbornly long after all the leaves had fallen.
The hillside overlooked the valley where Lisa and I had grown up and it was one of our favorite places. We had been up here so often that we had started thinking of it as our own. As far as we could see, up and down the valley, on each side of the highway that bisected the valley floor as a river might have, grew pear orchards, mostly Bartletts but a few D'An-jous and Bosc. One place was owned by my father, another by Lisa's father, and the rest by our neighbors. Lisa and I sat up there on the hillside by the hour, in the shade of those overgrown, deserted trees, just her and me. Sometimes we took a picnic lunch, sometimes we just drove up for a few minutes to sit for awhile and then come back down again.
There was an old house just behind the rim of the hill. The only view the house had was of the lilac bushes that had overgrown its windows. The pioneers who planted the orchard had built the house back there, probably because they thought a wonderful view like down in the valley was indecent, displayed a willingness to loaf. After all, in those days anybody who could take time out to look at a view must have been considered a loafer, good-for-nothing, and could never have grown such a productive pear orchard on this barren hillside.
Well, the orchard grew, and would have grown anyway, even if they had taken the time to study the view for awhile. The pioneers finally had deserted it and the house, left it all to Lisa and me, two loafers, good-for-nothings, me twenty and Lisa eighteen, neighbors all our fives and only recent discoverers of each other.
As we got out of the car, Lisa said, 'Why don't you bring the blanket?"
I opened the trunk to get it out. It was an old thing I had bought when I first bought my Ford, almost four years before. It was a fake Indian blanket from Sears Roebuck. I thought that when I got the car I should have a blanket to carry around in it, for a lap robe, or for emergencies I might find along the road, or in case I ever found a girl willing to let me lay her out in the woods somewhere. The blanket had been very handy for occasional picnics, and had been offered to one accident victim but was not needed since the ambulance had arrived while I was still getting the blanket out of the trunk. It had yet to be christened in the manner I had originally hoped. So my surprise when Lisa suggested that I bring it was one of excitement and delight and anticipation.
It wasn't that I had never had a girl before. It wasn't that. It was because I was afraid I might be in love with Lisa.
As a matter-of-fact, I had had two girls in high school, both in their own homes, on the living room couches after school but before their folks got home from work.
Women's liberation had freed housewives to take jobs to help out with expenses, but it also freed licentious daughters to invite boys over for some private fun and games. In my experience in the small, northern California high school I attended, it was not easy, and usually was impossible, to make a girl during or after a party, on a date, or at any other regularly-sanctioned situation. Everybody knew everybody else, and contrary to popular opinion it did not lead to communal screwing. But if you could get into a girl's own house when no one else was expected home for a couple hours it was often possible to strip entirely naked and play around as much as you liked and even, as I learned, once in a while to get a piece of ass.
Unfortunately, Lisa's mother had never had a job. Besides that, Lisa had two younger sisters. The result was that Lisa was never home by herself where such a moment might offer itself. The girls I'm talking about were girls I knew before I realized what a swell, fun girl Lisa was.
Bess was the first. She was rather plain looking, but she was blonde with a nice, round, rather roly-poly but voluptuous body. I had business one day with her father, the local warehouse foreman. That was the day I first found Bess alone. My own father had asked me to see the foreman about some storage problem or something and for some reason I went to his house rather than to the warehouse where I normally would have gone.
Bess let me in, asked me if I wanted some cookies. Before I even found a chair to sit in she had me pushed up against the kitchen sink, her arms around my neck, her lips planted firmly against mine, and she was sticking her tongue into my mouth.
I was an innocent seventeen at the time and Bess was eighteen, a senior in high school. I might have been innocent but I wasn't exactly stupid so I opened my mouth and let her slide her tongue in and when she withdrew it I followed with my own. Her hand clamped onto my crotch and my cock rose faster than it ever had in my young life. She took hold of it, was able to get her hand all the way around it despite my pants, and jacked up and down on it, squeezed it, and shot her tongue back into my mouth. No one had ever touched my prick as far as I remembered except myself and maybe the doctor who circumcised it when I was born.
I threw my hips up to her and grabbed the plump cheeks of her ass and pulled her against me. Her tits ground into my chest and her hand kept jacking on my cock.
My hips kept thrusting involuntarily up at her, though I liked it a lot. I didn't think about anything, never thought at all that she might get me to come like that, but it rose up out of me and burst forth like it had been building up for years.
I was embarrassed as hell but I kept her mouth against mine until I finished, then let her slack off. She knew what had happened to me. She felt how wet my pants were getting and said, "Oh, Giff, look what we did."
"What you did, damn it," I corrected.
She laughed at me. We had known each other since she was in the seventh grade and I was in the sixth. We had been friends all that time but we had never dated. We felt pretty easy with each other, which helped us into what happened later.
She touched the wet spot on my pants, pressed against the head of my prick, then stepped away from me, spread her legs, and put her hand between her legs and rubbed her wet fingers back and forth against the crotch of her jeans.
That made her pretty happy but it did nothing for me. My come was seeping down my front, getting me wetter than I already was, and it was turning cold against my skin. "I got to clean this up," I said.
Bess showed me where the bathroom was and left me alone, or pretended to. At least she went into the hallway and I thought she went back to the kitchen.
I opened my pants to wipe everything out in there, I used a handful of toilet paper to wipe the inside of my pants, hoping against hope that it would dry off before my eyes. My shorts were beyond help. Come had run down into my pubic, hair and I wiped it out but some stuck there so I had to get the wash cloth, wet it, and wash my stomach and balls and my prick.
My balls pulled up tight in their sack. My prick wasn't as stiff as it had been, but it still was far from its normal size.
My shorts were too wet and cold for me to wear, so, balancing on one leg, and then the other leg, I pulled off my pants. I'd have to go without shorts. I'd bury these in a garbage can or somewhere, maybe flush them down the toilet and plug up the pipes for Bess' father.
I was just stepping back into my pants when Bess came back. She had been watching me in a mirror in her folks' room. I hadn't even noticed her, I'd been so busy trying to get cleaned up before I got caught with my pants down.
Bess had taken her top off. Her tits were heavy and hung down a little, but the nipples were right up there on top, rising up out of the small brown circles that held them like targets for my tongue.
I put my hands on her tits and squeezed them. I forgot that my pants were around my ankles.
Bess didn't. She took hold of me down there, the first time a girl had ever touched me naked, or even seen me. I liked it a lot.
She went behind me, reached around and unbuttoned my shirt. She pushed it up in back until her bare breasts could press against my back, just under my shoulder blades. Her hands worked down my stomach, which was tight and firm from having played football since I was six, and they lingered a few seconds in my belly button. My prick was back up already and her knuckles brushed the head. I wanted to turn to face her but she said, "Stand still, Giff, do like you're told."
"Yes, Ma'am," I said, looking into the mirror over the sink. I grinned at her. I was taller, but I leaned forward a little so I could see her eyes where they looked up over my shoulder. She wanted to see my face in the mirror as she rubbed her denim-clad crotch against my naked ass.
Her fingers got into my pubic hair, worked around the root of my cock, and held my balls. One finger traced back toward my ass, along the hard foundation of my cock, and her other hand slid out the length of my shaft. Her hand kept going when it got to the head and she turned on the warm water, wet her palm, and rubbed the soap.
Then back she came to my cock, her palm warm and wet now, slick and soapy with foam, and she circled the head with her fingers, sending shivers from my toes to the back of my neck. She slid down to the balls, went back to the tip and back to the balls and squeezed, worked faster and faster, then faster, my balls held firmly with her other hand.
Reaching behind me, I held onto her bare sides and lay my head back against her forehead. I didn't mind her jacking me off, since she had already done it once and this time was much better. I didn't know enough at the time to simply throw her on the floor and fuck her, I didn't know that she probably would have liked that more. At the time I didn't mind her using me; I simply enjoyed it, and it was good.
I spread my legs. My thigh muscles tightened as I rose on the balls of my feet. She gave me slight pressure on my testicles, squeezed them and pushed them back between my legs. Her soapy hand on my cock circled the head, kneaded it like a piece of dough, and I thrust with my hips and fucked through her hand, started pumping back and forth. Her crotch rode with my ass, rubbed against me, and at the same time I wanted to push my cock forward and I wanted to push my ass back into her jeans.
Bess jacked on my cock until I relaxed. I turned around and held her tits, stuck my tongue in her mouth, pulled her against me rubbing my still-throbbing prick against her front, the end of it sticking far up past where her jeans ended, my prick rubbing against her bare skin. I held onto her tits like I was sinking out of a lifeboat.
I think she came herself then, as she wrapped her legs around mine, rode her crotch against my thigh, held onto my bare ass like she was in danger herself. She squeezed my thigh in a scissor-like grip with her own legs, rode me, pushed her cunt against me, and moaned and sighed and held on tight.
The whole thing that day kind of scared us. The frantic desperation with which we had gone into everything made us slacken off as soon as she let me go. I pulled up my pants after cleaning the soap off me. Bess inspected the sink to see what my come looked like. After she was satisfied, she washed it all down the drain and washed the porcelain with a cleanser just in case semen turned porcelain yellow or something and her folks would know instantly that somebody had been fucking their sink.
We had the cookies finally, and some milk. I gave her a long, lingering, tongue-sucking kiss just before I went out the door, on my way to the warehouse now to give her father my father's message.
About three days later, I hadn't even gotten my coat off when the phone rang. It was Bess. "Nobody's home but me," she said. "Can you come over?"
My mother thought it was strange that as soon as I got home from school I was turning around to go somewhere else, but I just let her wonder.
Bess and I didn't talk about cookies this second time. She simply opened her shirt as soon as I walked in the door. My hands were already feeling her nipples when I said, "Hi."
We lay down on the couch in the living room after kicking our shoes off. I lay on top of her with my clothes on. I was surprised at how her breasts sort of retracted into her chest when she lay on her back. She almost looked like a boy laying down like that, and I said so.
"Take my pants off," she said, "and I'll show you if I'm a boy or not."
Raising up on my knees and straddling her hips, I unbuckled her belt. She had a nice belly button and I petted it while I unbuttoned her pants, then slid down the zipper in front. I'd never had my hands this close to a girl's snatch before and I was excited, nervous, and delighted. I thought I was going to get to fuck her.
Before I took her pants off, I slid my hands under her silky underpants, flowery little bikinis, and touched her cunt hairs. Jesus they were nice. Wet, too.
"Does that feel like a boy?" she asked. "No," I said, smiling, laughing with her.
I stripped her pants off the rest of the way, pulled down her underpants, and caught my first whiff of young, excited cunt. I felt like a bee, caught by the sweet nectar of spring.
My own clothes came off fast, like I was ten minutes late getting suited up for the big game of the year. Homecoming, at least.
My prick stood up out of my black hair, hard, ready for her. She loved looking at it. "Turn around," she said.
I posed for her, turning around slowly. Then I realized that she was naked herself, lying before me with her own thatch of hair between her legs. She was the first girl I had ever seen totally naked since I had gotten old enough to fuck one. A lot of firsts. I enjoyed them all.
"Turn over yourself," I said, and watched her turn her body slowly, her breasts growing larger when they got under her, then smaller as she turned back onto her ass. Her legs parted as she moved, and I saw her cunt.
I lay down on her, my balls against her cunt hair. My cock rose between us, to our belly buttons. We rolled with each other, her legs rising up to circle my hips, her arms around my neck. I pulled back to put my cock in her but she clamped her legs and said, "No, Giff, not now, I don't want it now, please no." I stopped and lay down on her again. I respected her wishes, figured that she knew enough to decide when she wanted to be fucked and when she didn't. Nobody had ever gotten this close to fucking with me before, and I was grateful even for that.
We rode each other, my balls hanging across her cunt, our hips moving together, and we dry-fucked until my come founted up again. It shot up between our bodies as far as her tits, my come fucking out of me and over her body, fining her belly button, soaking both our stomachs.
We fucked around like that for almost a month. Her folks never had the faintest idea of what their daughter was up to, and my folks thought I was at basketball practice, or horsing around with the guys at the drugstore uptown, or doing what boys do when they're seventeen. What I did when I was seventeen was fill Bess's belly button with come about five or six times a week.
Finally it got away from us. Bess and I played around once too often, got too close to it to play anymore.
She had my prick in her hands, and I lay between her legs. She aimed it right for her cunt. Her heels rested on my shoulders. We were trying to see how close we could come to fucking without actually fucking.
I made a little thrusting motion with my hips. Bess slid one set of fingers the length of my prick and held the head in the palm of her other hand. A slight shudder went along her backbone, came down her arms into her hands and through her fingers to me. She said, "Giff."
Her hips rose a little off the couch.
"I can't help it, Giff. I want it."
I knew that was it, as soon as it started.
She brought the head of my prick against her cunt, and I hesitated while she rubbed it up and down between the lips. Then she guided me in, brought her hips up toward me. I glanced down between us and saw my virgin prick for the last time as it started sliding into her thick forest and I felt her cunt close around the head and start sucking the rest of it further inside her. She was no virgin. She had told me that before. I slid all the way in with the first thrust, her fingers working along my shaft as it went into her, then cupping my balls.
I pulled out almost to the head, then plunged in again and ground my crotch against her, our hairs mingling, my prick sheathed all the way in her suddenly hot, gripping, clutching cunt, soaking with her juices. I pumped into her and then out again, fucking instinctively from the lessons we'd had before. I looked down again and my cock, shining now with her moisture, worked back and forth in her like a piston. Always my cock had been bare and dry before, riding up between our bodies. Now it buried itself deep inside the hidden places of her body and she grasped it, sucked at it, opened and closed for it.
I came very quickly, shot her as full as I had shot the sink full that first time. My come spurt up against her insides and made her open her mouth and I kissed her, my tongue diving deep inside her cheeks as if to meet my prick coming up from the other direction. I shot her as full as I could, and hoped for more.
I never got it. What I got was my first lesson in the peculiar manner with which women pan treat their fuckers.
Bess said that if we kept fucking we would not be able to stop. At least she wouldn't, she said. She said she had fucked a guy like that before, somebody not from the valley so I didn't know him, and it had torn her up when they finally did have to stop. She said that if we did keep fucking, one of two things would happen: either we would get caught and her folks would give us a hell of a time, or we would simply keep fucking until we got married and she did not want that to happen either. She had plans to go to San Francisco in the fall and get a job and she did not want to have to go as my wife or anybody else's.
Nor did she want to leave her folks unhappy behind her.
I sat there and listened to all that with my finger up her cunt and wanted nothing so much as to be able to replace my finger with my cock, but that was that as far as Bess was concerned.
"You've got a nice cock," she said, "a sweet cock, and I'm glad I got it before I went away. I've thought about your cock since we were kids. You'll get a lot of good use out of it, but not out of me anymore."
I thought it was damn selfish of her, to use me like that for a while and just as I was getting used to getting it steady, as I was getting used to her and also used to coming without the aid of my own hand, she cut me off as completely as if she had used a kitchen knife. I was lucky it didn't turn me against girls. All it did was make me hungry for more.
I understood her reasoning and was grateful to her for ending the relationship before it got serious. I never wanted to get serious with her anyway, I just wanted to fuck her. So I was desperate for a while. I thought how much better for me it would have been if my father had owned a sheep ranch instead of a pear orchard. You can do things with ewes that you can't do with Bartletts.