FROM MY LIFE

The Naughtiest Boy

Teenagers experimenting the way teenagers did in my time

At the end of a post about my teenage years, I mentioned I became very interested in the naughtiest boy in the class. Taking my memory back 40+ years (yes, I’m that old!) brings on some sad thoughts, as years later this boy was in a motorcycle accident with my best friend.

He lived.

She died.

But that is not what this story is about…

New boy in school

This boy — let's call him Ryan — did not start the school year with us. He transferred from another school after his parents moved to the city we lived in. Ryan was a year older than the other kids in the class, making him two years older than I was. He had a problem with authority. He acted like rules applied to everyone, except him, and consequently, he received several punishments.

He didn’t seem to care.

His rebellion against the school structure made him even more attractive to all the girls in school.

Every girl had the hots for him, but he was hot for only one girl — the most stuck-up bitch in my class. Apparently, their relationship had started even before he started attending our school.

I wasn’t different from any of the other girls. I really had the hots for this guy, so much so that I dated his best friend, Pete, only so sometimes I could get close to Ryan. Every girl kept a close watch on Ryan and his girlfriend, Mary. Each time the two of them broke up — and that happened a lot, only for them to get together again — girls practically threw themselves at Ryan’s feet.

I did the same.

But I had one advantage. I learned that Ryan’s biological dad lived in the same coastal village as an uncle of mine. When Ryan told Pete he would be going there for the school holidays, I made some plans, especially as just before the school holidays started, Ryan and Mary had broken up again.

Ryan wasn’t happy about that, as he had wanted Mary to join him for a week or two during the six weeks of our school holidays.

I casually mentioned my upcoming visit to my uncle for two weeks of the school holidays — one week to work and the other to have fun. Just as casually, I mentioned where my uncle lived. Ryan reacted just as I hoped he would. He invited me to spend some time with him. I told him I was sure my uncle would allow me some time off, but I first had to ask permission, and I would let him know.

On the last day before the school holidays started, I became Ryan’s girlfriend after breaking up with Pete.

Teenagers!

Holiday fun, not always innocent

I can’t remember how many times I met him when we were in that coastal village — Swakopmund. I didn’t work every day, and my uncle didn’t mind me going to the beach whenever I wanted. But I made sure I did work, as working in the store was the only way I could convince my parents and my uncle to approve the trip.

On all those days I didn’t have to work, I met Ryan. The tension between us slowly built and one day, on the couch in his father’s home, his hand disappeared into my panties. His father walked in on us. We stopped and waited for a reprimand, but his father said nothing.

Each time we thought we would be alone, someone else was around. The excitement grew and grew. Our need was getting almost uncontrollable.

It finally happened in the dunes

Two days before I was to go home and the last time Ryan and I could meet, we went to the beach. We weren’t planning on any swimming, but walked away from the sea, into the dunes.

We put our towels on the hot sand and lay down. Our hands were on each other instantly, our movements feverish. I wore a dress over my bikini, and he was in his swimming trunks and a T-shirt.

His T-shirt came off first, then my dress. His hands moved over my body, touching my breasts, touching my stomach, moving down to my crotch, but not touching me. Back up, back to my breasts. He rolled me over so my chest was resting on top of his. While he kissed me, he undid my bikini top. He wanted to roll me back onto the towel, but I fought him. Even though my breasts were touched before, no boy had ever really seen them.

Ryan did.

For the first time ever, a boy really looked at my breasts and touched them while he looked at them.

His hand traveled down again and soon slipped inside my bikini bottoms. I was shy about him finding my wetness. Back then, I thought it was wrong. The shyness intensified when he took my hand and put it on his stomach.

Without a word, I realized what he wanted. My hand moved down, and another first happened — I touched an erect penis. He guided me to move my hand up and down. I followed his lead.

In the same rhythm as my hand, he moved his fingers in and out of me and over my clitoris. Soon my hand moved all by itself and I was thoroughly enjoying the pleasure his fingers brought me. In my youthful innocence — ahem! — I didn’t know what an orgasm was, but I’m sure there, under the scorching desert sun, both of us had one.

Later, he told me that Mary would never let him touch her in that way. His remark left me with mixed feelings.

Then there were tears

Back at school the next week, he broke up with me and went back to Mary. I was heartbroken, and cried for two weeks — in class, during breaks, and at home.

I didn’t care who saw it.

My heart was broken.

I hated him, but I also wanted him back. And I hated Mary even more because she had him back. My mind told me she stole him from me. I had just conveniently forgotten they always got back together.

A year later, we moved to a city on the other side of the country, but by then I wasn’t one of the girls wanting something with him anymore.

Two years after we had moved away, his name came up again when I was told about the motorcycle accident.

A story for another day…

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