Mom dragged me to my sister’s ballet lessons as a ten-year-old, I was not a happy camper. Then things changed.
I survived the trauma of having a baby sister as a two-year-old. You know how it is, she shows up, and you get less of the prized parental attention. Ella became the star of the show, I became the big brother. And so, it continued until age ten when Ella was taken to a free ballet class. When it was over she had done so well and had been signed up for two weekly lessons. I was told by mom to take something to occupy myself for the hour. I selected my Superman comic books and my G.I. Joe with the Kung Fu Grip. I sulked and pouted and sat with my knees in my chest most of the time. This was how Tuesday and Saturdays went for many months until I learned that I was not the only boy held captive. Eventually as the girls danced and twirled behind the glass wall, three or four of us would ‘Get loud and Rumble’ only to be hushed by one or the other mothers.
When I was thirteen, I always had a raging hard on every morning. I would draw up my knees and bat it around a bit under the sheet before getting out of bed. It felt good and I did it often. One day the head brushed against the sheet. It stunned me and I grabbed the shaft just as it spasmed.
Eric leads the way until I take control.
Eric became the group leader so to speak. We would distance ourselves as far as we could from the gaggle of women, Ohhing and AHHHHing over their little darling girls, and we would have serious quiet conversations. Erick said one day, my sister’s slot is bleeding today and she had to put a thing in it. My mom helped her, but she cried. Have any of you seen your sister’s slot?”
“I have,” I volunteered. “But it is not a slot, it’s called a ba’gyna, dad said you put your penis in there to make her have a baby when you are married.”
So that is how our private sex education classes started. Erick and I jerked of in the toilet of the men’s room together, each trying to cum before the other. I won. I relayed all the information I heard while having my ear pressed to the bedroom door as Ella was informed of the facts of life. Eric was told not to soil the sheets with his ‘nocturnal emissions’ by his father. I had always kept a paper towel with me after the first time.
Our club grew and shrank over the years as girls came and went. We noticed the development of breasts. We had bet who was going to be the first in a training bra. Hard nipples always were a special visual treat, poking out of the skintight leotards they wore. We started critiquing the girls, whose leaps were off, so and so had fat rolls on her back, we were merciless.
The tables turn.
By the time I was sixteen I got my driver's permit and shortly thereafter my license. I was free. I missed the time watching the girls with Eric and dreaming of doing things, like kissing and dating.
I did date Eric’s sister twice. Nothing happened. She kept her legs clamped together as I tried to feel her up.
Now at eighteen, dreaming of my fantasy ballerina dancing for me en pointe…A snowflake: my snowflake from the Nutcracker. I had watched that dance literally thousands of times over the years…she is nude except for a snow-white tutu…Tiara glistening in her blond hair…a Grand Jeté…. just for me…Please…Please… just one more, displaying all of your womanly charms. Now place yourself on my face…A picture of your snatch from a Hustler magazine is on the top bunk just inches from my nose….lower it now. Roommate will be back soon, got to hide you again…until next week.
Seventy…I make a mess in the sheets once again. It doesn’t matter, I have to wash them myself. I think that this ‘Virtual Reality’ thing is going to be a hit.
Did anyone think that was a possibility in the seventies?
Computer, End ballerina program, return the Holodeck to normal lighting…
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