All day, at school, I thought about Tim, and, the alarmingly distant way he had said goodbye to me that morning. Over and over in my mind, that moment played out. The way he had not kissed me, or, held me close--the distant look in his eyes as he patted me on the bottom, as if I was his daughter, or, a filly he was training.
As usual, school was a haze that seemed to go on forever…a slow motion acid trip, really. Finally, the last bell sounded, and, I went to my locker to meet Doug, who was my usual ride home, or, to the barn, after school. Doug was, as always, all smiles, and, surrounded by girls, who gave me decidedly frosty looks when I approached. This was nothing new. I seldom got anything but frosty looks from the girls in my school. Doug put his arm around me, pleased to see me. We didn’t have any classes together, this year, and, we always enjoyed meeting up after classes. We walked downstairs together, and, walked out of school into the bright sunlight. I stood for a moment, and, wiggled my toes in my boots. “I can’t wait to get home and get these boots off. I got drenched at the track this morning, and, have had these boots on all day with no socks!” I told Doug. Doug looked down at me, his arm still draped around my shoulders, “You see Ten Speed this morning?” He asked, his eyes twinkling as they squinted down into mine. Doug definitely had the Clint Eastwood thing going on, with the squinty blue eyes, however, whereas Clint looked steely and…dangerous, Doug looked happy and…stoned. “I did!” I said, smiling somewhat shyly, then added, “He was acting weird this morning.” Doug suddenly squeezed my arm, and, said, “I see your boy is here to get you.” I looked up and saw Tim’s red and white pickup, in all its rusty glory, sitting there in the bright sunlight, with Tim’s tall figure leaning against the passenger door.. I got a little thrill, and, pleasure filled every inch of my being. I immediately stepped away from Doug and ran toward the pickup, looking back at Doug just in time to see him shrugging dramatically at Tim. I suppose I could have played it a bit cooler...but, I was so very glad to see him. I stopped just in front of him—just in time to stop myself from leaping into his arms. Tim, grinning, reached down to cup my bottom with his long, thin hands, pulling me toward him, and, kissing me quickly on the mouth, “You happy to see me, Sugar?” he asked against my lips. I looked up at him as he set me away from him. I was smiling from ear to ear. He and Doug spoke for a few minutes, as I got into the pickup, and, I heard Tim telling Doug that he had plans with Shell. We had plans!!!
Tim got into the pickup, next to me, and, looked down at me for a moment. “I got the afternoon off, so, I thought we’d go to my place and hang out for a few hours,” he said, smiling invitingly. I was thrilled, and, also dismayed. “Tim,” I said hesitantly, “I haven’t had a shower, and, I’ve been in these boots since this morning.” He bent down and sniffed at my neck. “You smell alright to me,” he said cheerfully. Ugh. Apparently, he was unaware of certain aspects of…lovemaking, from the female point of view. As much as I loved walking around with the scent of him surrounding me, all over me, I didn’t want him smelling me like that. As was so often the case, he seemed to read my mind, “I’ll tell you what: We’ll stop by your place, and, you can shower and change your clothes. What time does everyone get home?” The house was generally empty, when I got home—occasionally, my brother was home. “I doubt anyone’ll be there for awhile,” I said, brightening. He nodded, and, started his pickup, waving goodbye to Doug, who stood, again, surrounded by girls.
When we arrived at my folks’ tiny condo, it was, indeed, empty, except for the two lonely dogs who greeted us at the door. Duska and Zippy were barn dogs, and, our interval in the tiny condo had been difficult for them. Zippy, as was usual, was leaping at me, barking enthusiastically. I felt the usual guilt pangs I often suffered as a result of Zippy. Zippy needed to spend time with me, and, I was going to be leaving him, shortly. It seemed I was always leaving him, these days.
I said to Tim, “You’re going to have to walk the dogs, though.” He looked at Duska, somewhat dubiously. Duska was our German Shephard Dog, who Tim didn’t know all that well, since Duska was not allowed at the barn. “Don’t she kill things?” he wanted to know. Duska had committed canicide on more than one occasion. “Not if you put a leadrope on her,” I said, handing him one that was hanging on the wall. I smiled watching Tim exit the little condo, with Zippy under one arm(Zippy could not be persuaded to leave me, so, Tim had to pick him up), and, leading an enthusiastic Duska with the other arm. I always marveled at Tim’s relationship with Zippy. They had an understanding, those two. Zippy did not like anyone. He simply believed that I was the only living thing on the planet worthy of his consideration. Zippy was somewhat infamous within the horse community. His infamy began years ago, when he followed me into a western riding class, and, when the judge tried to remove him, Zippy bit the judge’s hand. What followed was a little blip of Quarter Horse showing history. There was a chase involved, some more biting, and, the incident ended with me dismounting and passing Zippy over the fence to my father.
Zippy was also fiercely protective of me, and, there were a few well known trainers who had little scars on their hands or faces, thanks to Zippy. Right from the beginning, however, Tim and Zip seemed to understand each other. There were a few times, even, where Tim had had to discipline Zippy—particularly when Zippy was heeling the steer, something which was forbidden during roping So, seeing Zippy’s fluffy bottom peeking out from under Tim’s arm as they left the condo tickled me.
I headed quickly for the bathroom, feeling ridiculously happy. I finished my shower, and, was onto my quick bath when I heard the front door open, and, heard Zippy’s little feet running toward the bathroom. I always left the door open a crack for him, and, his little head peeked through in moments, before he pushed the door opened. He braced his little feet on the step up into the Jacuzzi tub to kiss my wet face. “He gonna get in there with ya?” Tim said, from the doorway. I sank down in the tub, stricken with sudden, bizarre modesty. Tim laughed, “Hell, sweetheart, it ain’t like I haven’t seen all yer groceries a million times before,” he said softly. Groceries? “It’s not that,” I said urgently, “My family could walk in at any time!” He laughed again, and, went off toward my bedroom, leaving the door open. “Don’t go snooping around in there!” I shouted, nervously.
I finished my bath, quickly, toweling my hair dry, and, slapping on some eye makeup. I made my way back to the bedroom I shared with my sister, wearing only a towel. He was sitting on my bed, and, I noticed with embarrassment the box of tampons which sat on my dresser. Tim was holding a pair of shorts. “Are these yours?”” he wanted to know. I looked at them. They were a pair of tiny short shorts with a button fly that Frank had given me for my birthday last year. Unfortunately, my mother would not let me out of the house, wearing them. But, I loved them. “Yes,” I said, simply. He groaned softly. “Can you please wear these?” I thought for a moment, wondering how much time we had before someone came home. I took the shorts from him, and, dropped my towel. He sucked in his breath, “You tryin’ to kill me, darlin’?” He said, and, his voice was filled with awe. As I started to pull on the shorts, he asked, “Ain’t you gonna put on some panties?” Oh. I had forgotten. I was so nervous, and, so caught up in being alone with him, in such a forbidden environment…I wasn’t thinking. He already had a pair in his lap, which he handed me. They were plain pink cotton. I dropped the shorts, and, stepped out of them, pulling on the panties, instead. “Shit,” he said, softly. “I hope nobody comes home, now.” He gestured toward his crotch, where there was a large bulge in his jeans. I looked at him, smiling shyly. “I’ll hurry,” I said, with a voice that trembled just slightly. I stood, then, in my tiny shorts, but, was topless. “What should I wear on top?” I wondered aloud. He got up and reached into one of my drawers. “Shirts are in the drawer above,” I corrected him softly. He looked over his shoulder at me, eyes moving over my breasts, before delving into the other drawer. He pulled out a yellow, stretchy halter top. “I saw you wearing this, once,” he said, tossing it to me. I was pleased. This halter top was very flattering to my young breasts!
Dressed, finally, I said, “We better get out of here, before someone comes home.” He took my arm, and, turned me around in a little circle, whistling softly. “Your little ass is so fine in them shorts, I just about can’t stand it,” he whispered. “And, damn, you got some nice cleavage,” he added, whistling again. Just then, my stomach rumbled, embarrassingly. He looked at me. “You eaten, today?” he wondered. Despite his apparent attraction to my young body, Tim was often critical of my thinness, and, often took it upon himself to monitor my eating habits. This was often a source of conflict between us. I confessed that I had not eaten all day.
On our way out the door, my younger brother arrived home. My brother had what would now be called a, “man crush,” on Tim, and, was often in awe of the tall cowboy. Tim noticed my brother’s hat, a Minnesota Twins baseball cap, and, grabbed it playfully off of my brother’s head. In turn, he tossed my brother his own cap. “I need that back,” my brother called after us. Tim said, good naturedly, “I’ll give it to your sister.”
We stopped at Doug’s house to eat. Doug’s mom made us cheeseburgers, which Tim, Doug and myself wolfed down enthusiastically. Doug’s mom was a kind woman, who often found herself feeding the local cowboys, and, their girlfriends. Or, girlfriend, as it were. I enjoyed being at their large home. I was often the only female, wherever I was, and, it was nice to be in the company of another woman, though I was a bit embarrassed by the revealing outfit my cowboy had picked out. I hadn’t really planned on being anywhere except Tim’s little home. As a matter of fact, we were at Doug’s house because I was too embarrassed to go into a restaurant dressed as I was.
Doug’s mom, Jan, loved Tim. Like most women, it seemed. She seemed very pleased that Tim and I were a couple, and, fussed over Tim, making sure he got a second burger, worrying over his thin frame, etc.
Doug kept the beer coming, and, by the time we left Doug’s house, I had consumed three or four ice cold bottles of beer. I was gloriously tipsy. Doug had wanted Tim to help him rope, that night, but, Tim said,”Nope. Shell is gonna walk around my new bedroom naked, for awhile.” Doug’s squinty eyes were smiling, and, he wanted to know,” Can I come?” Tim said, simply, “Nope.”
Tim and I stumbled into his new home, and, barely made it to the bedroom before I was naked, again. The little house glowed with afternoon sunlight, as it shined through the windows and reflected off the shiny wood floors. I was just drunk enough not to care, and, didn’t flinch at all when Tim embarked upon his usual close inspection of every inch of my flesh, after making me keep my promise to walk around his room in the nude. Things went a bit quicker than usual, that night, but, I didn’t mind. I felt cherished, dangerous, and, very grown up.
It was nice to be able to lie in bed with him, rather than having to rush off to meet curfew, or, get to school. It was nice to be alone, and, to not have the worry of someone knocking on his window, or, walking into his living room. I sighed with contentment, and, dared to snuggle close, resting my head on his thin chest. Afternoon delight, indeed. I was quite delighted, at the moment.
I felt his lips on the top of my head. “Tim?” “Yeah, darlin’,” he answered. “I’ve got to ask you something—and, it’s really dirty.” Some things had been bothering me, and, I felt emboldened by alcohol, marijuana, and, the fact that, like me, he was naked. Also, I was looking at his feet, rather than his face. Anytime I could talk without looking him in the eye was prime time for disclosure.
“Really?” he wondered. I struggled to form the words, not wanting to sound ignorant, or, inexperienced, but, needing to know the answers, somehow. “How dirty?” he asked, after waiting in vain for further explanation from me. “Really dirty,” I said, in a hushed voice. “Okay. I’ll try and stand it,” he whispered back. I could tell by his voice that he was smiling. “Are you laughing?” I wanted to know. “Hell no. I am deadly serious. Just waitin’ for you to ask me some really dirty questions.”
“Okay,” I said, deciding to dive right in. “How does it fit in your pants, all day?” Occasionally, I had seen a telltale bulge, in the front of his jeans, when we’d been touching each other at the barn(or, recently, in my bedroom, at home), but, usually(I had looked) I couldn’t see anything.
I had gotten a glimpse of, “it,” during our loveplay, and, marveled at how it could fit in his pants all day, or, how he could ride with it, sticking out like that. I also suspected that it would be difficult to bend.
He hadn’t answered me, so, I decided to elaborate, further,” I mean, does it stay in its sheath, until you have to pee, or, be with me?” “Sheath?” he queried. I sensed I had blundered, and, was afraid to say anything further. “Ooooooooh, you mean like Chocky, or, Smokey!” he said, understanding dawning. His voice was very soft, barely a whisper. But, I had to know. “Yeah, I mean, how does it know when to come out? Does it ever come out when it isn’t supposed to?” Again, he was silent. I waited for my answer. “Well, what does Chocky do, when it comes out?” he asked, gravely. I thought for a moment, before answering,” Well, for one, thing Chocky doesn’t wear pants.” “And, what’s the other thing?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Chocky doesn’t ride, either.” “Aah. I see,” he said soberly. Again, he was quiet for a very long time, before saying, “Well, darlin’, it ain’t quite like that,” he said, hesitantly. He seemed to be struggling for a way to answer me. Then, I felt his body shaking, and, pulled away from him to look at his face. He was laughing! I flung myself away from him, and, covered my face with my arm, a move I had found effective in shielding myself from him in my moments of vulnerability. And, I was feeling very vulnerable, at the moment. I felt his hands prying my arm away from my face, and, he peered into my brown eyes with his laughing blue ones. “Do you want me to tell you how things work, or not?” he wanted to know, still laughing. “Not if you’re going to laugh at me,” I said, truly embarrassed. “I told you it was really dirty—and—and I know how things work,” I added, somewhat defensively. “Oh, yeah, you’re a dirty girl, alright,” he said, still chuckling. I was, at that moment, seriously considering the wisdom of bringing my curiosity into the light. I felt very awkward, very young, very naïve. And, I had exposed this, to him, the person I most wanted to believe I was mature, worldly and sophisticated.
He climbed on top of me, and, rested his elbows on either side of my face, peering down at me. “There’s no sheath,” he said dryly. It took me a moment to digest this. “Nooo-oo sheath,” I said, slowly. I struggled to get a visual image, and, wasn’t able to conjure one. “So, how does it fit in your pants all day, then?” I wondered. Back to my original point of curiosity. The Sheath Theory had been my mind’s way of explaining away the question of how, “it,” fit in his pants. “Isn’t it uncomfortable while you are riding? I mean, it’s so huge, and, it sticks out so far! “I exclaimed in wonder “Really?” he asked softly, his smile widening “Huge? Darlin’, anytime you wanna talk dirty, you just ask!” he added, smiling down at me, and, I smiled boldly back at him, though, inwardly, I was feeling more and more awkward. I was on a mission, however--a mission of discovery. I had already humiliated myself, so, had nothing left to lose, as I saw it, in that moment. I looked at him without blinking, or, trying to hide my face, and, awaited his answer. He just stared back at me. He wasn’t blinking, either. “Are you going to answer me?” I wondered. He blinked. “Sorry, darlin’. I was just enjoying my little moment in the sun.” “What moment?” I asked, mildly irritated. “The moment I realized you spend as much time thinking about my dick as I do thinking about your little muff!” he said, chuckling. “This may be my finest moment, ever!” I flushed. I think my entire body turned red. I tried to buck him off of me, but, he wasn’t budging. “I got something to show you,” he said, softly. He then flipped over on his back. He swept his hand downward, and, gestured dramatically, as if he was showcasing a prize on The Price Is Right. “See? No sheath.” I looked down there. I could not help myself. Indeed, there was no sheath. “Oooooooooh, “was all I could say. Hmmmmm. “So, how do you go around like that all day?” my original question still had no answer. He rolled back on top of me, grinning. “Well,” he drawled, “It ain’t like that all the time.” Oh. More questions filled my brain. When was it like that, I wondered. As if reading my thoughts, My Cowboy went on to explain, gently, “It gets like that when I’m excited, like, now. Normally, it just hangs there, like a—a—deflated balloon. You know how they look before you blow em’ up?” Oh. I pondered this for a few moments. It didn’t seem possible. Then, I got a very clear visual image of his, “dick,” deflating, like a balloon, complete with the ptttttttthhhhhhh sound, and, the giggling started. Oh, boy, did the giggling start. He was laughing, as well, though I was fairly certain he’d no idea about the image I now had burned into my brain. After some time, I managed to get out, “So, when you aren’t excited, it is small, and, fits in your pants, and, doesn’t stick out. It is, in a sense deflated.” I thought a bit longer, while giggles still escaped, periodically, from my lips. “How come, sometimes, I can see it sticking out, in your pants,” I wanted to know. “You gonna ask me questions, and, laugh at my answers, all afternoon long?” he wondered. “If you’d just answer them, it wouldn’t take as long,” I said, and giggled.
“Well, “ he drawled, conversationally, “Sometimes, I cop a feel at work, which gets me excited, or, sometimes, you bend over to pick out somebody’s feet, and, I can’t help but imagine the view I’d have if you was bent over like that in your birthday suit. And, hell, you ain’t got no bra on ninety percent of the time, so, if I happen to look…I get excited. And, I can’t do it if I ain’t excited. I couldn’t get inside you. That answer your question?” Why, yes it did. I nodded. “Are ya done askin’ questions, now?” he wanted to know. “Yes,” I answered, “Except, there’s just one more thing. If it only sticks out like that when you get excited, how come it sticks out when you are doing gross stuff.” “Gross stuff?” he asked, “I gotta know what you consider, ‘gross stuff. “ I hadn’t considered the possibility that he may not know what I was referring to. I, again, regretted letting this question slip. Explaining myself was far beyond my capability, at the moment. I would need a bit more beer, it seemed. I didn’t want to risk pointing out that something was gross, if he hadn’t already considered it. I liked all the things he did, and, if I put the idea into his head that they were gross, he may not keep doing them. On the other hand, I was curious as hell—even more so, now that I had a bit more information to feed my visual imagery. “Spit it out! I can see you’re dyin’ to ask me something,” he said, smiling into my eyes. “I need more beer,” I said, breathlessly. “Weren’t you just sayin’, a minute ago, that the room was spinnin’? Didn’t I tell you to put your foot on the floor to stop it?” He reminded me. He had a point. The last thing I wanted, this night, was to become the vomitous, drunken, teenager. He rolled off of me, and, put on his jeans. Shoot. Talking was easier when he was naked. He stepped over to the dresser, and, returned with a lit joint. “How come you put your pants on?” I asked. “’Cuz, you keep talkin’ about my dick, now I’m self conscious.” Oh. He lay down, next to me, on the bed. Tom Petty was playing in the background. I could hear Tom singing “You don’t have to feel like a refugee,” and smiled at Tim. He had told me, once, that the song reminded him of me. I didn’t really understand why, but, now, every time I heard it playing, I thought of Tim.
“Okay, you buzzin’, now?” he wanted to know. “Mmmm hmmmm,” I nodded. “So, tell me what the, ‘gross stuff,’ is that I do, which makes my dick stick out, when it ain’t in the sheath, which I don’t have,’ he said, matter of factly, reclining back, with his arms folded behind his head. He still wore his jeans, along with a big grin. I had a sense he knew what I was trying to tell him. “You already know what I’m talking about!!” I said. “It’s called a boner, by the way,” he said, still grinning, “When you say it sticks out, it makes me feel like I’m walkin’ around, accidentally pokin’ you with it, or somethin’”. Ah. I had heard that term before. Boner.…and, I had heard him mention having one, before. I had always chalked it up to one of the many mysteries that would never be solved. So, I was not to say that it stuck out, but, was to call it a, “boner.” Good to know. “You know what I’m trying to tell you,” I said, hoping for an answer, without having to elaborate. “Darlin’, I can’t think of a single thing I do, when I’m with you, that would be gross. I usually do my really gross stuff when you’re not around,” he said, sitting up to kiss my breast. Once again, my brain conjured up visual images, and, I burst out laughing—so hard I could scarcely breathe. He kissed my other breast. “I think we’ve talked enough,” he murmured, then, added, “Though, I am kind of curious about the Gross Stuff...”
I suddenly was overcome with the image of poor Tim, walking about, accidentally bumping into me with his appendage, and, the laughter resumed in earnest. “Oh, God, I can’t stop,” I cried, doubling over. He chuckled, unable to help himself, “Hell, I’m on a roll, ain’t I? Not sure this be the kind of roll I wanna be on, though,” he said.
“Okay, I’m ready!” I announced, “I’m going to tell you what the gross stuff is now!” This was punctuated with a few more giggles. I said, haltingly, “You know, when you put your head down there.” The last part came out rather triumphantly, as if I was announcing my candidacy for president. I giggled again, for good measure. He looked at me, strangely, eyes still filled with laughter. “Well, I surely don’t mean to gross you out, lady,” he said mildly. “Noooooooooooo!” I exclaimed, “You aren’t grossing me out! I am grossing you out!” “You are?” he asked gently, rubbing his thumb across my cheek, smiling. “Well, yeah,” I whispered. The blasted butterflies had returned to my belly. Why couldn’t I keep my cool, ever, around this cowboy? I had forgotten why it was so important, to begin with. Why were we discussing this?. “So, what’s so gross about that?,” he wanted to know. There was laughter in that soft voice. “Can we nevermind this?” I wondered. I was…finished with the topic. “Uh uh,” he said. Now, he was on a mission. “I really need to know. In fact, if I don’t find out, I’ll likely be tossin’ and turnin’, for weeks, until I find out. If a man is grossed out, he needs to know why. Maybe there’s something I don’t know, but, I ought to. Hell, I ain’t never done that with nobody else.” I tried pulling away from him, but, his weight held me in place. His face was only an inch or so from mine. “Can we lie on our sides, with you behind me? I can talk, like that,” I said, knowing how ridiculous I sounded, but, hell, the entire conversation was ridiculous. And, he hadn’t done that with anyone else???? So, he was a rookie, too, at least in that respect!
“Okay, darlin’,” he said, and, complied with my wishes, folding his arms tightly under my breasts. Ah. I felt safe. I went on, then, to explain the things I had noticed, during that portion of our lovemaking—things that had worried me, that had made me even more self conscious, things that had, on more than one occasion, caused me to push at his forehead with my feet, trying to get him to stop what he was doing, something which had seemed to amuse him. I had thought this was something he did out of great sacrifice to himself, in order to please me, based on what I had heard others say about the act. Yet, I had seen, “it,” as he’d moved about, during that act, just glimpses, however, it had been sticking straight out, meaning, it seemed, that he was, “excited,” by doing it.
I learned, from him, that bright afternoon, in his new bedroom, many things about my body which I had not known. He very kindly, and, very patiently, dispelled my numerous fears and concerns, and, solved some mysteries along the way. He was unable, at times, to hide his amazement at some of the things I did not know, or, incorrectly assumed, however, he was kind, and, generally careful not to mock me. And, it was comforting, and, also, strangely endearing that he was learning about my body, too—that, as he had tried to tell me that very first night, he was no expert.
The fact that no sheath existed on a homosapien male was also reinforced, that afternoon. I went home that evening with a clear, working understanding of male and female anatomy, of the human order.
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