Date: Thu, 14 Oct 1999 21:42:45 +0100
From: "J. Ocean" <jocean@slip.net>
Subject: my-seventeenth-summer-part 1

The summer I turned 17 was the summer of Madeleine.

I'd been hoping to go back to L.A. for the summer, but my folks couldn't
afford the airfare, so I was stuck at home working odd jobs, hoping to
raise enough money to fly out by the middle of July. Omaha was boring as
hell and I was horny beyond belief.

I'd had a girlfriend for a while during the year, this cheerleader named
Tina who was a year behind me. It had been weird getting back from L.A.,
where I was having sex every day with Tracy and Kimiko and their whole
little network of girls they played with, to home, where I had no sex at
all. In the fall I took to going to football games to ogle the
cheerleaders, who naturally always wore tight sweaters and tiny little
skirts. If you paid any attention at all it wasn't hard to get good looks
at their panties when they did flips and cartwheels. It gave me a real
subversive thrill to sit there on the bleachers, in the middle of a
wholesome Nebrasha crowd, and fantasize about sticking my head in under
their skirts, pulling those panties down, and going to town.

I couldn't help noticing Tina, who had big green eyes, light brown hair,
and a gorgeous, robust body with wide hips and monster tits. A lot of my
fantasies started centering around her, but I never imagined there was a
chance of anything actually happening. Then, one day, I was walking home
from a game when I turned a corner and saw Tina walking maybe 20 yards
ahead of me, still in her light blue cheerleader's uniform. I caught up
with her and started a conversation. She was friendly and funny and as we
walked along together, I started to feel this funny, electric kind of
tension. At the time it was a foreign sensation; I know now that it
signifies a sexual connection, telling me that a particular girl is
gettable.

We started hanging out together, mostly at her house, which was empty for a
couple of hours after school, and I hemmed and hawed about whether to make
a move on her. I felt pretty strongly that there was an unspoken attraction
between us, but making a lesbian pass is not something that you do lightly
in Omaha.  Finally, though, we got back to her house one day when it was
raining.  Tina started to make us some tea and as she stood there at the
stove in her wet, clinging uniform I couldn't stand it anymore. I walked up
behind her and kissed her on the neck, and next thing I knew we were 69ing
on her bed, feasting on each other with a ravenousness born of long
deferment.

After that, I would meet her most days after school and walk her home, and
the moment we got in her door we'd start going at it like bitches in heat
until it was time for her dad to get home. I got to live my fantasy,
pulling down her panties and putting my head underneath that little
pale-blue skirt.

I won't lie to you-those were good days. Have you ever tasted corn-fed
Midwestern cheerleader? I'm here to tell you that it's extremely yummy. I
could have spent hours with my head between Tina's legs, and sometimes I
did. I can still smell her now-dripping wet, tangy, a little salty and
sweaty from cheerleading practice.

After about six weeks, though, Tina broke up with me because she was
paranoid about getting caught and exposed as a lesbian in Omaha. I didn't
think it would be the end of the world, but I have to admit that it
definitely would have been a hassle, so I had to respect her feelings. I
stayed celibate for the rest of the year and it's probably just as well; I
concentrated really hard on my schoolwork and was able to do really well
during this crucial period for getting into college. I masturbated a lot
and kept to myself.

By the time summer rolled around, though, I was burned out and ready to cut
loose. I was about to turn 17 and full of raging hormones, and so
frustrated that I was considering finding a guy to fuck. I've never been
against guys or repelled by them, though I do prefer girls. At the time I
didn't have any experience with men, though, and I was intimidated by them
in general and afraid of getting pregnant.

So I stuck to babysitting, dog walking, housecleaning, and mowing lawns,
imagining being on a deck chair in L.A. with Kimiko straddling my head and
Tracy working her magic on my clit.

When I first met Madeleine, I knew her as Ms. Murdoch. She had lived down
at the end of my block for about a year, though she was kind of a
mysterious figure. I knew that she was an executive at a bank downtown, but
I hardly ever saw her around the neighborhood. On those rare occasions when
I saw her, though, I definitely noticed her. She was tall, stately, with
raven hair and cool gray eyes. She was always wearing a sharp, neatly
tailored business suit with a skirt.  Most of the time she had her hair up,
but one time she had it down around her shoulders, and I marvelled at its
luster and sheer blackness-it was the blackest head of hair I'd ever
seen. Ms. Murdoch was unquestionably an impressive woman, one who got your
attention.

I had wondered about her; she had an air of intelligence and
self-confidence that really stood out in that community, where many of the
women were still traditional and submissive. You didn't see her much at
social events, but I heard her talked about. The other women in the
neighborhood didn't like her. She was too beautiful, too smart, too
successful.

Then, one Saturday when I didn't have much to do, I ran into her. She was
dressed differently than I'd ever seen her before, in shorts and a tank
top, with her hair tied back in a ponytail. She looked almost like a
different person, a much less forbidding one. This was the first time I
really noticed her body. Her usual dress wasn't butch, didn't hide her legs
and curves, but I guess the businesslike look kind of toned down her sexual
aura. I only now noticed how exquisitely toned she was, with strong but
supple arms and shoulders, muscular but tapered legs, a small waist and
high, firm breasts. I was so struck by her that I was afraid I might be
staring, so I looked down as I asked her if there was any work I might do
for her.  There was, she said-in fact she was very busy and could use help
with all sorts of things. "Thanks, Ms. Murdoch," I said, looking up into
her eyes for the first time.

She met my gaze with those keen gray eyes and smiled a smile that surprised
me with its sweetness. "Call me Madeleine."

That was how it began.