These events occurred somewhere in a place I've been. A place where time passes dreamily. A place where our heart's desires are fulfilled. Where every yearning heart is held and kept and lifted up in loving embrace. Please play safe and be kind to yourselves and to one-another.

Our community always felt like a small town. In truth, it is a semi-rural enclave on the outskirts of a large northern city. But it is one of those places that people don't seem to move away from. Or they do, but only for a while, and then they're back again. Our parents and grandparents came here and put down roots -- and boy, what roots! Most of the people in this story still live in the same houses, these grand old cozy big homes that once rang out with the shouts of their parents' voices as children. Grandma's cooking smells are still there, in the walls somewhere, if your nose is keen enough.

Anyway, a few years have passed -- not a lot -- and some of us have moved away. But the place just keeps drawing us back. Some to raise a family, some to heal. And I still see these people in the course of a day and often we have a moment to stop, perhaps to touch, and to look each other in the face and smile, remembering how we were.

"Derek," asked Mom, as she prepared for work, "Have you given any thought to whether you are going to your father's for spring break?"

"Not actually. How soon do I have to decide?"

"Oh, not for another 3 or 4 weeks, really. But your dad will ask me."

"Is it expensive?" I asked.

"Umm. Not for us," she said, in the tone that means, "No discussion and we both know why."

"Well, I'll probably go, but... I'll try to decide in the next few days. I'd prolly hate myself if he moved back from St. Croix and I'd never been."

"OK, sweetie. You know I love you... "

"You BETT-ta! Love you too, Mom. See you when you get home."

Dad & Mom had gone their separate ways soon after we returned to the States. It was fairly mysterious. The parting had been peaceful, and they obviously still cared deeply for one another.

Dad and I were always close. He was a fairly mercurial guy, and could have been a really flaky father. But when it came time for his son, he was there. Always. Steady, almost tender. And I think I got that from Dad. That a man can be tender. It's not always called for, like in a bar fight. But then, breaking beer bottles is not exactly the way to a girl's heart, either, like some guys seem to believe.

Dad and I had a long talk and he explained that he was going to "do some knocking around," and that he wouldn't be in one place for all that long. I'd be welcome to visit, but it wouldn't be a stable way to live, for me. Besides: my friends were up here. And my school.

So right now he was in St. Croix, on an 80-foot trimaran. Guess he must like it there, if we were talking travel plans for March and April. Besides, it's not always that easy to figure out where Dad's job ends and his civilian life picks up.

Mysterious: "Not for us," Mom had said. Somebody was picking up the tab. Somebody needed Dad where he was. 'Nuff said.

There was a curious object at the Bardwell house that day: a floating head called "Derek." I was sooo high from being with Brand. I had been to a place I'd never imagined. A place where I was vast. Older than time. Without boundaries. I came back younger. It's hard to explain, but I was floating and content, when the phone rang.

"Hello-o," I answered languidly.

"Derek?" Asked the tiny voice, "It's Cicely."

"Ciss!" I crooned, "I was gonna call you." Plugging my ear and crawling into the 'phone to be near her. Her voice bigger, now.

"Hmmm. Is your Mom there? Can I come over?"

"Well, sure. I don't know what Mom has to do with it. She likes you. But, no: come on over."

"Kay. Be there in about a half hour." Hmmm. Mysterious-er...

Thought I'd take a shower, just as a courtesy. Wanted to jack off, but decided to wait. Afterwards, I threw on some jockey shorts and my jeans and a clean white golf shirt with the little alligator thingie. And a tiny dash of Old Spice.

Click, creak, "Derek?" Cicely was at the front door. She had a new haircut, sort of a tomboyish shag, and it was all shiny and she was wearing boys' 501 button-fly Levi's. Looked cute on her, that extra little empty bit in front.

"Hi, Ciss," I called down, heading along the hall railing, grinning at her. When I got down to the foyer, she was looking... very "present." Sorta bright-eyed and really attentive. And pretty sexy, if the truth be known. I won't bore you with the details, but we ended up making out.

Kissing her was pleasant. We had never even kissed before, just been friends. I know that she was certainly knocked out by my new kissing skills. I could tell by her breathing. Never thought of huffing like that as a feminine trait. But she was huffing, all right. Through her nose. In my mouth. Her breath was sweet.

Curiously, the kisses were nice, but the power, the plucked-off-the-ground thing wasn't there. But her hand was, and I was hard and she asked me to be her first. Said she was tired of waiting. And the shirts came off and I caressed her firm pink nips and we kissed and the Big Moment approached. She knew she was my first, too.

I warned her I might not last, but she wouldn't have long to wait for round 2. Sure enough, I never even got close. Her hand felt so good, I just lost it before the jeans came off. Just as well: I never went soft, anyway, and when it came time to enter her, I could at least look at her without cumming.

Looking back at it, she was a lucky girl. Most 13 year olds would never have considered doing what I did. But I had done it with Brand, and she was younger than he was, and clean of limb. And warm and friendly, and sweet. I kissed my way down from her mouth to her nipples, and on down from there.

I was surprised, actually, nearing her little round bush. First, that her pussy looked so... smug. That's it! Sort of a contented looking thing. And the smell. No fish there. Definite smell of "ass," but clean ass. And she showed me where to lick, and the tart taste was there, but it was clean, and I was hot, and I guess that was her taste. And anyway: a cute, clean, willing girl was just all right with me, so I didn't hold back, much.

When she was ready, I had her guide me. Hypnotic. Slow. Gasps! Ohh! The sweetness! The clinging sweetness! The softness, the warmth, the wetness, and the clinging sweetness. I didn't last after all, burying my self, the electricity charging through me, burying me ALL the way, as I came, still nudging and nudging. I choked a laughing cry and stopped, too tender to continue. Carefully, I leaned to kiss her, trying not to move my fragile penis.

"Thank you," I sighed, trembling, gently withdrawing. "Your turn." Going back down.

She hummed for a while, then moaned and tensed and arched a little and cried out like something was being torn from her. Then she, too, was too tender and, suddenly giggling, pushed me off her clit.

Smiling, I came up for my kiss.

"Umm. You taste like... "

"It's called 'Pussy,' " I said, through the kiss.

"Oh, yeah," she said, giggling, "I wondered what to call that thing. They can call it 'Rover,' if it always feels this good."

After hanging out in bed for another 20 minutes or so, I got really restless. Not wanting to upset her or seem callous, I suggested we go to the park. Maybe skate together.

Arriving, we found the warming hut deserted. We changed into our skates and passed through, into the indoor rink. I turned on the lights and soon we were out, making the first rounds of the day. I must say, I felt great! Relaxed, glowing. I went back to the hut and brought out the radio and we did a couple of dance numbers together. Damn, she was good! Pretending to follow my lead, she even made ME feel like a pro.

In the grace and closeness of the moment, we were both beaming. Which was why I was so astonished to find myself getting sad. And sadder and sadder, and my defenses had been stripped, and the bottom fell out, and I soon found myself smiling and sobbing, as we tried to skate. Pretty soon, Ciss suggested we return to the hut, and by then I had to coast with my hands on my knees, cuz I was unsteady.

Looking at her, I felt such tenderness and my heart was breaking.

"Oh, Derek! Please tell me what's wrong?"

By now I was sorta cried out, but not. It was like some kind of a block in the catharsis pipe. I know a name for it now, "emotional lability." I still get it. Where you can laugh one minute and then cry and then both laugh AND cry and then be sober. And then anything at all sets you off again.

I won't try to remember the actual words, but I told her about me and Brand, about how I missed my Dad. About my tremendous tenderness for her, how I hoped it was a good first time for her. And she started crying and said, Ohh, yes! Yes! It was exquisitely sweet, and she knew it would stay with her, stay in her heart, forever.

And we sort of had to leave it with that, cuz I couldn't be coherent, emotionally. We changed out of our skates and began the walk back. I kissed her chastely at her door and thanked her with all my heart. Starting to weep again, I still managed a big smile and a choking laugh at myself and took off running for home. Crying like a baby. Guess I was a man, now.