Date: Thu, 14 Oct 1999 21:42:45 +0100 From: "J. Ocean" 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.