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A week before my last day of high school in mid June of 1974, I had my first date with Kin. When I say “date,” it wasn’t something we planned because that was when I first told Kin I had a thing for her and we kissed. We kissed in a wooded area, behind the rec center, a converted white church built in the late 1800s, near the center of town, where we often agreed to meet.

Up to that time we’d just been friends. But not openly. She wasn’t my type. So much so I was embarrassed by my attraction. I kept my interest a secret and avoided being seen with her at school. I’d even lied to my mother who was one to snoop in my business.

“Martha’s mother says you’re hanging around that Chinese girl,” my mother said while putting fish sticks in the oven, What’s her name, Kim?”

“It’s Kin. She was adopted. You know in China you can only have one child.”

“Well what about Martha, she’s a pretty girl, and a cheerleader. She’s got a scholarship to Amherst. She’s a beautiful writer.”

Martha. Martha was the cheerleader captain. She once took my hand after lingering in the parking lot after the bus ride home from an away game. “I think we’re a good match,” she whispered. I was cool and mumbled, “No, no.” There was a kind of manufactured enthusiasm she relied on that I hated. We were never more than acquaintances. My mother sensed my lack of interest.

“I hear this Kin is unattractive. Martha’s mother says you can do so much better.”

“Martha’s mother doesn’t know what she’s talking about, Mom.” I responded matter of factly.

“Don’t sell yourself short Peter, you have a lot to offer.”

Kin was not my type, at least by the rather rigid standards of beauty and high school chic maintained by the friends and classmates who I hung out with who were mostly jocks or cheerleaders or an occasional crossover I came in contact with say in my biology or typing class. I thought I had the interpersonal courage to ignore these categorizations but the truth was, I didn’t. I prized a kind of haughty sense of independence from my jock teammates. For example when a fight broke out with the other team during our last football game I didn’t rush out onto the field to join the scrum but stayed on the sideline disgusted with the hotheadedness. I was the star. I could afford to be a quiet prima donna. I was an all state basketball player headed to the University of Pennsylvania on a scholarship.

Almost every soul in my high school class would have agreed that Kin wasn’t my type. That I could do better. They would have said, like my father said, as he liked to rank people, that she was way below me, but from the very first day I met her there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t want to see her again.

I first met her in early February, one morning when she appeared at my locker and stood looking at me.

“What’s up with you?” she said.

“Who are you?” I said.

“I’m Kin,” she said shouldering the locker next to mine, up on the toe of one of her black high top converse All Stars which she kicked the floor with several times.

“I’m Peter.”

“I know. Everyone knows who you are. You missed two free throws Friday night and lost the game.”


“You get nervous, do you?”


“Hah, you do. Don’t lie to me. All those people watching and just you with the ball having to shoot it through that hoop.”

“You wanna be my coach?”

She looked me in the eye, tight lipped, about to laugh. “You might need some special coaching,” she said closing my locker door for me.

“How’s that?”

“I’ve got class now. I’ll have to get back to you,”she said, turning away. “Nice to met you, Peter.”

“Right.” I said, a-little enchanted, watching her glide away.

Kin had moved to town at the end of our junior year. She had jet black hair, a bullet-shaped face, that was ruddy due to an acne problem. She had slit eyes, a buxom, heavy build, pointy melon sized breasts, wide hips and a flat bottom. She was not a beautiful woman.

But Kin had an infectious smile, an unhesitating open, upright posture, a sincere affection and what seemed an honest confidence based on nothing I ever knew. She was a physical person, touchy. She was apt to pick up a vase, run her fingers over the textures, pet a friendly cat, run her hands through a girlfriends hair and offer me spontaneous hand massages in which she would suddenly read something in my palm. I might have expected she was an athlete, a tennis player or a long jumper who grunted deeply upon take off, but she wasn’t.

She spoke with her hands, when we were together. She was always moving towards me, face-to-face, as if she had a secret to whisper, pressing in uncomfortably, but in a way that made me smirk, or laugh and that, in which I found a warm playfulness that felt both innocent and wily.

She’d make a point or ask a question, putting her fingertips on my chest and push me away.

“Now that’s not the right answer, Mister,”she’d say and give me a little shove of rejection to which I couldn’t help but step towards her.

She was Şerifali Escort inquisitive. “Why don’t you wear more black, it makes you mysterious? Are you going to ask me to the senior prom? (I didn’t) Why don’t you walk me to my car after practice tonight, I have a surprise for you in the back seat? Why do they call them free throws?”

I was drawn to her. Soon after that first meeting I looked forward to our encounters, knowing she was just around the corner caused my blood to race, a smile to come over my whole body, and to feel a little off balance. Yet sometimes she wasn’t there just when I expected her to be around, and she left me bereft and I have to say, yearning to see her.

But I had a problem. Though I wanted to see her, I didn’t want to be seen with her.


The night of our first kiss we met behind the rec center just as it was getting dark. We disappeared on one of trails that wound through the woods to the lake and sat quietly, hidden, but not too far from a small dock that was lit with a single hanging bulb.

That night Kin had been quiet. She put her hand on my thigh and said, “I think you want more than you let me know.”

I paused and kicked the dirt. We sat on the trunk of a downed tree.

“I think you’re right. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before, but I think I’m in love with you.”

I heard her sigh and then felt her bending low beneath me so she could catch my eyes because I was looking at the ground.

“You do?”she whispered in a childish voice.

I put my fingers to the back of her neck, which was damp with perspiration, and fell to my knees to face her, pulled her face to mine and kissed her. The crickets celebrated, an owl hooted, moonlight lit the night. And after our kiss I asked her, “Do you feel the same?”

“I do,” she said leaning into me hugging me tightly. We were quiet and sat back down on the log.

She looked at her sneakers, carefully aligning them so that the the heel of one intersected the instep of the other.

“But how can I love a guy who doesn’t want to be seen with me?”

I cringed. I’d thought or hoped she wouldn’t notice my manipulation. What a creep I’d been.

Yet, I didn’t sense Kin was hiding a hurt I’d inflicted.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been an ass,” I said.

“You worry. I told you you worry,” she said. “You stand at the free throw line and worry about what everyone’s gonna think if you make it or miss it. All that worry on you.”

“Aw, it’s just a game Kin. You win some you lose some.” I said aligning my left foot with hers.

“No. It’s more. You’re trying to be big, impressive, and seen as if that’s the way to be loved. But it’s a fake.”

I kissed her again. Honestly I didn’t know what she meant. I promised I’d be more open and I knew that’d be easier because summer was here. High school was over.

Still, we went to the movies in a neighboring town and I lied to my mother about where I was going and who I was seeing.

Our affection grew. I’ll admit, I wasn’t sexually experienced. I mean there was one girl I fell for, Narci, the only girl in the chess club, who had green eyes, dyed black hair and pale skin. We’d spent an hour French kissing in the back seat of my 1963 Buick after the Christmas ball. We went out on two dates and again got stuck in the back of my car kissing, but a month later she moved to Cincinnati. I’d never had a girlfriend. My life was about basketball and my studies, I liked science and nature and pleasing my mother and father, though I wouldn’t have put it that way back then, at age eighteen.

The nonsexual physical commingling Kin and I shared had caught me. When we parted her absence felt palpable, as if a piece of clothing had been removed, the difference between being sheltered and exposed. There’s security in touch and Kin awakened me to that sensuality. As the summer wore on I always had my arm around her. She sat in the middle, right next to me, in my car’s front seat as I drove. We hugged often, we kissed whenever we were in a private space. Once unceremoniously, during a movie, in the back of the theater, she “missed” the popcorn on my knee and put her hand on my cock, and gripped it through my baggy jeans. I shifted uncomfortably.

“What are you doing?” I whispered red faced.

Like everything between us, she led the way. She rubbed my penis up and down through my pants until my erection hurt. Then, she stopped.

“Did you like that?” She whispered and laughed loudly interrupting a delicate scene in The Way We Were.

Just a few days after graduation, we agreed to take a morning hike. We met behind the Carvel, on Route 112, on the south side of town, below the broken canopy of Panorama Hill that had collapsed from slope failure years ago. The hill was a pretty collection of statuesque bedrock, in well-defined fractures. I’d studied the geography of the area in Earth Science class my sophomore year.

We took the Arcada Trail. Kin carried a backpack containing a gray wool blanket, water canteen, and fruit. We followed the Ümraniye Escort trail which sloped down through a field of tall dewy grass that wet our pant legs, proceeded up and over a small clearing of mostly sunlit boulders, then disappeared into a tight cluster of sugar maples, yellow birch and white ash.

We walked a mile, through the cool shade of the trees, took two lefts, hiked a half mile up Barren Ash Hill, then fifty yards through hillside scrub onto a small, semi concealed platform of rock that I’d discovered just a few years before when I’d go for hikes to get away from my family. I loved being outdoors. The clearing faced east, away from the town, faced the hills of Oswego Valley that stretched out to the glistening horizon in shades of foggy gray.

The whole time we walked we were silent, a determined silence, we were hiking toward a protective solitude where we could let go, meaning ravish, ourselves with kisses and caresses, reaching a kind of apex that had been flickering and sparkling more hotly each day and now was about to be consummated as if the last several months had been a long climb toward the achievement of human union of which we were completely unconscious.

She laid out the blanket on a patch of grass. We could look through a clearing at the valley. Behind us the town, our homes, the grade school and high school I’d attended, her parents home the rec center and movie theaters and the mall that had just gone up a few years before where my mother was shopping for new clothes for me to wear at college. This would be our last summer in our hometown.

“Come here,’she said.

She knelt in front of me and undid my pants, pulled them down to my ankles.


“Stay quiet, Peter. Let me. I’ve been waiting to do this for a year.”

She pulled me forward. I nearly lost my balance, which, often seemed an aim she had in mind, though in this case, it caused me to step out of the bunched up clothing at me feet.

“Take off your shirt. Get naked.” She let go of me and I stepped back nervously and stripped of all my clothes.

She stood back up, found her camera and took a picture of me looking up at the sun, my arms open, my cock hard and bobbing straight out in front of me, drenched in the glorious sunlight that’s so infrequent in upstate New York, even in early summer.

She moved to my side and took my penis in her hand and stroked it firmly.

She knelt again and began licking and sucking, grasped my balls, tugged them down, squeezing them, hurting me momentarily then breaking away to laugh before wrapping a hand around my ass and pulling me into her so I penetrated her mouth until she coughed and choked.

When she came up for air she said, “That’s it,”and looked up at me, her eyes watering. She looked radiant, self-assured, flushed with a driven maybe reckless, boldness as if something inside her was taking both of us where we needed to go.

I wouldn’t last long. She opened her mouth and took me all the way to the base of my cock her lips pressed into my pubic hair. I came hard. She didn’t wince or sputter. This was the first time for me and I was dazzled.

“That was awesome,”I said.

“You liked that,’ she grinned.

“That was the first time a woman’s ever done that to me.”

“Poor boy you’re a virgin,”she grinned like a Cheshire Cat.

I smarted from her comment. “You’ve done this before?

“Yes,” she said not looking at me but wiping sweat from her brow with a towel. “I started young.”

“What’s that mean?” I felt edgy.

She picked up on it. “I don’t think you’re ready to hear about that,” she said.

I relaxed but the thought stuck. I was naked. My cock stirred and Kin grabbed it again.

“Hmmmm. Maybe you are ready to hear about my past boyfriends. You’re getting hard again. That’s such a bad boy turned on thinking about your girlfriend giving another guy a blowjob.”

At that moment I lost myself, became mesmerized. Kin could have told me to fling myself off the hill. She’d become more the woman I’d fantasized about in the moment.. I’d been reading porn books I found under my dad’s side of the bed and this was what the women did to the men. They dominated them. They made them kneel before them and worshipped them, they toyed with their cocks, mocked their helplessness, paddled and whipped them. Of course I’d erected a wall around this fantasy. It was deeply private and here Kin had broke me open. I swooned.

“I know,” I said gulping in s soft voice. ” I am a bad boy.”

“You’re a bad boy. Yes, you are,” she said putting the tip of her little finger at the opening of my penis and poking it in. “Very, very bad.”

She left it in while stroking my cock back to full erection.

“I need to spank you, don’t I?”

“Yes, you do. I deserve that.”

“But first I’m going to ruin your orgasm.” While keeping her finger poked inside, she had me kneel next to her. She stroked steadily and steadily I could feel myself rising up to the edge. It wasn’t long and I erupted or tried to but it was like a Üsküdar Escort false alarm, it happened but didn’t.

Kin watched my face and grinned. “Watch now,” she said and as she pulled her finger out which hurt. A large dollop of my semen dropped into the blanket. “I like doing that. That’ll keep you in line. Now bend over that rock.” She found a thin branch, stripped it of its twigs and whipped me hard ten times leaving small thin welts that stayed visible for two weeks.


We spent everyday together in July. We went to movies at night and hiked during the day. There wasn’t a day when she didn’t handle my cock, though she seemed to get more pleasure from making me hard, teasing me, then stopping and whispering,”Now pull your pants back up.”

One time, exhausted from a night of orgasms, I couldn’t get hard. She stroked and I rose up a little then soften immediately. Of course I grew anxious which added to the problem. Disappointing Kin added fuel to my worry.

“What’s wrong baby, don’t you love me?” she said in a voice that I tried to make into a tease but that I realized was genuine.

I’d never seen her confidence fall like this. The rest of the afternoon she was mostly silent and even pouted, as we said good bye at the front door of her suburban house.

The next morning I stood at beneath her window and tossed pebbles at it. When she opened it, I took out my cock and stroked it quickly into full mast and said, “Come down here, see what a good night’s sleep can do.”

She laughed and told me to put it away and meet her at Sissy’s house at noon. Her parents were gone for the summer.

When I arrived Kin was alone at the house. Sissy had gone to out.

“Let me see that boner.” Kin urged.

I soon had it on display for her but she had different ideas.

Come here, darling. You were a bad boy yesterday.

She pushed me to my knees and naked, stepped in front of me. Her pussy was shaved bare and I could see two pairs of lips, an inner set that flared out like flower petals and bigger pouty lips that contained and protected them.

“Put your finger in me.” I put two in her and was surprised at how soft, and tender and wet she was. Hers was the first and kneeling so near I found the scent sharp, repugnant almost, which caused me to lean away.

“You’ll need to learn to like this if you’re going to be mine.”

Her language disorganized my mind. Yes. I was only dimly aware of everything around us, the smell of bacon and eggs having cooked recently. Sissy’s clothes on the sofa, a pack of condoms on an end table.

Kin directed my face using both her hands and said, ‘lick.”

I leaned back.

She pulled tighter. “None of that,” she hissed. “You like it. You will like it.”

I complied and found the taste flatter than I’d expected, more water than apricot juice though the folds and softness reminded me of an overripe peach I could sink my tongue straight into.

She moved my head jerky like. I figured trying to get me placed right. Often she said, “not directly,” or “not right on it.”

I had no idea what she meant though she repeated this several times while constantly adjusting my face tighter, then looser, then left and then a little right.

“There, there, there, stay there” she huffed arching back. “slower, no, not directly, stop, okay again, slower, right….right there, that’s it.” She fastened my mouth to the spot and held me steady as if she were carefully guiding a sailboat into a slip. Her hips pulsed, pushed then pulled back, each adjustment caused me to notice my tongue’s fatigue, yet her urgency was contagious, intoxicating. I felt lost in her need, like a servant given over completely to a task.

Right then I heard the garage door open and pulled away.

“No, no” she cried out lunging to pull me back, keeping my face pressed against her.

“Someone’s home,” I said.

“It’s Sissy.”

“She’ll see us.”

“Keep licking.”

Sissy walked in. “Well well,” she said.

I couldn’t see her.

“He’s a newbie,”Kin said. “He needs a few lessons.”

“Good luck,”Sissy said in a smug, envious tone, her voice sounding over me. I imagined her peering down at my mouth to see if she might offer instructions.

Then silence, Sissy watched. Kin grew more inflamed.

“Like you were just doing baby. Get back to that.”

And I did. In less than a minute Kin cried out loudy and later told me she’d had an orgasm.


In early August, only a month before I’d leave for college, I called her in mid morning, knowing she might still be asleep as I knew she liked to sleep late and wouldn’t easily be woken. More than once she was irritated I’d called turning her phone into an alarm clock.

“You can be such a nuisance. I should make you bring me an Egg McMuffin.”

That morning she answered right away and sounded wide awake, chirpy even.

“You’ve been up.” I said

“I have been,” she sang back.

She told me Rem was at the house. He was the captain of the soccer team, a guy I knew from basketball in grade school, and occasionally chatted with in a study hall we shared after lunch. She told me he’d left a book of poems she’d given him. I felt myself in the grip of jealousy thinking she’d made a special effort to awaken early for another guy.

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