PLEASE NOTE: The following excerpts have been edited to remove certain words, phrases and references that might be offensive to some visitors. Be aware that the book itself contains sometimes vivid and detailed descriptions of sexual activity. Those who are offended by such content should not purchase the book.

Barbara
(1960)

I soon realized I was slowly moving up and down against her. Since she wasn’t protesting, I cautiously began to insert one leg between hers. Again, no protest. In fact, as the movement intensified, she seemed to be lifting her hips to press harder against my leg. This encouragement led me to take the next scary step, and I slowly reached down with my hand and began to rub between her legs. Her response wasn’t immediate, but she didn’t try to stop me. Gradually, as I rubbed with more and more pressure, her hips began to rise and fall in a rhythmic motion and her moaning, though quiet, became more intense. Then I noticed her lifting and turning a bit, and I soon realized she was actually trying to undo the button and zipper at the back of her shorts. It wasn’t long before I felt the shorts slacken and she reached down to gently remove my hand and insert it under the waistline.

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

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To purchase it in all other electronic formats, including for the iPad, the Sony Reader, all mobile devices, and for download to read on your computer, go here:

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Paula
(1968)

Paula and I had done a good bit of making out over the previous few weeks, mostly in the presence of other couples at the beach or on double dates in a car, so that was nothing new for us. What was new was that this time the making out was actually going to lead somewhere. I still had never touched her sexually, which meant all of this was going to be new territory for both of us. When I didn’t move for a few moments, she finally sighed and turned toward me. We kissed, but her nervousness and lack of warmth rendered the kiss somewhat less than sexual. Still, we went on, with me kissing her ears and neck and eventually straying toward the top of her halter.

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

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To purchase it in all other electronic formats, including for the iPad, the Sony Reader, all mobile devices, and for download to read on your computer, go here:

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Barbara
(1960)

“I think I’m ready,” Barbara said softly, glancing down at the floor, a gesture that spoke of embarrassment and innocence so pronounced I felt a rush of emotion akin to that moment when she’d touched me on the back at the Y. Finally, without asking the question to make absolutely sure I knew what she meant by her declaration, I said, “Do you want me to close the blinds?”

She looked up at me then, the smile beginning to fade a bit and her shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly. She glanced around at the bank of windows behind her as if taking stock of the situation, and when she turned back her face had grown more serious. She slowly began to shake her head. “No,” she said almost too quietly for me to hear. “If we’re going to do this, I think I want to see you and I want you to see me.”

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

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Alicia
(1961)

Alicia nodded and the hint of a smile began to crack the corner of her mouth. She reached up and put her hand behind my head, pulling me down until we kissed. Her lips were soft from all the crying, and we stayed like that for a while, no tongues, no urgency, just a long gentle kiss, more like affection than foreplay. Finally, she drew back and said, “I want you, Tommy. I want you really bad. And I promise I won’t try to stop you this time. I promise.”

“I want you, too, Honey,” I said, a bit of fatherly sound creeping into my voice, “but I’m not sure this is the best thing to do right now. I mean, you’ve been through something so horrible I can’t even imagine what it must have been like, and I’m sure it left scars—I don’t mean physical scars, I mean emotional ones—and I don’t know how to make things better and not worse.”

“Do you love me?” she asked.

“Sure” I said, and I did in a way, like an old friend, but at least I could say it without feeling like I was lying. “You know I do. We’ve loved each other for a long time. Even when we split up and all, you always knew there was something still between us.”

“Well, then, that should make everything okay. I mean if you love me and I love you what could be wrong with our having sex?” And then, as if she had grown exasperated with my hesitation, she grabbed me and pulled me down on top of her. “Just do it to me, will you? Please?”

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

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To purchase it in all other electronic formats, including for the iPad, the Sony Reader, all mobile devices, and for download to read on your computer, go here:

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Barbara
(1960)

Sitting naked side-by-side in the somewhat scary and private atmosphere of my brother’s bedroom, our conversation has stayed in my mind for decades, not because of the emotion or the nakedness or the intensity of the moment, but because Barbara became so incredibly practical about things. She even apologized at one point for ruining the mood. She said we could always get the mood back, and we might be able to eliminate some of her fear if she knew what was going to happen and how.

“Look,” she said finally, “I guess I know what it is. I just want to avoid nasty surprises. I need to know how it works.” Her voice and attitude had taken on a whole new tone; humorous and gentle, as if it were I who needed reassuring.

“What exactly do we do? How do we start? Do we make out until I’m ready and then, I don’t know, do it? Or could we break me in slowly? What would be best, or the least painful for me?” She looked at me and smiled, then she laid her head on my shoulder, grabbed my hand, and asked, “What do you think?”

Unfortunately, I couldn’t think very well at that moment. Things had gotten all jumbled in my mind: the love, the affection, the sexual desire, the fact that we were actually sitting together naked on a bed calmly talking about how we were going to have sex. Finally, I said, “You know, I have a feeling it’s only going to hurt in the beginning, I mean when we first start. I think it might be okay after that.” I quickly added, “But I don’t know if that’s true. How could I?”

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

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To purchase it in all other electronic formats, including for the iPad, the Sony Reader, all mobile devices, and for download to read on your computer, go here:

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Annie
(Early 1962)

“What do you think of me, Tom?”

“Whu, ah, what do you mean?” I stammered.

“I mean, what do you think of me? Do you like my looks? Do you think I’m a profane bimbo? Are you sexually attracted to me?”

My head began to spin, probably because of the alcohol jolt and also because I was shocked by her candid questions. “Uh, wait a minute, will you?” I managed to mumble as I made my way toward the chair in front of the dresser and plopped down like a wet sack of potatoes. I tried to contemplate her questions, but she didn’t give me long.

“Okay, you’re shocked, I can see that. I’m sorry for putting you on the spot. I never have been one for all the preliminary bullshit that goes into eventually having sex. Believe it or not, I haven’t had many sexual partners—two, if I count correctly, and both of those were way back when we were fumbling adolescents who had no idea what we were doing. I probably scare guys off before they can learn to handle their own over-inflated egos. I may be about to scare you off too, but be that as it may, what I want to know is—and I want you to be absolutely honest with me—do you want to have sex with me? Because I want to have sex with you, but not if you find me unattractive or repulsive or anything like that.”

Shocked into stone silence, I simply looked at her and tried my best to get my mouth working. It would not comply. I looked around the room as if there might be something there that would help me think, speak, do anything other than sit there like a deaf, dumb clod. My hesitation didn’t seem to bother Annie. She just sat there with an inquisitive look, waiting for my answer.

Finally, I said, “Annie, I’m not myself here, so you probably shouldn’t take anything I say seriously. But, yes, I want to have sex with you, and, no, I don’t find you repulsive or unattractive. My only hesitation, besides the fact that I’ve just had the shit kicked out of me, is that I’m sort of committed to someone else at the moment, and I don’t know exactly how to handle that.”

She thought for a minute, then said, “Sort of? What the hell does that mean? If you can’t say anything stronger than ‘sort of,’ then you’re really not committed at all, are you? You might be screwing someone and you might like her a lot, but you’re definitely not committed unless you can tell me right now there’s no way in hell you could convince yourself to screw my brains out.”

Of course, there was no way in hell I could convince myself not to screw her brains out, so I gave in. I stood shakily and walked toward the bed, where Annie sat awaiting my decision. And that’s when things got strange. Instead of taking complete control and directing me as I thought she would, she kind of melted when I put my arm around her and seemed to be waiting for me to take the lead.

“Remember,” she whispered in my ear as we slowly fell back on the bed. “I’m not as experienced as you might think with all my tough talk. So please take it easy with me, will you?”

So, with all manner of conflicting thoughts banging around in my head, I began a slow and deliberate session of sex with one of the most intriguing and interesting human beings I had ever met. And man was it good. Annie, though she professed to be inexperienced, moved like a cat in bed, quickly learning all the little tricks that made me want to finish, but that allowed her to hold me off until she was ready. And she was ready, many, many times over the next few hours.

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

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To purchase it in all other electronic formats, including for the iPad, the Sony Reader, all mobile devices, and for download to read on your computer, go here:

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Barbara
(1960)

Barbara had an idea.

As we sat naked on Neal’s bed, with her hand on my [censored] and my libido recovering from her less-than-gentle treatment of it, all I could think was: God this is weird: giving up control to a girl, for Christ’s sake, letting her dictate how we should have sex. Of course, after several decades of life and sex and relationships, it became commonplace, desirable even, to have a partner tell me exactly what turned her on or off and, in some cases, demand certain actions or accommodations. But back then it was considered wimpy for a boy to do anything but stick his [censored] in a girl and get off any way he could. Anything different could get you labeled “pussy whipped,” and I tried to appear as macho and in control as possible to my peers. Of coure, I reasoned, my peers were never going to know anything about this; I would die before I ever let even a tiny bit of it become general knowledge, a fact that reinforced my thinking that I was truly in love for the first time.

Barbara had an idea, and I was damned sure going to listen to it.

“How about this?” she said, a bit of demure modesty creeping back into her voice and demeanor. “How about if you sit down on that chair and I stand over you? Then I lower myself onto you. That way, if things get too painful, I can always stand up again. I could stop things whenever I wanted to.”

It was such an incredibly astute and logical plan, I could do nothing but agree. In fact, Barbara had come up with something that would relieve me of almost any responsibility for hurting her. With this plan, if there was going to be pain, she would inflict it on herself, voluntarily, without my having much to do with it. But before I could respond, she continued.

“Now look, I know this wouldn’t be so great for you, and I also know it won’t be very romantic, but I only mean we should try it so that I can get past the hymen thing then think about how it might be if we make love the right way.” As an afterthought, she added, “If there is one right way.” And with a wistful glance at the ceiling, she speculated, “Maybe there’s lots of ways and maybe some are better for the girl than the old boy-on-top way.”

When I finally managed to get a word in, I said, “Yes!” To which I added, “Perfect. Incredible. Exactly!” Unfortunately, it turned out to be none of those things.

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

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To purchase it in all other electronic formats, including for the iPad, the Sony Reader, all mobile devices, and for download to read on your computer, go here:

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Rosie
(1975)

As we stood on the tiny porch and Rosie fumbled in her purse for her key, I began to notice a foul odor wafting in the early morning air. I didn’t give it much thought, however, assuming some dogs must have recently visited her yard. It turns out I was right about the dogs, wrong about the location.

Rosie finally retrieved her key and when she opened the door that foul odor took on a whole new dimension of strength. “Oh, shit,” she said, a statement that was, unfortunately, accurate. She reached around the doorjamb and turned on the living-room light to reveal a scene of such filth and chaos I was stunned into silence.

The narrow living room was literally destroyed, with stuffing from pillows and furniture strewn about among torn strips of shit-laden newspaper. There was shit on the floor, on the walls, on the lamps and chairs, and two squealing puppies were romping and sliding through this mess, tossing everything around like kids abandoned at a daycare center. When the light came on and the puppies saw the open door, they made a beeline toward us. Fortunately, Rosie was barely able to slam the door before they reached it. We heard their bodies hit as we turned to look at each other, Rosie practically in tears and me with what must have been an expression of astonished disgust on my face.

It took me a while to recover from the initial shock and tend to Rosie, who by that time was leaning against one of the porch pillars and sobbing, while the sounds of romping and destruction resumed behind the closed door. Finally, trying not to display the reluctance I felt, I reached out and put my arms around her, whispering the old standard, “It’s going to be alright” over and over to try and calm her down.

[Later, after the apartment has been cleaned] . . .

I climbed under the covers with her, but before I touched her I wanted to make sure she was okay. “Is this alright?” I said in a near whisper. “I mean, I thought with all that went on out there in the living room…”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “Please don’t think I’m silly or anything. I want to make love with you, I really do. But I’ve never been comfortable taking off my clothes in front of anyone, even girlfriends or my mom or my sisters. I don’t know why, exactly. It’s just the way I am. Is that okay?”

 “It’s fine,” I said quickly. “I sure don’t want to embarrass you or anything. This is fine, really.” With that she reached over and laid her arm across my chest and we carefully kissed. What happened then was in complete contrast to her initial shyness, with one exception: when I started to work my way down towards her legs with my kisses. Until then her responses to my touch and mouth were almost incredibly sensuous. In fact, I soon learned Rosie was a kind of orgasmic wonder, and that she could have a climax at almost any time, even sometimes when all I did was massage her breasts. Plus, she was what we used to call a screamer, and her vocalizations, though not really loud but more like barely subdued exclamations and sensuous moans, coincided precisely with her excitement level, which made it easy for me to anticipate her every orgasm.
 
[Later that night] . . .

And so, with Rosie’s head buried under a couple of pillows, which made things less than romantic to say the least, I introduced her to the wonderful world of oral sex. And if I thought she was an orgasmic wonder before, well, let’s just say she went off to some other planet or dimension until I was too exhausted to continue. During subsequent performances over the years (of which there were thousands) her craving for my tongue grew stronger until she lost her inhibitions to the utter delirium and orgasmic volcano of cunnilingus. She was so enamored of the act and so appreciative of my efforts, she eventually almost begged me to let her “do her part,” as she had first put it. And the oral facet of our sex lives became one of the most enjoyable for us both.

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1419693794/thewritershome

To purchase it in all other electronic formats, including for the iPad, the Sony Reader, all mobile devices, and for download to read on your computer, go here:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/12563

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Barbara
(1960)

I remember looking over at the clock that afternoon, as Barbara and I lay on my brother’s bed, both wondering what might come next and realizing what an incredible opportunity fate had presented us with. It felt to me like several hours had already passed, so I was relieved to see it was only 2:45, which immediately removed the sense of urgency I had begun to feel. After a long time of holding each other and talking trivia and exchanging bits of humorous sexual banter, I turned to her, brushed a few hairs from her eyes, and said, “Are you okay?”

“Uh, huh,” she answered with a warm smile. “I feel really good right now, like I never want this to end, ever! In fact, I’m hoping it’s only just begun.”

It would be some years later before the Carpenters released their major hit, “We’ve Only Just Begun,” But when I first heard it, that conversation came immediately to mind. As it turned out, Barbara’s hopes were realized, though not exactly as she might have initially imagined.

[Later that afternoon] . . .

“Are you okay with this,” I asked before continuing. She moved her hand away from her eyes then, and nodded. Ever so slowly, I reached down between her legs, which came together in an involuntary squeeze on my hand. At first I thought she was trying to stop me, but I eventually realized this was not something she had done on purpose. So, before the pressure of her legs subsided, I began to move my fingers up and down

Her response was slow and steady and ever stronger as I continued to massage. Her little kitten-like moans became more pronounced and slightly louder, while her hips began to rise and fall as if we were already having intercourse. Then she reached down to grasp my hair and started to rub my scalp in rhythm with my finger movements.

“Oh Jesus,” she whispered in a voice both guttural and sweet. “Tommy, Tommy, that feels soooo good. Please do it harder.”

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

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To purchase it in all other electronic formats, including for the iPad, the Sony Reader, all mobile devices, and for download to read on your computer, go here:

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Barbara
(1960)

“Well, I was thinking, maybe if people can get past the gross part, using your mouth isn’t as weird as it might seem at first. I mean we do a lot of kissing using our tongues and all, and that would’ve seemed gross a few years ago.” Her dreamy state seemed to dissipate as she added, “You think I’m weird, don’t you? You think I’m a slut or something because of what I did.”

“Stop it,” I said angrily. “I told you before, I could never think that way about you. I think you’re, well, curious, that’s all. Besides, like you said, it was me who first brought all this up by saying I wanted to kiss you...down there.”

“Yup, that was you alright. But forget that for now. My curiosity is satisfied, though yours probably isn’t. Let’s just say that if your curiosity ever gets the better of you, I won’t stand in your way. Right now, however, don’t we have a little goal we have to reach? And again, at the risk of repeating myself, Tommy, I think I’m ready.”

[Later that afternoon] . . .

So, there we were, wriggling against the shifting bedspread and failing miserably to achieve any kind of penetration. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I had aimed correctly. Without being able to see anything, it was like groping in the dark for a moving target neither of us could seem to home in on. Finally, we both sort of wound down, and she whispered in my ear, “This isn’t working, Tommy.”

I gave up then and relaxed, falling on her with all my weight. She exhaled sharply and I realized this probably was not what I should have done at that moment. I quickly pushed up with my arms to relieve the pressure. “Sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to—”

But she stopped me with a smile. “There has to be a better way,” she said, again with that practical tone creeping into her voice. “Let’s think about it for a minute, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, “but I want you to know I’m sorry. I just...this is the only way I know how, and it always worked before.”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “before, you were with someone who had a huge, uh, you know. And, at least the way you described things, you were pretty small at the time, which probably made things easier.”

I nodded, not really wanting to revisit my inadequacies of the past, but not able to disagree either. With the frustration of the moment, I had begun to shrink again, and I tentatively asked her, “Is it okay if I get off for a minute while we talk about this?”

“Of course, silly,” she said. “What do you think, I’m going to hold you hostage until you succeed in defiling me?” She said this with subtle humor, and to make sure I didn’t take it the wrong way, added, “Don’t worry, I’ll still love you in the morning.”

“Damn it!” I said without thinking, and slapped the bed with my hand.

“Hey,” she said sharply, “we’re not finished, and you haven’t done anything wrong, so get over it!” After a moment, she continued. “Look, we’ve got what—” she glanced over at the clock “—two, maybe three hours left? Unless you’re tired of all this and you want to go for another swim or something.”

“Tired! I’m definitely not tired. Hell, I’m so horny I can’t stand it. And I sure as hell would have done anything I could think of to make it work that time. But the fact is I can’t think clearly while we’re, well, while things are so... Oh, crap. I don’t even know how to say it.”

“Don’t worry, I know exactly what you mean, and I’m sorry for trying to be so practical. I hate myself sometimes for that, but I guess it’s just the way I am”

Fact was, that was one of the things I had begun to love about her, and it’s something I had only seen in her that very afternoon. Learning about each other, about how we handled things and reacted to things and dealt with them was one of the coolest parts of our relationship. And, although I didn’t know it at the time, it was something that would stick with me over the years: a type of frank honesty I came to understand as the essence of real intimacy, and about the only glue that could possibly hold a relationship together for any length of time.

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1419693794/thewritershome

To purchase it in all other electronic formats, including for the iPad, the Sony Reader, all mobile devices, and for download to read on your computer, go here:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/12563

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Annie
(Early 1962)

Annie and I did a lot of experimenting during that time. She had bought a copy of the Kama Sutra, and seemed bound and determined to work her way through it until we had tried everything it had to offer. I can’t say I was against this, but all those gyrations and supposed nuances of lovemaking seemed unnatural to me. For one thing, it often required nearly superhuman stamina on my part; that is, an ability to delay an orgasm for prolonged periods filled with stimulating acts, both physical and mental. It was incredibly difficult for me to hold off. This was complicated by the fact that Annie did not want me to use condoms. Of course, the removal of that dulling barrier made sex more enjoyable for me, but it also lessened my ability to wait for her. To ward off pregnancy, Annie used a douche, usually within minutes of any ejaculation, which had another less-than erotic impact on my ability to make a comeback.

Unlike our first night, multiple erections became more difficult for me with the addition of the technical procedures dictated by the book. This was frustrating for Annie, whose stamina and needs never seemed to wane. In fact, it was my problem with what she called “getting it up” and “premature ejaculation” that started most of our arguments. More than once I faced angry tantrums, thrown shoes and other objects, and lots of silent sulking after sex.

Still, I can’t say I regret those days. I learned a lot about myself and about how to please a woman (and how not to), and I did enjoy our friendship, which, despite the sexual tension, was filled with great humor and many long philosophical conversations and stimulating debates.

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1419693794/thewritershome

To purchase it in all other electronic formats, including for the iPad, the Sony Reader, all mobile devices, and for download to read on your computer, go here:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/12563

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Barbara
(1960)

That, of course, was my first experience with fellatio, and it was kind of weird at the beginning. She seemed to know instinctively what to do, but before long there was a problem. I reached down to touch her head and she stopped to look up at me. “What is it?” she asked, with concern and almost panic in her voice. I tried to answer, but ended up giving her a sheepish smile and shrugging my shoulders. She seemed to sense my embarrassment and reluctance, so she moved back up until she was snuggling against my neck. She rubbed my chest and whispered, “That wasn’t very good, was it?” Again, the sheepish smile, which I figured she could probably feel against her hair. When I didn’t speak, she said in a more normal voice, “Tommy, I don’t have a clue what to do to make it better, but I want to, I really do. Or I want to quit if it’s not going to be good for you. And you promised to help me, didn’t you?”

Finally, with my voice shaking like a leaf, I managed to stutter an answer. “I don’t want you to be worried or anything,” I said, “and I definitely don’t want you to quit. But...well, it’s your teeth.”

[Later that afternoon] . . .

It was about 4:00 when she finally began to realize we hadn’t gone all the way yet, at least in the traditional sense. What with all the other things we were doing, and the fact that we had both managed to have orgasms, it seemed to have receded into the back of our minds. We were lying beside each other, snuggling and making up fantasies about our future lives together, when she once again broached the subject.

“I hate to keep saying this,” she whispered, but I didn’t let her finish.

“I know, I know, you think you’re ready, right?” We both laughed, and then she hugged me, and we eventually began really making love. Not sexually at first, but kissing and caressing and snuggling until I finally reached down between her legs and both of us seemed to sense this was finally going to be it.

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1419693794/thewritershome

To purchase it in all other electronic formats, including for the iPad, the Sony Reader, all mobile devices, and for download to read on your computer, go here:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/12563

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Barbara
(1960)

Barbara was ready, really ready. In fact, she had been ready for most of the afternoon. We had tried at least three times to end her virginity, and we learned a lot along the way about each other’s bodies and needs and desires. If any two people were ready for the real thing, we were.

We’d not only learned how to satisfy each other in many ways, we found out that some things don’t work, like unromantic settings that omitted foreplay.

So there we were, side-by-side, reclining on my brother’s big double bed, determined to finally get on with it. We started making out, and it wasn’t long before we were almost desperately making love. I began to massage her, and she responded by touching me with gentle squeezes and soft encircling caresses.
 
[Later that afternoon] . . .

As we sat on the patio in our bathing suits and waited for Mom to get home, we held hands and talked about the ten kids we were going to have and how much fun it was going to be growing up and growing old together. When we heard Mom’s car pull up, we had one last kiss, a long deep emotional one that put just the right cap on the day.

That was our last romantic kiss.

To read more, you can purchase the book in trade paperback or for the Kindle at:

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1419693794/thewritershome

To purchase it in all other electronic formats, including for the iPad, the Sony Reader, all mobile devices, and for download to read on your computer, go here:

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