Freement by William James Johnson Chapter 3

The sole reason for the existence of Brewster, was the repair depot of the Central Railway Company. For thirty years, dad was employed as a yard engineer, shunting trains back and forth that came here from all over the CRC eastern division, for regular repair, and refitting. Our population was as stagnant as promotion possibilities in a small railroad town. About two thousand people lived in Brewster. Because of the limited work available, many of the younger men headed downstream to Chathurst, and lifelong indenture in the auto and steel industries. Blessed by a natural harbour, Chathurst became what Brewster could never be.
My dad, Frank Martindale, quit school at the age of fourteen, and took a job on a CRC work gang, when his father was killed by a shunting freight car in the stillness of the night. The company gave him a chance to work, as a concession for the unfortunate accident, that had left his family only a tiny pension. Dad saw his duty and did it. A strong youth for his age, with determination to see things through, he made a career out of railroading. Although lacking in formal education, he had street smarts. It was this instinct which led to his engineering training. Even if it meant he could only operate the big locomotives in the confines of the work yard, he was a proud man.
A few years later, he met Louise Chapman, and after a whirlwind courtship, married the young lady when he was only eighteen, and she was seventeen. It was a marriage of convenience; mother was pregnant with me, and grandmother kicked dad out of her home. Grandma was a strict Catholic, and even though my mother, who was not a Catholic at the time, became a devout convert, she was never again allowed to enter grandmother's home. I'm surprised both my parents continued their religious obligations after the treatment they had received at the hands of that pious old bigot.
Father worked shifts so much, we hardly ever saw him. He was a stern man. Mother often asked him to punish us. I can still hear him saying to her, "How do you expect these kids to learn to respect me, if all I ever do is give them beatings? Get a stick yourself, and learn to use it. My old lady used one on us, and we didn't turn out so badly." Mother would just keep quiet, and let him rant on.
When we were young, I could tell he wanted us to love him. But he was always so tired when he came in from work, he had little energy left for us. He'd stand by the kitchen sink, and take off his dirty clothes, and drench his face with water, splashing everything. He hardly ever spoke to mother. She was always telling us how important it was to learn to love and respect him. I doubt they ever loved each other.
There weren't many Catholic families in Brewster, so we only had a small chapel as a parish church. There were two masses on Sunday, one at nine...the Children's mass, and the other at eleven. We weren't allowed to go to the later mass, because that was grandmother's mass. Every Sunday morning, at a quarter to nine, the seven Martindale children paraded to Church. Father would lead us if he didn't have to work.
Mother, because she always seemed to be pregnant, stayed at home to look after the younger children. It was her chronic pregnancy that led to my discovery there was a connection between my mother's frequent bouts with obesity and the production of children. This was a happy discovery, because I thought my mother was an attractive woman, and I resented her periodic putting on of weight. Now that I had figured it out, I wasn't so perturbed. Somehow, I was certain my father was connected with it, and this further estranged us.
Although my father's attendance at Church was very infrequent, he used to say, "I don't have to go to Church. That's why God gave me kids. They'll get their old man into Heaven." Still he considered himself a staunch Catholic. He was particularly proud when one of us made our 'First Communion', or were 'Confirmed' when the Bishop visited our chapel.
I've already said that mother was a convert. I think she knew more about our religion than us. Every Saturday during the school year, we had to attend catechism classes in the chapel. No one in our family would dare miss a class. To miss, meant risking a beating from my father. He was going to get us into Heaven, even if it meant beating us through the 'Pearly Gates'. I'm telling you about our religious upbringing because it plays such an important part in the background of my present philosophy.
At the ripe age of ten, I had my first religious confrontation. It was a warm Saturday morning in spring, and we were confined to a stuffy chapel, listening to a severe looking nun, trying to explain the doctrine of the Trinity.
"The Church teaches there are three Divine Persons in God: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. Each person is truly God Himself, yet there is only one God."
I shoved up my arm and began calling out.
"Sist...Sist."...never quite finishing the word, "Sister".
"Stop waving John...you'll get your chance. There is no need to shout. Remember, this is the House of God."
"But Sister..."
"Don't but me...Have you no respect for the Sisters?"
"Sorry Sister...I'd like to ask a question."
"What is it?" She always seemed annoyed when we questioned her.
"It's what you said about God. It doesn't make much sense ."
"Young man!...are you questioning the teaching of the Church?"
"I can't see how you can have a three-in-one God."
"That's because it is a mystery John. We will never be able to understand it, until we get to Heaven."
"That's the trouble with our Church. When it teaches something we don't understand, it says it's a mystery, and leaves it at that."
The nun became livid. Standing directly in front of me, she stung my face with a slap. She wouldn't be able to get away with that these days. She was so frustrated with me, she sent the class home early. The other kids felt I got what I deserved. She wrote a letter to my parents, and they also punished me. They wanted their children to respect authority, even if they had to beat it into us.
Father was always very strict with us. There was only one way things were to be done at home...his way. He had assumed the responsibilities of a man when his father was killed, and he expected me to have the same sense of responsibility, because I was the oldest in the family. I never came up to his expectations as a boy, and even less as a man. This meant that when he and mother would go visiting, I would have to look after the others. As with most kids, this was the time they would let loose, and I often found myself trying to quell a riot. Often I would threaten them. Why not...it worked for my parents. I was sure it would work for me. When mom and dad returned home, my sisters would give them a blow by blow description of my attempts at discipline .
"Haven't I told you a thousand times, keep your hands off the younger kids?"...Smack...right across the mouth. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a bully." Smack...on the other side of the face. "Now get to hell outa my sight." Boot in the behind. "I catch you touching one of those kids again, so help me Christ, I'll kill you, you sonofabitch."
Don't think our life at home was as cheerless as I've described. We had some happy experiences. Dad bought a '29 Chev, and we used to look forward in the summer to rides along the river. Mother would make sandwiches and we'd stop and buy a gallon jug of apple cider. This was really living. We always went the same route, and never to Chathurst. The grand tour usually ended on a sad note near the railway yard, where we'd sit and listen to dad tell us about the great things he had done. Then we'd get out and walk along the tracks to a spot outside the yard.
"This is where he was killed. On a night, when there are no stars, it's blacker than hell here. The freight car was going into the yard. They figured it was released up there, by that switch. With normal noise and all, your grandfather didn't hear the car coming at him. He was walking between the tracks because it was so dark, coming in for the midnight shift. The damn thing sneaked up and smashed into him, and dragged him into the yard. He lived for five days after the accident, only half a man."
My parents tried as best they could to show their support for their church. It had the unusual name of " Our Lady of Prompt Succour". We were so embarrassed about the name, we would call it OLPS when we were asked what church we went to. The parish priest often was invited to have Sunday supper with us. If it wasn't him, it would be someone else who just happened to drop in . Dad would never let anyone leave our home without being fed.
Once, when Father Dunphy came for supper, my little sister Ruth, who was only three years old at the time, after saying goodnight to everyone, went upstairs to bed. The priest commented on how well behaved she was. A few minutes later, she was heard returning down the stairs. Mother remarked she was probably coming down to kiss everyone, before going to sleep. When she came into the living room she was completely naked, and the bottom of her pajamas, which she held out in front of her, dripped water on the rug. All she said was, "One of you guys left the seat up, and I fell in." Father Dunphy shook with laughter at her remarks, and his sense of humour was Ruthy's salvation.
I've stressed dad's severity, because I feel it was in large part one of the reasons I became Freement. The worst beating I ever suffered was caused by Ruthy. Mother was too busy to take care of all the kids, and much of the routine work was delegated to me. She asked me to give Ruthy a bath before supper. I had bathed her several times in the past. This time, she was six, and I was fourteen. As I lathered her, I began feeling a pleasurable sensation caressing her smoothness. On previous occasions, I had given her limbs only a cursory washing. This time, she busied herself with a wooden scrub brush that drifted lazily in the bubbles. She had made a harbour between her outstretched legs. Unconsciously, she gave me the chance to examine her more closely. I convinced myself I was thinking only of her cleanliness. It was her innocent remarks which interrupted my sensuous reverie.
"I like it when you rub me there Johnny, cuz it feels so good."
"I'm only trying to get you clean. Hold still, so I won't hurt you."
My face was burning, but I was sure if I made any more of it, she might tell someone. Just to be safe, I stretched my legs out against the bathroom door, then I looked back at Ruthy.
"Do that again Johnny, please...Do it again."
"Do what?" As soon as I said it, I was sorry I had spoken.
"Rub me with your hand...down there...See."
In her innocence she spread herself to me, and the pink of her childlike flower thrust itself boldly to my discomfort. I wanted to say we shouldn't do this, but I couldn't. Instead I took the wash cloth, and meticulously, and gently made an attempt to bathe her decently. My own throbbing passion, was pressed hard against the bathtub. Neither of us knew what was happening. I suspected what was happening to me, but innocent little Ruthy never once guessed that her brother was becoming a young man that afternoon.
When it was over, I wiped her hurriedly, and she dressed herself and went downstairs. I was still feeling the after effects of my experience and I was afraid if I went downstairs everyone would know something had happened. I went to my room to lie down, but in this position became more keenly aware of the physical change I had undergone.
At supper, I thought my world had come to an end. We were all gathered at the table and as was our custom. Everyone was silent, except the younger children, who bantered among themselves. Even they were quiet this evening. Ruthy broke the silence.
"Mommy...Can John always give me my baths?"
As soon as she spoke, I felt like I had been smashed in the stomach.
"My heavens...whatever for?"
"Cuz he makes me feel so good when he rubs me here, " pulling up her dress, and touching her tiny cleavage.
Father struck out blindly at me, his blow catching me on the side of the head, knocking me to the floor. I didn't get the chance to get back onto my feet. His heavy body pressed the wind out of me, and I felt my eyes bulging as he squeezed my throat with one hand, striking me with the other.
"I've warned you about touching any of these kids, and now you sonofabitch I'm going to kill you."
It took two of my brothers and my mother, to pull him off. As the eldest in the family, I was expected to set the example for the others. Now humiliated by what had happened, I became a stranger in my own home. Sometimes I feel sorry for my father because of the ridiculous way he handled the whole thing, which was in fact an accidental awakening in my life, with no sense of malice or evil as he had construed it. But that was the kind of guy he was.
I felt deep rejection because of what had happened, and sought solace in prayer. This may seem odd for a youth of only fourteen, but it was because my father put so much stress on the seriousness of my sin. I begged for God's forgiveness, even though I doubted that I had intentionally offended him. These mixed emotions about the whole experience found me inventing excuses for what happened and the formula prayers I had been taught, did not comfort me.
Since it was an immoral act that had brought about my rejection, I decided the only way I would be able to regain the love and affection for which I hungered, was to become noticeably virtuous. I learned this technique by studying, "The Lives of the Saints". The more I delved into their lives, the more I became convinced they were a mixed lot of masochists, and spiritual exhibitionists. Of course you must understand, I was too young at the time to characterize them as such. That came much later. I was now using rationalization as they did, getting a spiritual thrill out of my parental rejection, and offering my loneliness to my suffering Lord.
My mother noticed the change that had come over me. She saw how I preferred to be alone, and seldom took part in the activities of the family.
"Is there something bothering you John?"
"No mom...Why do you ask?"
"You've become so quiet lately. Not the John I know."
"I'm not a child anymore. I've got to start thinking of my future."
She unplugged the iron, and stood it up. Putting her arm around my shoulder, she drew closer. "It's been hard for you, hasn't it son?"
Tears were beginning to form and there was a huge swelling in my throat that made it difficult to speak. "Oh mom! I've been so lonely...so left out."
"You don't realize what this has meant to your father. He loves you son. It tears his heart out when he has to punish you. He asked me if he should tell you he is sorry for what he did, but you know dad, once he says something, he seldom goes back on it."
"But this is no reason for avoiding me. Why doesn't he talk to me?"
"Pride Johnny. Your father is a proud man. He doesn't know how to say he's sorry."
"But I'm not asking him to apologize. I just want him to know I'm here. I need him."
"It's going to take time son. Ask God for help...and St. Jude, he's the patron saint of difficult cases."
"I've done all that. And I think God has given me the answer."
"What answer?"
"What I'm going to do with my life. I've decided God wants me to become a priest."
"That's such a serious decision."
"You don't want me to become a priest?"
"I'd be very proud of you, if that's what you truly want, but if you're saying this because of what happened,...That's not a good reason for becoming a priest."
"Dad was right...what I did was a terrible sin. I just hope Ruthy can forgive me someday. I've had so much time to think about my life, and I really believe God has chosen me."
"Your father'll be so proud."
Without realizing it, my mother had revealed the true motivation behind my decision. So you see Gregory, we're like two peas in the same pod. I glowed in the attention my new life brought me.
Father spent more time talking to me about my future. Mother had the others pray that my vocation was a genuine calling. The experience with Ruthy was never mentioned again. At last I was beginning to feel like a somebody.
The parish priest had been told about my intentions, and he too began to take a personal interest in me. The small congregation of St. Patrick's Chapel had never given one of its members to the service of God. It would be years before their hopes would be realized. Father Dunphy gave me spiritual books, and frequently asked me to visit him. He worked very hard to make my vocation bloom.
"You're a very fortunate young man. I've watched closely, and I'm convinced you've got all the marks of a religious vocation.
"I'd like to be a priest Father...only I'm afraid I might not be good enough."
"That's understandable. Prayer...That's what you need...lots of prayers. I remember you everyday when I say Mass. God calls many, but most ignore his call. As long as we pray, and stay in the state of grace, he'll never leave us."
"But how do I know for sure he has called me?"
"Your desire my boy, and your good life. And another important quality which I have seen in you...you're very studious. Studying for the priesthood takes many years of hard work. But with God's help, you'll make it."
"I hope so Father. It would make my parents so happy."
"It would indeed...but understand. Your vocation must have purity of intention."
"What is that?"
"You must want to serve God, because you love him...because you want others to know him. You should never want to become a priest for any selfish reasons. A priest must give himself like Our Lord did,...on the Cross."
Everyone liked Father Dunphy. His bright Irish smile was a welcome sight at all the civic events in Brewster, and the non-Catholics liked him as much as we did. No matter how friendly he was, you were always aware of his priestly office, and respected him for that.


Brewster High School was the newest building in town. The old High School had been converted into an elementary school. We had three hundred students in our school. It had been built in the centre of our park. Ideally located for school outdoor sports, it was also the prime meeting place for the social activities of Brewster. I attended Brewster High for three years, and would have preferred staying there until graduation, but dad had other plans.
"When you've finished school this year, I'm taking you to Amston."
"Amston!...why?"
"Father Dunphy feels a young man who is thinking of becoming a priest, needs more spiritual guidance than you can get here in Brewster, so I've decided you should finish your last year of High School with the Brothers of Christ in Amston. It'll be good
training before you go to the Seminary."
"Isn't that going to cost money?"
"Of course...you let Father Dunphy and me worry about that."
"But I could finish school here."
"I know you could. But going to school with girls and all, isn't the best way to develop a religious vocation."
Once the decision had been made that would be going to boarding school the next year, I began making full use of the social activities at Brewster High. I felt that if I was going to be a priest, this could be my last opportunity to enjoy the company of girls. It was this last chance which helped me overcome my reluctance of being with women since that episode with my sister.
The other students recognized the change in my personality, and this change reinforced my social attitude. By the fall of the last year, I had been elected chairman of the dance committee, and I was enjoying my new popularity. Despite this improvement in my status, I still did not favour any particular girl, but I found it difficult to keep my mind on my studies. I was now sixteen, and I was gradually acquiring the lingo of other guys my age. Words like, "nymph, queer, safe, rags on" began to have new meaning.
My voice was changing, and according to my sisters, I was considered by their friends to be a real hot catch. My mother continually told me that I was going to be a very handsome priest. My sister Karen said that many of her girl friends wanted to go out with me, but she discouraged them, by saying I was only interested in becoming a priest.
If the truth were known, I was becoming more and more interested in women. I was careful not to show it, for fear my parents might doubt my vocation, and I would lose their love.
The final year in school, I didn't have to pursue the girls, I became the pursued. Donna Curtis, the daughter of the town banker, was the most beautiful girl in school, and her parents always kept her dressed in the finest clothing. Many of the guys said all kinds of rotten things about her. I think it was only jealousy. She could have any guy she wanted. As much as I fantasized about her, I never took the initiative. We were in the same class. I would subtly stand near her in the hall, and enjoy the fragrance of her perfume. No one realized how she was driving me out of my mind. She barely knew I existed, until I was elected chairman of the dance committee. She was the head cheer leader. We had to work together organizing the first dance of the season. She was great in helping me delegate students to decorate the gym, and she was generous in her praise of me. Quite frankly, I was falling in love with the girl, and I didn't know how to tell her.
The dance was a huge success. The mellow music of Glen Miller's "In the Mood", drifted hauntingly through the trees surrounding the building, touching lightly the couples meandering along the paths, looking for a private spot. Bright dots of light bounced off a slowly spinning mirrored ball, 'darting among the gyrating couples'. Blue and gold streamers draped in long twisting arcs moved gently over the dancers.
On stage, I selected records for the next set of dances when Donna approached me from the wings. She smiled and passed me a record entitled, "Beg Your Pardon". I read the title aloud.
"Clever."
"Not really. Just a nice tune. Besides it gives me a chance to ask you for a dance."
Her beautiful auburn hair sparkled when the tiny coloured streaks raced by us. She had unfastened her pony tail and let the reddish brown strands drape softly on her pastel blue sweater.
"I'd like that, only I have to look after the records."
She touched me gently on the arm and tossed her pretty head to the side so that the loose wave of soft hair that brushed against her cheek, fell back into place.
"You could get someone else to do this for awhile."
She walked to the edge of the stage and called out to one of the fellows who was leaning against the gym wall. They spoke for a couple of minutes, and he came up onto the stage.
"Give the kid a break. If she wants to dance, then I say let's dance. Go on. I'll look after the store."
As Donna headed for the darkened wings off stage, he grabbed my sleeve and whispered.
"Play your cards right and you're in."
In the darkened corridor backstage, Donna squeezed my hand, and for the first time, I was aware I was trembling. She wanted me to stay in the dark with her, but without thinking, I pushed open the door. Soon we were surrounded by other young revellers, as we danced out of the doorway into the centre of the floor. Many congratulated me for my part in organizing the dance. Donna smiled approvingly with each compliment. By the time the music stopped, we had orbited the hall. The fellow who had taken my place on stage signalled everything was okay, and gestured we should continue dancing.
"Nice guy."
"He's okay," said Donna, snuggling closer to me.
Her soft vibrant body pressed even closer. The wonderful fragrance coming from her made me squeeze her tightly, and force myself into the mold she was providing.
"Easy Johnny. You don't want to hurt poor little me...at least not in front of all these people."
Her low bawdy laugh humiliated me. I thought the others would think I had made some lewd proposition. My face began to burn, and my palms were damp. I couldn't stop remembering how I felt when I was with Ruthy. When we reached the doorway of the hall, I pushed Donna away, and ran outside.
The fresh air and darkness made me feel better. I could hear the faint voices of couples amongst the trees, their shadows blending into a silhouetted embrace. My hands were still trembling as I wiped the dampness on my pants. The cool breeze
made the hardness disappear, and I started to feel in control again.
Donna followed me outside. Taking my hand in hers, she caressed me gently on the cheek, and turned my face towards her.
"What is it John? Was it something I said?"
"It's not you. It's me. When I'm near you, things happen."
"Things...what sort of things?"
"Please...I'd rather not say."
"You mean I excite you?"
She cupped her hands behind my neck, and drew herself in more closely.
" I excite you John?"
Standing that close to me, she didn't have to wait for my answer. I was so guilty about my feelings. I grabbed her wrists, and pulled her arms away from my neck.
"I haven't had much experience with girls. You'd better go back inside before something happens."
"Are you serious? All the girls think you really know the score . "
"Please...don't make fun of me. Now that you know, why don't you just leave me. Get yourself some other guy who knows what you want."
She embraced me again and whispered. "I'm not leaving you...no way. I don't care what you think of me. I like you a lot. I can teach you how to get over being
afraid of girls. Would you like me to show you how to love a girl?"
My answer was smothered against the moist lips of my young teacher. The tip of her tongue slipped easily between my tight, inexperienced lips and I found myself imitating her. The trembling began again, and surprisingly stopped when she placed
them against her firm breasts. I could feel them rising and falling with her rapid breathing. She was very expert for a girl of fifteen. Suddenly she pulled away.
"I'm not going to give you everything the first time. I want you to come back for more. If you think you'll want more my sweet?"
At that moment, Donna was the most exciting person I had ever met. I did want more. I wanted it now.
"Donna, you make me feel so great. My whole insides feels like I want to burst out of my skin. Please don't quit now. Teach me more my darling. I love you Donna."
"Not so fast. It looks as though young John Martindale is ready to become a man. Not now Johnny. This is not the place nor the time. But it will happen soon. I promise you. Now let's get back inside."
We returned to the hall. I was glad it was dimly lit. I could feel my face burning, and I was sure everyone could see its redness. It was the same feeling I had the last time my flesh started to creep on me.
It was not until later that winter that I had a chance to be with Donna again. I couldn't get her out of my mind. The kids at Brewster had made a great skating rink on the sports field. We had a gala winter carnival of skating, and a huge bonfire,
followed by an old fashioned hay ride, which left the school grounds and went out into the country. I didn't have a girl to cuddle up to so I wasn't going to go on the ride. Donna saw I was alone.
"You can't stay back here after doing all the work. Be my partner on the sleigh. We'll go in the last one."
"I've gotta check on the lunch and hot chocolate."
"You know Johnny, things aren't going to come, to a halt just because you have a I little fun. You coming with me or not?"
"Of course. I'd love to be with you."
The last sleigh was loaded to overflowing. We could hardly find room to hang on. The horses trotted briskly, and soon we were out into the country, on a beautiful winter night of soft scattered flurries freshening the path of the sleighs. When we
started through the surrounding woods, we got into very deep snow, and the fun began, with couples pushing each other into the soft billowy snow banks piled along the sides. The driver made the horses run faster, and those who were pushed off trudged wearily after the sleighs. Donna and I got pushed off into a deep snow bank, and the others urged the driver to make the horses run faster. Before we could get back to our feet, the sleigh was disappearing into the night. The voices of our friends laughing and shouting faded away with the sleigh. We made a feeble attempt to catch it, but soon gave up.
"Very clever Johnny. You'd think we planned it this way."
"We can still catch them if we try."
"Forget them. I just want to be with you."
"I've missed you so much Donna. I couldn't stop thinking of you after that dance."
"I was a real bitch that night wasn't I?"
"In a way. You have no idea how much I wanted to be with you."
"You still feel that way about me?"
"I'll always want to be with you. I love you Donna."
"That's sweet...but I'm puzzled Johnny."
"How do you mean?"
"The kids at school say you're going away next year."
"That's right. I'm going to a boy's school at Amston.",
"They say, you're going there to be a priest. I don't know much about things like that. I'm not Catholic. Is it true, you're going to be a priest? "
"The school in Amston is a pre-seminary. It's run by the Brothers of Christ. I'll finish my last year of High School there, and if they think I have a vocation I'll go to study in the Seminary."
"Do you really want to be a priest?"
I didn1t know how to answer. All I really wanted to do. was get away from Brewster. and do something that would make my father proud of me.
"A priest is a very high calling. I don't know if I'm good enough to be a priest. It's not going to hurt to give it a try."
"But they say a priest can't have girls. You wont be able to have a wife. Is this the kind of life you want to lead?"
She was making me see for the first time how involved I was getting in the lie I had been telling my parents. I knew I would never be a priest. But I couldn't tell my father I had changed my mind. It had taken so long to earn his love. I didn't want to
risk losing it now.
"How can you go through with this, when you say you love me? You do love me don't you?"
"Donna, you're the only girl I've ever kissed. I've spent hours dreaming about making love with you, and I don't even know how it's done. Of course I love you."
Across the field was the faint outline of a barn set back against the trees.
"I think I'm in love with you too John. Come on. Let's wait in that barn until they come back. We'll be able to hear the sleigh bells." She ran ahead of me through the snow.
"Help me get the door open darling. It's not much, but it's home."
We both laughed as we found a straw pile in the dark. She dropped onto the straw and grabbing my arm pulled me on top of her.
"Surely you're going to be a gentleman and keep a lady warm on such a cold night."
The zippers on her snow suit slipped easily and my hands felt the firm roundness of her breasts. She took my hands and shoved them under her sweater. She wore nothing underneath, and her flesh rippled with delight as I toyed with the hardening nipples.
"Taste them if you want my love."
My tongue traced the dimpled flesh around her nipples and then I sucked them fully into my warm mouth. She purred like a kitten. Her hands squeezed my throbbing groin and I felt her pull down my zipper, and the cold air struck my yearning erection.
"Pull my zipper down further dearest. We don't have to undress to make love."
I did as she asked. I was trembling with anticipation. She felt so slippery and warm. Holding me firmly she guided me into her hungry body, and immediately my tense erection pulsed uncontrollably, flooding her with my seed.
"You were too fast my love. You're going to have to learn to wait for me. so we can come together."
"Come? I don't know what that means."
"What you just did. Orgasm...come...going off. It's so much better when lovers come together."
"I'm sorry Donna. I'm so ignorant about these things."
"You don't have to be sorry about anything. Let me make it
hard again, and this time I'll show you what I mean. You're going to love this." ,;
That freezing night in the barn gave me memories for the rest of my life. We did it again, and she was so pleased when I did whatever she asked of me. I never suspected that people would use their mouth in such intimate ways. The taste of her body will always be in my memory.
The sound of sleigh bells ringing in the distance ended our love making. Slowly, arm in arm, we trudged through the deep snow back to the road.

View original art by William James Johnson at www.noozoon.com