Tracy

...knew what I was talking about...

My childhood and teenage-years home in Brooklyn, second steps from the right.

Tracy and I were in the basement room of my mom’s house on E. 34th St. in Brooklyn. Tracy’s mom Alana had come over with she and her two little sisters, Gaia and Ava. My mom and little brother Marcus had gone out with them to a flea market. They said they were also going out for lunch and would be out for about three or four hours.

Being the older kids, Tracy and I were allowed to opt out, and Marcus was happy to get the two girls to himself. I suspect there was also a plan to let Tracy and I have a chance to be alone. She was more than a year older than me, which is a lot when you’re 15; she was a mature 16, she was very beautiful, and the notion of even kissing her was beyond the range of what I imagined possible. She was an active subject of my masturbation fantasy life.

The basement was finished with knotted pine wood paneling and a Formica bar where I had my stereo. Over the couch — the ancient thing that I had lived with from age one — was a huge promotional poster for the movie Manhattan given to me by a girl in my school whose father worked for a public relations firm.

Tracy and I sat facing one another on the couch, sitting Indian style. We also knew one another from summer camp the past couple of years, a place called Camp Indian River in Pennsylvania, where our moms stashed us for a month or six weeks. All the boys were gaga for her.

Today she was wearing a yellow miniskirt and a tank top with no bra. She had breasts, very nice breasts, and I could see their outline and the shape of her nipples.

“There’s something you’re not saying,” she said. “Usually you talk a lot.”

“It’s true,” I said.

“You know you can say anything to me, right?”

I knew that was an invitation. I was quiet for a moment. I wanted to tell her. I looked at her face and her eyes. She seemed patient, with a look of anticipation.

“It’s about a dream.”

“Okay.”

Still, I was quiet. “Is it embarrassing?”

“A little.”

“I understand.”

“I dreamed it again this morning. It happens a lot.”

“That kind of dream?”

“Mm hmm.”

She said nothing. I continued. “I dreamed that I was sucking myself.”

“I see,” she said, and paused. “Do you want to say more?”

My penis was getting stiff, and pressing up against the thin cotton of my shorts. She pretended not to notice.

“It seems impossible. I’m leaning over myself, and I want my penis in my mouth, and think it can’t happen. I know I can’t reach. But this voice in my mind says just relax and trust. And then suddenly I’m sucking myself. And then it happens.”

“Oh,” she said.

“I fuck all the way into my mouth and into my throat, and then I’m cumming and swallowing over and over. In real life I orgasm and spurt semen all over my belly.”

“A wet dream,” she said. “A special kind.”

My penis was fully erect; there was no way she could not see this.

I asked her: “Have you ever done it?”

“To a boy? Sucked and swallowed a boy?”

I could not believe we were having this conversation, but we were.

“Yes, that.”

“Just between us?” she asked.

“Mm hmm. Of course.”

“Three times, this past summer. During evening activity when everyone was busy playing Capture the Flag in the upper field, I slipped off with Flash. We went back to the woods behind the mud pond and…”

She paused. Everyone knew Flash. He was the only black kid in the camp, after his brother Sam was too old and graduated.

“…and I told him to undress. I really wanted to do it. I lifted my shirt up and showed him my breasts. Then I sucked him until he ejaculated and I swallowed him.”

My heart was thumping and I had a lump in my throat.

“Did you like it?”

“I kept doing it, silly. Of course I liked it. I told him that I really wanted to do it and he invited me. The third time I wanted to be naked. That felt so good, outside, in the woods. That time we did it twice.”

I had no idea what to say or think.

“Is there anything else?”

“I want to do it in real life but I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I just lose the desire. After I cum. But I still want to. It keeps happening.”

“I see,” she said. “Would you like to try?”

“Right here?” I asked.

“Mm hmm. You can. I’ll keep you company.”

“Really?”

“You should start by undressing.”

I slipped out of my shorts and undies and my teeshirt, dropping them to the floor.

“You’ll feel better if your feet are naked too.”

I pulled off my socks, and sat in front of her, exposing my skinny little body with my penis extended outward and my breath heaving. She was so calm, mature and womanly.

“Turn so your back can relax against the couch,” she said. “Let’s talk about what you want to do. Tell me again. Don’t touch yourself yet.”

My mind and feelings were a swirling funnel of water.

I looked right into her sweet face. “I want to masturbate and drink myself.”

“Like you do in your dreams.”

“Yes, like I do in my dreams.”

She then got up from the couch and sat on the coffee table, facing me directly, her legs open. I could see her bright green undies. Her nipples were very erect, pressing into the teeshirt material.

“You have a nice penis,” she said. “Give me your hand.” She leaned in and licked my palm, leaving a thick coating of her saliva. “Show me how you masturbate yourself. Slowly. And think about how much you want to drink yourself.”

I wrapped my hand around my penis, slick with her spit. She seemed to study me with intense curiosity. She was sweating. I could see her face was glossed and I could smell her delightfully.

“It’s OK. I drink semen too,” she said. “And you can drink yourself.”

With this, she cupped my balls, and placed her other hand near the tip of my penis. We kept eye contact. She was, this was all, so unbearably beautiful.

“When the time comes, just relax and let it happen, OK? I’ve got you.”

Then with her fingers, she tickled back behind my cupped balls as she looked right into me. All at once my body spasmed. It was like a sudden shock went through me, a jolt of total bliss and surrender like I’d never felt, as the room went black. I was throbbing and I heard my voice cry out my pleasure.

“Good boy. Good. Open your mouth.”

I did. My eyes were closed, but I pushed them open in time to see her hand rise to my lips as her eyes penetrated me. She poured my semen from her palm into my mouth. There was so much. “Don’t swallow, just feel,” she said. “Easy, easy, just feel.”

As I heaved and throbbed and breathed, she wiped her hand on my face, then leaned in and held me. “Hold it, don’t swallow.” I did as she said. Then she leaned back.

“Show me.”

I opened my flooded mouth.

“Very nice.” Then she hugged me again, and held me, and said, “Okay swallow,” and I did, I gulped myself down as she squeezed me.

Again she leaned back and studied me, naked and sweaty and bedraggled and my hair matted and my face cool and sticky with evaporating cum.

Then she dropped her green panties to the floor, nearly tore off her tank top and hiked up her skirt right in front of me, revealing her vagina and a little tuft of pubic hair. She pulled open her lips with the fingers of one hand, slipped a finger in, and masturbated with the other. Her breasts were covered with sweat and her nipples seemed to reach out into the room. In a moment she was grunting and her pretty face melted into a very strange expression and then in a low voice, she groaned shamelessly.

Then she breathed deeply a few times and did it again, showing me, masturbating hard and fast with no tease whatsoever, and moaned in little bursts until she came staring into my eyes and my wet face. The room was thick with her scent. Her hands were soaked. I licked my lips. She held her hand out to my mouth and I leaned up and licked her fingers, tasting a woman for the first time, sniffing her deeply.

Then she hugged me again and whispered into my ears, “That was so beautiful. Now maybe it will be easier to drink yourself when you’re alone.”

She was right…

After a while, we dressed. “Let’s go outside,” she suggested. We went outside holding hands. I took her to the water across from Marine Park, where no one ever went. Then we walked once around the bicycle path.

When we came home, our moms and younger siblings were there and dinner was underway. Tracy and I set the table, acting as if nothing had happened. I don’t know if anyone could tell, but I didn’t care.