The door knob turned and there was pounding on the other side of the door, “Mom, let me in, what’s wrong, mom?” Wendy sat upright and closed her legs. “Who was it? At the door, I mean?” This was the reaction I wanted, I had her full attention. I went on to explain how Lydia had made it to her feet, searched aimlessly for the sleeves to the dress. Her naked body was trembling and her face showed absolute terror. I went to her, helped to slide her arms into the dress and fumbled with the buttons. “Say something,” I whispered, “say you’re coming or something.” “I’m coming,” she said, her voice sounding feeble and far away. We had six of the buttons fastened but one at the top was through the wrong button buttonhole, throwing the others off by one. The doorknob was being twisted from the other side and the pounding continued. I was still naked and looked for a place to hide. It was a strange feeling, being naked with a limp cock. There was no time to pick up our clothes. I took a place. April was a senior and I a junior, but that didn't matter. I don't remember exactly how it started, but she was interested and so was I. What I most remember is wanting and frustration. That's not too unusual in high school, of course, but what I couldn't figure out is what she wanted. One day hot, one day cold, once a promising afternoon under a tree on the hillside behind my house, no one around, the perfect moment, her in my arms, an extra button on her blouse undone and inviting exploration, and then—nothing. I was kissing her but she wasn't really kissing me. Her lips were closed and her mouth was tight, rigid. It was like kissing a block of wood.It ended eventually, or so I thought. After April there were other girls. Sometimes yes, sometimes no, sure, but more often than not girls who were just as interested as I was. I learned, slowly, that making her happy would make me happy. I learned that generosity is often returned. But when I saw April, and we did see each other now.
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