14 comments/ 72245 views/ 34 favorites I Am Jack's Life Ch. 00-01 By: Finis Author's note and acknowledgements This story has sat on my hard drive for four years now. I wrote it, all twenty chapters and 95,000 words of it in eight days of a frenzied, near trance-like state, sitting on my couch with my wife's laptop. She would occasionally have to remind me to eat. When the dust settled, and I looked up, I realized a couple of things: one, I had just written a fucking novel in a week, whoa. Two, it seemed to be pretty damn good, double whoa. And three, what the hell was I going to do with it? I tried editing it, I even enlisted the help of a Lit-Editor, who was invaluable for early editing, and confirming it was in fact, pretty good, or readable at least. I spent several months then, editing, unashamedly forcing it on writer friends to read, regular friends to read, and total strangers on writer boards. Everyone had different opinions of course, as people do, but all of them seemed to think it was pretty good, and I should probably try to do something with it. So I spent another year trying to sell it. Well nothing happened. And I can't blame them, agents and publishers. It's kind of a niche story, hard to market. It's got too much sex for a coming age story, too much teenage drama for adult fiction, and not a single word about vampires or bondage to make it work as erotic fiction. So it's sat on my hard drive for four years. I'll occasionally open it up, tinker with a line, or try to figure out how to re-work it into something more marketable. I always end up wasting a weekend trying to figure out how to change it, without losing the essence of the thing which I, and several others, feel is, "pretty good." So fuck it. Here you go Literotica. I just want people to read it. I want people to get to know Jack the way I did. Writing his life made me feel like I was a part of it. He's a pretty good guy, I wish I knew him in real life. So NEXT, some disclaimers. This is a coming of age story. Which means first it starts out when the characters are too young to have sex (on literotica.) So there's no sex for a couple chapters. I hope that's okay. Second, this is a novel length story, including the prologue and epilogue, there are twenty-one chapters in all. Some are longer than others, and there is not a sex scene in every one. (Though some have more than one.) More importantly, sex is a thing that happens, it's not written to be titillating, but rather just as events in Jack's life. So there you go. It's a story with sex in it, not a story about sex. I think it's pretty good anyway. So here you go, enjoy. ***** PROLOGUE Sunlight woke me. Warmth spread across my face and golden red light flooded through my closed eyes. I rolled away from the intrusive, bothersome light; pressing my face into the naked back of my wife. I inhaled deep through my nostrils. She smelled deliciously like her. Slightly sweaty, with under tones of musk and sex and yesterday's perfume. My friends, there is no scent on earth like that of your lover the morning after. I flopped my arm around her waist. She stirred and nuzzled against me. We lay like this for a few more minutes. The sun rising, the heat of it falling across our exposed skin. We lay there, coupled together, and the rest of the world fell away for a few more moments of not-quite sleep. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew the rest of the world was rising with the sun; outside our bedroom children were waking, pets were getting into their food bags, the paper was soaking in the dewy grass, commutes were starting, and school buses warmed up. The work day itself rose from its own slumber and hit the button on the eternal coffee maker. The day was stirring. I lay against the naked flesh of my wife, my lover, my partner, my best friend forever, and blissfully willed myself ignorant of it all. I lived in her scent and the sticky feeling of her perspiring skin against mine. This was all of the world I wanted, the whole of my deepest desires made flesh and bone. "You're hot," she moaned, her voice doing that cute little whiny nasally thing it does when she's sleepy I find so irresistibly cute. "Mmmm, so are you lover," I responded amorously, once again kissing her spine and moving my hand against her hip suggestively. She pushed my hand away with something between irritation and playfulness and said, "You're sweating all over me; gross." She giggled sleepily, though. My wife is in her mid-thirties, and she still giggles like a school-girl when we flirt. I kissed up her spine again and planted another one moving up to the back of her neck. She sighed with smug pleasure. Hot damn, I was going to get lucky this morning. Abruptly, the door opened, and a six-year-old girl blurted out, "Mommy, Miss Mittens is getting into her food bag." Both my wife and I moved in unison to cover ourselves. So much for morning sex. Welcome back to the world, Jack. "Honey, you know you're supposed to knock before opening Mommy and Daddy's door," my wife said. Mom voice, not giggly school girl. Sigh. Ah well. "But Miss Mittens isn't su-Posed to be in her food bag!" our daughter said as if this violation of the house rules validated another breach of conduct. "I know, but you still need to knock sweetie," I said, propping myself up on my elbow. "Da-Ad!" she replied. Clearly we were not understanding the egregiousness of the food bag violation. "I'll take care of it. Now close the door, honey, so mommy and daddy can get dressed," I said. Dad voice. Sigh, the moment was definitely gone. That appeared to satisfy her and she backpedaled, pulling the door closed behind her with a harder than normal slam. My wife rolled over and looked up at me. The morning light caught her eyes. There was a slight lock of hair stuck to her forehead with a light sheen of sweat. Her lips were pouty and full of mock disappointment. How the fuck can this woman be so damn cute, sexy, and make me grin like a stupid idiot every time I see her? I put my arm around her and looked down at her body which disappeared beneath white sheets. My cock stirred, still not convinced the moment could not be recovered. I kissed that lovely spot between her breasts and neck and started working my way up. "I think Miss Mittens deserves a chance for the meal she has rightfully earned don't you?" I said between kisses, "We should give her a few minutes to enjoy the fruits of her labors." My wife giggled again. School girl back, yay! She ran her fingers up my arms and tilted her neck back for my lips to explore further. I did. We were just finding each other's lips and beginning to get with some serious making out and heavy petting when a crash came from somewhere downstairs. "Miss MIT-ENS!" cried a six year old. My wife and I looked at each other and sighed. Yup. Moment toasted. We rolled out of bed and retrieved our clothing. She must have sensed my leer and threw me a smirking glare over her shoulder. She tossed my boxers at me with a flip. "Later, Don Juan. Go fix your children breakfast." "Yes dear," I replied with a smirk of my own. "And get the cat out of the food bag please, before she barfs it all over the floor," she added as I pulled my shirt over my head. She disappeared into our bathroom. There is nothing like the word "barf" to kill your amorous intentions. Sighing, I went downstairs to face the day. Judging from the sounds of cat hurcking, my day was starting with cat barf, instead of sex with the most amazing woman imaginable. Sometimes that's just life. Thirty minutes later found me dishing silver-dollar pancakes onto the plates of our previously met six year old, Amber, and our four year old, Kimmy. Kimmy clapped with approval and gave a little cheer. Girl loves my pancakes, what can I say? "Yay pancakes!" she exclaimed. "Yay pancakes!" I echoed, because... hey, pancakes. Footsteps stomped down the stairs accompanied by bickering voices. Into view came my wife pushing my eldest daughter in front of her. My wife's face was frowning, though her eyes said laughter. The rest of her expression was trying to hold onto some sort of stern disapproval. It didn't take much to see why. Liz had attempted to put make up on. Liz is eleven (and a half), and apparently never attempted to apply make-up before. She looked like some sort of clown-hooker. Red lipstick was caked on and mostly in the lines. Blush was painted in like she was auditioning for the part of a French madam in a burlesque show. Eyeliner and mascara formed black outlines, thick around her eyes, which were framed with at least two inches of emerald green gemstone eye shadow. I winced a little; my wife always complained about the cost of that stuff. "Guess who decided she was old enough to get into my make-up kit?" my wife demanded. I tried, with varying degrees of success to hide my smile, swallow any laughter, and attempt to find the stern father-face the situation required. "Liz, we talked about this. No makeup until thirteen," I somehow managed to get out while keeping a straight face. "Dad! That's not fair, other girls in my class get to wear it!" she nasalized, more than said. Only a pre-teen can get that tone, I think. It was fingernails on chalkboard to most parents, my wife included. "Oh, none of that young lady! You know better. Plus, that's my good make up! For going out, not for everyday use, and certainly not for eleven year old little girls!" said my wife, pushing Liz forward a little toward the bathroom. My wife had apparently found her mom voice again. I cringed and attempted to intervene before this escalated. Liz had a way of getting under my wife's skin in a hurry. "Honey, that make up belongs to your mother. Also..." I said. I was just about to go into the 'jump off a bridge' lecture that had been so ineffectual on me as a kid, but somehow I felt would hit home with my eleven year old; when words I had been dreading for a long time spewed forth into the kitchen. "It's not like she's even my real mother!" Liz spat out, with the voice only those in the venomous onset of puberty can muster. My skin froze against my flesh and my hairs stood on end. I glanced at my wife and she had lost all of her color, leaving her pallid and sick-looking. It was quickly replaced with an angry flush however. I stepped up before she could say something which would make both of them feel worse. "Liz," I said in a quiet voice that brooked no discussion, "go up to your room. Stop at the bathroom and wash your face off first, but then go to your room and don't come out." "Fine!" she shouted, somewhat surprisingly offering no argument. She turned and ran past my wife and stomped her way up the stairs. I was still holding the pan with the pancakes and I turned to set it back on the stove with a defeated sigh. I wasn't ready for this yet. I thought I had a few more years. I needed a few more years. My other daughters were quiet. My wife straightened her shoulders and turned to follow Liz up. "Babe," I said, "Give it a minute, I'll handle it." She turned and gave me a cold look, "I was going to our room, Jack, is that alright?" she bit my name off. No pet name. I was in as much trouble as Liz. "I've got to get ready for work," she continued. "Right, fine, sorry," I said, trying to squeeze apology into my tone as well. She turned and walked upstairs There was a few moments of awkward silence. Then the part of this I had really dreaded came up. "Daddy... what did Lizzy mean when she said Mommy wasn't her real mom?" It was Amber, asking with the sort of quavering innocence I wanted to preserve for as many years as possible. "Liz is just upset honey, she didn't mean it." "So, she was lying?" I sighed and gripped the edges of the sink. Years. I was supposed to have years. Maybe forever, if my secret wish be told. I never wanted this conversation. Lie now and confess later? That had its own problems. Try to explain the truth now? Without the full context of the story, the truth sounded horrible. There was no way a six year old could understand the full context. Hell, I'm thirty-six. I lived it, and I'm not sure I understood the full context. "No, she wasn't lying sweetie. But her real mom is gone." Even after nine years, thinking about that night made my throat tighten and my chest constrict like I was drowning. "Oh." A pause. Now the next question, Amber is way too damn smart. Takes after her mother. "Are you her Daddy?" Sigh. Context, context was everything. "Yes I am." "So you were married to her Mom before you met mommy?" "No, and that's enough sweetie, finish your pancakes." Context. Context is everything. She had one more question though. "I thought you said you and Mommy met in school?" "We did, we met when we were just a little older than Liz is now. We were just kids. Now. Eat your pancakes." I headed upstairs. Wife first. I opened the door to our bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, crying. Or at least, trying not to. I close the door behind me softly. "She didn't mean it baby," I said. "Oh yes she did. It's been coming for a while, since we told her two years ago," my wife said, sniffling roughly and rubbing her face with her hands. She always hated it when she cried. "The way she's been acting toward me all year? I've been waiting for this." I came over to sit down next to her, but she got up and walked away. I sighed. "I'll talk to her," I said. It sounded lame. I had no idea what to say and we both knew it. "And say what? Not to be mean?" "That's a good start. She's eleven, she blurted out the first mean thing she could think of. Not a great habit to have." "Jack, I'm trying to tell you, she's been acting strange for the past few months. Refusing to hold my hand, ignoring me when I ask her to do something..." "She's a pre-teen, you think you're the first mother of a prepubescent child who started asserting their independence." "This is different." "Alright. I'll talk to her. I have no idea what I'll say. But I'll talk to her." "For all the good it will do you," my wife sighed, "I can already see her mother in her." "That's not all bad." I said softly. That was apparently exactly the wrong thing to say. My wife walked to the bathroom. In a cold voice she said, "Get the girls ready, I'll drop them off on my way to work." Sigh. This was a different voice. Amazing how so many things can be expressed by which voice you use. Mom voice. School girl voice. Cold-hearted bitch queen. All voices my wife had mastered. I got up and went to get Kim and Amber ready for school. Twenty minutes later, my four girls were piling into the SUV in our driveway. I watched from the front window. Liz and my wife were not speaking, but Liz was helping with Amber's car seat, as was her job in the morning. My wife buckled little Kimmy in without looking up at Liz, but still managing to check her work. They got in and drove off. To school, to work; the four most important women in my life rolled down the street. Context is everything friends. For stories. For relationships. For life. I needed Liz to understand the context of her birth, but eleven was far too young to hear the tale. Besides, the full context began over twenty years ago, with four girls not much older than her. My entire life pretty much. I needed her to understand the context of my life, so she would be able to make sense of hers. It - like most life stories, was full of heartache, confusion, elation, victories and defeats, discovery, and failure. Love and sex, and the distinctions between the two. Casual friendship and the kind of bond that carries you through the worst of tragedies. How can you explain relationships in the context of these things that would make sense to another adult, let alone an eleven year old? God the things I wish I'd known when I was fifteen. CHAPTER ONE I was fifteen when I finally figured out it was easier to get girls to talk to you if you did their homework for them. Oh, at the time I'd have told you I was helping them with their work, but the reality was I would do the work, and in return they'd let me ogle them while they sat around and gossiped. It wasn't a bad trade for me really. I was lucky enough to have the brains and attitude required to make school easy for me. Believe me, you need both. I knew plenty of kids just as smart as me who didn't have the attitude to go with it, which made school a struggle. Me, I never minded the homework, or the studying, so school was easy for me. As a result, by the end of my freshman year I was well on my way to a perfect GPA. Trust me when I say luck had as much to do with it as anything. On the other hand, I was not fortunate to also be blessed with the natural sense of style and athleticism that created the kind of casual good looks which were far more valuable in the high school social hierarchy. Also I was completely hopeless when it came to speaking to the opposite sex. Oh, I had charisma enough I suppose, looking back with the benefit of twenty years of hind sight. But all the charm in the world is useless if you forget your own name, the name of the person in front of you, and some of the subtle nuances of the English language; like grammar and, you know, words. Beth changed all that. The high school I went to posted the GPA of all the students above a 2.0 in the hall outside the administration offices at the end of every semester. Incentive they said, though state sanctioned public shaming was more like it. I suppose the kids whose names didn't make the boards feigned indifference, or sometimes celebrated it. As I said, I was lucky enough to be good at the whole school thing, so at the end of my freshman year my name was at the top of the list for my class. There were seven of us at the time that still had a 4.0; four girls and three guys. I knew all of them. I guess you figure out pretty quick who your competition for Valedictorian is in four years. Not that I cared really, not at that point. I was still just trying to survive the lunch line and make it through the day without ending up in a dumpster. But you still acknowledge the other kids in your league I guess. I wouldn't say I was friends with any of them except, Tomas Johnston, but Tommy and I had been friends since 4th grade, so it hardly counted. I knew who Beth Jenkins was, though. Oh, she wasn't one of the girls in the 4.0 club, but I knew who she was. Every straight male and secretly bi-curious girl and lesbian knew who Beth was. She was easily the hottest girl in my class. Long brunette hair, slender figure, the most amazing eyes of any living being on the planet; and breasts like...well, she had perfect ones, by any standards. Not too large, not too small. She knew how to dress to show them to their best advantage without being remotely trashy, and still manage to show enough to cause male teachers to lose their train of thought when she'd raise her hand in class. Yeah, I had the hots for her. So did everyone. They either wanted to fuck her or be her. At least, that's what I often assumed. So when she came up to me after class near the end of term our freshman year and said my name, I naturally assumed she was talking to the other Jack Wallington behind me. "Jack!" said the most perfect pair of breasts I'd ever seen in my short time on this planet. I casually glanced behind me to see who this lucky Jack person was. I Am Jack's Life Ch. 00-01 "Jack?" she said again, stopping right in front of me. "Me?" I said, the epitome of wit and class. She laughed lightly with a sound that should have been accompanied by naked winged sprites sparkling around her and ringing bells. "Yes, you. You're Jack Wallington right?" she continued. "Uhm. Yeah." Yup. I was right on track. Sweeping her off her feet any moment. I blushed. I have no idea why I blushed. She'd just identified me correctly out of a line up, that's all. She smiled, clearly aware of the effect her presence had on my mental capacity, and perhaps even counting on it. But she didn't verbally acknowledge it. "Listen, I was wondering if you do any tutoring?" What is this tutoring word? My brain was running in a continuous loop. Beth-boobs. Beth-boobs. Beth-boobs. Wait, she's waiting for a response. She looks like it should be a yes. I should say yes. Beth-boobs. "Uhhhh... yes?" I managed to get out. "Great. I'm stuck taking summer school for Algebra and it's totally going to mess up my eligibility for Cheer next year if I don't pass, so I was wondering..." As she said it, she held her books up against her chest, causing the round, soft objects of my desires to press up and swell outward slightly. I gulped. She bit her lower lip in the sexiest manner possible while waiting for me to remember how to speak. She was obviously used to this projected aura of gibbering stupid she oozed around her. "Uhm. Sure. I'm good at algebra." I said. Jack good at math, Beth-boobs. Her smile could have lit up a small city. "Great, why don't you give me your number and I can call you to set up some dates." The only words I processed were, "number" and "dates". I numbly wrote down what I prayed was my home number on a sheet of paper for her. She folded it up and stuffed it in her front jeans pocket. I gulped again as I watched her hand squeeze into her tight pants. She winked and headed off down the hall. I was left in a stupefied daze. What had just happened? Did I just get a date with Beth Jenkins? No. But... wait. Algebra. Tutoring. I agreed to tutor her in algebra for summer school. I wasn't going to summer school though. No wait! She was! I was tutoring her for her summer school math course. I was going to spend my summer in the company of Beth Jenkins, the hottest girl in our class. Perhaps of any freshman class in the world. Perhaps even in the history of the world. I grinned like an idiot the rest of the day. When my friends asked me what was going on I didn't tell them. I was afraid merely speaking it aloud would cause fate to remember such things weren't supposed to happen and my good fortune would unravel. As the week progressed, elation turned to doubt. Had I imagined her flirting? Of course I had. She had just flirted to get my attention. She had no interest in me. Likely as not I was going to end up doing her work for her. Then doubt turned to fear. Maybe this was a trap. I was going to show up at her place and her very large and scary boyfriend and his goons were going to deposit me in a dumpster. Fear then turned to resentment. Why the fuck did she do this to me? Didn't the popular, good looking kids have enough good things going for them without having to step on us lower social order peons? And finally, resentment turned into outright anger. Fuck Beth Jenkins and her luscious tits. Fuck her and her boyfriend and his squad of brain dead jocks. I wasn't going to fall for this crap. By the time the year ended, I refused to even look in her direction when she entered the cafeteria, or the parking lot, or whatever. Beth Jenkins did not exist for me. Assuming the whole thing wasn't a hoax, if she did call me, I was going to tell her to go fuck herself. Totally. I was in command of my life. I would not live in fear of her charm, looks, and undeniably perfect breasts. Three weeks after the last day of school, I had pretty much forgotten all about the fact the hottest girl in school had asked for my help. So when my phone rang, I was caught unprepared without the elaborate speech I'd devised to disarm her and make her feel terrible for trying to trick me. "Hello, Wallington residence," I said. My parents were sticklers for phone etiquette. "Hey Jack, its Beth," a bubbly female voice said on the other end. "Beth who?" A light giggle. It was the giggle that brought it all back. "Beth Jenkins, you said you'd help tutor me over the summer in algebra." "Forget it Beth, there's no way," I said. It was easy to be stern when I wasn't staring at her. Ha, her aura of afflicting gibbering stupid couldn't reach me over the phone! "I'm not stupid, if you and your friends want to humiliate me, they'll just have to wait until school starts again like everyone else," I continued. Somehow, my voice had become shrill. Not angry. Shrill. Overly defensive, irrationally upset, fearful of rejection, and stupidly agitated. Shrill. "Forget it Beth," I said again, "There is no way." I hung up with enough force to rattle the end table our phone sat on. And that would have been it. That was the cross road of my life. Had it ended there, I have no idea the direction it would have gone. Perhaps I would have continued on as I was; shy and studious. I still probably would have gone to a good college. But there's no way I would have married my wife, or even spoken to her. All of the good things in my life for the next twenty years would vanish in a puff of possibility. Life is funny. The simplest things are crossroads. Choosing to meet someone for coffee, asking the girl in front of you if she's busy later, having the courage to smile back at the boy in English. Helping someone with their algebra homework. Every moment is followed by another, and every passing moment we can chose to change the next. Our lives are such an impossible tangle of quantum chance, you simply cannot predict what your life will be like in twenty years if you pick up the phone. My advice. Pick up the phone. Take a chance. Even if she says no, even if he stands you up, you never know where the new road will take you. Frost said it better than anyone when he wrote: "I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." Thank God Beth called back. Thank God I answered. Just, thank God. It changed my life forever. The phone rang again as I was walking away. I stopped. I didn't want to answer. I didn't want her to yell at me for yelling at her. I didn't want it to be Beth. But I answered anyway. "Hello?" I said. I forgot to say the rest. "Hey..." said the same female voice as before. "Look, I think there's been a mistake," she continued before I could open my mouth again. "I'm not trying to trick you, Jack, I really do need help." She sighed softly. It was an honest sigh. It caught me off guard. "Look, I can pay you, okay? I really need help with this stuff. The first class was today and I didn't understand any of it. I don't think I'm stupid but... I dunno, maybe I am. Either way I need your help. I need to pass this class or I won't be eligible for tryouts in August. I'll pay you," she said again. I paused. She sounded sincere. Moreover, she sounded desperate. Earnest and honest; and as far as she could see, I was her only chance at continuing Cheerleading. Which, I guess was a big deal or something. She was a girl in distress, and I had the opportunity to be her knight in shining mathematical armor. Fuck, who can say no to that? "Alright," I sighed. "Alright. I'll help you out, how many weeks is the course?" "Five. It's five weeks, four days a week," she said. "Alright. Fifty bucks, five sessions, ten bucks a session and I'll tutor you at the end of each week for a couple of hours. I'm not going to do your homework for you, or your tests or whatever," I said, doing my best to sound authoritative and teacher like. "No, that's fantastic! Thank you so much Jack," she gushed. I blushed again. Over the phone. I didn't know why. "Alright," I said, "How is this Friday?" "Uhm," she rustled around, looking at a calendar maybe. "Friday is fine, maybe two in the afternoon?" "That's fine," I replied "So, uhm, your house or mine?" She asked coyly. Dammit, I blushed again. Then it occurred to me she probably didn't want to be seen in public with me, and the resentment flooded in again. "Mine is fine." I gave her my address and brief directions. Hey, this was 1991, no one had GPS and Google maps in their phones yet. "Great, see you Friday!" she said again, the bubbly voice in place again. The voice that knows no straight male could refuse her. I sighed. Why the fuck was I doing this again? Oh yeah. Boobs. Friday afternoon finally rolled around. I had told my parents of course, that a girl from school was coming over so I could tutor her. I thought my dad was going to give me a high five. Jesus. My mom had responded by cleaning the entire house top to bottom; which included me helping of course, it was my 'guest'. Didn't matter that I told my mom she was paying me for lessons. I had a female guest coming over, you'd have thought I'd announced an engagement. About ten minutes to two, a car pulled up in the driveway. Yes, I was totally watching the driveway from my room. I could see Beth in the passenger seat, and the driver... was her boyfriend. The only six foot tall freshman guy in our school, probably because he was also the only freshman old enough to drive as well. Todd Smith. Basketball player, wrestler, and depositor of nerds into dumpsters. Oh yeah, I knew Todd; and everyone knew he and Beth were dating, he made sure of that. They kissed and she got out of the car. Alright, I get it. Show up with your boyfriend and send a message. Tutoring only. Message received, Beth. Message received. I went out to the living room to open the door. I at least waited for a knock first though. Opening the door I remembered exactly why I was doing this again. Her brunette hair was down, with a cute little clip in it on one side, she was wearing a yellow print sundress that clung to her nubile frame in ways that were probably illegal for girls her age, and of course, her cleavage was on display in the most perfect way possible. Gulp. Right, aura of gibbering stupid. Check. "Hey Jack," she said brightly. "Hey Beth," I said. Yay, I remembered her name! I glanced over her shoulder, Todd was sitting in his car, glaring at me. I waved. He didn't wave back. Beth did though, she turned and waved at him, apparently giving him the everything's okay, signal. "Come on in," I managed to remember to say. I stepped aside. I glanced back at my parents and was inwardly amused, embarrassed, and not a little bit proud. My dad's eyes were wide, openly staring at the teenage goddess that had just crossed our threshold. Embarrassed. Proud. My mother also had one eye raised, but at me, perhaps wondering how her quiet, nerdy, only child had managed to land such divine hotness. Amused, but also embarrassed. "Mom, Dad, this is Beth, the girl I'm going to be tutoring," I said. My parents recovered swiftly, and my mother smiled at Beth. "Hello dear, why don't you guys take the kitchen table here?" she said. "Hello Beth," my dad said. Thankfully that's all he said, because he looked like he wanted to high five me again. Jesus. "Hello Mr. and Mrs. Wallington. Thanks for letting Jack tutor me, I'm so lost." she said with a giggle that once again should have been accompanied by faeries with bells. "Its fine, mom, I'm all set up in my room with my notes and stuff," I said. I did not want to be out here with my Dad ogling Beth and my Mom offering dowry gifts or something. My mother pursed her lips together and then said, "Alright Jack, but," she said, and I felt color rising to my cheeks, "door open." Dear God, mother. Beth just giggled. "That's fine, Jack and I are just friends. And I really do need to study." Wait, what? Friends? "Uhm, right down the hall," I gestured to Beth, and led her to my room. She waved again at my parents and turned to follow me. My room was not large, but it wasn't too small, either. In addition to my bed and dresser, I had room for a desk, a couple of bookshelves, and a closet full of comic books. All of the later having just been shoved in there the previous day. No sense cultivating the nerd image. On my bookshelves I had a couple of science fair trophies I'd earned in elementary and middle school, as well as a few reading awards. Okay, maybe a bit nerdy. Hey, just because I wasn't a jock didn't mean I'd never won anything. Maybe I did want to show them off. God knows the next time I'd have the sexiest fifteen-year-old girl on the planet in my room to show them to. I'd brought in one of the kitchen chairs to sit next to my desk and held it out for her. She smiled and set her book and notebook down on the desk, then hung her purse on the back of it. "A gentleman as well as a scholar. Thank you," she said. Her voice had a lilting hint to it I'd never heard before. Wait, was that a flirt? Was she flirting? Fuck, how does one tell? "Don't mention it." I cleared my throat and sat down in my own chair. "Why don't you show me the notes you have? And then we'll do a couple practice problems to see where you are." "You got it, Professor. I'm your willing student." There was that tone in her voice again. Jesus Christ, does this girl listen to herself? To be honest I don't remember too much of that first afternoon. I remember she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I remember watched her. A lot. She'd furrow her eyebrows as she tried to puzzle out what I was saying, or figure out a problem. Her eyes sparkled when the light hit them just right; like - literally fucking sparkled. She had the most amazing laugh I'd ever heard, and I started trying to make her do it whenever I could. I have a pretty decent wit, and somehow I found enough of it to make enough quips to keep her laughing, even when I could sense she was getting frustrated. Oh also, she was terrible at algebra. Like, hopelessly bad. It'd be laughable if it wasn't so simultaneously sad. She really had no idea what she was doing. Luckily, I was very good at algebra, and she was a lot smarter than her understanding of mathematics belied, so by the end of the first session, a couple of things were clear. One, I was going to need more than four more sessions to get her through this course. Two, she really was pretty smart, as well as beautiful, sexy, and charming. Three, I was totally in love with her. The hopeless kind. Without hope. Unsalvageable. She was my sun and I the chloroplast in plants that makes life possible. Yeah. I had it bad. We ended up meeting three times a week for the next five weeks, and I found out something else. I was actually pretty good at this tutoring stuff. I mean, once I got over her boobs enough to make eye contact on a regular basis (not every time though, let's be realistic), and actually started talking to her, we connected. She understood things the way I explained them, and I began to realize she was more than a walking embodiment of Aphrodite. Oh I still fantasized about her nearly every waking moment, and more than once masturbated to the smell of her perfume that sometimes clung to my bed after she'd been in my room. But I - slowly - began to uncover the personality and mind beneath the boobs. And I liked those, too. By the end of the summer, what she'd said that first day really was true. We were friends. Oh, I still lusted after her and nursed the King Kong of all crushes, but we were legitimate friends. We made each other laugh, we hung out after tutoring and talked about movies (she loved going to the movies; she confessed being upset when a guy would ask her to a movie she wanted to see, then want to make out during it), books (which were more my interest than hers, but I got her to read a couple of good ones that summer), and general teenage stuff. We even kept hanging out after she passed her summer course, which earned me not just the fifty bucks, but a hug and a kiss on the cheek as well. Most of it is a blur honestly. I just remember being sort of - giddy, whenever she was around, in more than just a way that had to do with hormonal reaction to her unbelievable body. I was in love. Or at least, I thought I was. I was infatuated, at least. The first sort of infatuation that confuses you and only barely masks bitter jealousy. I was that too. I got jealous every time she was with Todd, or heard her talk about Todd or other guys she'd dated. Soul-sickeningly jealous, the kind that makes you unable to eat, and feels like everything inside of you is made of acid and bile. Life was a roller coaster. She was a high, and I inhaled her like cocaine. She was a low, and every part of her that was not with me drowned me in misery. When the end of summer approached, and a new school year loomed on the horizon, my stomach began churning uncomfortably every time I thought about it. "What's wrong?" she asked me, just a week before the term started. We were sitting in her living room watching "A Princess Bride". I'd rented it and brought it over to watch with her, since she'd missed it in theaters. "Huh?" I brought myself out of dark musings and looked up at her. "You stopped laughing," she grinned. "You said this was your favorite part." I glanced at the television. Ah yeah, Miracle Max. Good stuff. "Sorry, just zoned out." "During Miracle Max? You've only been quoting it all summer," she giggled. "Sorry," I sighed, "Just thinking about school." "Ah," was all she said. "Just worried..." I started to explain. "That I'm going to pretend I don't know you," she said. This was a new voice. Annoyed? Upset? Hurt? "Yeah, actually." "Why would I do that?" "Uhm, because I'm kind of a nerd and you're..." I struggled for a word that would convey what I meant, without pissing her off. "Popular?" She said. Yeah. It was definitely hurt. "Yeah," I sighed lamely. She studied me for a few moments. "So what?" she asked after the longest thirty seconds of my life up until that point. "Huh?" Okay, my wit isn't always on, alright. Sometimes all you got is: "huh". "So what?" she repeated. "You're right, I am popular. Because I'm pretty. Because I'm a cheerleader." I blushed, legitimately this time I think. "You think I don't know people, including you, think I'm pretty?" she asked, there was something new in her voice too. Indignation. "I didn't... I mean, what's that got to do with it?" I stammered. Brain stopping. Pretty girl I'm in love with angry. Panic. Panic mode. "You know why else I'm popular? Because I'm not a bitch. I'm not mean to people. I could be. Lots of my friends in Cheer are. Because they can be, because they're pretty and think they can get away with it." "I never said... I mean, of course you aren't, I..." I struggled to articulate basic words. I was shutting down. Not good. "I'm not a bitch," she repeated firmly. "So why would you think I'd start being one just because school started?" "I... I don't know." I looked at the floor. This was it. I'd ruined everything. "I do," she said and scooted closer to me on the couch. Never in a million years would I have anticipated what came next. Oh sure, wild fantasies aside, I had imagined kissing her, touching her, even hugging her, in every way, in every location imaginable. When she scooted next to me, I felt her leg touch mine. She was wearing jeans, and so was I, but I still was acutely aware that only millimeters of denim separated her naked flesh from mine. I Am Jack's Life Ch. 00-01 I could smell her faint perfume, faded, because it was late in the day, but there nevertheless. A barely perceptible faint mist of scent that hung near her. I'd caught it a few times before when I'd leaned in to correct her work. Now she was leaning in to me. Time stopped. She put her arms around me and drew me close. She hugged me. I felt her breasts against my shoulder, covered by her tee shirt and bra, but there they were; the soft round mounds of my feverish desires pressed against me. She leaned her head on my shoulder and I felt her hair cascade over my arm. It was very soft. "I do," she said again, moving time forward a few seconds. I'm not sure I was breathing. She looked up at me and turned my chin to face her. Our faces were inches apart. I could feel her breath on my cheeks. I inhaled her exhale. Her eyes were the most emerald green. The rest of the world that was not her face fell away. The rest of the summer may have been a blur, but twenty years later I can still recall the tiny blemishes of her skin, the wrinkles in her lips; practically count her long dark eyelashes. That moment is frozen in my mind forever. Wherever I travel in this life from here, whomever it's with. The moment sitting on Beth's couch, the Princess Bride playing in the background, and her face inches from mine, will be with me forever. It's the stuff the universe is made up of, friend. Moments like this one, hung in space and time like tapestries. I'm definitely sure my heart was not beating. And then she kissed me. I'm going to pause here a second. Whenever guys imagine their first kiss, at least guys of my generation, James Bond is involved. I have no idea about girls. I've never been one, but I'd bet even money it's either James Bond or Richard Gere. But I'm pretty sure, James Bond. You know, the kiss that he closes out every movie with. On a yacht after defeating a hundred enemy spies, and rescuing the Bond girl of the film. The bend-her-backward, doubled-over-in-anticipated-ecstasy, this-is-definitely-going-to-end-in-coitus, kiss. He's the epitome of suave, she's the avatar of sexy. That kiss. Yeah that's the one most guys think they are going to give the first time they kiss someone. That was not my first kiss. I doubt it's anyone's, but I can only speak for me. It was excruciatingly brief. It lasted an eternity, but it was very brief. Just a gentle brushing of her lips against mine. Her's were warm, soft, and dry. I hope mine were too. It probably lasted less than a second to be honest. I didn't even have time to close my eyes. I stared at her in shock the whole time. Her eyes didn't close either, they fluttered down. But never closed. "There. Now it's out of the way," she said what felt like a few years later. I blinked. She giggled, and blushed. Fuck, I'd never seen her blush. Holy fuck, so sexy. "You've been thinking about kissing me all summer. Now it's out of the way, and we can be real friends. And stop worrying about me not talking to you anymore," she said, leaning back on her hands. She was talking. (We kissed.) Process. Rewind. (She kissed me.) What did she say? (Shekissedme.) Friends. (Kiss.) We can be friends now. Huh? "Huh?" Seriously, sometimes that's all you got. She giggled again, still blushing. "Oh Jack, I really do like you, as a friend. I don't want to stop being friends just because you're not very popular. I don't care what people think, okay?" I'm pretty sure I nodded. I could still feel the after-impression of her lips against mine. "Cool, now stop worrying and rewind the movie okay? I don't want to miss your favorite part!" she bounced back to her spot on the couch and we were no longer touching. And that friends, is how I got my first kiss, and friend-zoned in the same moment.