#5: p.k.j.o.

God, I don't even remember your name. You weren't a friend, not really; just a kid in my daddy's small hometown, the son of the local preacher -- a Preacher's Kid like me -- and I spent the night with you because the house we were in was full and it was convenient. I'm not sure I wanted to spend the night with you, but it wasn't like I didn't; I just don't remember.

I must've been in the fourth grade, so nine or ten years old, and you were about the same age. You had a brother a few years older than us. He slept in the same room, across the room. Small country parsonage, a little white house next door to the church.

After the lights were out, we chatted quietly, tried to keep our giggles down, then you wriggled under the covers and offered me something.

"What's this?" I asked.
"Shh," you said.
It was your underwear.
Weird, I thought.

You took my hand under the covers and silently directed me to squeeze the head of your rock hard little boy penis; you wanted a pulsing squeeze. You wouldn't let me stop or slow down. I had no idea what was going on. When I got the rhythm right, you reached under and started doing the same thing to my penis. It didn't get hard until you started bothering with it. It felt good but weird, it was wicked, and that was probably the most fun about it.

Then I had my first orgasm. No ejaculation, just a full body shudder that was like the Devil and God arm wrestling between my legs. I gasped. The throbbing traveled over all the flesh of my body. I jumped out of bed and pulled on my jeans and walked to the bathroom to see what had happened to me. But by then, it was soft again.

I slept the night in my jeans, afraid that it would happen again. You ignored me.

The next morning over the breakfast table, your older brother took a moment to tease us, while your parents weren't paying attention: "I heard you two last night!" Nobody said anything more. Perhaps you made a face at your brother, stuck out your tongue or even shot him the bird (P.K.s are so wild, I'd heard, but not me, I wasn't a preacher's kid anymore, momma made daddy stop preaching, maybe this was why, maybe she knew what P.K.s did). I wasn't looking. I had my eyes closed. I was praying for Jesus to deliver me from hell.