andrea-1
12:00 a.m.<>2003-08-06

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andrea was a freshman when i was a senior. years later, when i ran into her and her husband at the mall on one of my trips home, i marveled at what a striking young woman she had become. her bright blonde hair had been shorn into a gamine pixie cut, she had lost much of the pudginess i remembered, and she was stylishly outfitted in black. back in school, though, she was a sweet, smart, awkward girl with bangs and freckles who dressed in baja pullovers and sat in front of me in english class.

we were drawn together, geeks that we both were, by hemingway. andrea loved him, me he bored into a stupor. i used to say all kinds of outrageously unkind things about his writing, just to see her face flush and her mouth tighten as she defended 'papa's' genius with the passion of a zealot. when she caught on to the fact that i was just trying to provoke her, her eyes invariably narrowed to deadly slits and she would favor me with a muttered 'shuddup.'

she was adorable, really, with a maturity beyond her years. i could easily spend this entire entry writing about nothing more than her smile, her conversation, her tastes in music and in politics. but since the theme of this journal is erotic, i'll save those sorts of reminescences for another time and get to the naughty bits in fairly short order.

when andrea first started dating, we were forced to be circumspect. she wasn't allowed to date under the best of circumstances, and her father the army colonel would no doubt have taken a rather dim view of his little princess going out with an 'older man.' so she used to inform her parents that she had to stay after school for band practice, or chess club, or yearbook, or any of the other hundred or so extracurricular activities she participated in, so she could meet me after the final bell had rung. i would take her to the park or to the mall, where we would make out furtively when no one seemed to be looking, stealing kisses from each other in great, greedy gulps. we would always make sure to be back at school well before her mother came to pick her up. in the evenings we would call each other and talk for hours.

do you remember the conversations you had when you were that age? the nights when you couldn't wait to call that one special person, when you would rush impatiently through dinner just so you could run to your room, shut the door, and dial those seven magical numbers? and when that one special person answered, when you finally heard that longed-for voice in your ear, you would smile with the purest pleasure, as if you had just received the best birthday gift imaginable. on your bed, lights out, head on your pillow, your left ear warm from the receiver, murmuring low into the mouthpiece so that no one else in the house could hear you. nowadays if i'm on the phone with a friend for half an hour, i consider it a long conversation. but back then, two, three hours would fly by without notice. i would dread the inevitable intake of breath that signalled that the person on the other end was growing drowsy, and getting ready to bring the call to a gentle close.

it was during one of those marathon phone calls that andrea and i first broached the topic of sex. we had been going out for a couple of weeks, but hadn't gotten any further than those heated kisses and hasty feels we would cop in the mall parking lot or behind a tree in the park.

it was getting late, and i was reluctantly preparing to tell andrea that i had to get some sleep, when she paused in her conversation and abruptly said, 'i wish you were here right now so i could kiss you.'

i smiled as if she could see me and replied, 'i wish i were too. how would you kiss me?'

'all over,' she replied with a nervous laugh. 'i would like to kiss you all over.'

i felt a sudden tension ripple over the phone wires. all thoughts of bidding her goodnight and going to sleep promptly fled from my mind. after a long pause i asked her tightly, 'what do you mean by all over?'

andrea described how if i were in her room right then she would kiss me from my head to my toes, beginning at my forehead. she would plant kisses on my eyelids, she said, then on my cheeks, my earlobes, my chin, and down to my throat. 'wait,' i interrupted, 'you forgot my lips.' in a husky voice she told me that she would be saving those for last.

i fell silent as she continued describing her lips' imaginary journey down my body. how she would take off my shirt to kiss my chest. how she would kiss my stomach, my belly button, my waistline. soon her soft, litling voice had me completely undressed, feeling her feathery lips and tongue travel lower and lower. my thighs. my knees. my calves. my ankles. then back up the inside of my legs, slowly, slowly, until...well, let's just say that we whispered 'goodnight' to each other far past our bedtimes, and never did get back up to my lips.

after that whispered trysts over the phone became a nearly nightly affair. we would go through the motions of discussing mundane matters - this teacher is a bitch, how did you do on your test, did you hear that jamie got suspended - but then quickly got to the part where we were undressing each other with our words. we took to playing a variation of truth or dare in which one person would have to answer a question on the condition that they could ask the same question when it was their turn. the one who was too embarrassed to answer a question lost the game.

this resulted in some incredibly frank and (for me, at least) enlightening discussions. given the penchant for boastful exaggeration that afflicts most young men at that age, i did my best to answer her forthright questions honestly.

have you ever had sex, she asked. (no) had i ever had oral sex? (no) had i ever seen a woman naked? (yes) had i ever touched a woman's breasts? (yes) have i ever had an orgasm? (yes) did i ever masturbate? (yes) had i ever masturbated in front of someone? (yes) had i ever been attracted to member of the same sex? (...yes...) had i ever done anything about it? (...)

i 'lost' the game that night. the stakes weren't terribly high; losing simply meant that we couldn't ask each other any more questions for the rest of the evening, and we would cheerfully go back to describing how and where we wanted to kiss each other until it was time to hang up.

andrea would respond to my questions with similar candor.

did she ever fantasize? (yes) about me? (yes) what did she fantasize about? (no answer, she lost the game).

or on another occasion: had she ever touched herself? (yes) has she ever given herself an orgasm? (yes) did she do it a lot? (...yes...) more than every other day? (...yes...) did she think about me when she did it? (usually) what did she think about those other times? (a sexy story she had read, a poster she had seen, the boy she kissed at camp in connecticut last year) was she masturbating right now, while she was on the phone with me? (silence, then a giggled 'okay, i forfeit!')

needless to say, i would grow incredibly aroused over the course of these steamy q-&-a sessions, and i would frequently have dipped my fingers under the elastic waistband of my briefs long before one of us had to regretfully bid the other sweet dreams. usually i would lie awake long after the call had ended.

i would strip off my underwear entirely, lay back on the bed and take hold of my desire, still feeling the ringing heat in my ear where the phone receiver and her voice had so recently been. i would close my eyes there in and conjure up images of andrea, her blue eyes, her long hair, her chewed fingernails, her pale cheeks that could so quickly turn bright red. it was when i allowed myself to think of her lying on her own bed, in the same position, her lips parted, her hands busily working inside her pajama bottoms, that the pleasure would course through my body like an electric current and i would come silently there in the dark bedroom.

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