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Friday January 1.
This is my new year’s resolution: I will lose my virginity. I read on the interwebs that the average age that males in the US lose their virginity is 16.4 years old. I’m almost three years late!!
I went running this morning in the Greenbelt. It was cold and clear and the ground was frozen hard. Felt good to hit the wall again today. I’m following a very rigorous schedule for the Shamrock Marathon this Spring. April 25th. Five days running and two days of rest with more miles run each week over 16 weeks. And I’ve still got to shave a minute off my time to get in the top 100 for the men’s VHSL three-mile cross-country stats. I will do it. I will. Mike is still beating me, the bastard. He can’t match my stamina in the marathon, though.
Trying to think of an anniversary gift for Mom and Dad. Janie suggested a subscription to Family Lifestyle Magazine but I think that’s too cheap. Besides they could write articles for that — there’s nothing they can learn about the Lifestyle from a magazine. It should really be something big since it’s their 20th and we three will finally all be eighteen. It kind of means their parenting job is done. Ha, ha. Their actual anniversary is March 28th so there’s plenty of time.
Friday January 8:
Not off to a good start with this journal. Running five days a week before school except it rained hard on Tuesday. Tried lifting some of Mike’s weights. Harder than I thought. I should have run anyway.
I should mention that I made my application to Tech for next year. It’s the only school I applied to. Won’t find out till sometime between March 1st and May 1st. I can’t not think about it.
Also, Janie’s eighteenth birthday is coming up March 20th. So we are going to have a busy Spring.
Sunday January 10.
Mike is a pain in the ass. Typical twin — he knows how to push my buttons. Gave me a head start at weekend track practice at school today and still lapped me. We look so alike, but don’t act alike. Extroverts like him just don’t understand an introvert like me. He rolls right over any obstacle. He’s not a virgin. I seem to stumble too often. Then there’s my goddam stuttering.
Tuesday January 12.
I’ve thought about it a lot. I don’t mind being a virgin. I mean, Mom and Dad have made it easy to lose my virginity but I don’t think I’m ready. They keep inviting me into the bedroom. I’m ambivalent (had to spell check that). Even Janie seems about ready for her eighteenth and making that transition. “Making that transition” What a stupid way to put it. I don’t know how to talk about sex. I should know — maybe it’s just my shyness.
Ran a quarter marathon today with Mike even though it’s supposed to be a resting day on my schedule. He flagged toward the end. That stupid goatee is an affectation. Thinks he’s so grown up. So why is he planning only to go to community college, then, huh?
Friday January 15.
I don’t know why I’m writing this. Except I don’t have anyone to talk to. NOBODY at school has a family like mine. Nude at home all the time, practically. “Clothing Optional” Mom calls it. We’re a sex-positive family according to Dad. He claims to have coined that phrase. But I Googled it and I think he picked it up at that commune where he and Mom met. Anyhow, we’re different and I don’t think anyone would understand.
No point in trying to talk to Dad. I know what he’d say, anyway, “It’s nobody’s fucking business.” He likes to pontificate. Not a good listener. Especially to contrary opinions.
So I’m writing this to myself, I guess. Not sure I’d want anyone to read it anyway.
I’m 34 seconds from breaking the top 100 high school runners in the state at three miles. I think I picked running because it’s one of few sports where you don’t wear much. I can train in shorts and shoes. Add a tanktop for competitions and that’s it. Besides I don’t like to swim. It feels claustrophobic to me.
Also found a cool book in the library — Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
Monday January 18.
Snowed last night. Tried running on the street this morning but it was slow going. Reading Zen, etc. So good I forgot to masturbate. I want to get a motorcycle.
Tuesday January 19.
I’m really quiet at school because of the stuttering. Most teachers understand that it’s not that I’m stupid, just silent. A lot of kids don’t, though. I remember when we moved up to high school and some 11th grader thought it was cool to call me Simple Sam. I jumped up to punch his lights out yelling, “Mmmother fuh-fuh-fuh!” That kid laughed and Mike and I both beat the crap out of him. We called him Mother fuh-fuh-fuh until he graduated. He never lived it down. That’s something you count on a brother for, but I wish I didn’t need it. Although it’s getting better with the speech therapist’s help. I wish I could talk right, right now. Wish I was normal. Mike wears that fucking goatee so no one will think he’s the simple one, I know it.
Friday ataşehir escort bayan January 22.
Ran in the melting snow. I run to get high, to burn out the fire inside. I love it when it’s cold and the air sears my lungs. I want to come home exhausted. When I don’t run I get nervous, jumpy. The only subject that can keep me focused is Architecture. Comics and Sci-Fi novels don’t much interest me anymore, though my old favorites fill my shelves.
I get my interest in Architecture from my Dad. He’s a college dropout but he’s been really successful in his building business. He’s a true craftsman. He’s teaching me and Mike carpentry, too. And he built this house slowly over a bunch of years. It has a lot of creative elements that I didn’t really appreciate until I started reading about Corbusier and Wright and those guys.
It’s basically three blocks joined by an entry and large screened area. One block has the kitchen and living room with a workshop under it. Another block has the bedrooms and a big, shared bath with a garage underneath. The third block, which is only one story, has the playroom. It’s not completely finished yet. There are private courtyards for parking and little gardens. Mom’s into growing her own organic herbs. And sunbathing nude.
The unusual thing about the bedrooms is that they are in what is basically one big space that can be divided up by rolling partitions around as we see fit. It’s all very much in line with our parent’s philosophy. We create our own spaces, our own “boundaries”. I made myself a little cell in one corner with my bunk bed over my desk and a lot of shelves. I hung a curtain over the place where a door would go and kept it away from any windows. It is my sanctum — a good place for an introvert.
After our eighteenth Mike decided to open his area up to connect with our parent’s bed space. Janie still has a space to herself with a couple of nice windows. It’s pretty typical for a girl—posters and stuffed animals all over.
The bathroom is what they call a Jack and Jill bath. At its center is a shower (open to the bedroom area) and sinks, but there are two toilets on each side in little rooms of their own. It makes sense to keep the clean and dirty functions separate like they did in the old days. These two are the only rooms in the house with doors other than the playroom.
I’m reading a strange book from Dad’s collection on building design called A Pattern Language. I see where he got some of his ideas.
Monday January 26.
I’m shaving about seven seconds a week off my time in the three-mile. I need to vary my route. I’ll be up to 8 miles this week on the training schedule for the marathon. The Shamrock is getting closer. So far, so good.
I had a strange dream last night. Another wet dream, actually. I read somewhere you should tell a dream in the present tense, so here it is: I’m running in the Greenbelt in the early morning like I usually do. I recognize the part of the trail I am on. There’s the stream with litter in it, the backyards, old swing sets. I can hear the traffic and other city noises. Dogs barking. I’m breathing well and just loping along. Gradually I notice that the woods look different—the trees are taller and it’s become very quiet. To the sides the forest goes on ’til all I can see is gray tree trunks rising up hillsides on both sides. I’m running in a kind of tunnel of trees. It’s like a cathedral. There’s a gray ground mist and the light is slanting very low from the left in a pale golden color. I’m barefoot and the path is hard-packed red clay but at each side is a bright green mossy swath with some small wildflowers blooming vibrant yellow. I’d like to run on the moss but am afraid I’ll hurt it.
In the distance ahead I see a brightness. There’s a clearing. As I run into the clearing the path now passes through knee-high grass. I see a pavilion of some sort. It has a yellow cloth roof that is gently rippling in the breeze. As I get closer I see that it is raised up on a stone platform and held up by rows of naked people. There’s something about it that feels worshipful, like it’s a temple. It looks kind of like a party tent but there are no walls, just the figures arranged along each side like poles. They are about an arm’s length apart and hold the metal rail of the edge of the roof up in their hands. When I look at their faces their heads are turned away. (I read in one of Dad’s Architectural history books that carved figures holding up the roof of a temple on the Acropolis in Athens are called Caryatids. They are all women and they are robed. The part of the building they are on is called the Erechtheion…The erection?)
The golden light slants through the mist and makes the pavilion glow like from within. The figures are youthful and strong, both the men and women are beautiful in the classic sense. Better than an Abercrombie and Fitch ad. I slow up and climb the stairs to the platform. Now I’m naked, too. escort kadıköy All around me the figures are facing outward, their arms upraised holding the roof. I notice that some are touching hands and are very occasionally shifting their weight from one foot to the other. None speak. I still can’t see any faces.
I’m moving very slowly, drawn toward the nearest woman. Her behind is so round and firm looking. I reach out and cup each cheek in a hand. She doesn’t move. Her blonde hair is thick and wavy and hangs down to the middle of her back. I run my hands slowly up her sides, feeling her ribs, just brushing the swell of her full breasts. She has no reaction when I slide my hands along her arms, then reach around to touch her face. I feel her lashes flutter under my fingers, her breath on my palms, the moistness of her lips. As I cup her breasts I pull myself against her. My erection lies in the crease of her spine, tickled by the fall of her hair. I feel a desire to “be one with her.” (That phrase actually ran through my head in the dream.)
I move from one figure to the next and get the same result when I touch them; I’m excited—they just stand there. The next, a male, comes to full erection as I reach around and take him in my hand. My boner is between his ass cheeks and slides as if oiled when I begin to stroke him. I think, “Wow, this is just like jacking myself.” Then, both of us panting with excitement, his deltoids spread like wings, he comes, shooting his sperm in an arc out into the waving, golden grass. He wilts but I am still hard.
Beside him is a short woman, already on tiptoes, reaching up to the roof rail. She’s the kind of woman who’s got a nice triangular keyhole of light showing between her thighs where they meet her behind. Those silky thighs glisten. She’s wet. I ease down, slide my oiled cock in there and reach around to palm her small breasts. Lifting her up off of the ground so she is straddling my prick I reach down and touch myself where I am poking out in front of her. My fat, spongy, purple cockhead drips.
Smearing my juice on her erect right nipple, I thrum my fingers across her breast, letting the nipple spring between them. Bbbbrrrp, Bbbbrrrp, Bbbbrrrp. The bright sun picks out the soft, blonde hairs on her arms. She has goosebumps.
I wrap one arm around her body, crushing her breasts, and the other around her waist. She begins to squirm, sliding the pulpy, oozing lips of her pussy along me and breathing deep. Her head falls back on my shoulder, her hair covering her face. I begin thrusting and she squeezes her legs tight, crossing her ankles. I press forward, she pushes back, arms still tight to the railing, hanging in my bear hug and moaning as we slide together. She looks like the crucified Jesus.
Just a few plunges between her quivering thighs and I, too, finally explode in thick, white jets of semen, spraying my seed out into the grass. On rigid legs I thrust and squeeze, thrust and squeeze as she shudders helpless in my grasp. I bite her neck like a lion does a lioness, sinking my teeth into her yielding flesh, tasting salt and iron.
At last I’m spent and I ease her back down to her feet. She hangs limp, head lolling on her chest. The breeze chills my sweaty chest as I back away from her.
I move to the far side of the pavilion and see a gap in the row of naked people. I step into it and grasp the roof edge in my hands, taking my share of the weight. But I realize that we are not carrying the weight of the roof, we are holding it down so it won’t fly away. I have a feeling of anticipation and of resolve. I’m gazing out over an endless vista of wind-whipped, tawny grass. I imagine how the tent could carry us all up into the blue sky like a kite. Looking to my side I finally can see a face. The beautiful woman beside me is smiling at me. She says, “Welcome home.”
I woke up curled into a shuddering orgasm, not even touching myself.
I had to clean my sheets that morning before running. My time was off, too. Funny that in the dream I’m (technically at least) still a virgin.
Wednesday January 27.
People I think are hot: Halle Berry, Rachel McAdams, Jamie Bell, Megan Fox, Michelle Pfeiffer, Daniel Radcliffe.
I’ve decided that if I’m going to take Mom and Dad up on their offer to educate me about sex I have to start thinking of Mom as a sexual creature. Naked or not, she’s just been Mom to me for so long. She’s been a comfort and a cheerleader and a scold and a teacher, but not someone I’ve wanted to have sex with. Even though I know my Dad and Mom think they should be the ones to teach us about lovemaking (you know, because you should love someone before you have sex), I’ve just kept that in the back of my mind. Somehow the idea became an assumption like the idea that we were all expected to go to college. I didn’t really think about the details. Now the time has come and I realize I need to work on it. Like I had to write an essay for the college bostancı escort application. I’m nervous, but I think I can do this.
Saturday January 30.
I’ve decided to indulge myself with a genuine Senior Slump. I’ve had good grades and my SATs are decent. Fuck it, let school slide at long last while I train for the Shamrock. And get my virginity taken care of.
Mike knows a lot about how I feel. His grades were always only average and he never worried so much about them. Somehow Dad seems more sympathetic to his mediocre schoolwork. Maybe because he dropped out. Anyway, Mike gets where I’m coming from this semester and I think he enjoys my being a little more relaxed about school. Even though we compete athletically, he pretty much understands my moods. He hasn’t hassled me about losing my virginity and I’m thankful for that. My guess is that he doesn’t mind only sharing Mom with Dad for now.
Friday February 5.
Thinking about what to study in school. I really like Architecture but when I look at my family I wonder if Psychology or Philosophy wouldn’t be more interesting. Something starting with a “P”. Physics? No, not smart enough for that. I could probably bullshit my way through Psychology, though.
Monday February 8.
Earlier tonight I sat down with the family to watch Family Fortune (less Janie—she’s not allowed to watch ’til she’s 18). We stream the game show from its website directly through our HD TV. I’ve been watching with them for a few months and it doesn’t really get me as fired up as it does the rest of them, especially Mike. Still, watching group sex on the big screen is better than on my laptop in my room. Mom really likes this one family that’s been a big success on the program and she gets all excited watching them compete.
Tonight the contestants, the Collins’, who are an American Dad and a Korean Mom and daughter, were defending their title against some black family and Dad was taking notes. Mom was sitting between Dad and Mike on the couch in the playroom and I was on the loveseat since I still don’t have the courage to jump right in. But I thought it would help to practice thinking of Mom as a sexual being and to pay more attention to how they enjoyed the show.
So I asked Mom what the setup was for the game tonight.
“Oh, the Collins got a good one when they spun the wheel in the first round,” she said, pointing to the screen. “See how the women are arranged in a 69, with Sun on the bottom and June on top? Paul can turn the platform they are on and stick himself in a pussy, mouth or ass on each end. They have a real athletic, gymnastic flair, don’t you think?”
“I g-g-guess ssso.” She wants me to consider sex to be kind of like sports. As recreation. She thinks it will help me loosen up. Mom was sitting there between the two of them with a hard dick in each hand. Now, they wouldn’t have sex right there in front of me without asking, but a little foreplay wasn’t out of the question. I was getting an erection myself. That was real progress.
“What’s special about this round is that the audience can make bets on which hole he comes in. He can’t see the board where they’ve posted the votes. It looks like June’s mouth is the top choice with her pussy a close second. They’ll get extra points if Paul comes in either one of those. Of course the more orgasms the more points, but there is that time limit.” She was breathing hard and pulling on the cocks in her hands. Mike’s hand was on his own dick, too, and his attention was totally on the TV. Dad was still taking notes. I guess he was interested in the platform they were using, making a working drawing. He’s always looking for good ideas for improvements to make around the house.
I watched the action on the screen with one eye and my family with the other. The TV showed the Mom and daughter eating each other’s pussies in split screen. The one on the bottom, the Mom, I think, had her legs pulled way back and wrapped behind her daughter’s arms so her pussy was wide open to the licking (and the camera). I admit it took some strength and flexibility to keep that up. The Dad moved up from the other end and rubbed his cock along the daughter’s slit, getting it wet. From below the older woman ran her tongue along his shaft and took his cockhead in her mouth, gently suckling it. She let it spring up, he slowly leaned in and we watched his cock spread the girl’s pussy lips. In close up his cock looked almost too big for the little girl.
The time clock was counting down from five minutes and no one had had an orgasm yet.
Mom, on the couch, was beginning to squirm. Talking to the TV, “Come on, Paul, you can do it,” she panted. “Which one do you think he’ll come in, guys?”
“The Mom’s ass, for sure. I would,” volunteered Mike.
“No, he can’t take the time to even go there,” offered Dad. “Best to concentrate on the vaginal orgasms, then he can let go before the clock runs out. I’m betting on the Mother’s mouth. I think that she can get him off in the last seconds if needed. She’s a closer.”
Mom looked at me bright-eyed and flushed. “Sammy?”
Mike and Dad’s answers were clearly colored by their own preferences. I guessed mine would, too. And Mom was testing me.
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