Part One
My name is Dean O’Grady. When I was in the fourth grade at Church Street Elementary School in 1973, a new student joined our class about a month after the academic year began. His name was Charlie Burke. My teacher, a kind-hearted young woman named Miss Clarkson, asked me to befriend him to make him feel welcome. Since I was probably the best student in the class, I was also asked to assist Charlie in catching up with the class in various subjects. I was glad to do it as I quickly learned that this newcomer was fun and friendly. Moreover, Charlie and I had many shared interests.
Charlie only lived two blocks from the school. I lived seven blocks away, but I passed by his house in my trip to and from school. I always walked home with him, and sometimes I stopped at his house in the morning so we could chat for a few minutes during our short jaunt to school. Within a couple of days of his arrival, Charlie and I were well on our way to developing a friendship that would last for 45 years until he passed away from a brain tumor at the fairly young age of 55.
Within a week, I was routinely invited into Charlie’s home to watch TV for 30 or 60 minutes once the school day ended. Charlie had one sibling, an auburn-haired sister named Irene who was two years younger than he was. One day I overheard Irene having a discussion with her mother about some arithmetic concept she was having trouble grasping. Her mom was busily preparing a large dinner and told Irene she would help her later that night.
I quickly recognized the basic mathematical error that was confusing Irene. To be helpful, I volunteered to show Charlie’s seven-year-old sister how to do her sheet of math homework questions. I sat down beside her at the living room table to explain how to get the correct answers. Irene caught on very quickly. When she was done, I noticed that Irene was gazing upon me with an odd expression, like I was some type of nine-year-old superhero. I was too young to recognize that Irene was smitten with me.
Irene proudly showed her completed math sheet to her mother. She said, “You don’t need to help me with math tonight, Mom. Charlie’s new friend Dean already helped me. See? What a nice boy he is! I like him!”
“Did you thank Dean?” her mother inquired.
Irene intercepted me as I was on my way to join Charlie in the Burkes’ rec room to watch TV. She enthusiastically said, “Thank you, Dean!”, threw her arms around me, tightly hugged me, and stood on her toes to kiss my cheek. Thus, to the best of my recollection, Irene Burke became the first female outside of my immediate family to give me a kiss. Without even thinking about it, I lifted her a few inches off the ground and kissed both her cheeks. Similarly, Irene became the first girl I had ever kissed in my young life. Irene giggled and scurried off to her bedroom.
Our kisses were witnessed by both Charlie and his mother. They looked at each other with surprise written all over their faces.
I immediately apologized. “Did I do something wrong?” I asked sincerely. “Was I out of line to kiss Irene after she kissed me? I was just trying to be polite.”
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, Dean,” Charlie’s mother insisted. “It’s just that it was so uncharacteristic of Irene to kiss you. She is normally very shy—especially around people she’s just met. Because of that, she often has difficulty making new friends.”
“I’ll gladly be Irene’s friend,” I replied. “I think she’s quite cute.”
“Ooh! Yuck!” Charlie interjected, clearly disapproving of my observation about his little sister. Charlie’s mother laughed and invited me to dinner to thank me for my good deed. I accepted. Throughout the meal, I noticed that Irene seldom took her eyes off me. Twice her parents had to remind her to eat the food on her plate.
Part Two
About two-and-a-half years later when I was in the sixth grade and Irene was in the fourth grade, I got an invitation in the mail to attend Irene’s tenth birthday party on the last Saturday in June of 1976. This was a first for me. I had not been invited to either her eighth or her ninth birthday parties. The invitation said the party would be held, weather permitting, in the Burkes’ backyard where they recently had a sizable swimming pool installed. Therefore, I was to bring along a swimsuit and a beach towel.
When I called Mrs. Burke to confirm I would be attending, she told me I was a “pioneer” in that I was the first boy outside of her family that Irene had ever invited to any of her birthday celebrations. “Take that as a big compliment, Dean,” Mrs. Burke told me. “You may have noticed that Irene holds you in very high regard.”
“Yeah, I think I suspected that!” I cheerfully replied. “I would have come to her last two parties if she had invited me. Why didn’t she?” I asked.
“Irene is still a shy girl at heart, Dean. You intimidate her a little bit.”
That bit of information startled me. “I do? Why?”
Mrs. Burke laughed for a moment and said, “Don’t tell Irene I repeated this, but when I asked her whom she wanted to invite to her party she mentioned you. She doubted you’d accept because, and I quote, ‘Dean O’Grady is smart, tall, handsome, and two years older than I am. I’m just me.’”
“You can tell Irene that I would be delighted to celebrate her tenth birthday with her,” I stated. “How many people will be there?”
“Her guest list is now you, her cousin Kimberly, and three friends from school. Her brother will be there, too, as will my husband and I. We’ll be running the barbecue. Arrive at 2 p.m. for lots of swimming. We’ll be eating around 5 o’clock.”
Part Three
That Saturday I dressed very casually for the party because I knew most of the day would be spent around the Burkes’ backyard pool, so there was no point in dressing sharply for that. When I arrived at 1:58 p.m., I had a satchel in one hand—it contained my swimsuit and towel—and a small envelope in the other. That was Irene’s birthday present from me. It was a $10 gift certificate redeemable at a local department store.
I decided to surprise Irene with something else, too. “I have one other special present for you,” I declared. Just as I had done in 1973, I lifted Irene a few inches off the ground and kissed her. Unlike 1973, I kissed her on the lips. Irene was in no hurry for it to end. With her feet still off the floor, she wrapped me in a bear hug and enthusiastically kissed me four or five times, which made her female guests giggle. “I figure I’m allowed to kiss you every two or three years, Irene,” I joked. “Happy tenth birthday.”
“I can’t wait for 1978!” Irene replied, a witty comment that made both her parents laugh.
“With that display of affection out of the way,” Mrs. Burke announced, “everyone is now present. Girls, you can change into your swimsuits in Irene’s bedroom or the upstairs bathroom if you need more room. Dean, you and Charlie can change in his bedroom. Then everyone can come outside. The weatherman was kind to us today. We have a lovely, warm day. It’s an excellent one for swimming.”
This was the first time I had used the Burkes’ pool; it had only been completed two weeks earlier. Puberty had set in on me, so I was delighted to see Irene and her four female friends all clad in rather skimpy bikinis. Sure, they were all nine- and ten-year-olds, none of whom had any physical hints of impending womanhood, but they were very pretty girls all the same. They each had a different color of swimsuit. Irene’s was a pristine white while her cousin Kimberly wore a bright yellow one. The birthday girl’s classmates—Sharon, Marta and Pauline—wore blue, pink and green respectively. “Nice!” I muttered softly to Charlie, just loud enough for him and no one else to hear it. He knew I wasn’t referring to the weather.
“I guarantee you’re not going to be standing by yourself in a corner of the pool, Dean,” Charlie informed me. “Irene has been telling all the other girls what a handsome and athletic fellow you are. Look at you! You’re going to have to beat them off with a stick.”
I had never considered myself to be especially good-looking, and I really hadn’t cared much about that in the past. Now that I was 12½ years old, however, I was perfectly okay with girls of all ages being attracted to me. I had helped my own cause by being very physically fit. I wanted to become a professional baseball player—a third baseman like Brooks Robinson, who was my father’s favorite. For the past year or so I started training with weights for greater upper body strength. My shirtless appearance at the swimming pool showed that my fitness program must be producing positive results if Charlie noticed it.
Within 30 seconds of my entering the pool, Irene instructed me to stand in the shallow end while she and her friends held swimming races where I was the finish line or the halfway mark. That way the girls were required to touch me. How very subtle of them! I was a strong swimmer, especially doing the backstroke. When Marta said that was her weakest swimming skill, I volunteered to show her how to improve. I positioned my arms under her back for support. She apparently liked the extended physical contact with me, which led to all five girls requesting backstroke lessons. Kimberly was the most enthusiastic. When she had completed a lap across the width of the shallow end with the help of my support, she propped herself out of the water using my shoulders as leverage. She whispered to me, “I don’t know who you are, but you are a beautiful boy!” Then she kissed me on the cheek.
This action was, of course, noticed by Irene. “Hey!” she shouted. “I’ve known Dean for nearly three years. He’s mine to hug and kiss.” It was difficult to determine if Irene was being serious or not.
Kimberly—who, with her shoulder-length dirty-blonde hair, was probably the prettiest of the bunch—paid no attention to her cousin. She wrapped her legs around me as part of her version of a bear hug and added a few more kisses. The other three girls demanded equal attention, too. They proceeded to paw me, amorously rub my chest, and demand to be lifted too. Of course, I obliged. At one point all five girls had me surrounded in a corner of the shallow end where I was groped by ten hands at once. (A couple of those hands came dangerously close to drifting below my beltline.) It was a weird and unprecedented experience for me—but I was enjoying it thoroughly.
“I told you so, Dean!” Charlie shouted from the deep end of the pool where he was very much alone. “I should have provided you with a big stick.”
Not surprisingly, Mr. Burke eventually intervened. “Okay, girls,” he pleaded. “Give Dean a break for a few minutes at least. Let him enjoy a relaxing swim without being manhandled—or should I say girl-handled.” It was a good thing he did because biology was setting in. No male my age could be pawed in such a way by five pretty young girls without getting aroused.
The girls let out a collective “Aw!” and swam off in five different directions. I was about to climb out of the pool, but Mr. Burke smartly stopped me. “Stay where you are for a moment, Dean. I understand that you are a great student. Let me quiz you on geography.”
“Huh? You want to quiz me on geography right now?” I asked.
“Yes, right now. Let’s try European geography,” he said. For the next two or three minutes, Mr. Burke gave me the names of countries and I had to state each one’s capital city. I had no trouble at all until he came to Malta. It took me about 30 or 40 seconds to come up with the correct answer: Valletta.
Then Mr. Burke walked to the edge of the pool and whispered to me. “I was buying you time, Dean. Is your erection gone now?”
I noticed my stiffie had indeed faded away. “Yeah!” I said just as quietly. “Mr. Burke, how did you know I had one?”
“Two reasons, my boy, ” he said with a knowing smile. “First, I was your age once. I used to get an erection at the slightest provocation back then. Second, those lovely young girls in their bikinis touching and rubbing your body were getting me horny. Congratulations on being able to control yourself! I don’t think I could have controlled myself under those same circumstances. Don’t tell Mrs. Burke what I just said to you. This was a man-to-man thing.” What a thoughtful guy!
With my equipment returned to neutral, I swam out to the side of the pool in the deep end and briefly wrapped my arms around Kimberly. When I was certain no one was close enough to hear me, I whispered to her, “One day in the future we’re going to get together someplace very romantic and do what comes naturally. Kimberly, I hope you’ll be wearing a yellow bikini that day, too. You look absolutely beautiful in it. Thanks for the sexy touches you gave me. I loved them.” Before I stepped out of the pool, I had delivered the exact same message to all five girls.
Part Four
Over the years I lost track of Sharon, Marta and Pauline, but I did occasionally see Kimberly at the Burke residence because she was the cousin of Irene and Charlie. Whenever we had a moment alone, Kimberly quietly reminded me of the promise I made to her in the swimming pool in June 1976. She wanted to ensure I would follow through it someday. I said I would.
When I was 20, I was invited to 18-year-old Irene’s birthday party, as it had become something of a tradition. Kimberly was invited to the party, too. Kimberly was still quite an attractive girl, but in my opinion, Irene had overtaken her in the good-looks department. It wasn’t a pool party this time. As it was a milestone 18th birthday for Irene, her parents had splurged to rent a portion of a ballroom at a hotel for a grand bash. As I had done since Irene was ten, when I arrived, I gave her a passionate kiss. This one drew applause from bystanders.
“We’re not even dating, Dean,” Irene lamented, “but if you’re going to continue kissing me that way, we ought to get married very soon.”
“You never know, Irene,” I replied. “I could certainly do worse in life than having you as my wife.”
It was a great party with wonderful food and drink, and lots of lively conversation. Some of the liveliest was between Kimberly and me. “Dean, tonight’s the night,” she informed me. “I knew you’d be here, so I planned accordingly. I want to have a fuck tonight.”
“Where?” I asked her eagerly.
“My parents and I have two rooms at this hotel,” Kimberly stated. “Last year we moved. We live 100 miles away now, so we reserved two rooms at this hotel for tonight—one for my parents and one for me. When the party disperses, and I head to my room, give me 15 minutes and then go to the seventh floor and knock on my door. It’s Room #715.”
“I’ll be there!” I happily announced.
Everything went according to plan. When I showed up at Room #715, Kimberly was barely wearing a frilly nightgown that revealed more than it covered. I approved of it and told her so. We quickly disrobed and hopped into bed together. Kimberly was the romantic type, like I was. She was content to hug, kiss and cuddle for a long time before we began our serious sexual activities.
I finally took the initiative to start licking every inch of Kimberly’s lithe body. I paid special attention to her lovely tits—which she didn’t have in 1976. (I reminded her of that, too.) She had fantastic nipples that became hard very quickly at the slightest touch of my tongue. I enjoyed that part of her anatomy immensely.
I was also a fan of the lower part of Kimberely’s body, too. She had shaved her vagina which made licking it more pleasurable—and more effective. She became wet easily and I enjoyed the liquid gold I was lapping up. I became aroused without much stimulation from Kimberly. She was content to lie in the center of the bed and let me do all the work. I didn’t mind. With my penis beginning to throb, I inserted it slowly into her pretty pussy. It was a wonderful, tight fit. I gave her perhaps 40 long, slow, loving thrusts—and then I fired a gusher of sperm inside her. Without pulling out, I continued the fuck, this time with a quick and aggressive rhythm of ramming her.
“This is terrific, Dean!” she declared. “I just knew you would be a great lover. Honestly, I wish you had fucked me that day in the pool eight years ago.”
I stopped screwing Kimberly for a few seconds to openly chuckle at that remark.
“I think that would have been just a tad awkward with everyone else in the pool!” I stated with a smile. “Besides, I was only 12 years old. I think I’m better equipped to fuck you now that I’m 20 and know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Kimberly conceded—and then she had a huge orgasm herself.
“See! I told you so!” I boasted in a timely manner.
I did not leave Kimberly’s hotel room until 3:30 a.m. I had fulfilled my promise from 1976.
Just as I was about to leave, Kimberly remembered something important. “Wait a minute, Dean. Don’t go yet. I have something for you.”
I stopped a few feet from the door. Kimberly rose from the bed and went to a drawer. She handed me a large, blue plastic bag. I laughed when I saw its contents and realized what it was: It was the skimpy yellow bikini she had worn at Irene’s tenth birthday party.
“God, you’d look fantastic in that now!” I stated.
“I couldn’t possibly fit into it, Dean,” she began to argue.
“Yes, exactly!” I noted.
Five years later I married Irene Burke. On our honeymoon trip, she presented me with the tiny white bikini from her tenth birthday party. That greatly amused me. I didn’t say it out loud, but I said this to myself, “I bet somewhere Marta, Sharon and Pauline all have tiny bikinis waiting for me, too!”