DAVE'S ORIGIN STORY -- Episode 3

Dave's First Orgasm

Dave’s First Orgasm

I’ll let sixteen-year old Dave set the scene from his sophomore autobiography:

[Photo taken from the top of the ashdumps. The white patch on the left is the reservoir.]

When my mother wanted to whistle, she would curve the ends of her little fingers into the corners of her mouth and produce a clear, shrill, sharp sound that could be heard all over the patch. We kids might be playing up at the company store or along the banks of the reservoir or down by the ash dumps, but when we heard that whistle, it meant “Get your ass home right now or get it beat.” If you didn’t get home in time, you got clipped on the side of the head or sometimes you got yanked up by the elbow and pulled along with your feet barely touching the ground. Whichever it was, what mattered was that you were helpless and you wanted to disappear.

Jane liked me and she and I stayed in the yard most of the time. John was always out of the yard and when he finally did come home, he would claim that he hadn't heard the whistle.

Jane and I spent every day playing together. Why she wasn’t with me that day down at the ash dumps I don’t know.

But I was alone when I climbed to the top of the dump and looked out over the two rows of company houses and the coke ovens and Saint Cecilia’s church at the top of the opposite hill.

And I was alone when I heard mom’s whistle and a burst of fear grabbed at my guts—and lower—and I took off scrabbling down the side of the dump and racing around the slag heap and up the dirt alley where the creek ran alongside the reservoir. Again mom’s whistle pierced through the patch and I was running as fast as I could and fear was surging through me and I kept running and mom was whistling and suddenly a swell of fear and panic and a swelling physical pleasure pumped in my crotch and flooded through my whole body and still I kept running and mom was whistling and I was throbbing in fear and panic and waves of overwhelmingly intense pleasure.

I was five years old.

*****

I forgot this had happened until I was a junior in high school.

I wanted to learn shorthand. I asked the shorthand teacher if I could take her shorthand class. She said, no, the shorthand class was for girls only. I asked if I could borrow a shorthand textbook. She smirked and handed me one.

As I learned to write shorthand, I decided to work on taking dictation. How to do that? I decided to play a 45 rpm record and to write the lyrics as I heard them.

How about “Silhouettes” by The Rays.

“Took a walk and passed your house—” I started to write “—late last night. All the shades—” must write faster “—were pulled and drawn—” faster “—way down tight—” I’m falling behind “—From within a dim light cast—” can’t keep up “—two silhouettes on the shade—” I’m panicking “—Oh what a lovely couple they made—” I’m writing faster, the song’s racing ahead “—put his arms around your waist—” shallow breaths, heart pounding “—held you tight—” ohmygod “—kisses I could almost taste—” and I exploded.

And I laughed.

Spontaneous Orgasm Bonus!