Claudia: The First Time

There are many positive events that occur during most everyone’s lifetime that will always be considered as cherished memories. Examples such as our first day of school, your first crush, first kiss. Possibly a sports or scholastic award, marriage, birth of your children,  and adding to the list other events throughout your life. One of the advantages of keeping these memories active, is they can edit out the unpleasant happenings. That’s the manner in which I used them and it worked perfectly. There is an event I experienced that most men I  have shared this story with, comment on how it was a fantasy of theirs when they were teenagers. Let me fill you in on the details.

I earned my pocket money when I was a young lad  by cutting lawns during the summer, raking leaves in the fall and shoveling snow in the winter. I had amassed a large list of clients that kept me flush year round. 

There was a divorced woman without any children that lived on our block I worked for often. I mowed her lawn, shoveled the snow off of her sidewalk as well as other tasks. This woman was extremely attractive. She was more beautiful than any Playboy Bunny I’d seen in the magazines. I fantasized about her when I masturbated. Whenever she called me about cutting her lawn it was hard not to show my excitement.  Usually when I was done mowing she helped by raking the grass clippings and putting them in a plastic bag. Her blouse was always unbuttoned real low so when she bent over I could see her tits. She never wore a bra and knew I was checking her out but didn’t care. I started to think she was doing it on purpose. One afternoon she noticed I had an erection. It was pretty obvious for her to see poking out at the front of my shorts.

“Oh my what’s that in your shorts?” she giggled.

“I’m so sorry it just happens sometimes.”

“It’s okay, don’t be embarrassed Santiago. Were you thinking about me?” she cooed. “What, you’re about fifteen sixteen now?”

“I’m fifteen. Remember my birthday is two days before yours. You turned twenty nine last month, you said.” 

“My Lord, such a memory. Don’t be spreading around how old I am. It’s a privilege awarded to a woman not to disclose their age”

“Don’t worry, the rules at my house are; Don’t ask, don’t tell, you don’t know nuttin’ and didn’t see nuttin’ eeder,” I said, imitating my Old Man. “Some Italian code bullshit.”

“That’s good to know you’re able to keep a secret. Hey, why don’t we go inside for some lemonade and take a break. What do you say?”

“Okay Mrs. McBride sounds great. I’m terribly thirsty.”

“And I’m not Mrs. McBride any more. I’m divorced. Call me Claudia.” 

The inside of her house gave me a comfortable feeling. Antique furniture decorated and adorned the living room with lace curtains in the windows and a large Oriental rug covering most of the wood floor. She told me to sit down at the kitchen table. Then poured a big glass of lemonade and bent over right in front of me when she set down the drink. I got a perfect look at her tits while she stood like that for a minute or so giving me an unobstructed view.

“What are you staring at? Oh so I see. Do you like my tits Santiago?”  

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s really okay honey.  Do you want a better look? Would you like that?”

I was dumbfounded. All I could do was shake my head yes.

“Okay honey here ya go.”

Then she unfastened the last two buttons on her blouse and took it off. My cock grew larger and harder, throbbing as it poked at my shorts. I didn’t try to hide it from her. I figured she liked knowing I got a hard-on from seeing her tits. They were so perfectly round, with pink areolas and nipples. I’d never seen tits more sexy in my life. I wanted to squeeze them and suck on her hard nipples.

“I want you to promise me that you won’t tell anyone about this. Not a soul. Do I have your promise?”

Again I shook my head yes.

“Good, now give me your hand, I want you to feel my tit. You want to touch it, don’t you?”

“Yes. Oh for sure “

She took my hand placing it on her left breast and started to move it around rubbing her entire tit. She smiled and put my thumb and finger lightly on her nipple, and asked me to pinch it softly, and sighed. 

“Now get ready,” she whispered. Then she unzipped her jean skirt letting it fall to the floor. The panties she had on were red, with small white poke-a-dots. They were so tight I could see the outline of her pussy.

“Have you had sex before Santiago?  I mean have you fucked a girl? Put your cock in her pussy?”

“No Claudia, I finger fucked Cathy Duffy across the street and my older cousin Angela gave me a hand job and blow job but haven’t fucked anyone.”

“I’ve seen you late at night with the Duffy girl. I could tell there was something going on. Let’s make sure you won’t be fooling around with her anymore.” 

She moved closer to the table reaching for my other hand but knocked over the glass of lemonade. It spilled onto my lap and shirt. I quickly sprang to my feet pushing over the chair.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry. Let me get a towel to wipe you off,” she said trying to be apologetic while giggling with her hand over her mouth. I watched her ass as she glided into the kitchen pantry. Her panties didn’t cover her cheeks. It was so sexy, causing me to become even more sexually aroused. I put my hand in my shorts and moved my stiff dick so it was upright which was much more comfortable. Touching it made me so excited I wanted to start masturbating right then. When she turned to walk back she saw my hand inside my shorts. 

“Don’t you dare! I was hoping to be the one who makes you cum. Let me give you an orgasm.  Is that okay with you baby? Do you want to have sex with me?” 

“What? Yes yes yes. I want you. I was just getting my cock situated.”

“Okay good. Come over here let me wipe the lemonade off of you.”

She began wiping my stomach with a small towel. Then she moved down to my shorts and started rubbing my groin with long firm motions.

“You know what I think honey? Let’s get you out of these wet shorts and give you a nice warm bath. What do you say?”

“Uh huh.” I was unable to speak. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

I followed her into the bathroom and she turned on the water to the bathtub and it filled quickly.

“Come over to me baby, let me get you out of those sticky shorts.”

I walked closer and she unbuttoned then unzipped my shorts sliding them down to my ankles.

“Santiago, don’t you wear any underwear?” 

“Not during the summer because my ass sweats and gets all itchy.”

“Honey your cock is bigger than I imagined it would be and you’re circumcised,” she said while stroking it slowly. “Baby it’s so gorgeous! I want you to fuck me all afternoon. Get in the bathtub let me wash you.” 

Carefully she guided me into the tub. I relaxed in the warm water as she started washing my shoulders, then my back, moving down putting her hands in the crack of my ass. I was sure I’d have an orgasm when she washed my crotch and cock. The washcloth was lathered up and with long loving strokes she massaged my chest.  Her hands moved down to my stomach then over my legs then back up again coming close to my hard-on without touching it.

She smiled knowing exactly what she was doing to me. I couldn’t take the teasing any longer.

“Claudia, you’re driving me out of my mind. I want to put my fingers in your pussy now. Stand up, let me take your panties off.”

“Oh Santi, I like it when you tell me what to do. Okay I’m all yours.”

I pulled down her panties and she wiggled a couple times in a sexy way. She was lightly biting on a finger while smiling, acting  as though she was an innocent embarrassed schoolgirl. Her pussy was beautiful, shaved so it showed everything. There standing in front of me was an absolutely gorgeous, completely naked woman. I slowly moved my hand toward her pussy and she squatted a little and spread her legs giving me easy access. My finger slid inside smoothly, she was so wet. I pulled it out but  I inserted two fingers and stuck them deep in her vagina and she squealed asking me to move my fingers faster. I obeyed her command and she grabbed my shoulders pulling me closer.  Her pussy lips were spread wide open exposing her pink clitoris.

“Please Santiago touch my clit. Please move it around fast. My God I’m so fucking horny!” she screamed. 

I stood up and got out of the bathtub dripping wet. I didn’t care about drying off. I led her to a chair at the vanity gently sitting her down. Then I spread her legs and she opened them even wider, scooting her ass to the edge of the seat. I got down on my knees in between wide open legs and she grabbed my head and pulled it close to her pussy.

“Lick me Santiago, please suck my clitoris. This right here,” she cooed, showing it to me. Then she began masturbating, moving it side to side rapidly with her fingers.

Give it to me. Open your pussy for me. Now! I want it in my mouth.”

She surrendered to my command. My tongue softly touched her clit caressing it with my lips as well. As I licked her, I put  two fingers inside her vagina moving them in and out quickly. She was so wet and excited, groaning, moaning begging me not to stop. 

“Santiago, I’m going to cum. When I cum I squirt and it shoots out. I’m not pissing. Please, I want you to watch.”

I moved my fingers in and out, with my other hand while my fingers rubbed her clitoris quickly but lightly.

“Santiago, oh fuck, Santiago I’m going to cum. I’m going…”

She moaned, grabbing at my head pushing it into her pussy. I once again began licking her clitoris. Then she screamed in pleasure followed by a stream of liquid that squirted from her pussy. She pushed my head aside and began using her hand to play with her clitoris, moving it rapidly, masturbating and squirting in my face. This really turned me on. I wasn’t at all grossed out by her orgasm. I don’t know why but I opened my mouth drinking her up. I never knew about a woman squirting when cumming. I was getting a first hand Education.

“Baby are you okay with my squirting?”

“Claudia, it really turned me on to see you cum like that.”

“I’m happy you like it. I can do it as much as you’d like.”

“Fine with me.”

“Do you want to fuck me or do you want me to suck your dick? Tell me baby.”

“Fuck me please. I know I’m going to cum right away. Please, I want to fuck you,” I pleaded.

She stood up, sitting me down in the chair. Standing in front of me she started masturbating again. Then she turned her back to me and sat down on my lap sliding my cock into her pussy. It was so warm, wet and soft. She moved up and down on my cock bending forward so I was able to view everything. 

“This is called the reverse cowgirl. Can you see your cock fucking my pussy. Fuck me baby. Fuck me hard. Cum! I want you to cum now.”

I had no problem obeying her demand. My orgasm was seismic, I screaming that I was cumming. It seemed to last for a couple of minutes with a lot of cum. Unlike other orgasms I experienced this was so much more satisfying cumming in her pussy.

“Did you cum baby? Was your orgasm good?”

“It was fantastic Claudia. Incredible.”

“Now you’re no longer a virgin. You will always remember Claudia as your first fuck. The one who took your virginity.”

She kissed me with her lips softly on mine, her tongue sliding in and out of my mouth. Then she used her tongue circling around mine. Her hand was stroking my cock then suddenly she went down on me and started sucking it. She moved it in and out of her mouth, with her hand stroking  my shaft. She stopped sucking me and licked it as though it was a popsicle. I couldn’t believe it but I had an erection and was  ready to fuck her again.

“Baby you’re hard again and so fast. I have known men who couldn’t get hard and fuck again after a couple of hours. You are going to be my special lover. Do you want to fuck me again? “

“Without a doubt.”

We fucked for what seemed like the entire afternoon. Then after that we took a shower together and I got dressed. 

“Goodbye Santiago, remember don’t tell a soul about today, okay?”

I promised to keep it a secret then we kissed goodbye.

While walking  home I couldn’t stop thinking of what had just happened. I had a smile on my face from cheek to cheek and 

 I was positive it would stay like that forever.  

Herrens Ackord

Ten years ago, when we finally ran the skinheads off the hardcore shows, they got their Swastika panties in a wad and burned Vinnie’s Tavern down. Well, someone did, and they took the credit. With Vinnie’s gone, there died Chattanooga’s last paying punk-friendly venue. Also the only job I ever enjoyed. Even though I was a shit bartender, Big Shank, the owner, let me book shows and run sound. 

To compensate for the loss of our show space, the Chattanooga DIY scene united and shoveled a basement out underneath Big Shank’s house. To avoid noise complaints, we decided we’d use a literal hole in the ground. We christened it “Antarctica.” The goddamn house might collapse at any moment, but we keep it aloft with heavy metal. 

***

Like every show at Antarctica, tonight begins with a short set from Seven Trumpets, Mike Pack’s one-man band. We all climb into the basement, switch on the electric lanterns, and watch Mike drop trou. He jams his trumpet to his butthole and blasts ass. That’s Seven Trumpets. Every time. We cheer and jeer him out of the basement as he climbs topside. It’s like our “Pledge of Allegiance.” 

tonight, we’ve got a black metal band from Stockholm headlining, Herrens Ackord. We’ve hosted one hell of a summer international. Last week, a band from Rome, La Quiete, came through, and we bought them a bunch of Papa John’s pizza, built it up like it was the best Italian place in town. They pretended to like it. Those kids were absolute sweethearts. I loved those guys. I bought their shirt. Because that’s what you do when you love someone.  

The opening bands drag on, play past midnight, and then, at almost one, it’s finally time for Herrens Ackord. They’ve stayed up by their van all night like big shots–not mingling, I mean. When they unload their shit, unsurprisingly it’s fancy gear: big Marshall Stack amps, which are real bastards to lower down into Antarctica. 

Big Shank and I help. I’m Big Shank’s lieutenant. They call me “Slick.” That’s because of the scars from where I ran back into the fire to rescue the Vinnie’s Tavern P.A. So, I remain the sound guy. We talk to the leader of Herrens Ackord–I’m guessing he’s the singer– who introduces himself as Vlad (no shit) and says, “Get? Get?” We don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but Big Shank, who’s eight feet tall and looks like dude from The Goonies–the big, goonie-looking one–gets Vadim, this Ukranian kid who speaks Russian and German and some other shit, to come over and expedite the whole conversation. 

Turns out that it’s “goat” Vlad’s saying. He wants a goat. 

“This place is a goddamn goat graveyard,” Big Shank says. And that’s the truth. There was a big wave of black metal in the early aughts, and we had to put the foot down on sacrifices for fear of getting shut down. The neighbor’s caught on and threatened to call the cops. I’m vegan now, so I look back in chagrin. 

Vadim communicates to the Swedes that the space is silly with goat bones, which seems to make Vlad happy. 

With all Herrens Ackord’s shit crammed down in the basement, we can only fit about twenty punks, and it’s hotter than fishing Baylor Lake on a cloudless August afternoon. Folks are going to pass out. 

When they start playing, that’s when I notice Vlad’s hands. He plays one of those dumbass double-neck guitars, so it’s impossible not to. It’s a silver Gibson SG with a golden pickguard. Vlad’s got, like, thirteen fingers between his two hands. I’m not speaking figuratively here. Although, one thing about this band is they’ve got dynamics. I’ve got a thing about black metal–not my particular goblet of mead or blood or whatever. But, Herrens Ackord have a flair for the dramatic, they’re not just a monotonous screech screech over ruhga ruhga. 

It’s the fifth song when it happens. The band’s slowed down, they’re letting a chord ring out for at least thirty seconds, and this purplish portal opens above them in the air. From within the thing, looking down on us is this… I’d guess you’d have to call it an eye, and it seems pissed, like someone you suddenly woke up. Watch a YouTube video of a fourth dimensional object sometime: then you might have an idea of what I’m looking at. Only, this thing’s in the fifth or sixth dimension–there’s planes on planes within planes within planes, layers within layers like a transparent Russian nesting doll, alive and fluxing. It makes me queasy. Its pupil–or the golden point at what I’d call the center–gazes around until it hones in on me. Just for a second, it sees me, and–whoosh–I’m rushing back into that fire, but this time I’ve had the sense to cover up with a wet blanket, and the flames aren’t–whoosh–I’m back in the basement and I look down and, God-almighty, the scars on my arms are gone! I clutch my scalp and the hair’s grown back, too. Most of it, anyway. I watch a long, sinewy arm, scaled gold, silver, and encrusted in emeralds and rubies, snaking out of the portal. It grabs hold of the second neck of Vlad’s guitar in its long fingered hand. The two of them, Vlad and the Portal Thing, shred together. The strings on the guitar turn red hot, the necks begin smoking and–whoosh–I feel my arms stretched out taut over my head and my feet yanked downward. My back is against a wood board and I’m being stretched apart. It’s hot, so hot–whoosh–I’m back in the basement. People are climbing out of Antarctica. Some are screaming. Others stand agape. Vlad’s eyes–which turns out are glass–shatter and spray the people in front with glitter–whoosh–I’m you when you noticed “tonight” wasn’t capitalized at the start of the fourth paragraph way up there–whoosh–back in the basement, the song ends, and the arm whips into the portal. The portal snaps shut. The band raise their guitars and nod to hoots and applause from the remaining crowd. Except for Big Shank, who leans down to my ear and whispers, “Fucking gimmick.”

Herrens Achord gets pissed when we present them their twenty dollars, the cover money left after splitting it all up with the other bands. Then, suddenly, they speak perfect English and insist they told us they had a $500 guarantee. Big Shank says they can stick that straight up their magic portal. They drive off to sleep in a Marriott or some shit. You have to deal with such assholes in the DIY scene. We’re left watching the van drive away and I try to tell Big Shank about the–whoosh–I’m God, and he’s sitting in a cool, dark room typing excitedly at a computer. He’s just learned that someone wants to buy this whole crazy story off Him and he needs to tell a bunch of other people that they can’t have it–whoosh–Now I’m standing in Big Shank’s driveway, wondering who’s sober enough to drive me home and what I’m going to do with all these fucking meatballs and lingonberries I bought to surprise Herrens Fucking Ackord. I spent forty dollars at Whole Foods. Son of a bitch. 

Dragging

I buzzed, then turned and looked up and down the street as you do when you think you’re guilty of something.

There was no response, and I buzzed again. The silence was weird. I knew Jane was home. She’d just called me. I stepped back onto the sidewalk and looked up at her apartment window, as if I thought I could see into her apartment and see what she was doing. That was two things I’d done that weren’t me. The thought flashed through my mind that I would start yelling, “Hey, everyone! I’m a material witness!” Things apparently go in threes. That wasn’t the third thing I did that made me look suspicious. It was the suitcase.

I went back to the apartment entrance and buzzed again.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me. Who do you think it is?”

She buzzed the door open, and I went upstairs.

The door of Jane and Jon’s apartment was open, and I went in. Jane was failing to close the zipper on a suitcase. She looked up at me. “Close the door.”

“Well, of course,” I said. “What the hell happened to your face?”

There were a few cuts, and bruising had started.

“What the hell do you think happened?”

“No, I mean, you know… What was it this time?”

“Same shit. He was drunk, went over all the same shit. About having a kid. Me workin’ at the Crown and workin’ late all the time. Shit, I gotta work. He’s not bringin’ in a lot of money. And Mom and Dad don’t like him. Same old shit.” She paused. “And you.”

“Me? What do I have to do with this? Never mind. Is he dead?”

“Yeah, of course he’s dead, you asshole! I told you that!”

“All right. Calm down. Have you cleaned up?”

“I think so. Go in the kitchen. Check everything.”

I went into the kitchen. The floor was clean. No blood on the cabinet doors. None on the counter. Without thinking, I looked in the fridge and the oven. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Everything looked OK. There were three large knives on the draining board. I looked at them carefully. There were spots of blood on one of them. I ran the hot water, took the J-cloth hanging over the faucet, wiped the knives, dried them with a musty dish towel, looked at them carefully again, returned them to the knife block, put the J-cloth and dish towel in my pocket, took out another J-cloth from the cabinet under the sink, smeared it with dish soap, rinsed it, hung it over the faucet, found another dish towel in a drawer, wiped the clean counter with it, and threw it on the draining board.

I went back into the living room. Jane was sitting on the couch, staring at nothing. I looked around, saw no evidence of what she’d done. She’d told me she’d killed him in the kitchen, and I believed her. I hadn’t been sure she would remember exactly what she’d done, but I was now convinced.

I sat beside her and looked at her. She didn’t react.

And then a thought hit me like lightning at the top of a tree. “So, where’s Jon?”

She looked at me, then nodded toward the suitcase.

“Jesus,” I said. “We gotta get it outta here.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“That was a lot of work,” I said. “Good job.”

“My work experience at that butcher shop helped.”

I laughed. That was funny.

I went over to the suitcase and tried to move it. It was really heavy as you can imagine when it’s full of a flabby two-hundred-pound man.

I checked the bathroom and bedroom. Everything looked sloppily normal. I went back to the living room.

“Get that and give it to me,” Jane said, nodding toward a bowling ball bag in the corner.

“What’s in there?”

She just looked at me.

“Jesus,” I said. I picked it up and gave it to her.

Jane murmured, “I couldn’t fit all of him in the suitcase.”

I dragged the suitcase to the door. Some blood oozed out of it, and I wiped it up with the J-cloth and dish towel I’d had in my pocket. I opened the apartment door. No one was in the hallway. I pulled the suitcase to the stairwell. Jane followed me with the bowling ball bag after locking her door. This was definitely the third stupid thing.

A stairwell. How the hell was I going to get that downstairs?

Turned out that wasn’t a problem. Jane pushed the suitcase, and it bounced down the stairs to the front door. I followed it, wiping away blood spots as I went.

Jane opened the front door, and I dragged the suitcase down the walk to the street. I struggled to keep it upright on its four flimsy wheels. A good Samaritan came along and asked if I needed help.

“No thanks,” I said.

“That looks heavy,” he said. “What’s in it?”

“Dead body,” said Jane.

The Samaritan laughed, and shuffled away.

“Now what?” I said.

“Bus station,” said Jane. “Throw it on a bus, take it as far as it goes, weigh it down with rocks, throw it into a river or preferably a lake, and hope for the best. Jon had told everyone he’d always wanted to go to South America. Maybe this time he did.”

“Shit, you have this worked out.”

“For at least five years. You know that.”

“Not the details.”

Jane leaned toward me and kissed me on the cheek.

“You’re an asshole,” I said, and laughed. Going to the bus station was possibly the fourth, or maybe the fifth, stupid thing. I’d lost track.

After a while, we reached an empty garbage-filled lot where homeless people sometimes hung out around a barrel fire when it was cold. Jane took some newspapers out of her pocket, crumpled them up and threw them in the barrel. Then she found some discarded scraps of wood and threw them in too. She took out of her pocket a can of lighter fluid, squirted it, lit a match, threw it in, waited for ignition, then threw the bowling ball bag in after it. She watched it for a moment with a look on her face I couldn’t identify.

Further down the road, we rolled the suitcase into the bus station, a grimy rundown place as bus stations have completely become in the twenty-first century now that there aren’t that many of them left anymore.

We put the suitcase at the end of a row of beaten-up vinyl seats. Jane went to buy the tickets. I went to the bathroom. I splashed water on my face a few times but it made no difference.

When I returned to the waiting area, the suitcase was gone. I looked around for Jane, and she was standing at the entrance, looking outside. I went over and joined her. Out in the parking lot, some guy was dragging the suitcase away as quickly as he could.

“Well, there’s a thing,” Jane said.

She stepped outside and I followed. We watched the guy open the back seat of a car. He picked up the suitcase and threw it in. He was obviously in good shape. He got in the car and drove away.

We stood there for a while. Then she said, “I wonder if he’ll be able to work the zipper.”

Jane lit a cigarette for the first time I’d ever seen her have a smoke. She looked at me. She said, “You’re a good brother.”

“Thanks. You know I’m adopted, right?”

“I still have two tickets to nowhere.”