My earliest memories of sexual attraction date from about the time I first sprouted pubic hair. I was a paper boy and had a delivery route of about 50 households in my hometown of Kittery, Maine. One of my customers was a childless couple in their early 30's. Their name was Bernier; Mrs. Bernier’s first name was Jackie. I thought she was the sexiest woman I had ever seen. She had long dark curly hair and firm round breasts that she did not seem concerned to hide from me when she answered the door on Saturday mornings. But her loveliest asset was her large heart-shaped fanny.
Her husband was an appliance repairman for Sears and he worked on Saturdays (It’s amazing how I remember all these details after all these years). For some reason, even though everyone else paid on Thursdays, Mrs. Bernier always paid me for her papers on Saturday morning. I was happy about this because she was always in her house coat and never wore more than a thin short night gown underneath. I am sure she thought I was an innocent kid (I WAS an innocent kid!) And so she never tried to conceal her charms. I got lots of peaks. I would linger and stall, drop change (often she would bend over and pick it up for me Heaven!), just do anything to prolong the visual and olfactory feast (she smelled unbelievably good to me).
Although she was my mother’s age, I thought about Mrs. Bernier all the time, but never about any of the pubescent girls I went to school with. I was still too young to masturbate I knew only vaguely what it was and since I had never seen a pussy, it was hard for me to imagine fucking. So that probably explains why I used to fantasize about kissing and licking her gloriously beautiful ass. I began to dream about it and would wake in pain blue balls, but I didn’t know it. And then one morning while dreaming about kissing and licking Mrs. Bernier’s puckered sphincter, I woke up feeling like a waterfall was about to erupt from my penis. I took it in my hand. It was hard as a rock and there, squeezing its way out of my peehole, was a single perfect clear drop that I knew was NOT pee. The pleasure was excruciating. Although that drop was all I had, I believed (wrongly and presumptuously) that there were gallons down there. So I clinched my legs together to stem the tide.
This dream repeated itself about once a week and always it focused on my oral attentions to Mrs. Bernier’s breathtaking bum. But Mrs. Bernier was not the only object of my youthful affections. Norman and Elaine Paradis (there were lots of French Canadians where I lived) lived next door to us. Norman worked days at the navy yard and went to school nights at nearby UNH. Elaine was, for a while, my mom’s best friend. She was 25 years old, had red hair and a very sexy body. She had a great ass and nice legs, Best of all she was completely obscene. She swore like a sailor and told dirty sexy jokes even to me. She made me feel grown up and she made me unbearably horny. From the time she would come through our front door, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was sooo sexy. Unlike Mrs. Bernier, I am quite sure Elaine noticed my attention. She would wink at me and occasionally shake her butt or wiggle her breasts (which were much smaller than Mrs. Bernier’s but no less admired by me). Elaine liked me. And even better, she hated my cruel and abusive father. She stood up to him for me several times. No one else ever did that certainly not my mother who was too frightened (I guess it was fear; I’ve never been able to figure it out).
Anyway, the highlight of my infatuation with Elaine (maybe of all my teenage years) was the day, when taking a short cut through her backyard to a friends’ house, I spotted several pairs of her panties drying on her clothesline. I looked around to make sure no one was looking and didn’t hesitate. I raced to the line pulled off two clothes pins, stuffed a pair of panties into my jacket pocket, and turned to run away. And there she was Elaine, right in front of me with a very puzzled look on her face.
“Those will never fit you, you know, and if your father ever sees you in them, he’ll kill you and everyone in the neighborhood just to make sure there are no witnesses”. (She had a very dry sense of humor, which I also loved).
I was dumbfounded and totally mortified. I did the only thing a boy of that age can do in such dire circumstances, I started to cry. And then the only true miracle I have ever witnessed in my life happened right there in Elaine Paradis ’s back yard. She walked over, put one arm around me and reached the other into my jacket pocket, retrieved her purloined panties, and walked me up the steps to her kitchen door. She sat me down at the kitchen table and took a piece of paper towel and knelt down and gently dried my eyes.
“You’ll never tell anyone about this will you?”
I couldn’t believe my ears! It was a forgone conclusion that she would tell my parents and I would be beaten and humiliated. But no, apparently that wasn’t going to happen.
“You won’t will you?” she asked again.
“No, No, never. Will you?”
“I promise, Michael never.”
Then she pecked me on the cheek, got up and left the room with the panties still in her hand. She went into her bedroom and came back a minute later still carrying the panties. She knelt back down and to my astonishment started to stuff the panties back into my jacket.
“That pair you had was almost brand-new Michael and I need them. This pair is old and I don’t need them anymore. I haven’t had time to wash them, but I want you to have them anyway, as long as you promise not to steal anymore clean ones from my line again”
I just couldn’t believe my ears. [I think, this is not only my earliest memory of unadulterated
kindness, it is perhaps my best.] She led me to the door and walked me down the steps, her arm around my shoulder once again. She was wearing the biggest and brightest smile I had ever seen. I loved her.
“And Michael?”
“Yes?”
“I want you to promise me that not only will you never steal my panties, but you will not steal Mrs. Lafond’s, or Mrs. Finnegan’s or Mrs. Blanchette’s panties or anyone else’s panties from any clotheslines ever again. Can you promise me that Michael?”
“Yes Elaine, I promise” Now I was grinning, because Elaine knew as well as I did that no boy, no matter how desperate, would ever consider stealing any of THOSE women’s panties.
“And besides”, she said still grinning, while she stated the obvious, “You wouldn’t like them; not after you’ve already had the best panties in the city.”
I floated home and stashed Elaine’s panties under my pillow. That night, after the lights were out, and everyone was asleep, I took them under the covers with me and inhaled them. I will never forget the sensation. I kept them and inhaled and tasted them until they had lost all their “personality”. But still I could not part with them; and then one day they just disappeared. Kind of like Elaine, who left late that spring after her husband graduated and took a job in, of all places, Nebraska. All this happened before I ever masturbated, but these memories are as sweet to me as any I have of any of my intimate moments with any of my later lovers. I have no similar memories of any girls my own age from those early adolescent days.
Update (Dec2020): I was talking with my sister yesterday and she casually mentioned that she had found Elaine's son on Facebook and he told her that Elaine died last year. Surprised, she asked why I was tearing up. I lied and said I couldn't explain it.
