Although it was the dead of summer, the night air carried a chill. Maybe it was just nerves, but my body shivered. We sat side by side, feet dangling over the edge of the old wooden pier. Fog drifted lazily across a glassy pond, disturbed only by the occasional ripple of a frog leaping from a lily pad or some random fish popping the surface to swallow an unsuspecting insect. 

His arm pressed against mine as we sat in silence. He was older than me by five years. Good-looking and such a hunk, sitting there in his old cut-off jeans. His bare chest glistened in the bright light of a full Mississippi moon. I hated the thought that in two more weeks he would be gone. 

Dad hired him two months ago to work the summer on our four-hundred-acre farm in Amite County. We ran a dairy and also raised beef, so there was always too much work for my dad to tackle alone. The milk hands took care of the dairy chores, but they weren't field hands. There were fences to maintain, hay to bail, calves to vaccinate, fields to plant, and so many other things to do. 

Today was my sixteenth birthday and Dad gave me the day off. We had a small party, just the family which included me and my mom, dad, baby brother, grandmother, and grandfather, and him, after the workday was over. He was living in our spare room so how could we not invite him? I made sure that he sat by me without being too obvious that I had a crush on him. I think he knew but I didn't want Dad to go crazy and kill him or something. 

Oh, his name was Terry. He was going back to college in just a couple of weeks for his junior year. Studying agricultural engineering, he would graduate in two years. I knew I would probably never see him again after he left, so I spent as much time helping my dad and him during work. We hauled hay in yesterday.

The work was hard and heavy. The sun burned hot over our heads. I drove the old John Deer sixty, pulling two old wooden trailers. Terry would walk along beside the trailer picking up the square bales of hay and tossing them on. Dad would stack them neatly as I puttered along. 

Terry wore his usual cut-offs and leather boots, his dark-tanned shoulders sweating in the heat. Dad wore his usual wide-brimmed hat and overalls. Me, I wore my cut-offs (Terry called them 'Daisy Dukes') and an old boys' tank top undershirt. I didn’t bother with a bra because my tits were small back then, and it was just too hot. That, and I liked it when I caught him checking out my nipples. That old shirt was thin and when I sweated, it didn’t do much to hide my little pokies. 

He teased me, of course, but it didn’t bother me. Just to know he was paying attention was exciting to me. My body was sending me signals that I’d never felt before. The dampness between my legs and the aching in my nipples were foreign but exciting. Then there was that buzzing in my little nub in the folds of my virgin pussy. That buzz seemed to be hungry for something, but it also seemed to hold the promise of something even greater.

After my party was over and my presents were opened, everyone went back to their own thing. Mom was busy in the kitchen while Gramps and Gran watched Walker Texas Ranger in the living room. Dad and Johnny, my little brother, were on the back porch, Dad with his chewing tobacco and Johnny with his BB gun. Pushing the screen door open, I asked Dad if I could go fishing down at the big pond. 

“You be careful,” he answered, “I saw that damned gator last week. He looks to be a good seven foot now.”

“Want me to go with you?” Terry asked, sitting on the porch rail in the shadows.

“If you want to,” I answered. “Up to you.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday,” Dad said. “No work, and I think I would feel better if he were there to watch out for you.”

Terry stood up and walked off the porch to the barn. “Come on, Little bit,” he said, “the catfish ain’t going to catch themselves.” 

I waved at my dad when I stepped off the porch, running to catch up with Terry. “Catch a good mess of them,” Dad called.

“See you in the morning,” I called back over my shoulder. He knew that I often stayed all night at the pond. That didn’t mean that I would, but he was usually in bed by nine, and it was already starting to get dark. I caught up with Terry just as he pulled the big door on the barn open. The clank of chains and equipment hanging on the door rang out when it drug on the ground. You had to pick up on the door to get it to open wide enough to walk through. 

“I’ll get the cooler if you want to grab the poles and tackle box,” Terry said.

“Ok,” I replied, walking past him to the feed room where we kept the fishing stuff. “The night crawlers are in the fridge in a white styrofoam bucket.”

For you that aren’t blessed to have lived in the rural southern United States, night crawlers are huge earthworms that we used for catfish bait. They are big enough to bait up to six hooks. Catfish love them, so we use them and chicken livers as bait. If you’ve never fought a four or five-pound blue cat to the bank, you just don’t know what you’re missing. 

We decided to take the four-wheeler to the pond since it would be a two-mile walk. With the cooler strapped to the front rack, Terry climbed on, starting the engine while I strapped the rods to the rack on the back. That done, I climbed on the seat behind Terry. My crotch was pressed against his ass and my legs spread wide enough that I could feel my little nub buzzing against the denim of my shorts. 

We waved to Dad when we drove out of the barn and into the night. 

I sat behind Terry, bouncing over the ruts and hills, my arms wrapped around his abdomen. His shirtless body felt so strong and ripped. His abs were like garden rows in a flat field. His body perspired, and I could smell his sweat. Not a stink but more of a scent. My hands would slip lower with the bumps and jarring bounces of the machine that we rode. I wondered if he could feel my erect nipples pressed to his back. 

The night grew darker, but the headlight brightened our path. Another mile to ride, and we would arrive at the fishing hole. The hum of the engine and slosh of the melting ice in the cooler broke the silence of the humid night. The ride was a little smoother now that we were on the dirt road that divided our farm from the Harveys' place. 

Charles Harvey was an older dairy farmer that sold his cattle and bought into that Emu craze. He nearly lost everything he had on those funny birds. Now he raised beef cattle and soybeans. His fences ran on the right side of the road, mostly in need of repair. One huge Angus bull stood, his head over the broken top wire of the fence, to watch us speed by. 

Finally, we arrived at the gate where we would enter the cornfield that was home to the eleven-acre pond that was our destination. The rickety old pier jutted fifty feet out over the still water. Crickets chirped and the occasional frog would croak, calling its mate with a low, throaty burp. The night was still but not silent. The splash of a snake falling from a limb overhanging the pond broke the surface of the water like a pane of glass. 

We sat on the ATV for two or three long quiet minutes after killing the engine, listening to the night sounds. “Wonder where that gator is,” Terry breathed, scanning the bank.

“Look,” I pointed, “There he is.”

He sat, quietly watching us from the dam across the pond, not moving.

My hands ended up on top of Terry's thighs while we sat there, my chest still pressed to his strong back. He didn’t seem to mind that I was leaning on him, nor off-put by my hands. I wasn’t touching anything inappropriate, but close. 

“Well,” he grunted, “You going to fish or just sit there?”

I slid my hands off his lap and let him get off the bike. After standing, he offered me a hand, helping me up. Terry took the cooler from the rack as I untied the poles from the rear. Two folding lawn chairs were laying flat on the end of the creaky wooden boardwalk that we had used for as long as I could remember so we walked out to the end and set up shop.

Anyway, that’s how we got here, side by side on the end of the pier. We talked and teased for three hours. The alligator hadn’t moved an inch. I had a stringer of blue cats in the water, the old lawn chair that Terry sat in had given up the ghost. The thing had to be ten years old and the seat rotted away. At one point, he had started to tease me about my tiny breasts but told me that they were sexy as hell.

My body, having digested this information, was giddy. Hormones flooded my private parts, waking desires that I hadn’t felt in such a way. It was as if my young virgin pussy was starving, my nipples almost humming their desire for attention. 

Close to midnight, the big August moon cast its glow in a long glimmering path across the still pond. There was no sound but the insects and the occasional low of a distant cow. My mind raced and my body longed to be taken. I think he knew and I think he wanted to. His arm was over my shoulder, holding me close to his side. His hand was drooped over my chest, his fingers so close to touching my erect and aching nipple. 

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” I said, breaking the hour-long silence.

He turned to look at me, “You going to miss me, Little bit?”

“Well, yeah,” I answered, “You are a part of the family now. It’s like having a big brother.”

Terry smiled and shook his head, turning back to stare at the moon shadows, “I didn’t know you thought of me as a brother. I thought you had a crush on me.”

Honestly, I didn’t know what to say. Was he saying that he liked me? Was he interested in me? Did he think of me like I thought of him or was he making fun of me? “Why did you think that?” I breathed, barely audible.

“Well, don’t you?” He smiled. “Or am I just imagining things?”

I liked him, that was certain. I thought he was sexy and good-looking. The thing that intimidated me was his age. I was sixteen, and he was twenty-one. He would think of me as a kid. But I figured, ‘What the hell? I might as well be honest.’

“I guess,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, “A little one.”

His smile was amazing. It was arrogant but inviting at the same time. “I knew it,” he said. “You should have told me.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed, “So you could tease me? I’ve seen you looking at me too.”

“I wouldn’t tease you, Little bit.”

“Stop calling me that,” I said, shrugging his arm off my shoulder, “You make me feel like a little girl.”

“Sorry,” he said, swallowing hard, “That’s not how I meant it. You aren’t a little girl. And yeah, I’ve been looking.”

My hurt feelings felt better when he admitted that. I leaned against him and felt him put his arm back over my shoulder, this time his fingertips grazed my nipple. Taking a sharp breath of surprise, I shivered when he touched me. He pulled his hand away quickly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

I put my hand on his suddenly, pulling it back where it was, pressing it to my breast, “It's okay. It felt good,” I blurted. His arm relaxed and he squeezed my tiny breast gently. I pressed his hand tighter. 

“You never wear a bra,” he whispered.

“I don't need one,” I said, “Nothing there.”

“I think they are sexy,” he said, squeezing again. “Perfect size.”

“I'm glad you like them,” I said, turning to look up at him.

His breath warmed my cheek when he turned to me. Our eyes met, not for the first time but this time was different. Our noses touched and I could almost taste his lips. My body trembled in anticipation of what was about to happen. He pulled me closer, our lips meeting in the first kiss of my life. I worried for so long that I wouldn't know how to kiss a boy but it came so naturally. 

Just our lips at first but soon we explored deeper with our tongues. I tasted his essence when our tongues tangled. Caught up in the moment, my body wanted more. I didn't feel that I was being slutty, but I found my hand on his thigh. My fingers traced the outline of the hard, throbbing lump under his denim cutoffs. With his hand, he covered mine, pressing me firmly but gently down onto his erection, moaning softly when I squeezed.

He felt so big through those old, faded shorts. My fingers traced it, covered by his, from the tip to his body. I could feel the zipper under my touch then so I pulled it down listening to it growl. The old gator laid still on the dam across the pond, dark and silent, never moving. I pushed my fingers between the metal teeth of Terry’s open zipper. 

His eyes, so blue, stared into mine as I explored his private area. Try though I might, his shorts were tight and his cock inaccessible. He could see the trouble I had so he laid back on the old wooden deck, giving me the freedom to do as I wanted and I wanted to see it. I had imagined many times how it looked. 

Would it be as big as it felt? Would it be circumcised? Sure I had seen a penis in the past but not real and up close. I was giddy at the thought of seeing it for the first time. The first thing I felt, reaching into his shorts was the root of his shaft, smooth and warm. I wrapped my fingers gently around it, his ball sack hugging the bottom of his shaft.

He was so hard that I couldn't pull him from his shorts so I regrouped and unbuttoned his waistband. His sandy blond pubic hair fluffed in the moonlight. I pulled down his shorts, slowly revealing the shaft of his thick shaft. Pulling further down, I watched his hard cock spring from his shorts, missing my nose by a fraction and then smacking against his firm belly.

I looked at it in terrified wonder. It was as thick as my wrist and so long. The head, uncircumcised, was wide and round like the head of a spear, tightly covered by his foreskin, its slit peeking from the hood. I took it in my hand, squeezing gently, pulling the foreskin back from his pink head. My eyes open wide in amazement, studying every detail of the crisscrossing veins that bulged from the shaft and disappeared behind the head. 

“What do you think?” Terry asked, smiling down at me.

“It's amazing,” I said, “So big.”

I slid my hand up and down his shaft, feeling how the silky skin slid with my hand. I could feel the throb of his heartbeat in the veiny warmth of his thickness. He was patient, letting me discover. We had all night to be together. The eerie hoot of a barn owl broke the night silence and echoed across the pond. 

I remembered the talk of my friends at school, relaying their experiences with sex. Annabel, my best friend, told me many times about giving her boyfriend blowjobs. She described the feel of his cock head in her mouth and the way it felt when she was able to stop gagging and eventually take his whole cock in her throat. I was willing to bet that her boyfriend, Jeffrey, did not have nearly as big a cock as Terry. 

There was no way I was getting it all in. At least not tonight. But I wanted to at least taste the clear fluid that was leaking from the tip. Annabel called it precum and said it tasted good. I could see it glisten in the light of the moon so I pulled his foreskin back and tentatively touched the tip of my tongue to his slit.

I was saying, ‘Thank you, Annabel,’ in my mind. The saltiness and mild taste of man, along with the sweaty musk of his body, triggered my natural feminine instincts. My body responded. I could feel the dam break and the river gush from my insides, flooding my young pussy with lubricating fluids, getting itself ready to yield to its first intrusion. 

I suddenly felt the need to have this man inside me. I took the bulbous head of his cock in my mouth, sucking gently, tasting his essence. He moaned when I slid my lips further down his shaft. His cock was so thick that I could get only so far down. I knew then that it would take me months of practice to get all of him in my mouth. 

I felt his fingers push my hair back, watching me as I sampled his cock, “Come here,” he whispered. 

I took his cock from my mouth, kissing the tip before I crawled to kiss his lips. He pulled my body atop him, his hands gripping my ass while we kissed. His grip was firm and kneading, spreading my cheeks under my loose-fitting cutoffs. I felt the wetness grow between my legs. I squirmed, my knees spreading and my hips ground against his. We kissed like passionate lovers.

Terry took control, rolling my body off his and onto the wooden deck. He was kneeling between my knees and before I could react, he had my shorts and panties in his hands. My young pussy was completely exposed. My heart raced and I realized I was holding my breath. My juices were flowing like a country stream, trickling between the cheeks of my ass. 

Without taking his eyes from mine, Terry hunkered between my thighs, surprising me by pushing his tongue into the folds of my sex, evoking a shuddering moan. Screwing his tongue deep inside my virgin pussy, he brought me quickly to orgasm. My young body shook with the erotic sensations that were so new to me. “Ungh, yes,” I gasped, spreading my legs wider with the help of his hands, pushing my thighs apart.

My nipples stood erect, pushing against the thin material of my old tank top. I felt his hand slide up my torso under my shirt, touching the bare skin of my breast, my body still trembling in orgasm. I put my hand over his when he pinched my hard nipple, pressing him tightly to my chest. His tongue teased my clitoris, starving my pussy with the desire for more. I wanted him to fill my sex. 

Terry kicked at his shorts, tangled at his ankles, while I pulled my tee-shirt off, dropping it on the deck. That old hoot owl was sounding the still night, echoing through the pines. He went straight to my breast, biting and sucking my nipples, my hand tangled in the hair behind his head. I was experiencing pleasure that I never knew existed.

My pussy was wet and ready. I wasn’t just nervous. No, I was scared but I wouldn’t say no to anything that night. Virgin though I was, I wanted to fuck. Laying on my back, Terry hunched over my body, sucking my nipples and teasing my pussy with the tip of his hard cock. That hot August moon saw it all. 

“Fuck me, Terry,” I breathed again and again, “Fuck me.”

I knew he heard me but he continued his teasing, his cock head pushing against my swollen sex. As his teeth and tongue gently bit and lashed at my nipples, I tossed my head from side to side, my hands pulling at his body, trying to bring him closer. That first orgasm had my body longing for another. I pushed my hips up to meet his cock, nearly begging for more.

Holding himself over my body with one hand, he slid the other from my breast to my pussy, pressing his thumb into my soaking wet labia, parting them, and pressing deep into my opening. Yes, I had fingered myself in the past but it didn’t compare to what he was doing. He bit a little harder at my nipples, grinding his thumb in and out of my pussy. Another orgasm. 

My body shook in convulsive tremors, his thumb grating my clitoris with each quick thrust. I moaned and cursed. He knew what he was doing to me. He was so damned exciting to a young country girl. His messy blond hair and deep blue eyes seemed to look into my soul. His strong arms and shoulders. He was just a handsome man in my world of animals and pastures.

“Please, Terry,” I begged, “Please fuck me.”

His cock was big, maybe too big for my young sex. That’s why he was doing what he did. The orgasms that he brought me to with his tongue and his fingers were getting my pussy ready to be taken. I figured it out later, but what he did, he did to make my first time pleasurable and something I could remember without regret. 

“Please,” I begged.

His cock was so hard and throbbed with every beat of his heart. Taking it in his hand, he slipped his wide head between my labia, so swollen and puffy. Up and down my soaking wet slit, he guided his sex, wetting himself with my girl cum. Looking into my wanting eyes, he softly asked, “Ready?”

I bit my bottom lip and nodded quickly, preparing to accept what I knew would be painful. All my friends from school told me how bad their first time hurt. The biting sting of their virginity being taken. The aching soreness over the following days. But they also told me how good it felt after the pain was gone.

He pushed forward, just an inch or two, then back out and in again, opening my sex with his thick head. I closed my eyes, deep in the sensations of pleasures that swept through my body like a raging river. The orgasm seemed to go on and on. His cock pushed deeper, stretching my sex, filling me. 

“Breathe,” he whispered into my ear.

Trembling, I exhaled, realizing that I had been holding my breath. He kissed my neck and lips, pushing his cock deeper. He was so big, only half of his cock inside my pussy, I had yet to feel the pain that my friends described. So big and hard. I could feel his throbbing pulse inside my sex. 

We spoke no other words. I was lost in the experience. His fingers gently pushed my hair from my face. A deeper kiss, our tongues playfully wrestling, distracting my attention. He pushed further, not stopping this time, slowly pushing his cock into my depths. There it was. The sting of virginity lost. It lasted but a few seconds. I felt a single tear run from the corner of my eye, trailing down my cheek and into my ear. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No,” I said, my eyes wide open, shaking my head, “No, it feels so good.”

He was motionless for several minutes as we kissed a lover’s kiss, deep and passionate. I could wait no more, the pain was gone now, “Fuck me, Terry.”

With a tender smile, he pushed himself up on his hands, hulking over my body. His hips pushed forward putting pressure on his already buried cock, grinding against my sex. We moaned and gasped, my fingers tracing his muscular back. He pulled back and began to work his cock in and out, slowly, deliberately, filling my sex. 

It started again. My body seemed to float on a cloud of orgasm. It wouldn’t stop. How could I tell my friends that my experience wasn’t like theirs? A painful, quick fuck that lasted but a few minutes and it was over. No, mine was pure pleasure. Yeah, it hurt for a minute, but that, I think, was a natural part of the passage into womanhood. He was gentle and caring, taking me softly. I could do this forever. 

The night was dark and quiet but for the hooting of that old owl and the chirping of the crickets. I opened my eyes to see a dark cloud covering half of the moon as if he had hidden his eyes. Terry continued to thrust slowly, deeply into my sex, driving my orgasm. I closed my eyes again, not caring if the moon peeped at us when he grunted through his orgasm. 

I felt his hot cum flooding my womb, filling me to overflowing. Terry swore and grunted, thrusting harder, squeezing his cum out of my pussy. I felt it as it trickled down my ass. He collapsed, rolling my body atop his, panting and petting my body with his hands. 


I looked through the windshield of my SUV at the rotting old pier. Just a few poles sticking out of the water. That old gator was nowhere to be seen. The fields were overgrown now. It’s been years since a plow has seen them. Mom and Dad are both gone, their headstones under the big live oak in the back of the old church. 

Had it been forty years? Where had the time gone? I sat alone, the air conditioner blowing cool air in my face as the sun beat down on the old pond. 

After that night, Terry and I spent the following two weeks playing in the woods and barns. Fishing every night until he had to leave for school. Starkville was three hours from our farm in south Mississippi so we never saw each other again. 

Our daughter is grown now and has become a doctor. Terry never knew about her. We lost track after he left and I raised her myself. Don’t blame him. I never told him about her. It’s not that I didn’t want to. It’s hard to explain but in those days, things were different. 

Putting the car in reverse, I thought about that last two weeks with him. I guess that’s why I came back to this place. Just to remember his face. I wonder what happened to him. I heard once that he graduated and went on to become a rural county agent and then on into politics. 

Wherever he was and whatever he became, he still holds my hand on that pier in my memories.