Thomas visits a classmate. He discovers he has more in common with his precocious little sister than his peer. Their love of books lead to romance–and sex!
Part One
I, Thomas Graham, turned 11 years old on my birthday in March 1973. I was a fifth-grade student—and a good one—at Crestview Elementary School. I resided in a suburban city of about 45,000 people. It was the type of idyllic place where family-based television shows were set. It was safe, clean, welcoming, and full of industrious, happy residents. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to spend my formative years.
One of my classmates was Gary Rollins. He had been in my fourth-grade class, too, but, for the most part, I honestly hadn’t had much interaction with him in those two years. Then one day in April 1973, we began a public-speaking unit in class. It terrified a great many of my peers—but not me, though. I genuinely liked being the center of attention, so I didn’t mind talking in front of an audience at all.
For our major assignment, each of us was required to make a speech between four and six minutes long—with the ideal length being five minutes. Our teacher, Mr. Fitzgerald, acted as the official timekeeper. The topic choice was very broad: We could talk on anything that we had a personal interest in—within reason, of course. I talked about my interest in mystery novels. I got a positive response from the class, and I received an A from my teacher. For his topic, Gary spoke about his baseball card collection. That immediately stirred my interest as I had one, too. His was really impressive; he brought in samples to show everyone that dated back to the 1950s.
At lunchtime, I approached Gary to say how much I enjoyed his speech and that I collected baseball cards, too. He promptly invited me to his house that same day so I could examine his entire collection at my leisure. I quickly accepted his offer.
I discovered that Gary lived about four blocks from my house. His mother was very welcoming. She promptly placed a plate of ginger cookies in front of her son and me while Gary displayed his prized possession. While his card collection was fabulous, I found Gary to be not nearly as knowledgeable about baseball as I hoped. I was most interested in his older cards. When I saw a Sandy Koufax card, I immediately asked Gary for his thoughts about Koufax’s pitching stats. He gave me a blank look. “I don’t know anything about him,” Gary confessed. “I just have his card. Most of these cards belonged to my great uncle Albert. I inherited them from him when he died about a year ago.”
At first, I thought it was a case of Gary not knowing anything about retired ballplayers, but it quickly became apparent that he also knew very little about the contemporary players whose cards he owned. I was downright shocked when he didn’t know who Johnny Bench was. I offered to help.
“At home I have several excellent books about baseball players,” I informed Gary. “I know I have one on Johnny Bench. Just yesterday I started reading a biography of Roberto Clemente. It’s very well researched. Would you like to read either of them? They’re both quite good. I’d be happy to lend them to you.”
Before he had a chance to respond, I heard a voice behind me. It belonged to Gary’s little sister, Becky, a pretty brunette with a slightly tuned-up nose who looked to be about nine years old. She said to me, “Gary’s not much of a reader, Thomas. He’s never set foot in the public library,” she cackled.
“Oh,” I meekly replied. Two things struck me. First, I had wrongly assumed that everybody loved books and the terrific pastime of perusing them as I did. Second, little Becky Rollins apparently knew my name. She later explained that she saw me quite often in the school library and had heard the librarian address me occasionally. I found it flattering that Becky would care enough to remember my name. I hadn’t noticed her, but I tended to block out everything and everybody when I began to read.
Gary’s face turned slightly red regarding his sister’s brusque comment, but he didn’t dispute what Becky had said. I was soon to discover that Gary didn’t even follow baseball! He just liked accruing things to collect. He had basically fibbed when he made his speech to the class that he was “a big fan” of the sport. I was thoroughly disappointed. I thought I had found a new friend who had similar interests to mine.
However, all was not lost. Becky seemed to be a precocious nine-year-old who loved books as she had one with her. I asked her what types of books she liked to read. Her reply was, “Everything!” which made me smile. I thought that was an adorable answer. She immediately went to her bedroom and returned with three more books she had recently borrowed from the public library. They were all above the reading level I would have expected for someone her age.
“Ah, a fellow reading junkie!” I responded. “You’re certainly my type of girl, Becky!”
I had read three of the four books she displayed, so I immediately started discussing them with Becky. Her face lit up and she made all sorts of knowledgeable comments. She enjoyed having someone close to her age to talk to about the joys of reading. Within a short time, Gary had quietly departed with his baseball cards to another part of the house. Becky was now occupying the chair where her brother had sat a few minutes before—and was nibbling on a ginger cookie.
Her mother was a bit surprised at the turn of events with daughter replacing son to entertain me. I asked her, “Why is Becky in the third grade? She must be bored out of her mind there. I bet she could handle fifth-grade schoolwork.”
“Becky takes after her father,” Mrs. Rollins explained. “He’s an English literature professor at the university. That’s where she gets her love for books and reading because I don’t read for pleasure very often. Becky excels in that, but she’s just an average student in her other subjects.”
I said I’d be happy to recommend some books for Becky’s enjoyment. Becky happily said, “Yes, please.” She obviously was enjoying my company, so we started to read one of the books aloud, with each of us reading a few paragraphs before handing the book to the other person. We both thought it was great fun. I did notice that Becky kept move her chair closer to mine until they were touching. I found that subtle, friendly action to be both cute and flattering.
Maybe it wasn’t so subtle. “Becky,” her mother chastised her, “if you get any closer to Tommy you’ll be sitting on his lap.”
I just laughed and said, “There are worse things that can happen to me than that.” I then lifted Becky off her chair and placed her directly on my lap. Becky giggled and gave me an affectionate hug.
“I think I’ve made a new friend,” I said aloud as I hugged her just as strongly in return.
“I think I have, too!” Becky readily agreed.
Part Two
The next day at school, I had an unexpected visitor lingering near the entrance to my class just before the morning session was about to begin: Becky Rollins. She took my hand sweetly and invited me to her house for more “tag-team reading” and other pleasant diversions with books once school was dismissed. I accepted without a second thought. Gary was close enough to hear our conversation. After the smiling Becky had left to go to her class, Gary said to me. “Thanks for being polite to my little sister, Thomas. That’s very nice of you. But if she’s annoying you, it’s okay to let her know.”
“I wouldn’t think of it!” I replied. “I think she’s kind of cute. She’s far from annoying. Heck, I think she might be future wife material someday.”
Gary gave me a quizzical look, shrugged his shoulders, and walked into our classroom without further comment.
I made the trip to see Becky as I had promised. She made certain I was going to show up by meeting me after the final bell had sounded and walking home with me. Again, I thought this was cute of her. The time flew by in our journey because we talked incessantly about books. I was thinking if this girl had been two years older, she’d make an ideal girlfriend for me. Three times that week, Becky invited me to her house. I cheerfully accepted each time. On those afternoons we spent about 90 minutes reading to each other.
On the third day I brought some of my favorite books to share. Becky didn’t care a whit about sports, but I decided to read her a portion of the Roberto Clemente biography I was enjoying. When I got to the part when Clemente was killed in a 1972 plane crash that was carrying relief supplies to earthquake victims in Nicaragua, Becky started to openly weep. Her reaction startled me.
Her mother, who normally left us alone in the living room, heard Becky’s sobs and wondered what was happening. “I read her a sad story,” I explained. “It affected her emotionally, I guess.” I put my arms around Becky to console her. That seemed to cheer her up very quickly. Becky promptly kissed me on the cheek—and then apologized. I wasn’t sure why.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I said, “not for crying over Roberto Clemente nor for the kiss. If a story can make you cry, it proves you are a sensitive person who is affected by the power of the written word—which is wonderful. If you are apologizing about kissing me, I liked it very much. Now I owe you one. I kissed her on the cheek, too. That led to a full-fledged embrace—in the presence of Mrs. Rollins.
“I think you two are becoming more than book buddies,” she said before exiting the room. She wasn’t particularly angry or happy about it. Mrs. Rollins was just stating an undeniable fact.
Part Three
Becky and I continued to frequently share books and our thoughts about them for the next three years. Somewhere between Becky’s eleventh and twelfth birthdays, I noticed Becky was providing more and more romantic passages for us to read together. I also noticed she was becoming more and more attractive by the month. When she brough out a book of love poetry one day, I gave her a knowing smile.
“Hinting at something?” I asked her coyly.
“Yes, Thomas!” she admitted. “You know that I love you—and I always have since that first day you showed up here to look at my brother’s baseball card collection. It didn’t work out well for him, but I hit the jackpot.”
After hearing that statement, what could I do? I enfolded Becky in my arms and gave her a romantic smooch—the first one we had ever really had. It was the first one I had ever had, period. I was a reader—not a lover. Becky was in no great hurry to break up the kiss, so it went on probably longer than it should have.
“Okay, it’s official,” I said when our lips finally separated. “I’m in love with a girl in the sixth grade.” I was an eighth-grader at the time. Becky promptly picked up the poetry book and read the sonnet “How Do I Love Thee” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. That nearly brought me to tears.
Part Four
By the time Becky was 14 and I was 16, virtually everything she wanted to read with me and to me were romantic passages. I use the term “romantic” very liberally; some of them were downright steamy! In one case, Becky had found an old Mickey Spillane detective novel at a used book store. She read me some of the more salacious paragraphs. I pretended to be overheated and fanned my face while I listened, which Becky found amusing. The next day she upped the ante considerably—on an afternoon when she knew we’d have the entire Rollins house to ourselves.
Somehow Becky had gotten a hold of a well-used magazine that contained only some hard-core pornographic stories. I didn’t have the nerve to ask her where she got it. She read one tale aloud about teenage lovers named Jessica and Brad. It contained the following passage: “Jessica had waited years to be ravaged by Brad. She desperately wanted his huge phallus to penetrate her virgin pussy and fill it with his warm seed. Brad wanted Jessica just as much. He had often fantasized about fondling her sexy, oversize tits and giving her cunt a major pounding. Now was the time and the place for it to finally happen.”
“What do you think of that bit of sexy writing, Brad…I mean Thomas?” Becky asked me with a naughty grin dominating her pretty face.
“I’m totally turned on, Jessica…I mean Becky,” I replied with the same degree of levity and lust. I’m sure I had a wide smile plastered across my face, too.
Becky then removed the golf shirt she was wearing in about two seconds, exposing her lacy pink brassiere. Becky had a terrific figure for her age—and nipples that always seemed to be discernible no matter what type of top she wore. Now I was going to finally get to examine them up close—and much more!
We quickly undressed and moved to the leather couch. To my delight, it was the precise location where I had always fantasized that I’d screw Becky one day. I asked for the liberty of sliding Becky’s pink panties down her beautiful legs—which I was granted. She had a hairy vagina, which was okay by me. I had a huge erection within a matter of seconds. Like the fictious Brad, I had been waiting years for this wonderful milestone moment to occur. Becky had been a bit of an early bloomer, and I had desired to be intimate with her for a long time. She was wearing a regular bra—not a training model—before the fifth grade ended. She even knew the term “precocious puberty” before I had ever heard of it. My girl was a genuine wordsmith!
I wasted no time in handling Becky’s sexy pair of jugs, fondling them and licking them with great enthusiasm. At one point, I just put my entire face between them and asked Becky to squeeze her tits against my cheeks. She thought it was a silly request, but Becky complied without hesitation. I really did love this sexy creature and her desirable physical assets.
“Now I want to put my mouth to work on you, Thomas,” she said. I knew what was about to happen and I was well pleased by it. Becky put her lips around the head of my throbbing penis and gave me an excellent blowjob for a novice. She cutely asked me to tell her if she was doing anything incorrectly. It may have been just a feeling of lust, but I felt my rod expand in Becky’s warm, sensuous mouth.
“Yeah, I’d say you’re doing just fine, Becky,” I said with obvious understatement. After about three minutes I asked her to stop the act of fellatio “unless you want a mouthful of goo.” I wanted to come in her pussy—where I was supposed to deposit my seed, just like Brad desired to do with Jessica in the X-rated story Becky had begun read aloud.
I was a lanky lad, so I was considerably taller than Becky who was slightly small in stature. She climbed aboard my penis cowgirl style when I suggested that position for intercourse. I figured I could continue to play with her tits while she bounced on my erection. Becky, whose pussy was wonderfully tight, was quite the enthusiastic fucker for a first-timer! Occasionally I’d reluctantly remove my hands from her breasts and place them on her waist to assist with Becky’s riding technique. The feeling of my dick penetrating this young sexpot as deeply as possible was totally fabulous.
I knew I wouldn’t last much longer. Common sense told me to pull out of Becky’s lovely vagina and fire my load somewhere onto her sexy body. However, lust told me to stay put and fire my jism into her crevice. Lust won out over common sense on this occasion. I moaned and fired at least three blasts of semen inside my book buddy’s most private area. It just felt so right to do that! Becky seemed to climax at about the same time I had and moaned with the same passion and gusto as I did. The two of us were a highly compatible sexually—there was no doubting that whatsoever!
When my penis had finally stopped spewing cum, I took a few deep breaths and kissed my beloved book buddy passionately. I said to her, “Becky, honey, I think we’re the equal of the fictitious Jessica and Brad! Wouldn’t you agree?”
To my surprise, Becky quickly disagreed with me. “We’re not quite there yet, Thomas,” she said sexily. “I read that whole story yesterday. Before it’s over, Brad ends up ejaculating three times. To be his equal, you’ve got some catching up to do!”
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