She moved my hand over her breast, and I felt the padding and wires of her bra beneath her sweater. I was just trying to keep up when she took my hand again and lowered it beneath her sweater. I felt the warmth of her skin and didn’t think anything had ever felt so good.
I was wrong. She stopped kissing me and sat back. “Wait.” With a quick move, the sweater was over her head and on the car seat. She tousled her hair, which fell in curls to her shoulders. Her pale-blue bra was much larger and seemingly more sturdily built than any I had ever seen my mother wear. Donna reached behind her back like a contortionist, and the two cups popped as if under pressure. She smiled down at me. “Do you want to see them?”
I couldn’t swallow. I’m not sure I was breathing.
“I know you watch me, Sam.”
Her fingers moved to the wires at the bottom of the two cups, but again she paused, the longest moment of my life. “You have to ask,” she said.
But I had been struck dumb.
“Say, ‘Show me your tits.’”
The words blurted from me, sounding like a foreign language and much louder than necessary. “Show me your tits!”
Donna’s grin broadened into a huge smile. “Please . . .”
“Please,” I said.
“See? Polite and cute.” She lifted the cups, and her breasts fell forward, two mounds of flesh with nipples the size of pancakes, and the same rich brown color.
“Do you want to touch them? You have to ask.”
“Can I touch them?” I said.
“Please . . .”
“Please.”
She took my hand, instructing until instinct and desire took over, and I rubbed and squeezed. Her nipples hardened.
“You’re turning me on,” she moaned, and I thought those the best four words any girl would ever utter to me. She fell forward and pressed my face in the canyon of her cleavage. I was lost in warmth and darkness and didn’t want to ever surface. Then I felt her hand at my belt, tugging, undoing the clasp, the button of my jeans. She took a moment to unzip my fly. I felt her hand slide beneath the waistband of my briefs, and at the first sensation of the warmth of her fingers, I exploded.
18
As Donna pulled her sweater over her head, I sat looking out the window, feeling embarrassed. Donna’s fingers touched my chin and turned my head. She was smiling.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be. I like knowing I turned you on so much.”
“We could try again,” I said, sounding a bit too eager.
She looked at her watch. “Your parents will get suspicious. But we can try again Monday.”
Monday? That was an eternity.
“You can’t tell them, Sam.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You can’t tell anyone,” she said, “especially not Mickie or your friend Ernie. If I find out you told anyone, that you’re bragging, I won’t. We won’t do it again.”
“I won’t tell,” I said, having little to brag about, since I didn’t think we’d done it that evening.
She flipped her hair off her shoulders. “Good. Because the best is yet to come.”
19
I lost my virginity the following Monday in the front seat of the Falcon while parked in the same location. Donna took her time. I think she wanted to be sure she did not cause a repeat of my prior performance. It was over before I knew it, and slightly anticlimactic, given that I’d had two full days to think it over in my mind. This time as she refastened her bra, Donna said, “You’ll get better. I’ll help you learn to last longer.”