I got to thinking about the reality of keeping my stories to myself. That's silly and boring. This one is a little PG-13, but just barely. Hope it entertains.
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Last night I took Crit out for his evening roam behind the barn on Fisher’s property, just like I always do. It’s late August and we often get that temperature change or the dewpoint is just right or something. I don’t know exactly, I’m not a weather person or anything. But a layer of fog floated over the field at about the height of my head. I felt the moisture droplets condense on my face. The fog swallowed Crit as he tore after something that I couldn’t sense near the edge of the woods. I stood alone in the field listening to the late August night sounds and smelling the wood smoke from the neighbor's bonfire.
The crickets’ songs couldn’t hide the strange noises and shy laughter I heard out where the light on the barn didn’t reach. My approach went unnoticed and soon I could make out bits of a girl’s voice whispering gentle things: “Mmmm…”, “…like this”, “you don’t…?” It sounded like the new girl, her name’s Willow I think, and it sounded like she was fooling around with someone but I couldn’t hear the guy’s voice. I could only imagine what he was doing to keep his mouth so busy. I’m not quite thirteen yet and I’ve never had a girlfriend or anything. So, I only know about this stuff from TV movies and from my friend Bo, who has a girlfriend this summer. Although she lives in another state so I’m not exactly sure how he got so experienced. I’ll have to ask him about that.
The breeze picked up and the fog thinned a little. My eyes had adjusted to the dark and the nearly full moon illuminated things enough for me to make out shapes in the tall grass. Stems and stalks of the late summer field brushed against my skin as I crept closer. I thought I might get in trouble if they caught me spying, but I had to see what they were doing. I considered it education, not spying. In about 10 slow steps I could make out blue-white curves and purple-black shadows of moon lit skin. The back of a dark-haired head contrasted against pale legs. Fingers pulled at the hair and a body squirmed. Surprised inhalations and sighing exhalations floated into the night sky. I needed to get closer, I had to see more.
My eyes fell on Willow’s pale face and I froze in mid-step with my breath caught in my chest. I heard Crit barking off in the distance near the old tree house. Willow squeezed her eyes shut and her mouth hung open slightly. The expression on her face changed like cloud shadows moving across the field on a windy afternoon. She lay sprawled on a beach towel just like the one I use down at the swimming hole and arched her body into the person between her legs. I still couldn’t identify the guy. Not that I spent much time studying him. I couldn’t take my eyes off of what I’d never before seen in real life, naked breasts. Then everything got weirder than any movie I’d ever seen on cable over at Bo’s house.
The dark haired head lifted and turned. My sister’s profile popped into view. Willow’s eyes opened to look at Lydia which also happened to be in my general direction. She caught me spying, caught me with my hand down my pants, caught me staring at her lying in the field with my sister.
I crashed away into the dark and heard Lydia’s nervous voice yelp, “What was that?” And Willow’s confident answer, “Just a deer, that’s all. We spooked it. I saw its white tail and then it was gone.”
I start school at the junior high next week and I turn 13 in October. I feel charged with electricity, like a storm cloud full of lightning, ready to strike but not knowing where. I didn’t used to be scared of stuff all that much, but suddenly, I’m scared of everything.
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