The boys in my life were friends, not boyfriends if you can see the difference. Our parents’ expression changed slightly, from parental concern to a kind of relief as they brightened at the thought of the lake. Paul shocked us both by soon after hitting a triple, the hardest hit in baseball. You know that it’s mostly just that: fucking, humping, banging, whatever you want to call it. I had playfully stopped Paul’s roaming hands on a few occasions as he’d tried to “steal a base” before he’d earned second and third bases but this was the first time he’d stopped mine. In fact within ten minutes we were both so into the “lesson” that I realized that no more threats or bluffs would be required. My body convulsed with the shock of his tongue on my breast and continued to shake as he changed to my other breast. His leer turned to laughter as he returned to his room. Maybe it was some vestige of parental guilt, or maybe they genuinely wanted to see their son’s performance; it didn’t matter as Paul and I were both happy that they would be there.
