Jessica Brookes hadn’t screamed when sixteen-year-old Adam Helter burst through her pristine thirteen-year-old cherry with his hot thrusting cock there in the back of his parents’ camper that baking hot summer afternoon. She’d been a little shocked by the blood that oozed out when he was done less than two minutes later, but she never screamed once.

The camper was an oven in the hot summer sun in the driveway beside the house. They snuck in there and locked the door. She wondered when Adam’s sister would be back from shopping with his mom. She wondered if anyone had seen her go in there with him, a neighbour perhaps, or a passing classmate. She wondered how she’d even let him talk her into this, sitting on the back step of his house for the past half hour while she waited for her best friend to return. Was it really about the tickets, or was it simply about wanting to go ahead and just fuckin’ try it already? Either way, there they were, locking the door behind them and heading nervously to the back of the camper where a supper table converted into a bed. It was a bed at the moment, and they sat down on it. Adam looked amazing. She knew there was not a snowball’s chance in hell of them ever becoming a couple, but he looked amazing, and he wanted her. That was good enough for her at the time.

“So what do we do?” she asked.

“Get undressed.”

“What if someone comes?”

“The door’s locked.”

Good enough. For though she was scared as hell, another part of her didn’t care about anything else but her best friend’s amazingly hot older brother, and the fact that he actually wanted to have sex with her, that he was paying attention to her at all.

She got up and took her shirt off. She unsnapped her bra and dropped it on the bench beside him. He smiled at her naked chest, flat as a boy’s except for tiny little bumps that held up her nipples. She blushed, except maybe it was just the heat.

“I don’t wanna take my pants off,” she said, “in case someone comes. I’ll just pull them down.”

“Just take them off. It’ll be fine. Mom’s not back for a few hours yet. And we don’t want to get any stains…”

Stains? Uh-oh. What did he mean by that?

She wriggled her pants down and kicked them off her ankles, staring up into his face with a hot blush. Then her panties came down too, and she watched him watching her, somehow feeding off of the lust she saw in his eyes. Then she was naked in the little oven of a camper. Sweat poured off of her and she was shaking like a leaf on a tree.

“‘Kay, there,” she said. “What now?”

“My turn.”

She sat down. He got up and stripped, never taking his eyes off of her. She looked down at his cock when it popped out in front of her. It looked like a tan-coloured jumbo hotdog with a walnut-sized head on it. It was hard, standing straight out, twitching and bouncing as he shucked his shirt off. It looked way too big… for the place it was supposed to fit inside. Of course at that point even a finger was too big. She’d just have to deal with it.

“Thanks for doing this,” he told her. It was a weird thing to say. She shrugged at him, and half smiled. He grabbed his dick and stroked it. It was wet on the end.

“I think I hear the phone ringing.”

“Oh well.”

And he laid her down on the bench-bed. It wasn’t until he actually pushed her down onto her back that she realized this was really happening. Everything seemed surreal up until that point, but when he got her on her back, put her feet up on the bench on either side of her ass and got himself between her thighs, she knew it was really gonna happen. She was really gonna get fucked by Adam Helter, her first time. Her stomach went nuts. Her heart tried to gallop away like a frightened foal. The only thing that seemed to be working right, luckily for both of them, was her virginal little pussy. It had wet itself the moment he’d opened the door for her, and had stayed wet ever since. She was just shy of fourteen. Well, she might as well be fourteen. Her birthday was only a few weeks away. Fourteen or not though, her body knew exactly what it was supposed to do. She could feel her wetness oozing out when he fingered her slit. He took the slipperiness from there and wiped it onto his dick. She watched him, propped up on one elbow, sucking in the hot stuffy air in short sharp panting breaths. Then he put the head of his dick into her slit and stroked it up and down, gathering the wetness directly.

“It’s gonna hurt, isn’t it?” she said.

“Maybe. I guess so. I don’t know. Probably.”

“You never done this either?”

“Not- well... I almost...”

She felt a thousand times better about it all of the sudden.

“Don’t come inside me, right? That’s the deal.”

“I know. I won’t.”

“Okay,” she said. “Go ahead.”

She fell back onto the bench-bed, staring up at the ceiling of the camper while he fumbled around down there. She felt him spreading her legs wider, and she let him. She felt the head of his dick sliding up and down her slit again, and she flinched when he found her hole. Just a flinch though. No real resistance. Then he was pushing forward. There was hot stinging. She trembled hard, waiting for the real pain. Then she popped and he broke through. She grunted hard and sharp, and that was the only sound she made.

It was in. Was it ever fuckin’ in! Cherries really do pop, she thought. He’d popped right in, snapping through the strands of her maidenhead with a swift jab from the head of his prick. Then he was slowly fighting through her crushing tightness down to the very bottom of her. She felt strained little aches as his cock moved forward, stretching her open as he ground himself forward. But she let it go in. She didn’t fight him. She grunted hard and sharp, over and over again, with every inch he gained, and that was the only sound she made. He was noisier than her in fact, with his panting, his stammering, his ecstatic little sighs, like he was being slowly eased into a burning hot Jacuzzi or something. In a way he was. Her pussy was wet and slick and he slipped against its walls like he belonged there. There was no resistance at all, only welcoming pleasure that made him whimper like a little boy. He was panting. His hot breath hit her stomach. Finally she tensed against him. He was going in too fast. Her wetness made it too easy. She could barely breathe. They held still for a moment, panting, staring down at the penetration as though it were part of a dream. Then he continued. That’s when she realized he hadn’t even kissed her. She’d lost her cherry before she’d even gotten her first real kiss.

Balked by her thighs, he lifted her feet up off the floor and up above her body. He glanced down at the connection they’d made and pushed forward, sinking in until his balls crushed against her ass. That was it. She was full of him. She felt him in her to the very bottom. He pressed hard against her, wanting to be in even deeper than her body would allow, and she grunted again, restraining a cry of pain, hot stretchy pain of ten-thousand nerve endings in her most sensitive part being awoken for the very first time. Then he took a few strokes at her, wearing away the rest of her cherry with his searing shaft, tearing it away with cautious in and out motions until there was only an open hole where her hymen had been. Blood dripped down across his balls, oozing away with the wetness she was pouring out.

He trembled, sighing loudly in her ear, almost crying. His sweaty reddish blonde hair stuck to his forehead and stinging salty drops rained down into her eyes. Thrust. Grunt. Jab. His eyes wept emotion without tears, bewildered, awed, shocked by the ecstasy he was tearing out of her. She held his shoulders, gnashing her teeth against the stabbing pain, the burning ache of violation between her legs. She squinted up at him through stinging tears, winking at him, one eye closed and stinging from his sweat. Her nose wrinkled. Her lip curled in what looked like anger. But she never screamed. She tensed against him when he thrust too hard, but she never stopped him. Not once. She didn’t speak either, though she wanted to tell him to go more slowly, not so rough. She just laid there feeling every sensation, barely noticing the spinning roulette wheel of her panicked thoughts. The bench-bed creaked beneath their weight. It was hard and uncomfortable beneath her back. The cushions she lay upon smelled dusty. They were brown, reddish brown, very ugly, but he was beautiful. His eyes were like-

“Ow!” she said finally, and then gasped, long, hot, and anguished, sucking in breath through gritted teeth and releasing a slow, shaky moan. He’d thrust at her, hard, but her tightness bent him in half and he slipped out.

“Sorry.”

“Gently, please. It really hurts.”

He forced it back in. It got to the bottom of her again, and he mumbled something at her she didn’t even hear. Then he started up again, enjoying her agonized little wound until it conquered him a few moments later. He thrust three more times, and then pulled out with a sudden yank, jerking himself frantically with his hand above her. It happened so quickly she barely had time to lift her head up and gape down at it before the first streak sprayed out in a long white line across her tummy. He grunted like he’d been suddenly crushed in a great squeezing hug, and another spurt launched forth. It came out in long squirting lines that dropped across her body from her breasts to her pubic bone. Two, three… four, across her gasping little body… and there was still more. It went everywhere. Some of it went all the way up to her nipple. She was dazzled by the amount of stuff that came out of him, and by the look in his eyes. He released a long gratified sigh that told her it was finished, and they looked down at the mess he’d made of her. She forced a smile, looking down at the white, biting her lip, still shaking, hardly able to breathe. Then he put it back in again, into the blood and sex mixture and stirred himself around some more. Goddamn but it burned, a hot angry pain that had no love in it. Only pleasure for him. But that was perfectly fine with her.

They cleaned up with a roll of paper towels from an old brown cupboard with a crooked door and they were dressed as quickly as they’d undressed, with even less discussion. They stepped out into the cool summer air again he got them some drinks from the kitchen.

“I’m no longer a virgin,” she whispered to herself, standing alone between the side door of the camper and the house. She looked up at the sky feeling simultaneously exhilarated and horrified. There were several bloody paper towels in the garbage can of the camper. The image of it would not leave her mind for a long time.

Jessica staggered home, weak and shaky, feeling like she’d just finished murdering someone and chopping up the body. She felt like every eye was watching her, knowing what she’d just done. She’d just fucked a boy and gotten his cum all over herself. She could smell it on her. Could they? She was sure they could. She got home and rushed straight into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. The rush of water into the tub was soothing and she allowed herself to finally break down and cry beneath its comforting roar. She was smiling though, as she wept, sitting on the floor with her legs spread wide. It was the only position that seemed to ease the ache in her privates. She closed her eyes and saw him again, wiping away her blood from his cock with a nervous smile. His hands had been shaking. She tried to force the image of the bloody paper towels in the garbage can from her mind. The image would not leave though. The garbage can was brown, with shiny silver reeds painted on it for some reason, and the only thing inside it were five or six bloody, cummy paper towels. Why did the coffin of her childhood innocence have to be so goddamned ugly?

She turned off the water and got into a cool afternoon bath with the lights out, marvelling that when she’d left the house that morning she’d had no idea she’d be devirginized by the time she’d gotten home. Such a weird, random world.

She hadn’t screamed for Adam. Not once. She doubted very much she would scream for Brad, now that all that virgin pain and emotional confusion had gone away.

All she did with Brad in the cold echoey stairwell was pant and tremble. Pant, pant, pant, as quietly as she could. She didn’t speak. His finger stirred inside her. Adam had hurt her, almost killed her, but she was no thirteen-year-old virgin anymore. She felt like she was disappearing behind a waterfall of sweet sensation as the feeling spread from her privates all through her body. Adam Halter, who had talked her into giving it up to him with a promise of N’Sync tickets (tickets he never did deliver), had been torture. Brad Kendall was making her gush and twitter inside with spastic little ecstasies. Brad Kendall was making her dizzy, and weak as a kitten in his arms.

He was so damn confident and sure of himself too. This made her feel overwhelmed as well, and for some reason that overwhelm was making her even hotter, making her feel like surrendering even more. If he took her pants down a little, right there and then, turned her around, bent her over a bit, and poked around, he would slide inside that tight little sheathe with barely a wiggle of her bottom to facilitate his advance. He would go in like a hot knife through rich creamy butter. She was that wet. And goddamn if she wasn’t dying to let him try it. His sweetly fucking fingers were wearing away at her reason. She began to crave something bigger, harder, thicker. Adam’s size had injured her. Brad’s would massage her, tickling sweetly, pleasuring her with thick stretchy ecstasy only a woman understands. She knew this because she felt somehow his fingers weren’t enough. She wanted to be stuffed full, and rocked hard, to collapse beneath his strength and just be taken. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted it.

She looked down and saw his erection, bulging big and hard and thick in his pants. He rubbed it against her thigh as he reamed her with his finger. She shuddered. How fuckin’ sweet it would feel popping inside her, the head first, just like Adam’s, and then the thick pulsing shaft, stretching into her like his whole purpose in life was to get hard and be inside her, punishing her tightness with hot thrusting-

A door banged open a few flights above them. They froze, looking up. Footsteps trotted down the stairs. She pushed at him, but he held still, tingling inside her. They both held their breaths. Their hearts beat wildly. They looked up, listening, ready to leap away from one another like thieves from forbidden treasure. The footsteps went through the door a floor above them and were gone. He grinned. She kissed him again, deciding she would fuck him right there and then if he made a move. She began grinding on his hand with slow thrusting motions of her pelvis, trying to let him know, trying to tell him without words: if you wanna fuck me right here, I’ll do it. Take me. I won’t say no. I won’t resist at all. Her brain went blurry at the thought of it. If only-

Suddenly he was out. Gone. She was empty inside--fluttering hot, and dripping wet, but empty, squeezing tightly over and over on… suddenly nothing. She gasped in surprise. She flashed her eyes up to look into his. What’s wrong!? Why are you stopping? Her mind screamed at him. But he just smiled back. He drew his hand up from her privates to his full, pouty, sexy boy lips, and sucked the fingers into his mouth one by one. She could smell herself on him, rich and distinctive. She hoped he would wash his hands. It was a weird thought, but she really hoped he would wash his hands. His hand smelled of her arousal, her sluttishness, her shameful permissiveness in the school stairwell. Everyone would know…

“Goddamn, you’re hot, Jess. I feel dizzy.”

She just breathed at him, locked onto his gaze, her eyes deep, dilated pools of invitation. Her chest rose and fell. Her hands shook. How long had they been standing there like that? It felt like half an hour already, though it had probably all rushed by in a few minutes.

Would he fuck her now? She wanted it so badly. She was willing to risk everything just to have feel his hot aggressive thrusting inside her. It was insane. She’d only ever been with one other guy, Adam; she was no slut, but she’d never wanted anything more in her entire life. Her sexy, expressive eyes screamed it at him, but he was too young then to discern the sweet subtle language of female arousal and submission.

“Next time I’m gonna fuck you,” he said. “Screams or no screams.”

And that was it. It was over, until next time. She didn’t argue with him. She didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. He pinched her chin  with a thumb and forefinger and gave her one last up and down look, and then he wandered away. She strolled very slowly back to class, almost forgetting entirely that she was even in school that afternoon.

She returned to that stairwell everyday for a week, eager to run into him again, to let him know somehow that if he wanted to come over to her place or something, if he really liked her as much as he’d said he did, that maybe she just might let him have some, walking away afterward with two different guys having enjoyed her. Two! That seemed so strange, such a high number to her semi-innocent mind. But this was Brad Kendall though. Brad was a walking dream. She just might throw everything in his lap and let the whole world go to hell, except for her and him and his thick, hot thrusting cock.

But he never showed.

"What's with you, Jess?" Chelsea said. "You look like you seen a ghost."

"Just thinking."

Jess was blushing. She knew they were looking at her, but somehow she didn't really care.

"Who's all gonna be at Clark's anyway?" Marty said, with too much eagerness. It was supposed to be about protecting Chelsea, not about hooking up with guys.

"The usual gang, I guess. Clark's buddies. You know."

Christie listed them off, as if there was a single one of them who didn't know who Clark's buddies were. "Rick Henderson. Patrick Sanford. Brad Kendall..."

She glanced sideways at Jessica when she said that. Jessica looked away, feigning innocence. She had no idea how Christie knew what had happened in the stairwell that afternoon, or if anyone knew for that matter, but the look was unmistakable.

"The usual gang of idiots," Chelsea said.

"One for each of us," Marty added, giggling again, her silly bimbo giggle. Chelsea dropped her head sideway and gave her a disapproving look.

"You guys will have to fight over Clark," she said. "I wouldn't touch a single one of them with ten-foot cattle prod."

Marty liked Patrick. Jessica knew it. She always seemed to thrust those tits of hers out even further when Patrick Sanford walked by. And Christie had a thing for Rick. Maybe that's what that knowing glance had been about. Maybe in Christie's mind, each one of them was paired up except for Jess and Brad. That had to be it. She smiled to herself, relieved at figuring it out.

There was silence for a moment. The afternoon break was winding down. Kids were starting to head back toward their classes. The four girls sat under the tree, lost in their own thoughts, inside an uncharacteristic silence. Then Christie broke it.

"You think they really will try anything?"

"They're guys. If they don't try anything, it'll be a bonafide fucking miracle." Chelsea ripped up a few of blades of grass and flicked them away, as though they were Clark and his buddies.

"Would it be so bad though, Chels?" Christie said, with almost fearful hesitation. She'd said it though, the thing all three of them were thinking.

Chels flared her eyes at her as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"You really wanna be taken and used like a piece of meat by a guy who's not even gonna fuckin' talk to you the next day? Are you really that stupid, Christie? If you are, it's a really sad day for all of us. They've already won."

Won what? Jess wondered. Chelsea made it sound like the boys were robbing them of something, like they'd be getting absolutely nothing in return, except a messy load or two. Jess had a hard time seeing it that way. She craved the sickly sweet high of Brad's full, undivided attention and adoration. It was a thrill she couldn't get anywhere else. It was a thrill perhaps worth the robbery Chels was so afraid of.

If Brad made a move on her, any move at all, she'd be his the moment he got her alone.

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