Sharon and Michelle

It was the classic “you show me yours and I’ll show you mine” routine, but twice as fun. It would be my first and only threesome and it was the summer after my 11th birthday. The three of us were standing on Michelle’s front porch, listening to the radio and dreaming of what the summer would bring. The neighborhood boys were off playing baseball. I preferred to hang out with the girls because they treated me nicely. They never made me shag a foul ball or stand in center field every inning, in the blistering hot sun. They liked having me around and called me “Love.”

It was Sharon’s idea to exchange glances as long as I went first. It was the first time I would be suspect of their actions but I was excited at the prospect. They were each three years older than I, and they had been wearing regular bras for a while. I wanted to see what real boobs looked like because I had only seen them in magazines we found in the dumpster behind the firehouse, and on the X-Rated tape--specifically, "Deep Throat"--my two older brothers would watch when my parents were at work.

I was a little shy at first because I wasn’t sure if my “show” was going to be what they wanted. Mine, I figured, was much smaller than what they were used to, but their pressure was hard to resist. Michelle’s parents were not home, so we decided to go inside so no one could see us. We stood inside her kitchen, and on the count of three I was supposed to drop my shorts and underwear and stand there until they told me my turn was over.

Together, they counted, “one…two…two and a half…two and three quarters…three!” I did as instructed. I could tell by the look in their eyes that they were surprised that I had hair down there. They looked at each other and started to laugh. so I quickly pulled my clothes back up and waited.

Waited for their turn; waited for my reward; waited for my show which came and went so fast, I barely caught a full glimpse. But I did. Michelle’s boobs were bigger than Sharon’s, whose seemed more like “man boobs” than anything else. Once again, I was elevated to a level typically awarded later in life.

Later that summer, as I was hanging out with the boys, Michelle was tackled and her shirt was uninvitingly lifted. She was screaming and pleading to be released, and her wet eyes would stare only at me, searching for assistance or forgiveness; neither of which, I could provide.