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From: Jeff Zephyr <jeffzeph@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} JZL11_10R: Afterword - Life Lessons from Sitting In A Tree (nosex) by Jeff Zephyr - Sitting in a Tree on Saturday: F U C K I N G! 
Date: Wed, 10 Dec 2003 09:10:05 -0500
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JZL11_10R: Afterword - Life Lessons from Sitting In A Tree

Usual disclaimer:  This story involves sexual subject matter.  If you
aren't old enough to read this, go home!

Copyright by Jeff Zephyr (jeffzeph@hotmail.com) 2003.  Please don't
distribute in an altered form, or with any charges for acquisition.

Eleven, I get to actually experience this thing called sex.
 - by Jeff Zephyr
(jeffzeph@hotmail.com) 2000-2003.


JZL is my life story series.  You can find out more about the entire
series at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/jeffzephyr/www/jzlstories.html, and more
of year 11 at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/jeffzephyr/www/jzleleven.html.  
This episode is at
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/jeffzephyr/www/JZL11_10_Sitting_in_a_Tree_FUCKING.html
    



JZL11_10: Sitting in a Tree on Saturday: F U C K I N G!
 (mf mff ff oral rom) by Jeff Zephyr

Coding note: The participants in this story are age twelve, or almost
twelve.  If I was going to tell a fictional story of young love, I'd
advance them to age thirteen.  Why?  Because that makes them
teenagers, not preteens, so they get to use the m and f codes.  But we
were slightly precocious, doing things maybe a year or so ahead of
"schedule."  Yet I think that our interaction was much like that of
teenagers, not little kids.  Real people develop at different speeds,
and some of them mature early.

JZL11_10 Sitting in a Tree on Saturday is a very long "chapter" in my
life story.  It only covers one day, but it is a very eventful day for
us, with a wide range of activities.

Sherry and Jeff...... Sitting in a Tree.  F U C K I N G!  (on
Saturday)

JZL11_10J-Q: Whatever happened after your honeymoon?
 .... the stuff after our nap...

- 10 R - One extra part...         




JZL11_10R: Afterword - Life Lessons from Sitting In A Tree
(nosex)



  Unconditional love.
 As a child - even as a teenager - this seems like a natural
situation.  What you love, you love without reservation or
qualification.  It seemed entirely natural to me to fall in love with
my friends, and to declare our intentions to be in love with each
other forever.

I never wanted to hate anyone.  This is a reasonable accompaniment to
the faith in love I felt, but it was more than just that.  I didn't
enjoy the feelings of rage and anger which came with hate.

My friends accepted me, unconditionally.  I'd confessed to doing some
strange things, and they'd done the same.  We were closer than before,
knowing that our secrets were safe together.

It was all playing.  Kids play.  Everyone knows that.  But like Peter
Pan, I had no desire to give up on playing when I got older.  It was
just too much fun.

I had friends to share this goal with.  Sex and love were a very fun
sort of playing.  Not nearly so much fun to play in solitude, you need
someone to share it with for it to work right.


This feeling is so special that I couldn't resist celebrating it in my
story.  Instead of just doing a short, simple tale of the events of
this day, I had to get into deep detail.  To wallow in the pleasure of
discovery, of sex, sensuality, love, and faith. 





Gloom, despair, and agony on me Deep dark depression, excessive misery
-- Hee Haw TV Show, 1969-1993, "Gloom, Despair and Agony" skit theme.

  TV comedy makes it easy to look at the saddest things in a light,
happy way.  But real life depression and despair isn't the same at
all.

One thing I don't emphasize in my story is my general state of
depression.  Mostly, that is because the cause was primarily my
parents, and whatever your interactions with your parents are, they
are just ordinary, everyday events.  That is, if it happens most days.
Adults call kids who behave like this "moody," but away from home, I
was often happy and playful.

My parents weren't consistent, but the bad times made up for a lot of
good ones.  I tried to harden my heart against the bad situations, to
make myself indifferent or even hateful, especially to my father.  But
somehow, they'd always do something to make me soften, or I'd remember
something nice.  Plus like most kids, the really bad events would be
forgotten quickly as new things occurred.   We are all rather
resilient that way, fortunately.

I don't blame my parents for this, but only because I can look back
and realize that they were very screwed up themselves.  Plus the 1950s
attitude of self-reliance, and a dislike for seeking counseling, let
alone psychiatric advice, meant that even if they did realize there
were problems, they couldn't do much about it.  Most important, few
people, especially those addicted to alcohol, can easily recognize
that their own life has problems which need such help.

As a kid, I didn't know about all of this.  I simply saw my parents
being unreasonable, mean, and overall, dangerous and untrustworthy to
us kids.  I increasingly avoided spending time with them.  At home,
that meant being in my room as much as possible, door closed.  I spent
time out with friends as much as I could.

I adored school as well.  There, the kids liked me, the teachers
approved of me, and I was somebody who fit in.  I knew pretty much
where I belonged, and I was loved there.  So unlike so many kids, I
hurried to get off to school, and enjoyed myself there completely.

Discount the sex.  My girlfriends were my friends, first and always. 
The sex part has a lot of nice benefits.  It makes it easy to feel
close, makes intimacy easier.  For me, it was always antidepressive,
and doing it with someone else blows away solitary action.

Yet I could have been totally happy without that.  At least, at age
eleven, I wouldn't have minded it at all if all we did was just hang
around together and talk.  It made me happy.  Being in love really did
that, more than just the sex parts.  Sex is just a wonderful way to
show love, but it isn't actually love itself.

So when I decided that we could grow up and live together forever, it
was an obvious choice.  Yet it was also a strongly life-changing one. 
I knew perfectly well that we couldn't just go off and get married,
not for a long while.  Over six years, at least 2191 days  - I liked
math and figured stuff like that in my head all the time.

No, what I decided was that I really was going to make a life away
from my parents.  One which would be happy and loving, not filled with
anger, hate, confusion, and despair.  Most important, one which would
treat our children well, no chaotic anger.

It wasn't that my parents were intentionally mean.  They weren't
sadistic, though many of the punishments we received fell somewhere
into that area.  The intent was discipline, usually, or sometimes
unreasoning anger, especially if they were drunk.

Looking back, and knowing more than I did then, I know that my parents
were terribly unhappy.  Very close to divorce, and if it wasn't for
having a new baby - making four kids to feed, not easy to cope with at
all for them - and the 1950s no-divorce logic - they might have done
it.   As a kid, what I learned from it was to avoid them as much as
possible, not knowing the reason for their actions or anger.

We were smarter than our parents, and wiser.  I felt I had good
reason to make that judgement, based on my school report cards and
things like that.  And if we were as good as we thought we were, our
dream of a lifetime together could come true.


I'd like to believe that we weren't naive.  That if we simply could
stay together, we could be together and be happy together.  Our
childish "simplicity" wasn't the result of ignorance, but of optimism.

  I had one day which made me very happy, and I believed that I would
have many more.  Lots more, the rest of my life.

A way out of my miserable life.

A future so bright, I'd have to wear shades.

OK, Timbuk 3's song is an anachronism here.  But the thought applies. 
My friendship was my future, and I could see where I'd be when I grew
up.  Not every kid thinks so far ahead.  On my own, I don't know if I
would have.


When I began writing about the day in the park, I didn't expect it to
be such a long story.  When I finished the first take on it, I felt
that there was a lot missing.  I could remember all the intense
happiness, but my story dwelt on the basic facts.

I wasn't happy with that, so I created a new, in depth version.  I had
the chance to explore the memory of that day, and enjoy it all over
again.  I hope that you can enjoy it too, and maybe it will remind you
of some happy times in love or childhood.



My Girls:

I was blessed by having girlfriends who were enthusiastic about sex.

Girls like sex.

Just like boys.

By that, I mean, have you ever noticed how some boys get into playing
video games, or sports, or playing with their car, or watching TV, or
just drinking beer, and never seem to find time to actually have sex,
despite having a willing and interested partner available?

My girlfriends didn't play hard to get, or tease about wanting sex. 
No guilt, either, once we started.  It was good, and we were in love,
so we were just going to do it.

If we got together, that is.  The circumstances which made that all
work just happened, luck or fate, not the result of intense effort. 
We were friends, and moving from friendly early-teen romance to love
was a big leap.

I've known a lot of girls since then, and you probably know how it
often goes.  You go out, you maybe make out after a few dates if
you're lucky, and if things go really well, you get close enough to
have sex.  If you're very lucky, you fall in love. 

Only if things go perfect do you get sex, love, and intimate trust in
one easy package.

Getting three girls at once for that was a miracle.  The times
mattered a lot.  It was OK to have sex.

No STDs were a threat.  At our ages, we knew of a few but didn't
expect to get them from each other, and none were deadly.  No AIDS yet
anywhere. Sex was a wonderful thing, and the Pill meant that pregnancy
was preventable.

Jealousy was a bad thing.  Some other set of girls would have brought
jealousy into the situation quickly.  Changing it, maybe ruining it,
but not allowing a shot at the ideal, dreamy lifetime of love with
multiple partners.


Is there fate?

Jody doesn't play a big role in the love story, but she was critical
to making it happen.  It wasn't so much that her breasts were huge. 
It was that she was new, and an easy target for my new feelings of
lustful affection.  Any girl can enjoy having a boy, especially a sort
of popular boy, pay attention to her.

Her body development was not a sign of her emotional maturity.  Or
maybe she just wasn't interested in me as a boyfriend, not knowing
what to do if we got closer than flirting on the playground.

Her Valentine's Day rejection of me exposed me as a boy interested in
romance. Everyone in my class talked about my embarrassment with Jody.
Sherry and Maureen knew about my romantic side, but only in the
familiar way we always interacted.  We became closer, more romantic,
and though it was nowhere near to sex, our casual preteen romance was
aimed at turning into something serious.

It may have taken a few more years, if not for Annie.

She was fun to play with, energetic, and unlike a lot of girls,
interested in more active athletics.  A tomboyish sort of girl.  I was
happy to have her as a playmate, but I'd revealed my romantic side to
everyone.  She liked me, I liked her.  Those words mean a lot to a 6th
grader.

So on that day we walked into the woods, it was easy to let that
feeling of affection turn into something more.  But what made it
happen?

Neither of us planned the event in advance.  The weather was right for
it to work - a sudden downpour, or someone coming along to interrupt
us, and it would have ended fast, the mood ruined.

Everything else flowed from that one event.  I can't know what would
have happened otherwise.  But I figure that it would have been quite
some time before any of us got close enough for making out kissing, or
"playing doctor," let alone having sex.

The desire was there.  The girls wanted it, and so did I.  But turning
the fantasy desire of sex into a relationship isn't all that easy. 
Most of you probably have noticed that.   If it goes well, the feeling
is right, and it just happens.  If not, it is hard to breach the
barrier between friendly romance and sex.


Kissing is oral sex.  If you do it right, it is every bit as good as
other sorts of sex, and you get to do it in public.  The way I began
kissing girls, in the deep wet hot fashion, linked the sensation
forever to sex itself.  I learned to enjoy the sensation, and for
Sherry and Maureen and I, it was often the only way we could make love
- unlike with Annie and me.


Boobie Ratings:

You know that a girl is growing up when she gets her boobies.  A girl
with a flat chest is still just a kid, but if she needs a bra, it
means she's turning into a real woman.

Or so some people think.  But my results were very different.

Jody was a nice looking blonde girl.  Short, she was shorter than many
of the others in our class, but her chest wasn't small at all.  As I
was a tall boy, this combination made for an interesting view when I
stood in front of her.

I suspect that her boobie size encouraged her to flirt, in self
defense.  Older boys, maybe even men, tend to tease young girls about
how they look. Or stare at them, drooling over the shape.  For a
twelve year old, that sort of attention is confusing.

Other boys in class teased her sometimes, but I felt an immediate
attraction, and chased her romantically.  In retrospect it seemed
silly.  I had two fine girlfriends.  Except that our relationship
seemed stuck on friendship and play romance, and I hit the point in my
life cycle of wanting more.

Jody didn't give me that.  Some pushy boy might have found a way to
seduce her, but I accepted her rejection of romance and moved on.

Annie, Maureen, and Sherry.  That is the order, if you're counting
sexiness by bra size.  Annie needed none, and probably wouldn't for a
few years.  She had a thin, boyish body, like a younger girl.  But
inside, she wasn't like that.

In a year or two, the girls would all look like young women, no longer
little kids.  Sex objects, because all of the characteristics would be
there.  But the desire for sex came before the body parts and hair
grew, in all of us.  Maybe, in a lot of kids it works like that?

It makes me feel a bit funny to mention the differences in sexual
development in my story.  At the time, I noticed it, but didn't think
that it was anything unusual.  Girls and boys both were going through
changes, and I was in no hurry to find more mature females to examine.

Stand us in a row, naked.  Annie would be the shortest of us, a girl
with a bright smile, green eyes, straight brown hair, and a straight
flat body.  No boobies, just nipples starting to plump out.  Barely
any body hair, inspiring an attraction for the hairless look for life.

She hadn't even had her first period yet.  Her waifish tomboy look,
her tendency to wear pants - even if one time it was very short sexy
hot pants  -- and her exuberant participation in sports, made her seem
like a poor candidate for dating and romance, let alone sex play.

Inside, where you couldn't see it, she burned with lust and love.  A
secret wanting, and once it was revealed, she was irrepressible.  Our
romance did revolve around our sex lives, but we had little private
time at this point for anything else.  She made sure to get together
with me almost every day, while Sherry and Maureen managed almost two
weeks without seeming to die of horniness.

I was the tallest.  I wasn't the tallest boy in my class, but it was
close.  My height was all long legs and thin body, which made me feel
awkward and clumsy.  My growing hadn't caught up evenly yet.  I don't
tend to describe myself much in the story, because I simply didn't pay
that much attention to those details.  I knew what I looked like,
after all.

Brown hair, brown eyes, a kind looking - nice boy look - rounded face,
and at school I smiled a lot.  Naked, while Annie called my sex organs
big, I don't think they were exceptional for someone my size.  It is
just that I was bigger than most kids my age, and it was only natural
that all of me would be a bit larger than most twelve year olds.

My body hair took a while to grow in.  I wasn't as bare as Annie, but
it was still no big bushy deal yet.  I think the girls appreciated
that, because the hair can get in the way for oral sex, at least until
you practice it a bit.

Sherry and Maureen were a matched pair.  They weren't identical at
all, but together they were amazing.   Sherry's ordinary sort of light
brown hair and brown eyes meant that she looked like a lot of other
girls, while Maureen's curly red hair and light complexion, coupled
with her amber eyes - almost blue-green in spots - made her stand out
as unique in our group.  Standing together, you could see the
connection between them, and that made them a perfect match.


Sherry's boobies were big enough to deserve a bra, yet I barely
noticed them until I saw her naked.  I was used to her, had watched
her grow up like that, and it wasn't special - until I saw them
uncovered.

Maureen's breasts were still tiny, and she could easily have skipped a
bra.  Yet her pubes were fluffy, looking very mature, while Sherry's
were covered with only a soft bit of fuzz, covering no details, just
giving decoration to the area.  It wouldn't be long before both of
them grew to have similar body elements.

I was lucky to see them when they weren't so closely matched.  The
visible clues of sexual maturity, big boobies and plump pubes, seemed
to have no relation to how the girls acted about sex.  Nor did it
affect how I enjoyed myself with them.

Looks didn't matter so much either.  I considered them all beautiful,
but being in love can do that.  Objectively -  well, I couldn't be
objective.  But much of beauty is judged in the face, with the body
adding only a few points - or taking them away - for the right curves
or lack thereof.  Clothing covers most of that in public anyway, so we
judge the quality of our prospective dates by their faces.



Don't know much about history Don't know much about biology 
-- What A Wonderful World It Would Be, Sam Cooke.

I couldn't exactly relate to that song.  I believe in love, and had
found it, but I didn't need to try to be an A student.  Nor did
Maureen.  Sherry and Annie had to work some, but we were all pretty
good at school work.

Working on school projects was part of what made us closer.  We could
find ways to play together outside of school, but showing off our
brains wasn't so easy there.

I liked being a smart kid.  In school, that was a good thing, usually.
Despite a little teasing about being "Teacher's Pet," everyone
respected us for knowing things, and being able to figure out stuff.

I could talk with my friends about ideas, and they could come up with
their own answers.  We weren't equal in all subjects, so we helped
each other out, covering the weak spots.  Together, we were better
students than we could have been separately.

Turning that cooperative friendship into something closer took time. 
But we had the time.  Sherry and Maureen spent time with me every
school day, and we walked home after school, often staying at Sherry's
house to play.  I didn't do the same much at Maureen's - her parents
didn't encourage her to have a boy over as often.

But I was a safe boy.  Smart, bookish, A+ student, an achiever. 
Obviously, I had no interest in girls in a romantic way.  I could be
their friend, and that was the important part of it all.  At least,
that is how parents looked at me.

Sherry's mom didn't have a problem with me stopping over before she
got home.  I hadn't done that since we started having sex, because I
was worried that our obvious attraction - and kissing - would be
noticeable.  But at Sherry's house, I felt that I was accepted as a
good "little friend," not someone bad, dangerous, or stupid.

Annie didn't tease me much about my problems with sports. 
Specifically, baseball or other ball games.  I didn't know it at the
time, but the reason I couldn't catch the ball was because it is hard
to grab something which is just a blur.  My vision was bad, and nobody
seemed to notice that.

Annie and I could hang around and talk about a lot of things.  A lot
of girls didn't play with boys so much anymore, but she and I did, and
we always had fun together.




They paved paradise, and put up a parking lot 
-- Joni Mitchell and Bob Dylan.

   Not the Counting Crows.  Their version is sweet and bright, and
lacks the soul of the original.  It is nice, but there is *nothing*
happy about running over paradise with a steam roller.

Times change.

But is change for the better?

Last summer - 2002 - we had a chance to visit my old home town, and
spent a little while exploring my old hangouts.  There were a lot of
big changes.  It has been over twenty years, so that was to be
expected.

I wondered if we could find the treehouse.  Probably not, after all
that time.  Even if the tree was still around, the boards of the house
would be rotted and gone.     

The park was more open.  They'd cut a lot of the little trees and
bushes down.  It made it easier to see through it, and perhaps gave a
bit more room to play.  But there was no place to hide, or not much
anyway.

The woods by the park with the treehouse?  An office building and
parking lot.

I could have dared it, but there was a no-trespassing sign.  Part of
the forest was still there, but my best recollection would put the
treehouse somewhere near the building.  Long gone, no chance to look
at it at all.

The spot where we skinny-dipped by the lake?  It was past that office
area a ways, but obviously still private property, with a fence all
around. 

In any case, as always you couldn't get there along the water's edge. 
You *had* to go up top, which meant trespassing on the office
building's place.

Of course, as kids we were probably "trespassing" when we did it. 
Undeveloped, but not unowned.  It wasn't part of the public park,
which made it even more fun for private pleasures.  The regular park
visitors didn't bother with it at all.

Though it was July when we visited my home town, we saw few people in
the park, and none by the shore at all.  If we were brave enough, we
could have stripped and gone skinny-dipping.  It was tempting.  But we
weren't kids, and we could find a private place just fine when we went
home.  It was nice for a kiss, remembering what happened not so far
away in distance.

The lake itself looked much the same.  A bit dirtier, more trash
around, but not that different at all.  The rickety stairs was
replaced with a fine, solid, easy to climb walkway that anyone could
use.  The paths, as I mentioned, were clearer, easier to walk on and
also easier to spot anyone on or near them.


The treehouse in the woods had been delightfully isolated.  If it
hadn't been, we'd never be able to spend a whole day there, hanging
around naked and making love, without someone interrupting.  

The little woods where Annie and I first got naked together wasn't
quite as isolated.  But the spot we picked inside it was about as
secure.  In two weeks of meeting there every weekday, not once had we
been interrupted.  We could see the sky, but no one could see us, and
our hiding spot wasn't on one of the clearer paths.

When I drove by it to look, it fit that song.  Our paradise place was
turned into a parking lot for a strip mall.  What if I asked Annie go
behind the mall with me and get naked?

Nope, even if we might find a dumpster to hide behind, I just wouldn't
have felt safe doing that.  Sex just would have had to wait for us, to
find someplace private.

The forest along the railroad tracks, with all its bushes and nice
hiding places? 

They paved that over too.  It is a highway now.  Can you imagine
dashing across that in the nude, or even just dodging the fast moving
cars with your clothes on?


All that isolation gave us room to discover things for ourselves.  Our
parents gave us the freedom to do that as well.  We could go off for
hours, and no one worried all too much about it.  The neighborhood was
quite safe, and overall we were pretty good kids.

So maybe, we used some of that freedom to do mischief.  Maybe some
would say that going off, making love, and falling in love so young
counts as mischief.

We did use the places for other things.  I didn't bring some of it up,
because it has little impact on the story about sex and love.  Our
little hiding-place "forts" were nice for looking at porn mags - even
Playboy - without risk of parents finding us.  We tried cigarettes,
but I hated them and didn't bother trying them again for a long while.
Peer pressure, you know?  It is hard to say no to "Just try it, you
might like it."    We drank beer, but not much of that either.  My dad
had lots of it from his friends at the brewery.  I took mostly the
darker German-style ones, because they tasted better warm.  We only
took bottles from the cases in the garage, not out of the refrigerator
- our parents might notice those, while extra empties in the case
would never be spotted.

None of that stuff was noticed at all.  I trusted our secret places to
be secret.  When we used them for making love, I felt that they were
secure, as good as being behind a locked door.  Far less likely to be
caught by our parents than doing it in anyone's house.


Where will the kids in the city find to go for their private needs
now?  I imagine there must be some places, but none of my favorites
remain.  It was easy then to go off and do anything, no one to get in
the way.  I could find my freedom, and with my friends, we charted our
own path to freedom and love for our futures.

                   

  The Dream:

I had a recurrent dream.  Lots of people do, you know, where you're
outside naked.  Or flying.  This particular one kicked in around the
time of this story.

I can't pinpoint this one to this weekend, but sometime around then, I
dreamt about flying around naked.  Swooping, floating, landing in
front of friends and talking.

It wasn't embarrassing at all.  The usual "naked at work or school"
dreams are always scary and humiliating.  You can't get away, somehow
you can't run.

I could float away at will, but I didn't need to run.  I was happy
being naked.  People liked seeing me like that.  I could be with my
girlfriends, and we could fly around free, naked, and in love.

  


--
                                       
Copyright by Jeff Zephyr (jeffzeph@hotmail.com) 2003.

 Please don't distribute in an altered form, or with any charges for
acquisition.

If you liked this story, want to put it in a free collection, want to
tell me how I could write better, or just say hello, write to me at my
hotmail address. 



You can find more of my stories and other things at my website:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/jeffzephyr/www/

or via FTP:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/jeffzephyr/

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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