PROSS PARADISE

At the age of thirteen I became a make-out artist. I was well aware of the favorable responses my art curried from the opposite sex. I decided to take advantage. In turn, girls took advantage of me. Stephanie was a year older than me and she was a dark haired beauty. She had all the makings of the town’s soon-to-be slut. She exploited her good-looks, bending all the local boys to her will. She loathed the other boys, but she liked me and my rebellious ways. In exchange for a drawing, Stephanie promised to show me her…um…private parts. “You can look but you can’t touch,” she admonished this fervent young artist. Being a highly curious young man, I agreed. The clandestine exchange took place in a clearing in the woods where this excited youth caught an eye-full of “private parts.” My expression flushed red and I swallowed hard.

Stephanie smiled coyly, alternately looking down at her own hairy glory and at me, enjoying the spectacle of frustrated sexual energy. It was both a pleasurable and painful experience for me. Having feasted my eyes upon the coveted goods, and my youthful hanker peaked, I wanted to take the plunge. But the Garden of Eden was for viewing only and no tasting of the fruit was permitted. The joys of being an artist achieved only minimal satisfaction.