Seasons of Sex 3: Spring, 1968 - Sex Stories

Seasons of Sex 3: Spring, 1968

SPRING, 1968

I was in my room doing my homework the first Thursday in April when I got a call from Annabelle. She was obviously in tears and asked me if I had heard the news. I had not, and she told me Martin Luther King, Jr. had been shot and killed. She was really upset and said she needed to see me right then.

My mother was very understanding when I told her I needed to borrow the Chevy. I told her I’d be back for supper.

Annabelle and I went for a drive. She wept as she looked morosely out the window. “Things just don’t get better,” she said. “They keep getting worse.”

Eventually I parked in a secluded area. She quietly took off her jeans and panties, I also removed my lower garments, and she climbed onto my lap, facing me. We fucked slowly and quietly, and when she came, she began to cry, and when I came as well, filling her sweet cunt with hot cream, I wept too, wondering what sort of world we were about to take our places in.

The first full week in April was the time of the statewide high school choir festival, and my school was entered in several categories. I sang in the Mixed Chorus, the Men’s Chorus, and the Madrigals; Belinda sang in the Mixed Chorus, the Madrigals, and the Girls’ Sextet (which, I had discovered to my disappointment, was not what it sounded like it was). The event was an all-day affair which took us out of classes and put us on a school bus bound for another town with a new convention center which had several stages and performance ...

... venues. The day was pretty depressing for me, since I had to be in close proximity to Belinda, who was, as usual, ignoring me studiously. I shared a seat on the bus with another baritone, a junior who seemed preoccupied with getting some beer. When he found out I was not yet eighteen (the legal beer age in our state), he lost all interest in conversation with me.

There was just one thing making the day interesting for me: we traveled in our madrigal costumes, and the boys had all dared each other to dress as true Scotsmen: with nothing on under our kilts. I didn’t know whether any of the others were actually going through with the dare, but I was. It was my last time to wear the stupid outfit, and I was determined to do it right for once. (I admit I had checked the weather report to be sure no high winds were predicted that day.)

It felt strange, and exciting, and liberating, to be dressed that way. And since there were several female madrigal singers close by, with their sexy cleavage showing, I had a partial erection the whole trip. I was relieved to find upon arrival that when I stood up my stiffy did not press against my kilt: having a small cock does have its advantages at times.

The madrigals did better in the competition than expected, and we had to stick around for the evening concert. Those who were expecting to go to the school prom that night were outraged, but most of us had guessed it would happen and many of us, like me, weren’t all that impressed with ...