Grade School Daze 02

At the end of every year St. Paul Grade School had a picnic for the girls in the choir and the boys who served Mass. The famous Singers and Servers Picnic that was, for us young horndogs, our annual lust fest. It was perennially held at Blanchette Park in St. Charles. We would arrive at the Park in the school bus at about 10:00 and leave at 4:30. Our day was filled with activities. Swimming, baseball, basketball, mudball fights on the cliffs for supermecy, softball against the girls with the boys batting opposite-handed and frequently losing, to our collective dismay. I had always been attracted to girls with an athletic bent, especially those with slim legs, well-defined muscles, and tight butts. Oh yes, it was certainly a lust fest.

It may have been on one of those picnics that I first really discovered sex. It seemed to happen in the seventh grade. Suddenly the girls had breasts and curvaceous hips. Almost overnight it seemed. Carolyn H. sprouted one of the most noticeable chests among her classmates. In the tight sweaters of the day they were like turrets on a battleship. Proud, jutting out like pointing footballs.

Naturally, all the boys talked about them. About what wondrous growths they were and how they felt under your hand. Whoa. To have actually touched one. Of course, many of the guys bragged about how they had gotten in so-and-so’s bra at the movie theatre. Equally naturally, we almost never believed stories like that. Knowing that was exactly what we would say if we had been in the same movie as any girl we knew with a nice set.

But we really didn’t get to see much of them except at the Singer-Server picnic because boys and girls back then didn’t socialize much over the summer. All we saw of each other was during the school year. Entirely clothed. But the picnic brought out the swimming suits. And all the horny boys like me trying to cop a feel with our elbows or anything that wasn’t overtly obvious, like the back of your hand. Actually, from the vantage point of today’s open and unfettered sexuality (check out Texts From Last Night on the internet if you want proof), it was quite hysterically innocent.

My particular sex goddess in the seventh and eighth grades was Jeanne E. She was tall, blond, beautiful and had a reputation for going to the movies with boys from the neighboring public school because they were more mature. Which meant to us she was fast. For those days. Of course, I worshipped her from afar and probably never once spoke to her directly She certainly was taller then I. And surely outweighed me as well since I was so damned skinny. Hell, I didn’t weigh 100 pounds or reach five feet tall until the end of the summer before high school. So, why would she notice me? My voice didn’t change until well into freshman year either. I certainly was no prize physical specimen. Then as now.

Dennis O’C. ― a fellow classmate who was a friend from the Boy Scouts and a big, physically well-developed boy for his age ― and I were walking on the sidewalk near school one day when we saw Jeanne approaching alone. As usual, my heart leapt into my throat, rendering me semi-comatose. But Dennis never lost a step or a chance to score.

“Hey, Jeanne,” he called out, much to my absolute horror since all I ever did around such beauty was shrink into the wallpaper. “If you ever start falling apart, do me a favor, and save me a piece.”

My God. He actually said it the euphemism we all used for sex. A piece. As in a piece of ass. And all she did was laugh scornfully and blow him off with, “Not in your dreams, Denny.”

Yeah, but what about my dreams? I nearly fainted right there on the sidewalk. A piece of Jeanne E’s gorgeous ass? The thought was too much to bear.

At Mass some time near the end of our eighth grade year I found myself in a pew sitting next to Dennis. I casually looked over at him and couldn’t help but notice our legs, which were right next to each other. His were the size of an adult’s. And mine were that of a kid’s. I remember thinking that he was grown up and I was still a child. The thought quite depressed me.